The world was silent. Ash drifted across a barren wasteland as Noah slowly opened his eyes. The sky above was fractured—like a mirror shattered by something cosmic, bleeding golden cracks of light across an endless void.
His breath caught.
Kiana… Elysia… Lumine…
They were there.
Lying motionless across the broken earth—silent, bruised, battered. Kiana's gloves were torn, blood on her cheek. Elysia's bow had splintered into crystalline shards, scattered like forgotten stardust. Lumine's blade, once brilliant, now rested in two pieces beside her hand. Their bodies didn't move.
No breath. No flicker of light. No sound.
A raw panic surged in Noah's chest.
Not them. Not like this.
His legs moved before his mind could catch up, stumbling toward them, each step heavier than the last. He dropped to his knees beside Kiana, reaching out with shaking hands that couldn't bring themselves to touch. His heart thundered in his ears, louder than the silence around him.
They looked like fallen stars—burned too brightly, too fast.
He whispered their names again. Softer. Broken.
"Kiana… Elysia… Lumine…"
Behind them, two ruined ships sat like gravestones. One was the Astral Express, its bright carriages cold and lifeless. The other, massive and half-sunken into the cracked ground, was the Hyperion, split in two, flames licking from its heart.
Among the debris lay more figures—people he didn't yet know, but felt a strange connection to.
A dark-haired warrior with sharp, clear eyes stood tall with unwavering resolve. His attire bore the marks of countless battles, but no signs of suffering twisted his frame. The dual pistols strapped across his hips were refined tools of reason, wielded with calculated precision and the insight of one who bent reality through logic and will. There was no madness in his gaze—only clarity, and the quiet assurance of one who had defied the abyss and rewritten his destiny with strength, not despair. He forged weapons mid-air, platforms beneath his feet, barriers of logic that tore through divinity. He wasn't just powerful. He was unshakable. A man who carried the weight of a throne carved from trial, choice, and unwavering resolve.
A boy with a cynical gaze, his school uniform torn at the edges, stood in still defiance—hand stretched toward nothing, yet eyes locked on something far beyond. Shadows flickered at his feet, not cast by light, but drawn to his will. Behind him, a massive, armored silhouette loomed—his Persona, born from solitude and forged by resolve. It bore the shape of a faceless knight cloaked in ink-black flame, its eyes burning like dying stars. The boy's aura pulsed with quiet power—commanding shadows to rise, to obey. Not to destroy, but to protect. He was more than a teenager with bitterness in his heart.
A violet-haired swordswoman stood in still grace, her expression resolute even in silence. Lightning danced faintly across her skin—residual pulses of a power once divine. Though her blade was dim and sparking, its aura hinted at storms held at bay. She was the Herrscher of Thunder—not fallen, but resting. A protector forged through pain and defiance, still ready to rise with a single flash of will.
A girl with platinum blonde hair sat quietly among the ruins, her uniform frayed and cloak scorched by battles unknown. In her hands rested a cracked staff, pulsing faintly with residual magic. Though the world around her had burned, her eyes remained lit with wild brilliance—an inventor's flame that refused to die. There was no nobility in her bearing, only the bold defiance of someone who had always carved her own path—through failure, through brilliance, through the miracle of doing the impossible. Something in the way she gripped her staff spoke not of desperation, but of a challenge to fate itself.
A blonde-haired lady with regal bearing lay still among the ruins, her ornate cloak torn but her dignity intact. Her eyes, even closed, seemed to hold calculation behind them—as if waiting, watching, remembering. Magic pulsed faintly at her side, remnants of a craft deeper than ritual. She had once stood beside a king-slayer and rewritten the rules of fate with grace and guile. Though silent now, her presence was not one of defeat—but of poised return.
------------
They were all silent. Still.
In Noah's hands was a greatsword—glorious and golden… broken in two. Light flickered faintly from the blade, struggling to remain.
His knees buckled.
And then, the sky split open.
A golden colossus descended—Nanook, the Aeon of Destruction.
Cold. Beautiful. Merciless.
"This is your future," the Aeon's voice rang like truth in his bones.
"This is the fate you cannot escape."
Noah fell, overwhelmed. His hands trembled. His heart screamed.
"I… I'm not enough."
The weight of it all—the burden, the prophecy, the future—crushed him. He closed his eyes.
And then—
He heard Kiana's voice.
"Noah…"
---------------
Somewhere beyond, where memories bled into regret, her trial had already begun.
Kiana stood in the cold halls of Babylon Labs, barefoot, each step echoing against the white, metallic floor like the toll of a distant bell. The sterile air bit at her lungs, dry and sharp. Overhead, harsh fluorescent lights buzzed like insects, flickering with dissonance.
Then—the screams.
Down the corridor, behind reinforced glass, a child with golden eyes—Sirin—thrashed on a surgical table. Her wrists and ankles were bound by metal clamps, too tight, too cruel. Machines loomed overhead, their arms tipped with needles and blades, humming with inhuman detachment. Red digits pulsed across displays. No warmth. No empathy. Just clinical precision.
Sirin's voice cracked through the silence. "Stop—please! It hurts!"
But the scientists didn't flinch. Didn't answer. They muttered words like 'subject,' 'control,' and 'potential'—as if she were no more than a broken circuit waiting to be fixed.
"You are a weapon," said one voice coldly.
"You will never be loved," said another.
Kiana staggered forward, her heart pounding with every scream. The floor felt like it was stretching beneath her feet—an endless hallway of pain she could never cross fast enough. Her knees buckled. She reached out. "Stop it! She's just a girl!"
Sirin looked at her—eyes wide, wild, desperate—and mouthed something silent:
Help me.
Then a mirror rose from the floor, shattering the hallway in a ripple of light.
Kiana's reflection changed.
It was Sirin.
Then it shifted again—becoming her. But not the Kiana she knew. This one wore the crown of the Void, her hair flowing like stardust, her eyes golden and cold. Her posture regal, her presence oppressive. The Herrscher of the Void.
"You think you're better than me?" the reflection asked, voice low and venomous.
"You had love. You had a name."
"I had nothing. And still—I endured."
And then—a mirror.
Her reflection was Sirin… then warped into a version of herself—cold, regal, gold-eyed, clad in the garb of the Herrscher of the Void. Her own face stared back—untouchable, godlike, the embodiment of everything the world once feared in her.
Tears streamed down her face. "I… I'm sorry…"
But then—she felt it.
Noah's despair.
Raw. Crushing. Familiar.
Her eyes widened. He's hurting too…
She reached through the bond they shared—desperate, trembling.
"Noah! I'm still here. I'm not giving up! So don't you dare give up either!"
And in the next heartbeat—she felt him. His emotions rushing back:
Hope. Determination. Belief.
Her eyes softened.
"I'm not alone…We are not alone..."
------------
Back in his own illusion, Noah's fingers twitched as he heard her voice, their voice.
".......I'm still here. I'm not giving up! So don't you dare give up either!."
"I'm still here, silly boy. Don't fall now… we're all still here."
"So now… I'll be your light too."
And then—a light.
She appeared before him—not as the girl he had traveled with, but radiant. A flowing white battle suit. Wings like stars behind her. Grace in every step.
Not just Kiana—something more.
She smiled, just as she did when they first met.
"You can't fall here, Captain. You still have so much to do. So many people to meet. So many worlds to protect."
Noah's voice trembled. "Ki..ana….What… are you?"
She laughed, warm and familiar.
"It's been a while since I saw that dumb look on your face."
And then—she held out her hand.
"Now… let's stand. Together."
The broken greatsword, it stirred, the divine key, the Key of Radiance in his hand shimmered. Kiana gently touched it.
And light surged—mending the blade, reigniting its brilliance.
-------------
The cold, sterile lights of Babylon Labs dissolved into golden mist.
Kiana blinked.
She was no longer in a place of metal and pain. She stood in a sunlit room bathed in warmth. Soft cushions, wooden floors, windows flung wide to let the breeze in. The air smelled of flowers. Of safety.
On a couch, Cecilia sat—her silver hair falling gently over her shoulder, eyes soft and kind. In her lap was a young Sirin, no longer crying, no longer afraid. She giggled as Cecilia gently combed her hair, murmuring a lullaby with a voice as sweet as the wind.
Siegfried leaned against the doorway with his familiar cocky grin, but his gaze was gentler than anything Kiana had ever remembered. He looked down at the small girl curled in Cecilia's lap—eyes no longer filled with pain, but wonder. With a fond exhale, he stepped closer, crouched to the girl's level, and gently ruffled her hair.
"She's not just a test subject," he murmured, voice low but steady. "She's our daughter."
He looked to Cecilia, who nodded, her eyes brimming with quiet joy.
"Then it's decided," he said, with a warmth that cracked something open inside Kiana.
"From now on... you'll be Kiana. Our Kiana."
Kiana's breath caught. The words pierced something deep.
She took a step forward—trembling—and dropped to her knees. Her voice cracked as she whispered:
"Thank you… Papa."
Cecilia smiled, reaching out to embrace her.
"Ich liebe dich."
Kiana collapsed into her arms. The embrace was warm—real in a way nothing else had felt in that dreamscape. Cecilia's heartbeat thudded softly against her ear, steady and full of love.
Tears spilled freely down Kiana's cheeks. Her voice cracked.
"I love you too… Mama. So, so much."
Sirin looked up, confused for a moment—then smiled, small and hopeful, as Cecilia gently pulled her closer too.
Kiana wrapped her arms around them both.
"I wish this could've been real… for you," she whispered to Sirin. "You deserved it more than anyone."
For a moment, the world stilled. There was no past, no pain, no cruel experimentation. Only the warmth of a dream—a dream Sirin never had, and one Kiana vowed to carry in her place.
And it filled every broken part of her heart with healing light.
Kiana stood tall as her wings formed—one white, one void-black.
The mirror returned, but now it reflected only her.
"Sirin… your pain is mine. I will carry your love, your sins, your dreams."
Her eyes glowed—not gold—but blue, calm and steady.
"I am the Herrscher of the Void…
I am Kiana Kaslana.
And I will never run again."
A single feather, golden and soft, drifted down.
She caught it in her hand.
Behind her, Noah's silhouette stood, sword blazing in his hand, eyes locked with hers.
She smiled, her heart light.
"Noah....with you... by my side… I'll have the strength of a thousand."
-----------
He lifted the Key of Radiance, now whole.
Nanook's image loomed again, but Noah's stance was firm.
"This future you showed me? It's not set in stone."
He stepped forward.
"Because they believe in me. And I believe in them."
"MAKE OUR FUTURE SHINE BRIGHT—KEY OF RADIANCE: Radiant Severance!"
He swung the blade.
Light surged—pure, final, unrelenting.
The battlefield shattered. The illusions cracked.
The nightmare ended.
------------
And Then… Silence
Kiana and Noah opened their eyes.
They stood on the shores of Watatsumi once more.
Still apart from the others—but alive. Stronger.
They didn't speak at first—just breathed, side by side, hearts pounding with borrowed strength and promises unspoken.
And above them, the wind carried the sound of wings…