Celestia sat cross-legged in the ship's dimly lit storage room, her [Blossom's Breath] meditation barely begun when—
Thud.
A sudden weight dropped onto her lap. Her eyes snapped open.
The Codex of Solara lay before her, its obsidian cover cracked and weathered, pulsing with a faint, eerie glow. Before she could react, a searing white light erupted from the tome, its pages flipping violently as if possessed.
Ink bled across ancient parchment, swirling like liquid night, until the book slammed open to its final page.
An emerald title pulsed at the top.
And then—
The world vanished.
A surge of verdant energy engulfed Celestia, hues of green, red, and blue coiling around her like living tendrils. Her breath hitched. The ship, the walls, even time itself fractured—and in the next instant, she stood elsewhere.
The very fabric of existence unraveled before her.
Eras bled into one another in a chaotic, mesmerizing dance. Flowers burst into full bloom within seconds, only to wither and crumble into dust. Mountains tore upward from the earth, reaching for the heavens, only to collapse into roaring oceans moments later.
Dragons flickered like phantoms—a colossal serpent with scales like shattered galaxies coiled overhead, then dissolved into a flock of jewel-bright songbirds.
Celestia turned, her pulse steady despite the surreal spectacle.
At the center of the shifting realm, a ghostly figure sat in a chair.
A woman. Ethereal. Unbound by time. Her form flickered—young, old, warrior, scholar—never settling. A spectral version of the Codex floated beside her, its pages fluttering.
The woman's piercing gaze locked onto Celestia.
When she spoke, her voice sliced through time itself.
"So… the Codex has chosen."
A pulse of energy rippled outward. The ground trembled beneath Celestia's feet.
The woman lifted her hand, and the Codex vanished in a flicker of light.
"To be worthy… of wielding the Codex I created, even if chosen, thou must pass three trials."
Her voice was calm, soft, yet absolute, cutting through the ever-shifting realm as the world around them continued to fracture and reform.
"This Codex offers much more than what thou hast seen or heard. Yet, the only path to unlocking its full potential is through these trials. Do thou accept?"
Celestia's emerald gaze flicked around, observing the chaos—the ceaseless cycle of creation and destruction. She crossed her arms, her mind sharp despite the surreal nature of this place.
"I assume this Codex must be very special to the Solara family, right?" she asked, her voice measured. "But how do you even know I'm one of them?"
The woman took a single step forward—
—and in that instant, time froze.
The realm held its breath, and before Celestia could even blink, the woman stood before her, gazing down with an unwavering stare as time began flowing once more.
"It is simple, child. If not for thy bloodline, this realm would have killed thee the moment thine eyes laid upon it."
Her tone remained gentle, but the weight of her words sent a shiver down Celestia's spine. The woman turned again, taking another step—
Time shattered.
And just like that, she was back beside her chair, as if she had never moved at all.
"Do thou accept these trials and prove thy worthiness?"
The question came again, her voice unwavering.
All around them, the world churned. Tornadoes formed from blood spiraled into existence, vanishing as quickly as they came. A massive serpent coiled around them, its scales rippling with black and violet energy. Black holes flickered across its body, collapsing in on themselves before the beast released a low, guttural hiss and swallowed an entire world—
Then it, too, was gone.
Celestia swallowed hard.
"I accept," she declared, her voice steady.
Her hand instinctively reached for her rapier, It wasn't there.
The woman's expression remained unreadable as she lifted a hand.
"The first test… will take you through everything you have endured. Every wound, every thought, every moment of suffering."
Celestia's breath slowed.
"You will relive... everything you have ever had happen to you."
The Codex reappeared, its pages flipping on their own until it landed on a single passage. The world lurched—
—And shattered.
Celestia's old bedroom materialized around her.
The air was thick, suffocating in its familiarity. The peeling posters, the cracked mirror, the lingering scent of alcohol, smoke, and dust—it was all real.
Her chest tightened.
"W-what the hell?" she whispered.
A knock slammed against the door.
"Get the hell out here now!"
The voice was loud, angry—too familiar.
Celestia felt her body move on its own, her feet dragging her toward the door. Her fingers hovered over the handle, hesitation clawing at her stomach, but she knew—she had no choice.
The door creaked open.
A towering figure stood before her, reeking of alcohol. His eyes were bloodshot, his grip tight around the neck of a half-empty bottle.
"Your mother should've never given birth to you, you useless bitch."
He slammed the bottle and it shattered against her face.
Celestia didn't even have time to react before pain exploded through her skull, her vision turning white as she collapsed onto the floor.
The taste of iron filled her mouth.
Celestia's head throbbed. Shards of glass pricked at her skin, warm blood trickling down her cheek.
The scent of cheap beer filled the room as her father loomed over her, his breath hot and foul.
"What, nothing to say?" he sneered, his voice slurring. He kicked her side, sending pain through her ribs. "You always got something to say, don't you?"
Celestia tried to push herself up, her fingers gripping the wooden floor—
A heavy boot slammed onto her hand.
She bit back a scream.
"Pathetic."
His knuckles collided with her jaw. Her head snapped back, a sharp ringing filling her ears.
Celestia clenched her jaw, every muscle in her body taut with resistance. "I've endured this for years... I can survive it again." The thought echoed in her mind, a desperate anchor against the storm of pain and memories crashing over her. Her breath hitched as her father's fingers twisted in her hair, ripping her upward until her knees scraped against the splintered wooden floor.
His grip was like iron—unyielding, cruel—forcing her head back, her neck straining as her gaze met his.
Bloodshot eyes. The stench of alcohol. The familiar, suffocating rage.
"You should've died instead of her."
Her breath stalled.
"He... had never said that before." She thought.
Her father's bloodshot eyes darkened, his face twisting into something worse than fury.
"It's your fault she's dead."
Her mother had passed away in an accident.
Celestia's stomach churned as reality twisted, warping into something worse than memory.
Her father's face flickered. His features shifted, his voice distorted, as if something else was speaking through him.
"You killed her."
Celestia's breath came in ragged gasps, her chest rising and falling as a cold weight settled in her gut. She squeezed her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms, a futile attempt to ground herself. Slowly, unsteadily, she pushed herself to her feet.
"I... I didn't kill her," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "It was an accident... a car accident..."
Her father's shadow loomed over her, suffocating. His eyes, bloodshot and hollow, bore into her like a curse.
"An accident?" His voice dripped with venom. "It was your idea for her to go out that night."
Celestia's stomach twisted.
"You put her in that car. You sent her to die."
She shook her head, backing away "No, no, that's not true. That's not how it happened!"
A fist slammed into her face, pain exploding across her body.
The world tilted. The floor rushed up to meet her.
Wood splintered beneath her weight, jagged edges biting into her skin. Her vision blurred. The taste of iron coated her tongue.
Above her, her father's silhouette loomed once more, shadowed against the dim, flickering light.
"There's no one to blame but you."
The words dug in deep—deeper than the pain, deeper than the wounds. Tears began to roll down her cheek as she looked up. "... No... It wasn't my fault." She said quietly before her father turned and slammed the door shut before walking down creeking old wooden stairs.
Hours bled together in an endless haze of pain.
Celestia's body screamed in protest as she slowly pushed herself up, every movement agony. Her legs trembled beneath her, her breath ragged as she staggered forward—toward the dusty, cracked mirror in the corner of the room.
The reflection that greeted her was barely recognizable.
Shards of glass embedded in her skin, glistening like cruel jewels. Blood traced jagged paths down her face, dripping from fresh wounds. Her hands—shaking, slick with crimson—hung limply at her sides, the sting of torn flesh dulled by exhaustion. Tears slipped silently from her cheeks, striking the wooden floor below—a quiet, broken melody.
Celestia's limbs felt heavy, her movements mechanical as she left her room, her bare feet dragging against the rotting wooden floorboards. The air in the house was thick—stale alcohol, sweat, decay—but she didn't flinch. She couldn't.
Down the stairs, every step a dull ache. Her father's slurred demand had barely left his lips before she was already moving toward the door. No words. No resistance. Just obedience.
The night outside was suffocating. Cold, empty. The dim streetlights flickered, barely holding back the darkness.
She kept her head down.
The houses around her were just as broken as her own—crumbling wood, shattered windows, walls soaked in neglect. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked—a sharp, violent sound—before being silenced just as quickly. A group of men in black walked past her, their faces unreadable, their gazes never once acknowledging her existence.
Celestia clenched her fists and kept walking.
The gas station's buzzing fluorescent lights bathed the cracked pavement in an artificial glow. The clerk didn't look at her as she grabbed the bottles, didn't acknowledge the way her fingers trembled as she placed them on the counter. No words. No glances. Just another transaction.
She stepped outside, bottles clinking in the plastic bag. Then—she saw it.
A black van, parked at the curb. Waiting.
Her breath hitched. Her body froze.
"No. No. No. Not this."
She tried to move. Run. But her feet were locked in place, her body betraying her as panic flooded her veins.
A shadow moved.
A hand—rough, gloved, merciless—snatched her wrist.
Celestia barely had time to inhale before a bag slammed over her head.
Her world spun as she was lifted, her body weightless for a moment before she was thrown into the back of the van. The sound of glass shattering against pavement barely registered before a new sensation did—cold metal cuffs snapping around her wrists.
A gag forced into her mouth.
The bag yanked back over her head, and four figures sat with her in the van.
The van lurched to a stop, the tires grinding against loose gravel. A voice cut through the suffocating silence. Low, cold, final.
"Bring her to the third room. We've waited long enough."
A sickening chorus of chuckles followed.
Hands grabbed her, lifting her body like she was nothing more than cargo. Celestia struggled, twisting, kicking, but her movements were met with brute force.
She tried to call upon her system—her magic—her strength.
Nothing.
It was like she was completely cut off, her body betraying her.
A sharp blow to the side of her head sent her into spiraling darkness.
After several unknown hours, Celestia's eyes drifted open; the cold metal floor beneath her was unforgiving, and she winced as she realized her hands were chained to it. Her eyes wandered down to her body, and a gasp caught in her throat. The first thing she noticed was her clothes were missing; cuts crossed her chest, stomach, legs, and hands. Blood trickled from each wound, staining the floor beneath her. She started to breathe heavily as she attempted to scream but was met with her voice still muffled, as tears began to fall down her cheeks, landing onto the cold floor beneath her.
Three figures walk into the room from a door, their black attire blending with the darkness of the room. One of them spoke up, his voice laced with skepticism. "Are we sure this is her?" he asked, his gaze roving over Celestia's battered body before focusing on a picture in his hand. "She looks similar... but something about her seems off."
The man sighed, "Same long black hair, same colored eyes... but she seems as flat as a damn chess board," he said, shaking his head.
One of the others snatched the picture away and compared it to Celestia's face before nodding in agreement. "You're right," he replied before throwing down another cruel remark: "That means we're allowed to do whatever we want to her... right?" The man said, tossing the picture onto the ground.
A cold smile spread across all three faces as they closed in on Celestia like predators stalking prey. She tried to back away, but the wall behind her halted her escape. One of them ripped off the gag, and Celestia's voice was hoarse from attempting to scream.
"Get away from me!" she shouted, desperation etched on her face.
The men laughed softly before one of them produced a knife. "Let's just finish this already," he said, his eyes glinting with malice.
Celestia's legs were forced down onto the cold metal floor as she struggled.
Several minutes passed by, and Celestia's struggles grew weaker. The man with the knife knelt down beside her; with a swift motion, he plunged the blade into her thigh, and Celestia's screams pierced the darkness. He pulled the small blade out of her thigh and threw the knife over to the third man.
The third man caught the knife mid-air and knelt down on the other side of Celestia. He stabbed her repeatedly in her thigh before slicing through her flesh. Blood gushed out from all the wounds like crimson rivers, staining the metal floor beneath them.
Celestia's cries grew hoarse as she lost consciousness from blood loss. Her body went limp as she stopped struggling completely.
After what felt like an eternity, the three men finally stood, their presence still heavy in the room. They loomed over her motionless form, two of them laughed of coldness and hollow. "She was worthless, even as something to fuck." One of the men sneered, pulling up his pants before turning and walking out of the room. The remaining two stood silently over her, their presence suffocating. One of them crouched down beside her, his fingers brushing against her wrist to check for a pulse.
"She's still alive," he muttered, glancing up at the other man. "Should I just kill her?"
The second man shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Doesn't matter to me. You sure you don't want a round with her?" He chuckled darkly before walking out of the room, leaving an eerie silence behind.
The man sighed heavily, his gaze lingering on her. "Those bastards… always causing problems. I'm sorry you had to go through this. We messed up, got the wrong girl."
He stood, his footsteps echoing as he left the room. A few minutes later, he returned, a pistol now in his hand. Without a word, he loaded it methodically, the click of the bullets sliding into place sharp in the silence.
Aiming at her chest, he squeezed the trigger. The gunshot rang out, followed by several more, each round hitting its mark with brutal precision. He shifted the aim, placing the barrel against her skull and releasing ten more shots.
With a final, exasperated sigh, he holstered the gun, turned, and walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. His gaze was fixed on the ground as he walked away.