The chapter opens in silence, with Ellen on her knees in a pool of red liquid that softly ripples with her shallow breathing. Her appearance has changed—her once black outfit now turned white, yet the red accents remain like blood blooming beneath snow. Her hair drapes to her knees in long, loose waves, cascading like a silver waterfall. At the center of her chest is a gaping, open wound, where instead of a heart, there is a swirling black hole rimmed in glowing white. Dark red continues to seep slowly from the edges.
She lifts her head slowly.
Her eyes are black now—devoid of light, of reflection, of life. They are blank.
Acheron stands a few paces away, silent. Watching. There is no weapon drawn, no fear in her eyes. Just quiet, emptiness.
They do not speak immediately—because what is there to say?
Eventually, Acheron asks a single question:
"What happened?"
Ellen's voice is quiet. Flat. Heavy with things unspoken.
"Lost what made me whole."
And then the black hole in her chest pulses—expands—devours.
Her form is pulled in, folded into the void, and disappears in a blink. The red liquid flares, then stills. The horizon collapses into shadow.
Acheron blinks—and she is standing in Ellen's room again. The transformation she underwent is gone. Her clothes, her hair, her markings—reverted. Back to normal.
But the room is not.
The webs still coat the walls, glittering faintly with leftover energy. The dark liquid stains the floor in long, gentle streaks like tears. The spider girl is gone. Ellen is gone.
Only the echoes remain.
Acheron sighs—a long, slow breath.
She just says quietly, to no one in particular:
"Wherever you are... I hope you're okay."
Even if it's clear... she's not.
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New Eridu is shrouded in a raging thunderstorm. Lightning forks across the sky, followed by deep, trembling rumbles of thunder. The streets are deserted, soaked in rain, with citizens sheltering indoors. No one sees the vast silhouette that weaves through the darkened storm clouds—a dragon-shaped shadow gliding silently through the sky. The wind howls as the shadow descends upon the outskirts of the Hoshimi Estate.
It lands with a tremor, displacing the stormwater as it touches down. The Empress's wyvern form is revealed—a massive creature with sleek, elongated wings made of silken black and white feathers that shimmer with red undertones in the rain. Her body is streamlined yet regal, scales like onyx and bone-white armor pieces fused into her skin, her tail lined with faintly glowing red veins. Her head is crowned with jagged white horns arcing backwards, and a flowing mane of hair, now silver-white with the faint glow of inner energy, streams down to her lower back even in the rain. Her chest bears a luminous wound, a swirling blackhole-like void encircled by a white ring that pulses with quiet gravity.
Ellen, silent and composed, dismounts from the Empress and walks toward the estate. She raises her hand slightly, manipulating gravity to push off the rainwater and dry herself completely before stepping indoors. Without hesitation, she opens the sliding door and steps quietly inside. Her footsteps echo faintly through the wooden halls, not hurried but deliberate, respectful of the sleeping estate.
She arrives at a room and opens the door gently. Inside is Mira, fast asleep. Her horns have turned entirely black, and dark veins spider through her skin with the same hue, pulsing gently with latent etheric energy. Ellen kneels beside her, placing a gentle hand on Mira's cheek. Her other hand hovers just above her chest, and she closes her eyes, reaching into the spiritual layer. She carefully grasps Mira's soul, inspecting it for fractures, distortions, or signs of corruption.
Finding several minor damages, Ellen begins to heal them. Her touch is calm, methodical. Wisps of black and white ether dance at her fingertips, mending what had begun to unravel. Once finished, she exhales softly, eyes still closed, and speaks aloud, as much to herself as to one who is listening.
"The Miyabi I know wouldn't hesitate to annihilate her enemies."
Behind her, a shadow shifts.
A presence steps into view, silent yet imposing. Glowing red eyes with golden rings pierce the dim light, and in their hand is an odachi—its blade riddled with glowing red cracks, softly humming with restrained power.
Ellen rises and turns to face her.
"Hello, Miyabi," she says, her voice even, timeless. "How have you been?"
Ellen stands before Miyabi, who remains in a ready sword stance, her odachi shimmering faintly in the dim light. For a moment, neither speaks. Then, Miyabi's eyes widen slightly in recognition, the realization washing over her like a tide. She quickly sheathes her blade and steps forward, embracing Ellen tightly.
Ellen returns the hug, albeit gently, her arms encircling Miyabi with a calmness that feels distant.
Miyabi pulls back slightly, cupping Ellen's cheeks with her hands, tilting her head left and right in a flurry of concern. Words pour out of her — questions and explanations all tangled together.
"Where have you been? What happened to you? Are you hurt? The city's a mess, Ellen, things have gotten worse—"
Before Miyabi can continue, Ellen lifts a hand and softly places it over Miyabi's mouth, silencing her with a look. Miyabi freezes, stunned by the gesture. It's then she notices—
Even though Ellen's eyes are as dark as the abyss itself, there's something deeply wrong.
There is no emotion. No light. No spark of humanity.
It is like gazing into an eyeless puppet.
Ellen removes her hand slowly and speaks, her voice soft but firm. "I know you have a lot to say. A lot to ask. So do I."
She pauses, her gaze steady but hollow.
"But... let's take this somewhere else first."
Ellen raises her hand, summoning a portal shimmering with a muted, silvery light. Miyabi hesitates for only a second before following her inside. They step into Ellen's pocket dimension — a quiet, suspended place where time feels slower, more detached. A table sits in the center with a simple teacup and kettle already set out, waiting for them.
Both women take a seat across from each other.
Ellen looks down at her hands for a moment, as if gathering the fragmented pieces of herself.
"If it's alright," she says at last, voice almost a whisper, "I'd like to selfishly start first."
She lifts her gaze to Miyabi, the emptiness behind her eyes palpable.
"Because that's probably all I'll be throughout this."
Ellen sat quietly across from Miyabi, her white hair cascading over her shoulders, a faint steam rising from the teacups before them. The soft clink of porcelain was the only sound for a moment, before Ellen finally spoke. Her voice was calm—eerily so. Not cold, but devoid of the usual undercurrent of feeling that once marked it.
She began to explain.
About the Aeons. About the concept of Nihility—not simply as an element of entropy, but as a devouring force of unbeing. A vast, unfathomable abyss that had long drifted, untouched and untouched by anything. She explained how her soul had brushed against Nihility when she was displaced from her rightful universe, how that contact had made her the first and only thing that ever made Nihility "feel."
And Nihility did not want to lose that feeling.
What started as a connection evolved into a curse. A bond, an obsession, a slow, creeping erosion that eventually culminated in the absolute destruction of her soul. Ellen described how Nihility, in its desperate desire not to lose what it never knew it needed, devoured her soul entirely. Piece by piece. Not instantly, not mercifully. It was agony, and when it was done, there was nothing left of the part of her that could feel, love, laugh, cry.
When she finished, she looked at Miyabi.
The other woman had tears running down her face, her expression a mix of grief and frustration. Pain twisted her features as she stared into the hollow-eyed woman before her.
Ellen just stared blankly back.
Miyabi asked, voice trembling, "Can you really not feel anything? Not even the faintest bit?"
Ellen looked down for a moment, as if contemplating the answer, then lifted her gaze. "No. At least... not anything I can recognize. The things I do—they feel like echoes. Like instincts built from memory. I can remember what love felt like. I can remember the warmth of your hand, the way Mira laughed, the comfort of silence with friends. But now it's like... like I'm staring at photographs of moments I know were important. I can tell they mattered. I know I cared. But I can no longer feel why they mattered. That warmth is just... gone."
She paused, then added, "I operate on logic now, not emotion. I know you're important to me. I know I want to protect you. But the feeling of that love? It's out of reach."
Miyabi could barely contain herself. Her fists clenched, her lip quivered. She hated it. Hated what had been done to Ellen. Hated that the person in front of her looked and sounded the same, but the soul she once knew was no longer behind those eyes.
Ellen looked down at her tea. "I want to do something selfish," she said.
Miyabi's tear-filled eyes flicked up.
"I want to leave," Ellen said. "Not out of fear. Not to run away. But because I need to find something... anything I can still hold onto. Something that can still give meaning to my actions. If I stay here, pretending to be who I was before, I'll only hurt the people who remember that person. You. Mira. Everyone."
She looked back up. "So I'll become a wanderer in the truest sense. Not because I'm lost. But because I'm still searching for something that can tether me again."
Silence hung heavy after that. The tea grew cold. The rain outside continued to fall.
Miyabi had so many things she wanted to say. But none of them could change the truth of what sat across from her.
And Ellen—she waited. Blank, but not unaware. A shell that still remembered the shape of its soul.
The atmosphere in the pocket dimension hung heavy, still, as if even time hesitated to move forward. Miyabi sat across from Ellen, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, trying to keep herself composed—but her trembling fingers betrayed her heart.
Ellen had just finished speaking. Her voice had been even, clinical almost, like she was recounting a distant event rather than something that had shattered every part of her. Miyabi sat in silence for a moment, her throat dry, her eyes locked on Ellen's face—the same face she had held in dreams and nightmares alike—but now, it was like staring into a mirror without a reflection.
"You say you can't feel anything…" Miyabi whispered, her voice cracking. "But I still can. And right now, it hurts more than anything ever has."
She leaned forward, slowly reaching out, and cupped Ellen's cold cheek in her hand. "You came back to me… just to tell me you're leaving again?"
Ellen didn't flinch. She simply blinked, her expression unreadable. "I'm not running from anything. I'm looking for something… something I can still hold onto. If I stay, pretending to be who I was, it'll only cause more pain—for you, for Mira, for everyone."
Miyabi shook her head, fighting back tears. "Do you think I care if you've changed? I want to scream, Ellen. I want to beg you to stay. I want to find a way to fix this—even if it means tearing through the Aeons themselves. But…"
She looked down, her voice lowering. "But if this is the only way forward for you… I won't stop you."
A silence stretched between them—dense and fragile.
Then Miyabi reached up and pulled the hairpiece from her head. A torii-style ornament, adorned with intricate designs and delicate gohei streamers, symbolizing a gateway between worlds, between the divine and the mundane.
She placed it gently on the table between them.
"This was given to me as a gift from my mother… and a promise I made to always protect what I cherish. I want you to have it now."
Ellen looked at the piece. Her fingers hovered over it, then slowly closed around it. For a brief moment, something flickered in her eyes—maybe memory, maybe instinct. It passed just as quickly.
"I'll keep it safe," Ellen said softly. "But don't take this as a goodbye forever… just a farewell."
Miyabi looked up, eyes still shimmering. "Then I'll be here. Waiting. However long it takes. One day… come back to me."
Ellen stood. The silence returned, not empty—but full of everything left unsaid.
And with a whisper of voidlight and gravity, she was gone. And Miyabi was back in the room with Mira all alone.