The white void was not a place. It was a pause, a breath between collapses, a silence so vast it could contain universes within itself. Apollo stood at its center, a figure carved from light, his white hair still as a statue, his pale eyes reflecting nothing—not because there was nothing, but because all meaning was too thin to reflect. Cycelia stood before him, her back straight, but a tremor ran through her fingers.

  “How are they progressing?” Cycelia asked, her voice careful, measured, as if too loud would shatter the void.

  Apollo did not turn. He stared into a space that was not space. “Statistically,” he replied, his voice as smooth as the absence around them, “no. They are still weak.”

  Cycelia’s jaw tightened. “Then why am I training them?” The question hung between them, as sharp as a blade, as if cutting the thin air.

  Before Apollo could answer, a voice sliced in from behind them, lazy but caustic. “Yeah, and why do I have to help these vixens?” Alice stood at the edge of the void, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips, her eyes glinting with something more dangerous than boredom.

  Apollo turned just enough to acknowledge her. “Because there is nothing else for you to pursue. You already embody perfection for darkness.”

  Alice’s lips curled slowly, a blush rising in her cheeks, but not one of modesty. It was a hunger, a wildness that thirsted for affirmation. “Well,” she whispered, as if the words were a secret only the void could hear, “if you really mean it, then I’ll do it.”

  Apollo nodded, a slight curve in his lips that was neither approval nor dismissal. “To answer your question, Cycelia,” he continued, his gaze distant, “even if they fail, we will succeed.”

  Cycelia frowned. “What do you mean?”

  The white void shuddered, a tremor like a whisper of destruction.

  “This,” Apollo said, his voice now taut, “is an error.”

  Before another word could form, Mira came rushing in, her movements desperate, disoriented. “What was that?” she cried, eyes darting.

  In the distance, Ryka and Serenith halted their training, breathless, fear prickling at the base of their spines.

  “Serenith, what was that?” Ryka asked, her voice a thin thread.

  Serenith shook her head, eyes wide. “I have no clue.”

  Apollo stepped forward, raising his hand, as if he could still command silence from reality itself. “Everyone, prepare for a jump. Time is fracturing; the time has come. Each of you will face your designated battle—”

  His sentence never finished. The void swallowed his words.

  Suddenly, Serenith and Ryka were ripped from the void, hurled like stones into a golden hall. Windows encircled them, but what lay outside was no world—they were kaleidoscopes of realities, spinning, merging, fracturing into one another—possibility manifesting as a visual storm. And in the center, eight pillars of light stood sentinel, unwavering.

  But for Alice, Mira, and Cycelia, the world splintered

  Alice, Mira, and Cycelia were thrust from the white void into the Abyss—a realm so alien it breathed in impossible ways. It was neither dark nor light; it was a negative space where every fear had a name, and every regret had a shape. Cycelia collapsed to her knees, as if her body couldn’t withstand the weight of the origin itself.

  “We’re in the Abyss,” she whispered, her voice cracking like a brittle branch. “Stay on guard. This realm is the highest dimension—where all creation began.”

  Alice and Mira stiffened, rising together as if the gravity of this plane could be fought off with sheer will. They took their stances, shoulders squared, waiting for the shadows that they knew were coming.

  Two weeks before this moment, the King had stood in his throne room, his voice as measured as a funeral drum. “The Everlight King has awakened,” he announced, and at that word, reality began to crack. Cause and effect unraveled; time no longer obeyed itself. Yet, somehow, despite this collapse, distant footsteps still echoed—click, click, click

  The King summoned his sword, Hansoku, but even as the blade emerged in a flash of light, it trembled in his grasp. The attack should have landed—a strike swift enough to sever time. But he blocked, barely. His eyes met the Everlight King’s, and the air between them tightened like a coil.

  “That power does not exude from you,” the Everlight King said, his voice a blade of accusation. “Who possesses this power?”

  The King’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening around the hilt. “You’re right. That power belongs to someone who far surpasses us.”

  Silence blanketed the space, a vacuum so thick it swallowed even thought. Then the King, breathing like a man who had carried worlds on his back, exhaled, “Let’s have a truce—until this threat is eliminated.”

  The Everlight King’s smile was a sharp curve in a storm. “I will kill you once he is dead.”

  The King scoffed, his voice a low snarl. “Hmph.”

  And so, silence returned, a silent accord wrapped in the tension of inevitability.

  Back in the present, the Abyss roared. One of the seven shadows surged forward like a broken promise, but Mira was faster. She intercepted it, and the shockwave sent them all stumbling. As the dust settled, the truth emerged—each of the seven shadows wore a school uniform, their faces young, their bodies familiar, as if ripped from a forgotten past.

  Alice scoffed, a brittle laugh escaping her lips. “This king is truly cruel, isn’t he? Imagine if those vixens had seen this; they would have had a tantrum.”

  Mira, breathing heavily, was already holding off three shadows, but her arms trembled, her movements faltering. “I can’t keep up,” she grunted.

  Alice’s eyes glinted. “Cycelia, you know this isn’t my job—to protect you.”

  Cycelia’s lips curved, half a smirk, half a tremor. “You know you love it.”

  But the Abyss was not kind to Everlights. Cycelia’s legs buckled, the weight of the realm draining her, pulling her down like gravity rewritten. A shadow moved, silent as a predator, creeping toward Mira.

  Cycelia cried out, her voice raw, “The Abyss shall cease to be!” Light flared, fragile but fierce, and in that moment, the Abyss obeyed her. A wave of energy swelled inside her, and with one final cry, she unleashed it—“Fall!”—and the shadow that had slunk toward Mira crumpled, like a broken line of code, collapsing to nothing.

  But the fifth shadow was faster, a serpent coiled in darkness. It lunged at Cycelia, but Alice laughed, a brittle, manic sound. “Isn’t this lovely?” she sneered, the madness glittering in her eyes. “Your chaos, your darkness—let it all be mine.” And the Abyss obeyed her, pulling the fifth shadow away as if it never existed; the other three, who had been locked in combat with Mira, faltered, backing away as if the very fabric of the Abyss recoiled.

  But the seven shadows spoke in unison, their voices no longer hesitant. “This is not good. We must eradicate them.”

  The shadows accelerated, their movements a blur, an avalanche of despair.

  “I can’t keep up,” Mira cried, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  Shadow one snarled, its voice a razor. “Die.”

  Mira’s heart beat once—one sharp, thunderous thump—then, like a candle blown out, it ceased. Silence devoured her. Cycelia gasped, her voice caught between a scream and a sob. “Damn it,” she whispered, the word raw, jagged in her throat.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Alice, her breathing sharp, barely able to stand, glanced toward Cycelia. Her arm bled, a thin line of crimson seeping from her skin. “Fuck,” Alice muttered, her voice a tremor beneath steel. The seven shadows sensed it; they surged faster, hungrier.

  Shadow two lunged, and Cycelia barely reacted, caught off guard. She was flung backward, her body weightless, crashing like a broken tide. The shadow turned toward Alice, its hunger now fixated.

  “This isn’t good,” Alice muttered, her voice strained as she forced the Abyss to bend to her will. She twisted the fabric of reality, dodging the shadow’s strike by a hair’s breadth. But her edge was slipping; every dodge cost her more strength, and Cycelia struggled to rise, her limbs heavy as stone. A shadow came at Cycelia again, but Alice warped the Abyss once more, and the punch ceased to be—frozen in a moment that should never have existed.

  “Stay down,” Alice hissed, her voice a blade of command. “You’re just in the way.”

  Cycelia froze, her chest tight, her vision blurring with the image of Mira’s lifeless body. In that instant, time folded inside her. She saw the past—the King, the war, the moment she pleaded.

  “King,” Cycelia whispered, her voice a trembling thread. “Please stop this war. This wasn’t our land. We can leave.”

  But the Everlight King’s answer rang like a funeral bell: “Silence. I shall not back down, even if it costs my life.”

  Cycelia ran, her feet pounding like desperate prayers, until she stood at the foot of the human King’s castle, her breath a broken rhythm. Guards appeared, steel clashing, eyes wide with fear. “Everlight!” one cried, raising a blade.

  “I’m not here to fight,” Cycelia whispered, her voice a fragile glass. “Please, take me to your king. I’ll cuff myself. I don’t want to fight.”

  The guards hesitated, their fear a wall between them. But then, one stepped forward—Rei Val Noct, his presence quiet but commanding. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension. “Let her in.”

  “But sir Noct—” one guard protested.

  “No,” Rei Val said, his gaze steady, unyielding. “I repeat, you will bring her to me. I will take her to the King.”

  Cycelia followed him, uncertain, each step heavier than the last. And when they reached the throne room, the King was waiting—his eyes sharp, his voice flat. “I see you’ve done as you pleased, Noct.”

  Rei Val inclined his head. “Perhaps.”

  “And you brought an Everlight here,” the King said, his tone a blade edge. Cycelia’s breath caught. She stepped forward, her voice a whisper, “Human King, please end this battle. Our people do not wish to fight. Our king is too stubborn to listen to reason.”

  The King looked at her, his voice cold as ice. “No.”

  Cycelia trembled, her entire body threatening to collapse under the weight of his refusal. “But why?” she cried, her voice raw. “Why won’t you stop?”

  The King’s eyes were unblinking. “The King controls his people, but it is also the people who control their King. Take accountability for your people’s weakness.”

  Cycelia bowed her head, the weight of his words a chain on her spine. She didn’t protest, though her soul cracked

  Cycelia took a steadying breath, though inside, every word from the King was a knife slicing through her resolve. “Then can you assist me in ending our King?” she asked, her voice a ghost, barely carrying. “I’ll work for you, with unyielding loyalty.”

  The King considered her, his eyes like flint. “Interesting offer. Perhaps you will be useful.”

  Rei Val Noct, ever the careful strategist, stepped forward, his voice calm but unwavering. “If I may, King, I will keep her in check. And if she is a traitor, I will take full responsibility.”

  Cycelia’s eyes widened, a flash of panic, but Rei Val met her gaze, steadying her with a silent promise. She wanted to protest, but she couldn’t. “It’s fine,” Rei Val said, and in that moment, his words were an anchor dragging her back from the edge of defiance.

  The King nodded slowly. “Very well. I will help you, then. But know this—if you falter, the entire balance shatters.”

  The present fractured again, pulling Cycelia from memory back into the Abyss. Her legs trembled, weakness threatening to swallow her whole. “It’s all happening again,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I’m useless when it matters.”

  In her fading vision, the specter of Rei Val Noct smiled, but only in a memory—a smile that held a thousand untold sorrows. “I’m sorry,” Cycelia whispered, her voice now a broken hymn. “I can’t. I’m just not enough.”

  Alice staggered, her breathing heavy, blood trailing down her arm. But even as her strength waned, she wasn’t ready to give up. The shadows circled, calculating, their voices a chorus of inevitability: “Eradication almost 100%.”

  “Sorry, Apollo,” Alice muttered, as if the word itself were a knife twisting in her chest. Images of school days flooded her mind, watching Apollo from the back of every class, a silent obsession. But now, with each heartbeat, another shockwave rippled through the Abyss.

  “What is that sound?” Alice whispered, her breath catching. And then, like a ghost rising from the grave, Mira’s body began to move. She rose, as if the Abyss no longer had a claim on her.

  “The shadows—stop her from awakening!” they shrieked, but they rushed now toward Mira. She moved with an impossible grace, an energy neither angelic nor abyssal. It took shape—cat paws of light and darkness, tails formed from pure energy. Then, a final shockwave erupted, and all the shadows stumbled back, as if the very laws of the Abyss cracked.

  Alice stared, her voice a rasp. “Is that you, Mira?”

  Mira grinned weakly, her voice almost teasing. “Did I die? Cool.”

  Alice, still reeling, reached for Cycelia, her voice urgent. “Hey, get up. Come on, get up.”

  But Cycelia froze, her mind splintering with memories of pain, of loss. She muttered, “Noct…” as if his name was a lifeline thrown across a chasm.

  Mira gasped, her body on the verge of collapse, but her spirit surged as she darted forward, moving on all fours with a speed that defied the laws of the Abyss. Each swipe, each scratch she unleashed was like a storm made of light and fury—the shadows reeled, barely able to counter. Then, with a sudden flash, Mira launched an energy ball—a pure strike of void light—and it hit one of the shadows dead on, causing the Abyss to crack, a thin line of reality fracturing.

  Mira stared in disbelief, a flicker of awe breaking through her exhaustion. “Wow,” she whispered, breathless. “Did I do that?”

  Alice, still trembling, sprinted toward Cycelia, her eyes fierce despite her wavering strength. “Hey,” she snapped, grabbing Cycelia’s shoulders. “Get the hell up.”

  But Cycelia didn’t move; she stayed frozen, stunned by the weight of her own weakness, her lips barely forming a name. “Noct,” she murmured, like a broken prayer.

  Mira looked back, fear tightening her chest. “Umm, guys,” she called out, her voice wavering, “they’re getting stronger—I need help.”

  Alice nodded, her focus sharpening despite the fatigue dragging her down. “All right, I hear you.” But Cycelia was trapped in a tempest inside her mind—a flood of memories, of torture inflicted on her people, of the cold aftermath of Rei Val Noct’s death. And so, she screamed. Her cry was raw, primal, a fracture in reality—tremors rattled the Abyss, and Alice was thrown back, sent sprawling by the force.

  Alice snarled, scrambling to her feet. “This bitch,” she spat, her eyes blazing with fury, “fine—I’ve been meaning to kick your ass.”

  Cycelia surged forward, her fists a blur, a storm of punches, and Alice countered every strike, each blow a clash that echoed in the collapsing world. “Fall!” Cycelia screamed, and for a heartbeat, Alice dropped to her knees, her strength evaporating. But as Cycelia raised her fist for the final blow, a voice whispered inside her mind—Rei Val Noct.

  “Cycelia,” he said, his voice like a distant bell, “no matter what happens, don’t lose yourself. For if you lose yourself, you lose everything.”

  Cycelia froze, her body trembling at the weight of his words. She saw his face, worn by a life that had borne too many burdens, and suddenly the world stopped spinning.

  (Back to the present)

  Tears burned in Cycelia’s eyes, and her voice cracked. “I’m sorry—I lost myself.”

  Alice looked up, her face a mix of exhaustion and relief. “You think I’m mad? I’m just glad you’re back.”

  Cycelia nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, me too—wait, is that Mira?”

  Alice’s head snapped up. “No time to explain—we need to help her.”

  Mira staggered, her energy spent, but as Alice and Cycelia caught her, she managed a weak smile. “About time,” she breathed. “Now, how do we stop them? They just keep regenerating.”

  Cycelia’s mind raced, heavy with grief but also clarity. “We have to hit them all at once—an attack that will erase them from existence. Do you have anything like that?”

  Alice, her breathing ragged, nodded slightly. “I have one,” she said, her voice barely a thread. “But if I use it, I may die. I’ll use my body as a conduit—harness the energy of the void, and then I’ll release it.”

  Of course. Let’s carry that weight forward with the same intensity.

  Cycelia’s eyes burned with a fierce determination, despite the exhaustion that coiled inside her. “I’ll ensure you don’t die,” she promised, her voice a steel thread. “Trust me.”

  Mira nodded, determination flickering in her tired eyes. “I’ll keep them distracted,” she said, her voice a quiet storm. Alice gave a tight nod, her face pale, as Mira darted forward, a blur of motion, pulling the shadows away.

  Then, Alice knelt, and with every ragged breath, she began to absorb the Abyss. Her body shuddered, each inhalation a battle against her own fragility. Cycelia, still reeling, dropped to one knee beside her. “I got you,” she vowed, her voice like a blade cutting through air. “Death does not exist when I am here.”

  Alice’s breathing faltered, but a faint glow began to stir within her. The Abyss, drawn to her, began to yield. She gained a spark of strength, but not enough—not yet. Alice gritted her teeth, pushing herself beyond every limit. “Mira, move now!” she gasped, her voice a thin razor.

  Alice reached deep inside herself, her fingers trembling. “You never existed,” she whispered, and as the words left her lips, a violent wave of energy swirled around the seven shadows. They screamed, struggled, but the attack locked them in place, pulling them downward, swallowing them whole, erasing every trace.

  But then Alice collapsed, her body too frail to withstand the tide. “Alice!” Mira screamed, her voice a jagged cry, frantic as she reached out. “Alice! ALICE!” Cycelia’s voice joined in, a desperate echo, “ALICE! ALICE!” The Abyss trembled beneath them, but this time, silence followed—a fragile pause as if reality held its breath, waiting to see if Alice would come back from the edge.