September 19 – Space Era, Year 89.
The death of Alexander became a wound that would never close within the heart of Aelyzabeth von Thors, a girl of twelve who once believed she and her brother would stride into the future side by side. Now she stood alone, surrounded by the silence of a world that had never shown her mercy.
In place of a simple funeral, Aelyzabeth chose a ritual of remembrance the world had never before witnessed—a symbolic wedding to the lifeless body of Alexander.
The setting was no cathedral, for Aelyzabeth bore no faith in the creeds of men, but rather an ancient public garden in the old quarter of Berlyn. The cracked walls and shattered stained glass left the place in ruins, yet the stillness lent it a dread sanctity. All was draped in black: black candles, black roses, and faded shrouds entwined about the broken pillars.
She did not wear a bride's gown. Instead, she donned a fitted black suit, tailored with precision, more reminiscent of a statesman's attire than a garment of love. She stood beside the coffin, its lid half-open, revealing Alexander's face in tranquil repose as though he merely slept. Upon his hand gleamed a silver ring—placed there by Aelyzabeth herself.
There were no guests, no music—only the girl and the body she refused to forsake.Those who later heard of the ritual whispered in disbelief: "The child has gone mad." But to Aelyzabeth, it was the only way to keep the vow once made to her brother—without waiting six long years for the age of eighteen to arrive.
After that solemn rite, an official funeral was conducted with modest dignity. Among family and mourners, Aelyzabeth stood motionless beside the coffin, shedding not a single tear. The emptiness of her expression stirred fear rather than pity. For though by her own reckoning she had become Alexander's wife, the world could not accept such a bond—neither for its breach of kinship nor for its impossibility under law, for none may wed the dead. Her condition grew a matter of grave concern within the household.
Soon, authorities compelled her to meet with physicians of the mind. Their verdict was clear: signs of depression, symptoms of overwhelming strain. Yet Aelyzabeth shared nothing of her inner world. She merely sat in silence, offering faint smiles and obedient nods when told to undergo treatment and take her daily draught of medicine.
On the morning of November 6th, the chill winds of the ancient quarter swept through the ruins of broken columns and weathered stone walls, a place forgotten for what seemed a million years. Aelyzabeth wandered alone through the ancient path until she came upon a great stone slab, its surface carved with strange inscriptions.
The letters were curved, twisted, unlike the tongue of any human nation. Yet to her eyes they were clear, as though she had always known their meaning:
"The chains of life and death shall no longer bind him who understands the cosmos."
Her lips curved into a smile—the first since the day Alexander fell. A smile not of joy, but of revelation. For within those words lay the truth she had sought all her life, the echo of a yearning long buried. She read on, line after line, more than fifty in number, before whispering to herself: "Yes… It can be done. Humanity will rule the stars."
Footsteps stirred behind her. Aelaera, her elder cousin and the one she trusted most, stood quietly with eyes full of concern. She asked softly: "Alisu… do you truly believe mankind shall master the cosmos?"
Aelyzabeth turned. The gloom in her gaze had given way to an unyielding fire.
"I think, therefore I am." Her reply fell like a vow to the universe itself—that she would never again be bound by fate.
Aelaera gave a gentle laugh, warm with affection. "You have changed so much… but it gladdens me to see you smile."
Then she stepped forward and embraced Aelyzabeth with a love both fierce and tender. For a moment, the girl hesitated—then returned the embrace. Within that touch, she felt warmth seep into her fractured heart.
For the first time since Alexander's passing, she knew she had not been abandoned to utter solitude.
When at last they parted, Aelyzabeth turned once more toward the stone. The wind rose, scattering dust and sand to reveal beneath the carvings a deeper mark: interlocking circles, layered one upon another, as though an ancient seal.
Her heart quickened. This stone was no mere relic of history. It was a key—a key binding the power of the HERB to the destiny of mankind.
In the silence of that forgotten ruin, Aelyzabeth thought to herself:
"The cosmos is vast… but if I understand it, then I shall possess it."
Thus ends Chapter A-VIII.