[???]
This was not at all how she imagined things to go.
Astrid had prepared herself for something grand, something fierce and valiant. Blood and glory, and more—yes, that she had expected.
This was not battle—it was a kind of odd wrongness, like a fever dream going wilder. Her instincts, as tempered as they were, screamed that this was not how things were supposed to be.
A high-pitched whine screamed past her—she turned just in time to see a glob of black mass streak past, dragging a blur of violet light in its wake, its inscribed symbols. Her sabatons slid slightly as she sidestepped, her braided hair flaring behind her. Another one of the darkness-born entities lunged for her—a monstrosity about her size, long, spindly arms cracking through the air as it descended.
Without hesitation, Astrid gripped Leifa Allr tighter.
With a single clean arc she cleaved through the creature at the center of its warped core. Its halves, momentarily resisting, shuddered before dissolving into glowing particles that were whisked away.
("Just what in the world are these things?") Astrid thought, sabatons pivoting. Another leapt from above, shrieking, limbs curled inward like hooks. She ducked, feeling its voided breath graze her cheek. It struck the ground with a thunderclap, sending debris and sparks flying, but before it could recoil, her blade was already there—an upward slash that sent its head spiraling. The moment its skull struck the air, it burst into motes of light.
("They just came out of nowhere... and—")
A screech pierced the back of her thoughts. Her eyes widened—one of the things had broken through her blind spot.
Too close.
Her stance was open.
She turned—only to see the creature mid-lunge, claws already descending—
—but then a black blade roared through the air. It collided into the creature's side with a clang, sending it hurtling sideways, crashing into a rock outcropping before being pinned there by the force of the impact. The blade vibrated with the force, buried to its hilt in the creature's dissolving body.
A voice followed.
"You lose focus quickly, as ever, it seems."
Astrid exhaled, turning with a half-laugh, half-sigh of relief. Her lips pulled into a smile before she even saw her face.
"Amaury," she said, as though the name alone steadied the rhythm of her heart. "Despite the chaos, I'll admit—I'm relieved. If nothing else, there's a good excuse not to fight you."
Amaury stepped into view, retrieving her blade with one smooth motion.
"How very like you," she murmured, smirking faintly. "Still fond of sidestepping seriousness with lightheartedness, I see."
"You say that as though it's a flaw." She tilted her head. "I've always preferred it to bloodshed."
"Perhaps," she replied, glancing at the blade in her hand before flipping it once in her palm, "but the world rarely shares that sentiment."
Astrid's smile lingered. "You know... you haven't changed one bit."
She gave a soft breath of amusement, a rare thing from her. "Mayhap. But you? You're still unbearably radiant in places like this."
She blinked once, caught off guard. "Was that—was that a compliment, Amaury?"
"A slip of the tongue," she answered smoothly, eyes already surveying where more of the shadowed creatures were beginning to gather.
"Mirabella should take after you," she added absently, almost as though the thought had only now surfaced aloud.
Astrid's expression softened. "I think she's fine the way she is. But... I do wish this reunion had been under better circumstances. One that wasn't either the festival or—" she gestured vaguely at the shrieking nightmare things crawling over distant dunes "—whatever this is supposed to be."
Amaury hummed as she raised her sword again. "Indeed. There's something wrong with all of this. I smell no mana on them… no natural essence. They aren't alive. Not really. And that, more than anything, irks me."
Astrid nodded, her tone falling quieter. "It's like they don't belong here. Like they slipped in through another realm."
"Or were sent."
Her brows drew together. "You think someone summoned them?"
Amaury gave no answer. But someone else did.
"Creatures of the Abyss," a voice stated.
Two sets of footsteps crunched over.
"Ugh! These things are so creepy!" a second voice declared.
Astrid's grip on Leifa Allr relaxed slightly—though her stance remained perfectly balanced—as both she and Amaury turned toward the sound.
General Mai approached flanked by Emilia.
"Hey, sis, you holding up okay?" Emilia called as she approached, brushing some dark ichor off her shoulder with a wince. Her face was flushed, pigtails slightly tousled, but her expression was just annoyed if anything. "These freaks just came out of nowhere—like bam, all at once." She gave Amaury a thumbs-up as if that would calm her. "They jumped me—and that woman too—so I figured, you know, why not team up? Fighting each other while those things attacked would be pretty stupid, huh? So you've got to admit, that's pretty clever of me, huh?"
Amaury raised a brow and gave a dry, faintly amused hum. "Very impressive," she replied flatly, but Astrid didn't miss the almost imperceptible softening in her voice—a flicker of relief at seeing her younger sister safe.
Yet Astrid's attention turned back to what the general had said. Something about that term—Abyss—tugged at her thoughts.
She turned, sword still faintly glowing, to Mai. "You said 'Creatures of the Abyss.' General, do you mean demons?" Her tone was neutral. Demons were familiar enemies. Horrifying, yes—but known.
But Mai shook her head slowly, her expression darkening further. That rare shift in her countenance sent a deep chill down her spine. She had only seen the general as bothered when Mikoto was taken by an Astrothian during their training back in Veron.
"No," she replied. "These things… they're far worse." The sky rumbled faintly above them, and more monstrosities slithered out from the cracks in the sky. Mai continued, "They're not demons. Demons dwell near the surface of the Abyss. These… these are from a far deeper stratum. Something older and fouler. What we see here? These are merely whelps. But their presence speaks of something far more terrible approaching."
A pause lingered between them.
Amaury stepped forward beside Astrid, her red eyes narrowing, lips drawn into a line. "You speak as though you've seen these before. You know what they are," she said— wary.
Mai gave a slow, grim nod. "I have." She let her gaze roam the area, where shadows moved. "How I came to learn of such things matters little. What matters is that we understand—this is no random attack. This could be a prelude to something catastrophic. These things should not be in our realm." She looked each of them in the eye. "They don't belong here. Only demons could ever cross over from the Abyss not them."
Astrid's heart thudded in her chest, heavier now. She asked softly, "Do you truly believe it's that severe?"
Mai nodded. "I do. I've seen it firsthand, how cruel these things could be." She muttered, she did not elaborate. "I have reason to believe they're not just attacking this world, but perhaps ours. I cannot allow the kingdom to fall because I remained here. Once we clear this swarm, I will forfeit from the festival and return to rally our forces."
Astrid didn't hesitate. "Then I will accompany you. I cannot, in good conscience, remain when others may already be suffering."
Mai looked mildly stunned by the princess's resolve—but then a small smile broke through her grim expression. "Your father would be proud."
Amaury exhaled through her nose, slowly, as if calculating several thoughts at once. She looked down in thought beside Astrid and twirled her blade absentmindedly.
"How noble," she said, her tone thoughtful. "And I must admit something about your conviction stirs me." She turned to glance back at the writhing creatures spilling from the sky. "If these things are attacking our home as well, then there's nothing left to fight for. Victory in a festival like this means little when our empire may be in danger."
"But wait," Emilia interjected, her expression crumpling in surprise. "You're not thinking of dropping out too, are you? Amaury, c'mon! This is the final festival—we've been training all the time for this!"
Amaury didn't respond at first. Instead, she walked over to her younger sister, and raised a single finger to give a flick on her forehead.
"Ow!" Emilia recoiled, rubbing her forehead. "What was that for?!"
"To ensure your head's still attached and not floating in the clouds," Amaury replied calmly, though her smirk betrayed her affection. "Do not worry, Emilia. I have not made my decision yet. But we cannot ignore what's happening. We are not children anymore. So hush, little sister," Amaury added with a slight shake of her head. "Our enemies await."
Astrid laughed quietly. "You're as adorable as ever, Emilia."
"Sh-shut up!" Emilia snapped back, cheeks flushed pink as she hastily turned to the encroaching creatures. She clenched her fists. "Fine. No more talking. Let's just smash these creepy things into dust!"
--------------------
[???]
Her eyes lifted toward the wounds that had been carved into the skies. They were gaping lacerations bleeding darkness. Mirabella's gaze remained fixed on them. As if she were trying to piece together the shape of something.
All across the fractured skies, enormous pillars of shadows surged, erupting from high above. Each twisted spire screamed downward and then splintered—breaking apart into fragments that scattered like meteors.
Those things—creatures that could hardly be called beasts—had encircled them in droves. Eyes that weren't eyes, mouths that weren't mouths. Their presence was eerie, things that did not belong here.
But despite their numbers, the wave had been beaten back.
And now there was a moment of silence. Not peace but a breath before the next wave no doubt. High above the area, on a cliff, Mirabella planted her foot onto the ground as if to steady herself as she let her eyes wander far.
The wind lifted strands of her dust-streaked blue hair as she muttered aloud.
"What the hell is the cause of all this crap?"
Agatha stood beside her, arms folded, the tips of her fingers lightly pressed beneath her chin in thought.
"I sense no mana," she murmured. "This may be the work of another Von Auerswald… or perhaps…" She trailed off, lips barely parting as she whispered the name with evident contempt, "One of those Ancestors."
Mirabella turned her head slightly toward her with a scowl. "But on this scale?" she said with disbelief. "Seriously—what the hell is up with this festival?"
Agatha didn't answer immediately. Her gaze was fixed far beyond.
"I cannot say," she admitted at last. "It may not even be the work of a participant. This disruption—it feels too vast. I suggest we wait for word from Victoria on how to proceed. Our reserves are about restored. As long as we don't run into someone on Selwyn's level, we'll endure."
At the sound of that name, Mirabella's entire expression darkened—her shoulders stiffening, jaw tightening.
"Tch." She spat the sound like venom, looking away. "Thanks for reminding me about that bastard." Her hand rose briefly to her arm—reflexive—where phantom pain still lingered. The memory of that torturous encounter scraped across her spine like rusted nails. She glanced sideways at Agatha, trying to feign casual interest, but there was worry in the tilt of her brow. "You think Mikoto's holdin' his own against that freak?"
Agatha didn't hesitate.
"I have faith," she said, with a rare softness that only surfaced when speaking of Mikoto. "Whether he already has, or is in the midst of it—I believe in his victory."
Mirabella blinked once. Slowly. Her expression shifted—something uncertain behind her smirk.
"Yeah… he's pretty strong. Stronger than most give him credit for." She exhaled, as if trying to release some hidden weight. "And a spawn of Octavia, too." Her voice grew quieter as she stared back at the splintering sky. "Damn… I still can't believe it. I mean, there was always something about him. I never thought there could be two."
Her tone seemed pensive, almost awed.
"I guess it makes sense now," she murmured. "Why he always kept that stupid mask up. Hid his face." Her voice grew fainter. "He was pretty—"
"Cute?" Agatha offered, voice even.
Mirabella didn't deny it.
"Yup," she said without flinching. There was no teasing blush this time. For once, she just agreed. "But yeah," she added, shaking her head and letting the mirth drain. "He'll kick ass. I'm sure."
She was about to say more—maybe something lighter to change the mood—but something else answered first.
Suddenly, a voice echoed—not in the air, but directly in their minds.
["Alright… I'm connected."]
The telepathic tone was crystal clear.
Mirabella squinted, raising an eyebrow. "The hag?"
"You mean the court mage, Guinevere," Agatha corrected. The correction was dry but obligatory.
["Thank you for the correction, darling,"] Guinevere's voice cooed. ["Good to know that little Princess Mirabella is still alive—and still as idiotic as ever."]
"Hey—shut up!" Mirabella shot back instantly.
Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose.
["Anyway, listen closely, all of you,"] Guinevere's voice sharpened, her tone dropping into grave seriousness. ["I am broadcasting this to every remaining Galadriel participant. Every single one of you still breathing. Listen and remember what I say next—"]
The air seemed to still.
["This festival—this battle—is all but meaningless now."]
Mirabella's lips parted in confusion. Agatha's brows knit together, the words beginning to settle with chilling implication.
["We shall all forfeit… and prepare."]
The voice lingered, echoing once in the minds of the few.
["Prepare… for the First Calamity."]