Chapter Text
Most mortals assume that the end of a world is something decreed by gods.
Cyrene had met enough cosmic entities to know that was rarely true.
Destroying a world required effort. Intent. Even cruelty, in some cases. Most beings capable of wiping out entire civilizations found it far more practical just ignore them or toy with them as they pleased.
What was truly dangerous was when one of those entities learned how to love.
Because love was a strange and irrational force with the potential to alter the course of entire worlds.
And when what they loved disappeared... Sometimes the universe itself reacted to their grief.
When the King of Castrum Kremnos fell, no one needed to announce the tragedy.
Amphoreus knew before its own inhabitants did, resonating symbiotically with the creature that had devoured the sun.
The sky was the first to react.
The brilliant blue that had covered the world for centuries faded away. The golden hues that accompanied the dawn vanished as though they had never existed.
In their place appeared a suffocating red.
A red so deep it seemed to stain the very air itself.
The seas churned for no apparent reason, a sight visible even from the shores of Aedes Elysiae.
Cyrene understood in that momment.
Not because she had witnessed the king's fall, because she knew far too well the creature that held that world in its hands.
Khaslana was mourning.
And when it happened, Amphoreus burned alongside him.
Solar flames descended from the heavens like incandescent rain. Wherever they touched the earth, forests and fields vanished beneath seas of fire.
Cyrene arrived as quickly as she could. Even from a distance, she could see him.
Khaslana stood motionless amid the devastation, oblivious to the fires consuming the world around him.
He held the king's body in his arms.
His wings wrapped around both of them in an instinctive and desperate gesture, as though they could protect him from something. As though there were still some danger from which he could be shielded.
The body appeared untouched. As though he had fallen asleep.
For a moment, even Cyrene understood why Khaslana was still waiting.
He looked up when he sensed her presence.
It was the first time she noticed that Khaslana's eyes were red.
“I don't understand why he won't answer,” he murmured. “I did everything I could to keep him safe. What am I supposed to do?”
The question hung between them.
Cyrene knew creatures capable of devouring stars. She had seen entities so ancient that universes were born and died before they changed their minds.
None of them had prepared her for this.
Because Khaslana was not enraged.
He was not fighting or trying to destroy anything. He was holding someone who could no longer answer him.
Not far away, several humans watched in silence. Some were crying. Others stood frozen, unable to look away. All of them shared the same painful understanding.
The king would never wake again.
Khaslana was the only one who still could not accept it.
“We believe the ritual allowed him to see you more closely than any other human before,” explained a pink-haired woman whom Cyrene would later come to know as Hyacine.
“And what it caused is similar to brain death,” Anaxagoras added gravely.
Khaslana lowered his gaze to the body in his arms. “But he shouldn't die from seeing me. Is there any way to cure brain death?”
Hyacine looked away before answering. “I'm afraid not.”
Cyrene disagreed with that explanation.
When Khaslana finally allowed her to approach, she carefully examined the king's mind and it made no sense.
The mental activity was still there. His vital signs were as well. It was as if the body continued to function perfectly, yet something essential was missing.
Cyrene came to the conclusion that they had most likely separated the king's soul from his body.
However, she chose to remain silent.
Because if she gave Khaslana even the slightest hope that what had happened could be reversed, he would never stop searching for a solution, and the truth was that not even she knew how to fix something like that.
Perhaps it would have been different if she had been able to examine the minds of those who performed the ritual, but that was no longer possible.
Khaslana had acted against them first.
And when Cyrene saw the result with her own eyes... she didn't even know what to call it.
“Khaslana... what is that...?” she asked, trying to remain calm, though the confusion churned in her stomach.
The mass before them barely retained any recognizable traces of having once been human.
Then Khaslana spoke with a completely empty expression.
“If those sacks of flesh wanted a demonstration of my power... then they can also witness my fury and understand what they truly are.”
Khaslana had taken the primary people responsible for the ritual and fused them individually, warping their bodies into amorphous masses of flesh where countless eyes and faces opened and closed uncontrollably, trapped in an impossible existence.
“He said he didn't want his people to become creatures... I failed him once... and I failed him again, but they do not deserve to call themselves human after what they did.”
Cyrene knew it was not to intimidate anyone. It was to hide his vulnerability.
Though it fooled no one who truly knew him. The sky itself revealed his emotions as endless rain poured down across Amphoreus.
All of that happened within the first few hours after the disastrous tragedy.
On the first day came the solar flares.
Then came ten days and ten nights during which the sky never stopped crying. The cities of Amphoreus became flooded beneath relentless storms, while overflowing rivers swallowed entire streets.
Cyrene had studied that humans were supposed to pass through several stages of grief, but that framework could not be applied to a being who resonated with an entire world. He was more likely to destroy Amphoreus indirectly than to overcome his grief.
During those ten days, she and the others closest to the king worked desperately to find a way to calm Khaslana before Amphoreus collapsed completely.
Creating the plan was difficult for everyone because they were racing against time.
And whatever answer they found needed to be meaningful enough to reach someone like Khaslana.
To Cyrene, the idea seemed simple.
If the source of the pain was the loss of the king... then perhaps they could search other worlds.
Perhaps another Mydeimos Polemos existed.
When she presented the proposal, the first to react were Hyacine and Cipher.
“You can't treat Mydeimos like a broken toy that can simply be replaced with a new one” Hyacine exclaimed immediately.
Cyrene thought that if he truly were an object, Khaslana would have no trouble repairing him. Unfortunately, people could not be repaired, and the bond they had shared for over a thousand years had been ripped away from him all at once, leaving him devastated.
But she remained silent and allowed Cipher to continue.
“Besides, if the problem is that he lost his precious king... can you imagine how devastated Khaslana will be when someone with the same face tells him they want to leave because they were basically kidnapped and thrown into an unfamiliar world?”
“Cipher is right,” Aglaea intervened worriedly. “That could accelerate Amphoreus's destruction even further.”
“Is there any alternative that could work faster?” Castorice asked, clearly distressed. “My city is practically at sea level. It's been raining nonstop for five days... the population has transformed into dragons, and yes, fortunately everyone knows how to swim now, but still...”
Trianne moved closer in an attempt to comfort her while Cyrene spoke again.
“Your concerns are valid. Khaslana can hear the wishes and desires of other beings, and the universe is far too vast. Perhaps we can find someone who genuinely does not wish to remain in their own world.”
“And how can you be sure such a person even exists?” Anaxagoras countered. “They wouldn't even have the same memories. We might only end up hurting Khaslana even more.”
Cyrene placed a hand against her chest before answering. “I can't guarantee it. It would be trial and error. Khaslana is grieving, and his connection to Amphoreus is so strong that this world will not be able to withstand his current state for much longer. In the best-case scenario, it may work and that person may choose to stay. And if not... perhaps it will at least allow Khaslana to say goodbye properly.”
The hall fell silent for several moments.
Then the true Imperator Cerydra spoke. “For the sake of Amphoreus, we will have to follow that plan.” Her voice sounded calm, almost cold, as though she were organizing a military strategy rather than deciding the fate of people from other worlds.
“In the meantime, the scholars will continue investigating exactly what that cult did to the king.”
“We'll need to test the waters,” the true Hysilens added seriously. “Khaslana is in a vulnerable state. Even if we find a Mydeimos who doesn't wish to remain in his own world... how do we know he won't try to manipulate him? That could end up harming him even more.”
Tribbie blinked in confusion. “When you say ‘test the waters,’ do you mean...?”
Hysilens nodded slowly.
“I know what Hysilens is proposing will sound insane to some of you,” Cerydra said without changing her tone, “but we've already seen what Khaslana is capable of when he becomes emotionally attached to someone. The worst thing we could do is condemn him to remain beside a person who ends up hurting him even more. We need to start by testing individuals who do not belong to our world so we can understand how different they truly are.”
“We can focus on people who aren't satisfied with their own lives,” Cyrene said. “I will personally supervise them and I will take responsibility for them.”
Cipher still looked tense. Her feline ears twitched slightly before she spoke again. “Even so... can you give me your word that if that Mydeimos truly wants to return to his world, you'll let him go?”
Cyrene nodded slowly.
“You have my word that I will,” Cyrene replied.
“Dot dot.”
The small sound immediately drew everyone's attention.
Every gaze turned toward the source of the noise, and for a moment the hall fell completely silent.
Because the sound belonged to Ica. Hyacine's little unicorn was supposed to be with Khaslana at that very moment, trying to comfort him while they held their meeting.
Cyrene merely smiled softly as she noticed several people beginning to understand what that meant. “You can agree to that as well, can't you, Phainon?”
Then the shadow clone stepped aside and finally allowed the real Khaslana to emerge from his hiding place, still holding little Ica in his arms.
The look of surprise on everyone's faces was immediate. No one had expected Khaslana to have been listening to the entire conversation.
Khaslana remained silent, holding the little unicorn against his chest and not daring to look anyone directly in the eyes.
Cyrene thought it was necessary.
Everyone needed to know that Khaslana understood perfectly what they were discussing, what they were planning to do, and that despite all of it, he was willing to accept it.
“I... can promise that. Yes.”
This time he had removed his mask, but his wings lifted slightly to cover part of his face when he said the word “promise,” as though even speaking it was painful.
“How long have you been spying on us?” Cipher asked with obvious suspicion.
Khaslana lowered his head even further. “I tend to do that sometimes...” The embarrassment in his voice was impossible to hide.
Cyrene could see that Khaslana didn't have the strength to look Cipher in the eyes.
He knew perfectly well how much Cipher valued her privacy and admitting that now could be enough reason for her to start hating him. After losing the king, Khaslana could barely bear the thought of losing another person who was important to him.
Fortunately, Castorice was the first to approach him.
“Khaslana, please don't blame yourself for what happened,” she said gently as she took his hands in hers. “We're all hurting because of what happened. He was a dear friend to all of us as well... and we know the disasters you're causing aren't intended to hurt anyone.”
Khaslana did not answer, but Cyrene noticed the rain outside lessen a little more.
And so, throughout the sixth day, it continued to rain, though the intensity of the storm diminished significantly.
It was not until the tenth day and the tenth night that the rain finally stopped.
However, Khaslana remained emotionally devastated.
And it certainly didn't help that the first attempts to bring people from other worlds turned out to be... unpleasant.
-
The night before the attempts began, Cyrene found Khaslana sitting alone.
He wasn't doing anything in particular. He remained motionless, his eyes closed.
Cyrene sat down beside him.
For several minutes, neither of them said anything.
“Do you think Polemos will be angry if I replace him?” Khaslana suddenly asked without looking at her. “Wherever humans go after death.”
“I have no way of giving you a definitive answer. I didn't know him as well as you did, but I'm sure he would have wanted you to keep moving forward.”
Khaslana lowered his head. “What if I fail him again?” The question came out in such a quiet murmur that it almost sounded as though he were speaking to himself.
“Think of it this way. The best way mortals become immortal is through the people they leave behind. If someone loved you, then a part of that love continues to exist within you. And when you give that love to someone else, it keeps moving forward,” Cyrene replied with a gentle smile. “Perhaps that's the kind of immortality meant for mortals.”
Khaslana did not answer.
He remained seated in silence, his shoulders tense, with grief still clinging to him like a shadow.
Cyrene did not press him further. She decided to stay by his side until four hours had passed and Khaslana opened his eyes again.
After that night, Khaslana began wearing the Flame Reaver's mask all the time.
-
The first attempts were the closest thing to an organized disaster that Cyrene had managed in centuries.
Hysilens' plan was reasonable on paper: before exposing Khaslana to someone with the right resemblance, they needed information. They needed to understand what kind of world that Mydeimos would come from. How he would process Amphoreus. Whether the differences between that person and the king Khaslana remembered were manageable, or if they would only end up hurting him even more.
Cyrene agreed. It was the most reasonable approach.
What she had not accounted for was what it meant in practice.
Because Khaslana was the one opening the portals. It had always been his ability, not hers, and that meant every attempt was also his decision. Cyrene could point, suggest, or direct their attention with a glance. But opening and closing the portals depended entirely on him.
And Khaslana was present for every single attempt.
Not because she invited him.
He just appeared, the same way he had been appearing everywhere since the king's death, like a presence that did not ask permission because it had no need to. Cyrene learned to detect him by the slight shift in the air's temperature, by the way shadows behaved just a little differently when he was nearby.
At first, she thought participating in the process would help him prepare himself mentally.
Later, Cyrene realized that was not it at all.
The first person who arrived never made it past the first room.
Not because they refused.
It was because Khaslana closed the portal before they could even try.
Cyrene did not see the exact moment. She only felt that strange silence growing too heavy, and when she looked back, the portal was already gone. Khaslana stood in the center of the empty room with a completely blank expression.
“It wasn't him,” he said, as though that explained everything.
Cyrene did not argue. Technically, he was right, and Khaslana looked far too tense for her to ask what exactly he had heard when he read that person's thoughts.
The second person never made it past the first room either, though for reasons Cyrene understood much better. They arrived with a level of hostility she had not anticipated, asking questions that were far too specific about Khaslana's nature, his limits, and what would happen if someone discovered a way to contain him. Cyrene calmly answered the first two questions with small lies.
There was no third question. Khaslana shoved the person away and closed the portal with such speed that the air in the room shifted violently.
That night, a small earthquake struck eastern Amphoreus. Cyrene did not ask.
The third person made it farther, reaching the hallway, and ended up having a long conversation with Cyrene about the world, alchemy marks, and the dome that covered Castrum Kremnos.
They were observant and asked genuinely good questions.
Cyrene learned more from that conversation than she expected, mainly that someone from that world could adapt to Amphoreus' language relatively quickly if given the proper context.
But when that person saw Khaslana's shadow pass across the far end of the corridor, they froze for several seconds before calmly stating that they would rather go back.
Khaslana did nothing. He simply looked at them.
Sometimes, that alone was enough. The portal closed in silence.
The fourth person lasted the longest, and they were also the one who left Cyrene the most uneasy. They knew the game far better than any of the others. They had played enough routes to move through the mansion with a confidence Cyrene had not expected. For nearly an entire day, it seemed as though it might work. They responded well, did not panic, and even managed to ignore Khaslana's presence with a determination Cyrene found surprising.
Until they began asking questions about the cult and about Anaxagoras.
Not out of academic curiosity. Cyrene listened carefully to their desires, and it seemed they just wanted to exploit the situation somehow. Information about Amphoreus. Information about Khaslana's powers. Something they could sell or use back in their own world. And there was also the fact that they seemed to like Anaxagoras… A little too much.
Before Cyrene could decide how to handle the situation, Khaslana had already closed the portal after kicking the person in the face and sending them back to their own world.
Khaslana said nothing that time.
He walked away down the hallway in silence.
Cyrene merely sighed in response.
That night, she spent some time thinking about the conversation she had shared with Cipher during the planning stage, and about the promise she still had not truly been able to speak aloud. Most people did not even want to listen. Some arrived with their minds already made up from the beginning. Others arrived with intentions that Khaslana detected before Cyrene could even form an opinion.
And Khaslana continued waiting, carrying that expression grief gave him whenever it could find no other way to express itself except through rain.
When Cyrene found Mydei, she studied him before saying anything to Khaslana.
She examined his desires with the focus she had refined over weeks and found the combination she had learned to look for: genuine discomfort with his own world, curiosity that had not faded despite everything, and no intention beyond just wanting to be somewhere else.
Then she looked at the monitor screen.
The game was paused at the exact moment the marks of the warrior of Castrum Kremnos burned with crimson light. And in the corner was the username: Polemos600
Cyrene was not a creature prone to premonitions. Yet there was something about that name, freely chosen by a stranger who should not have known the surname of the King of Castrum Kremnos, that made the crystal moon above Amphoreus flicker once with hope.
She signaled Khaslana with a glance.
This time, he did not hesitate.
What Cyrene had not anticipated was what happened after the portal opened.
In every previous attempt, Khaslana had maintained a certain distance. Cyrene had learned to interpret it as him choosing not to react yet.
Perhaps naively, she had assumed the process had prepared him for this moment. That repetition had accustomed him to the possibility that every portal might become another disappointment, even while he kept his expectations low about whether the right person would ever truly appear.
She was wrong.
Because when Mydei appeared on the mansion bed and she spoke words she had written herself, Cyrene heard a scream from Khaslana, who was standing behind her at that very moment.
It was brief and involuntary. In any other being, it would have been nothing more than a startled gasp. But coming from Khaslana, it resonated in a way Cyrene felt through the crystal, through the moon above Amphoreus, through every fragment of him scattered across the world.
Hopefully, only Cyrene noticed it. Given her level of power, no one else should have been able to feel it.
Khaslana withdrew so quickly that by the time Mydei sat up on the bed, there was no trace of him left anywhere in the crystal chamber where Cyrene stood.
Fortunately, Mydei only knew that both the crystal and Cyrene were in the room. Perhaps he would interpret the sound as something coming from the crystal itself. Cyrene didn't mind being blamed for it.
She continued speaking in the most cheerful tone she could manage while part of her attention remained fixed on Khaslana and what she had just heard. That scream had been the most vivid expression she had heard from him in a very long time. She genuinely didn’t know whether that was a good sign or not.
Khaslana's behavior was something Cyrene didn't know how to define; he had been closing portals without hesitation for weeks, and this time he hadn't closed anything, but had moved to look at Mydei more closely.
Then Khaslana removed the Flame Reaver's mask after weeks of never taking it off and smiled at Mydei. Cyrene's worries eased, and a gentle smile appeared on her face.
She began writing down the instructions she and Khaslana had planned together, the things he wanted to do when they finally found the Mydei from another world. After all, they were trying to save both the stability of a world and his friend.
-
Mydei's question kept circling through Cyrene's mind. To her, it sounded just as absurd as those human debates about which came first: the chicken or the egg. Except in this case, the question was far more unsettling.
Which came first? The video game... or Amphoreus?
Cyrene preferred to believe that they were simply parallel universes that had somehow become connected. As far as she knew, Phainon had reached a similar conclusion. It was much easier to accept that than to consider the alternative.
The possibility that... What if Nameless Faces was not merely a representation of this world? What if it had actually been a game that, at some point, became self-aware?
Anaxagoras would probably find such a conversation fascinating. He would spend hours constructing impossible theories with that obsessive gleam in his eyes that appeared whenever something sparked his academic curiosity. But Cyrene preferred not to bring the subject up with the scholar, not while there was a chance Khaslana might overhear them.
The last thing she needed was for him to suffer an existential crisis as well.
Once Khaslana calmed down and the tectonic plates stopped trembling in sync with the pain piercing his chest, Cyrene finally leaned back in her seat and let out a long sigh.
Sometimes she wondered whether she should have tried other methods.
Whether she had truly exhausted every possibility before making such extreme decisions.
But she always ended up telling herself the same thing: she had to remain steadfast. After all, she had made those decisions for the sake of the humans she had come to know and cherish over the centuries.
Khaslana, at least, was a being capable of living in harmony with them. Not every cosmic entity could say the same.
Cyrene narrowed her eyes.
Sometimes she wondered whether that pink-haired young woman who used to support Peach would be proud of her.
It was a shame that she had died before Khaslana arrived. Perhaps he could have saved her from that human illness, one so insignificant to beings like them. At least her memory still lived on, and Cyrene continued to wear the name she had given her with pride.
Even so, she could not help wondering what that girl would think if she could see her now.
Would she be proud of her? Or would she be horrified by everything that was happening?
Perhaps she would even agree with Cipher, accusing Cyrene of cruelty for dragging people from other worlds merely to solve Khaslana's problem.
But the truth was that it no longer mattered whether she found the answer or not.
Peach had died so long ago that the world she had lived in no longer existed in the same way. Her opinions, her values, her way of seeing things, all of it belonged to a version of Amphoreus that Cyrene could barely reconstruct from memory. Wondering what she would have thought was like trying to read the reflection of something that was no longer standing before the mirror.
There was no possible answer.
Cyrene closed her eyes for a few seconds and then opened them again.
She glanced up at the crystal ceiling of the room for a moment before turning her attention to the pink-haired girl seated beside her.
"Could you send me back home?" March asked. Although she tried to sound firm, there was a trace of nervousness in her voice.
Cyrene gave her a tired smile. "I need you to do me a small favor. Come with me to Aedes Elysiae and speak with three people. After that, you'll be able to go home."
March frowned slightly. "And what exactly am I supposed to tell them?"
Without answering immediately, Cyrene stood up and picked up a sheet of paper from among several nearby documents. Then she handed it to her.
"Nothing too complicated. I just want to keep a certain distance from one of those people. You'll be fine. I won't leave you alone."
March accepted the list and nodded after reading the names written on it, along with the topics she was supposed to discuss with each person.
Even so, Cyrene could tell that it had not completely eased her anxiety. Her shoulders remained tense, and her eyes kept shifting between the list and Cyrene, as if she were searching for some additional reassurance she did not quite know how to ask for.
Cyrene turned her attention back to the projection where she had been watching Mydei and Khaslana. She remained silent for several seconds, studying the images before letting out a faint sigh.
Then she dismissed the projection and turned back toward March.
The girl was still holding the list with both hands and wore that familiar expression of someone who did not fully understand what they had gotten themselves into, yet had already decided to move forward anyway.
Cyrene understood her far better than March could possibly imagine.