Mikoto walked.
His steps were soundless, swallowed by the endless void beneath him. There was no ground, no sky, no wind—just an infinite abyss, stretching endlessly in every direction. A blackness so absolute it felt alive, pressing against his skin, wrapping around his limbs like a silent, invisible force.
Yet, despite the consuming darkness, he remained untouched—a solitary figure within the void, moving forward with no destination, no purpose.
His armor gleamed faintly under an invisible light. But there was no helmet to obscure his face.
His white hair was wild and free, tumbling to his shoulders in an untamed mess, stark against the abyss that surrounded him. It swayed gently as he walked, despite the absence of any wind. It made him stand out. A pale, ethereal specter cutting through the eternal darkness.
