Abnormalities are the whispers of the world and the Existences. Yet the sleep-talking of Nameless came alive.

  “Nameless!” he yelled. Nothing answered. Her chest moved rhythmically, slowly breathing like a napping cat.

  Her creations were protecting her, not letting him take any step further. He swung the sword despite this, the creatures did not bleed. It felt like cutting through the air.

  Suiming could feel the anchor of the River of Abyss was slowly fading as he felt pain coming from the deepest part of his mind. The longer he stayed here, the worse it became. He could feel his eyes wobbling like they were falling out. There were a few minutes left for it to be gone completely.

  The shield created by the Outsider was still shining its chains of words as it did.

  Abominations of Nameless’ Realm-art crept around him as if he were a tasty treat to them. His hand clung to the sword, but his body was almost collapsing, yet no weapon made him feel the slightest sense of safety.

  He knows what Nameless is capable of and how much she refuses to use that raw, untamed, and blind power.

  Bubbles that he couldn’t say if it was eyes and limbs that could be hardly called so stretched around his shield. Suiming swallowed. Nameless was near his reach, yet he could not bypass the wicked creations of her. These things were used to fight alongside him. The distance that was only arm’s length felt like the distance from Earth to the heavens.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw something. Someone, to be exact. A man in a robe. His black hair slipped out of his hood as his chest and arms were punched through. He was too out of place, standing out as if he were a bright star in the darkest nights. His legs and arms looked weak, almost bending, purple eyes were without any life or hope in them.

  Suiming recognized him. The first Mephisto. Before he could question why he was here, the First Mephisto spoke first:

  “…Did the future have a place for you?”

  Right as Suiming was about to ask for an answer, the First Mephisto’s body melted as if it were ice under the sun. Right as his face sank into the ground, he said:

  “Oh dear, oh dear. Look in the mirror. Look at it. How has immortality turned you into? This…lowly, earthly being. Can’t you see like you used to? The answer is not always ahead of you, darling.”

  Save them. If you can’t save them all, then save one

  His voice echoed. Suiming looked towards Nameless. Usually, he would not take any advice from the First Mephisto, but this time it left him with no choice.

  “…The answer is not ahead of me?”

  Before he could understand what it meant, a crack appeared on his shield. When he was about to mend with his Realm-art, an idea struck him.

  “I hope she won’t be mad at me-” he muttered as he leaped towards the pile of unearthed things while bearing the immense pain. His leg was bleeding even more, the pain was deep in his bones. But he carried on.

  The power of Fosfor paved a narrow way for him as he felt her protection was weaker. There were only a few seconds left. The claws of those creatures broke in, reaching toward him.

  Suiming aimed the azure blade as he crashed through the unseen colors and unnamed beings that whispered the sleep-talk of no one.

  Through the abominations, he saw only peace and calmness. Solitude of a thousand years. Right as he felt he was going to collapse at any moment like the mirage of the First Mephisto, he stabbed Nameless with Seren’s sword right as the creature pierced through his abdomen.

  Blood stained her white clothes as a few fleeing drops of it reflected Suiming’s doubtful and tear-stained face. The blood rolled in the air, feeling, and somehow, Suiming thought it looked excited. Excited to be free again.

  The silence for less than a second felt like an eternity until it was broken by a cough. At first, Suiming thought he had misheard, then came another cough while the creatures’ colors faded.

  ….

  Nameless

  She felt something was missing. Her life shouldn’t be this way, not being someone who lives in a damp, dark castle. It had everything, food cooked right for her, beds just soft enough for her to sleep soundly, a personal library with the books she could read for her entire life, it even had an observatory yet despite all of those things, there was not a single mirror, not even a place where waters could rest. Every day, there was a spike in the back of her heart, a sourness in her head telling her that this was not it. Questions asked by herself, yet no one could answer, as if she were whispering to the stars.

  I do not belong here. This is not where I should be, this is not my home. Where is home?

  So she lived there, waking up by the out-of-tune scream of what she thought were birds, by the bells rung by her servants.

  She did not know how much time had passed. The walls were beyond where her eyes could see the end, and not even the chimney smoke could be seen in the winter. In the garden stood a wicked large oak, by its side grew white, never watered yet somehow still standing lilies. In the damp and dark castle, it is one of the places that makes her feel a sense of comfort, as if it is the only place she truly belongs. As she lived, she began to wonder what was beyond the walls, dreaming about what she had read, but the servants would always stop her before she could find a vine or before she could break the paper window.

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  She stood there again. Staring at the rotten leaf pile as if staring into a pit full of amber. As her eyes wandered, an injured raven fell from somewhere. She looked up as she bent down and picked the hurt beast up.

  Warmth was dripping from her hands. What is this thing dripping on my hand? Is it blood?

  The bird let out a loud croak from its mouth as a piece of glass fell out of it. Nameless, looking at the wound, she felt something fuzzy in her chest like a lost coin in her pocket. Something she had only felt for the oak when its leaves fell out and the lily flowers when she accidentally stomped on them. A feeling that she felt was long forgotten.

  The wound looked terrible to her eye. It had to be something of pure power and might for it to be such hurt. Its bones were all in the wrong places as if what hurt it was not of this world.

  Before she could realize the feeling in her, the warmth dripped faster, and eventually, the raven was gone. The only trace was the small piece of glass and her hand, full of what she thought to be blood. That glass fell out of her hand, onto the ground, and was never seen again.

  The servants would not speak to her, after all, she had never heard them speak, nor eat, nor even see them cleaning the castle as if they only existed when she needed them. Such wanderlust and curiosity started to devour her. As she was eating dinner, cutting the sauced meat with a dark metal knife on a rough-textured plate, a servant walked past her.

  She grabbed the servant by the neck, pushed them to a wall, and stabbed the knife into what she thought to be a heart. She yelled and cursed, questioned and threatened for an answer, yet there was nothing. Nameless pushed the knife in and pulled it out like she was mimicking her own heartbeat that she believed was long stopped.

  The servant did not bleed. They made no sound as they left with a hole in their robe.

  Nameless wandered into the courtyard, standing by the oak and the lilies. As the moon and the stars started to rise in places her eyes could not see, she went to sleep, but before she opened the door back into the castle’s inside, she found a vine.

  In the night, she woke up. Crawling out of her bed as she held a candle. She yawned as she looked around for any servants working in the night. Nameless walked through the damp and dark hallways, avoiding any footsteps, passed the cloth-covered sculptures to the kitchen, like when she needed a midnight snack, grabbed a bottle of oil, and headed out to the garden. Wind kissed her gently as she walked barefoot to the wall. Nameless found a vine again. She poured the oil around her as she grabbed the dark vine, holding the candle with her mouth while the hot wax dripped onto her nightdress.

  As she ascended on it, she heard the rapid, unstopping footsteps and screeches, croaking of the servants. Right as they were about to climb the vine, she let the candle fall onto the ground, and the flame shone.

  Nameless smirked as she climbed.

  She did not know how long the time had passed, but it was getting cold in her nightdress. The higher she went, the ruder the wind felt. Breeze howled and screamed into her ears while she ascended. The vines are slippery, but she held even harder onto them, ignoring the bruises and blood on her palm.

  At last, she stood on the edge of the castle wall, feeling the fresh air. The night sky was embroidered with stars, and the moon was shining bright and round. Nameless strolled on the castle wall as she laughed out of joy. Beyond the walls were the forests she had read about in the books. Stars and moon showed Nameless the colors of trees and ground, the dark mountains and ink-dark rivers.

  She walked to the end of the wall and found a stand covered by a black cloth. Curious, she pulled the cloth down. The silk-smooth cloth fell from her hand as she realized what the stand was.

  It was a mirror, just like the thing she had read about in books. In it, she saw a creature with a pair of yellow eyes, smooth skin, and long, straight white hair. Standing on two limbs and two other long limbs attached to what appeared to be a torso.

  While she took a step back as she was frightened by what an unbelievably terrifying thing it was, she stepped onto a sharp rock.

  Then she realized that the creature was herself.

  “Do you still think you belong here?” a strange, unfamiliar voice said as a creature similar to her that she saw in the mirror walked from behind. It spoke of a language she did not know, yet somehow she understood it.

  It wore a robe stained by a red liquid.

  “Who are you?” Nameless said in that language.

  “Me? Oh, darling, aren’t you tired from this game of princess and servants?” it said carelessly as it approached Nameless.

  “Come on, the survivor of Yel, can you even recall your name?”

  Nameless stuttered. She searched every corner of her memory, everything, every word she read from the books, every recipe, and every position of the constellations, even the names of the seas on the moon.

  “I a-am-”

  “Y-you are the…” Nameless said.

  “Can’t recall your own name yet, trying to say mine?”

  “You are The First Mephisto-”

  “Well done. Now wake the hell up,” it said, taking off its robe. The red on its chest faded as it took its hand out of its pocket. Before Nameless reacted to anything, she felt a cold sting in her chest.

  “Before I go, do you think the future has a place for you?” The First Mephisto whispered in her ear as he pushed the dagger deeper.

  Every war has its victim…who is my victim? Nameless thought.

  Nameless could not respond, only coughing.

  Everything faded to nothing as her eyes closed.

  The darkness broke and healed again and again. What was nothing now was taken up by the darkness of the sky. Dotted with stars.

  She noticed a raven in the distance, standing next to a tabby cat. The cat slept there with its belly pointing to the sky as the raven cleaned its feathers. Both of them had scars that seemed to have healed.

  Nameless felt the weight on her chest as she slowly curled her body upwards. It was a paper bag. Nameless opened it and took a bite of the compressed pastry. Although the crisp and the texture were mostly gone, it felt tastier than what she had eaten in that long, long dream woven by what she couldn’t comprehend. What the servants in that dream cooked felt bland and unreal compared to the unrecognizable piece of mushed-together pastry in her mouth.

  “Slept in, huh? How was your bed? Soft?” a voice said in Yellian. It was familiar, unheard in years, yet when she heard the first syllable, it felt like they had just seen each other yesterday.