Prisma:“I want a second chance. I wanna see where I went wrong. Now that the cursed flame doesn’t live inside me, I see the world so differently.”

Her voice wasn’t desperate—it was hollow. Worn thin. Like she'd said this too many times in too many echoes of this same nightmare.

“I’ve seen your ...

Nagase: “Bullshit.”

The word cracked like lightning between them—sharp, dismissive, real. Nagase’s voice steadied, grounded not in disbelief, but conviction.

Nagase:“I know myself. Even as a Horseman... we can’t kill him. Neither the forest nor Vescrutia would allow such a thing. And Mother ...

Nagase:“I…can kill him? That’s impossible! YOU killed him. YOU became a Horseman…not me.”

The prismatic warrior stood with that unnatural stillness again, like light trapped in glass—eyes dimmed of their earlier shimmer, now half-lidded, absent of any trembling water or regret.

Prisma: “…Yes, it ...

Nagase: "Help me?! Just a moment ago you were ignoring me and sought to abandon me without so much as a whisper."

She halted—her voice edged, yet soft. The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was questioning.

Nagase: "Come to think of it… how did I bring you back here?"

The woman in the broken ...

I didn’t come to kill you,” the older Nagase finally said—her voice a deeper echo of the younger’s. “I came to test you.”


Nagase’s breath caught in her throat.

“I—” she started, but couldn’t finish. “You’re me?”

“Not exactly,” the prism woman replied, stepping forward. “A possibility…impossible ...

Nagase staggered, eyes wide, mind tearing at the seams.
She could feel her grip on reality began challenged, torn from her grasp. The Fire wasn’t hot in the way fire should be. It was beautiful—crystalline, refracted, spiraling through her thoughts like light through shattered glass. Her memories ...

Nagase dropped to her knees.

The sand clung to her like ash as the last rays of sunlight gave way to dusk. Her shoulders shook, quiet at first, then violently, as sobs tore their way out of her. She buried her face in her hands and wept—not just for the woman, or her father, or the riddles left ...

The prismatic stranger did not move.

She stood at the cliff’s edge, bathed in the last light of the dying sun, her form shimmering like a half-forgotten dream. The sea hushed beneath her presence, as if holding its breath.

Nagase stepped forward, waves curling around her ankles. Her voice cracked ...

The horizon stretched like a wound—long, open, bleeding gold and crimson into the sea. The sun kissed the water in retreat, turning everything it touched into fireglass. The waves lapped gently at the shore, whispering lullabies in the language of tides and time.

Nagase stood alone on the desolate ...

Far beyond the reach of maps and mercy, there lies a splinter of land—an island with no name, known only to the void and to her. It sits deep in the vortex of Vescrutia’s own Point Nemo, a dead center of nowhere, where even the winds forget their names. Here, wrapped in a shroud of sea fog and ...