[Earth – The Solstice Family House, Late Afternoon]
The white light appeared without a sound.
Not like lightning, nor like loud magic—
but silent, as if the space in front of Mireya's room had been slowly split open.
The air in the corridor trembled faintly. The curtains inside her room swayed gently, even though there was no wind.
Within the light, a silhouette stood.
Slender. Upright.
Wavy blond hair brushing her shoulders.
Then the light shrank, fading like mist being drawn back into the world.
The floor felt solid again.
The air grew heavy once more.
And Mireya stood right in front of her bedroom door.
Her shoulders rose and fell softly—signs of lingering tension that hadn't fully left her body.
A black cloth was still wrapped around her right eye.
Slowly, Mireya lifted her hand, opened the small sheath at her waist, and slid the tablet inside the drawer of the desk near the door.
Click.
The mechanical sound echoed clearly in the quiet room.
She paused.
Her eye—her sharp green left eye—swept across the room.
A wooden wardrobe.
A study desk.
A half-closed window, letting in slanted afternoon light.
"I'm… back," she murmured softly, almost as if reassuring herself.
She walked toward the bed. Her movements were light, controlled.
She removed a pair of silver pistols engraved with energy runes and placed them neatly on the mattress. The metal reflected the orange glow of dusk.
The karambit followed—placed parallel.
Never careless.
Always aligned.
And then—
A glimmer.
From the corner of her eye, Mireya caught a faint reflection in the tall mirror near the wardrobe.
A girl in combat attire. Slightly messy blond hair.
And… a black cloth covering her right eye.
She stopped.
Her body faced the bed, but her head slowly turned toward the mirror.
Mireya's gaze locked onto the reflection.
"…"
Silence.
The wall clock ticked softly.
Tick. Tick.
She raised her hand to her face. Her fingers touched the black cloth.
A moment of hesitation—her breath caught.
(If I open it…)
She pulled the cloth away slowly, as if afraid of what she herself might see.
The black cloth slipped free.
And her right eye opened.
A glowing X-shaped symbol appeared there—sharp lines, shining silver-white, as if carved directly into her iris.
The light wasn't blinding—but alive.
Pulsing gently, following the rhythm of her heart.
Mireya froze.
"What…" her voice faltered. "…is this?"
She stepped closer to the mirror. Her face drew nearer.
Her left eye narrowed, while her right eye—the one marked with the X—continued to glow.
(This is real.)
Her hand trembled slightly as she touched the glass.
Her fingertips were cold.
Not an illusion.
She swallowed.
An unfamiliar sensation spread through her chest—
a mix of awe and fear.
Suddenly—
Click.
The bedroom door opened.
Mireya turned reflexively.
Her father stood in the doorway.
He stopped after taking just one step inside.
Tall posture. Broad shoulders.
His dark gray home shirt slightly creased at the sleeves.
Hair beginning to gray, caught by the afternoon light.
His eyes widened.
That stern face—
for the first time—
cracked with shock.
"Ja—" his breath caught. "Jane…?"
Mireya fell silent.
Her brows knit together. Her head tilted slightly.
The glowing X in her eye reflected clearly in her father's pupils.
"…Who is Jane, Father?" she asked softly—but sharply.
He flinched, as if only then realizing what he had said.
He drew in a deep breath, his jaw tightening briefly before his expression smoothed back into calm—mature, controlled.
He stepped further inside and closed the door behind him with his right hand.
Click.
"You…" he said slowly, his voice lower.
"You've awakened the power of Atharlez, haven't you?"
Mireya blinked.
"Athar… what?"
She shook her head slightly.
"What is the power of Atharlez?"
Her father approached. His steps were calm, but his gaze was heavy—
as if carrying a long, burdensome past.
"The power of Atharlez," he said, his voice deep and clear,
"is one of the primordial powers of the world of Santara."
He stopped beside the study desk, placing his palm on it.
"It does not originate from nature. Not Ignis. Not Aqua. Not Lux."
He turned to look at Mireya.
"Atharlez comes from lineage."
Mireya held her breath.
"That is why," he continued,
"Atharlez can do things no other power or element can."
He raised a finger slightly, pointing toward Mireya's right eye.
"That X-shaped symbol… is its physical mark."
Mireya swallowed. Her hands slowly clenched at her sides.
"The bearer of Atharlez," her father went on,
"can revive the dead—
as long as no more than five minutes have passed."
Mireya's eyes widened slightly.
"And not only that," he added.
"Atharlez can learn elements, techniques, energy arts, movement patterns, aura rhythms… even high-level magic."
Her father smiled faintly—
a smile that wasn't entirely happy.
"It observes.
Understands.
Then imitates."
Mireya fell silent.
Then—the corner of her lips lifted slightly.
A faint smile.
But it faded quickly.
In her mind, another voice surfaced.
"…Yes. Because that symbol is a curse that must be—"
Ardelle's face flashed through her thoughts.
Her tone.
That cold gaze.
Mireya frowned. Her brows lowered. Her jaw tightened.
(So… maybe it's because I'm too strong.)
(That's why the guardians wanted to kill me.)
Her chest felt tight.
Her father noticed the change in her expression.
"…Earlier," he asked gently,
"How was it in the world of Santara?"
He paused.
"Do you still want to continue your mother's work?"
Mireya lifted her head.
Her gaze sharpened again.
Straight.
Unyielding.
"Yes," she answered without hesitation.
"I will use the power of Atharlez as best as I can."
Her father smiled.
This time—
warm.
Proud.
He turned and walked toward the door.
But—
"—Father."
His steps stopped.
Mireya stood in the middle of the room.
Her voice was softer now.
"Is my uncle's name… Abdullah Al-bahar Solstice?"
Her father went still.
Seconds passed.
The clock ticked.
Tick. Tick.
"Yes," he finally answered.
"Did you meet him?"
Mireya nodded slightly.
"Yes. And… he even took me as his student."
Her father closed his eyes briefly.
His breath left him slowly.
When he opened them again, his gaze was filled with warning.
"You must be careful in the world of Santara," he said.
"Because every step you take… will be tested by your uncle."
He opened the door and stepped out.
The door closed slowly.
Click.
Mireya stood alone.
Evening light streamed through the window.
The clock showed night was approaching.
She looked at her own hands.
Then at the mirror.
The X-shaped symbol in her eye was still glowing.
"…A trial, huh," she murmured softly.
Her hand clenched.
And dusk settled over her room.
---
[Earth – Zeydan Rothveil's Apartment, Late Afternoon]
The white light appeared silently in the middle of the small apartment.
Not a sharp flash—
but a gentle glow, like luminous mist slowly swirling in the air.
The curtains swayed softly, as if touched by an invisible breeze.
The wall clock continued ticking a stark contrast to the strangeness unfolding beneath it.
Within the light, a silhouette stood.
Then slowly…
the light thinned, dispersing like falling dust.
And Zeydan Rothveil stood there.
His combat boots tapped lightly against the wooden floor.
His black hair was slightly messy, his breath held for a moment—
like someone who had just returned from somewhere far… too far.
Zeydan's gaze swept rapidly across the room.
The apartment was small, but warm.
An old sofa in the corner.
A small table with a slightly faded cloth.
A desk lamp glowing dimly, casting soft shadows on the wall.
And on the chair near the window—
His mother.
Sitting still, wrapped in a thin blanket.
Her hands folded on her lap.
Her face pale, but her eyes open—
looking straight at Zeydan as if… she had been waiting all along.
"You're finally home."
Her voice was soft.
Slightly hoarse.
But warm.
Zeydan froze for a fraction of a second.
The tension in his shoulders slowly eased.
The corner of his lips lifted into a small smile.
"Have you eaten, Mom?"
he asked as he stepped closer, slowing his pace—as if afraid the sound of his boots might be too loud.
She nodded gently.
Her hair, streaked with gray, shifted slightly.
"I have," she said softly.
"Go change your clothes first. After that… eat."
Her tone carried the weight of a small command.
Zeydan nodded quickly.
"Yes."
He turned, moving through the narrow hallway toward his room.
His hand brushed against the wall—
a reflexive motion, as if confirming that this world was real.
His bedroom door opened with a soft click.
The room was simple.
A single bed.
A wooden desk marked with old scratches.
A half-empty bookshelf.
Afternoon light streamed in through a small window, drawing orange lines across the floor.
Zeydan removed his utility belt and carefully placed his weapon on the desk.
The Photon Edge blade, now dim, reflected the sunset briefly before its energy fully faded.
Silence.
Then—
"Hmmm…"
The voice appeared directly inside his mind.
Relaxed.
Deep.
As if standing with arms crossed, enjoying the view.
"An interesting world," the voice continued.
"I've never encountered a room like this before."
Zeydan froze.
His brows furrowed, eyes widening slightly.
"Wait," he said softly, almost whispering.
"You… can come to my world too?"
A low laugh echoed in his head.
Not loud—but enough to send a chill down his spine.
"Of course I can," Shadow replied.
"I'm already fused with your body. If I couldn't follow you to your world—
whose body would I be using?"
His tone sounded mocking—
yet disturbingly logical.
"Surely I wouldn't wander around without a host," he added lightly.
"A shadow without a host is boring."
Zeydan let out a long breath.
His shoulders dropped again—this time from exhaustion.
"Just… don't mess with me," he said quickly, tugging at his jacket slightly, as if truly feeling something behind him.
Shadow chuckled.
"Relax. I'm not the type to invade privacy… unless you're dying."
Silence returned.
The sounds of the city filtered faintly through the window—
distant horns, footsteps on the sidewalk, and the evening wind slipping through the cracks.
Zeydan stood still for several seconds.
Then his gaze shifted to his pocket.
His hand pulled out a small, worn notebook.
Ivan's Diary.
His fingers pressed into the cover harder than he realized.
A brief pause—his breath caught in his chest.
Zeydan glanced at the clock on his wall.
Its hands pointed to late afternoon.
---
[Earth – Park, Night]
Night descended slowly, wrapping the park in dim, cold lamplight.
Leaves rustled softly in the night breeze.
A nocturnal insect hummed faintly among the bushes.
In the center of the park—between iron benches and stone paths reflecting moonlight—
white light appeared without a sound.
It spun briefly, gently, then faded like a released breath.
From it, Lina stepped out.
Her combat boots tapped lightly against the stone.
Her white Warden jacket gleamed faintly under the park lights, the blue lines on her shoulders and arms standing out sharply.
The blue energy sword on her back was dim—silent, obedient.
Her silver hair swayed slightly as she stopped.
Lina stood stiffly for a moment.
Her shoulders lifted—then slowly fell.
Her gaze was empty, fixed on the small pond in the distance where moonlight trembled on the surface.
"Now…" her voice cracked faintly, barely audible,
"…I'm alone."
Her fingers clenched at her sides.
Her jaw tightened—an effort to suppress the pressure building in her chest.
Victor… The name crossed her mind briefly, then sank along with the deep breath she drew.
Lina turned around.
Her steps were quick, agile—
yet there was a slight hesitation in each stride, a doubt carefully hidden.
She passed the park benches, the softly humming lamps, and headed toward the exit.
When her hand pushed the iron gate, its hinges creaked softly.
Without looking back, Lina stepped into the darkness of the night.
The wind blew—
And the park fell silent once more.