Kiana ran.
She didn't know why, or where she was going. All she knew was that the mysterious, sad-eyed boy from the island had taken off, and her instincts—the same ones that told her to punch first and ask questions later—were screaming at her to give chase.
She ran so far, so fast, that she forgot where she was.
A vast, snowy tundra stretched out in every direction under a perpetually gray sky. The air was bitingly cold, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. She had been here before.
A short distance away, half-buried in a snowdrift, stood an old, worn-down cabin. A single plume of smoke curled from its chimney, a lonely gray ribbon against the endless white.
A wave of nostalgia, sharp and bittersweet, washed over her.
"Hey... I know this place," she whispered, her breath fogging in the frigid air.
"This is Dad's cabin."
The one where she and her "stinky dad" had lived, a long, long time ago.
Her childhood memories were a jumble, like a box of old photographs, most of them blurry and faded. She only remembered things with perfect clarity from the day she woke up to find everyone gone, the day her long journey to find Siegfried had begun.
But she did recall some fragments.
She remembered the taste of the "Super Secret Kaslana-Style Pizza." It was just a cheap frozen pizza, of course, but her stinky dad had insisted on cooking it with the Judgment of Shamash, turning it into a blackened, vaguely circular object that was more charcoal than cheese.
"He called it 'flame-kissed'," she mumbled with a small, sad smile. "I called it a disaster. But the burnt parts were the best."
She remembered her dad drinking a lot, sitting by the fire for hours, staring into the flames with an expression she couldn't understand back then. He always seemed so sad.
She remembered him talking to someone, laughing with someone. A faint, staticky image flashed in her mind—a smaller hand in hers, a quiet voice humming a tune she couldn't quite place.
"There was... someone else... right?" she muttered, clutching her head. The memory was just out of reach, a word on the tip of her tongue that refused to be spoken. "Who...?"
The frustration was starting to build, a familiar annoyance bubbling up in her chest.
Just as she was about to get angry, she heard it again.
The boy's voice. Faint, distant, like an echo carried on the wind. It was coming from the direction of the dense, snow-covered forest that bordered the clearing.
The chase was back on.
...
Kiana plunged into the forest, the snow crunching under her feet.
It was like a game of hide-and-seek, but every time she felt she was getting close, the voice would fade and reappear somewhere else, further away.
It was infuriating. And kind of fun.
But with each "jump," with each new location she found herself in, she heard another piece of the story he was telling. It wasn't for her, she realized. He was telling it to someone else, someone she couldn't see.
"...and the Knight, who was very strong, swore an oath to the Demon King..." she heard as she passed a stand of ancient, twisted trees.
She followed the sound to a frozen river, its surface a sheet of milky-white ice.
"...'Even if the whole world forgets you,' the Knight promised, 'I will always remember'..."
The voice vanished again, reappearing near the base of a snow-covered mountain that loomed in the distance. Kiana grumbled but kept going, her curiosity now a burning fire. She had to know how this story ended.
"...But the Demon King was afraid. 'Promises are easy to break,' Demon King said. 'Words are just wind.' So the Knight gave Demon King a new name, a secret name, as a seal upon their promise..."
Kiana didn't connect any of this to Mo Wang. The "Demon King" in the story was a cool, epic figure. Mo Wang was a lazy, perverted slacker who called himself the Demon King because he thought it sounded edgy.
They were obviously two completely different people.
The voice finally led her to a place where the forest opened up into a wide, circular clearing.
The clearing was a scar on the pristine snow.
Snow was melted away in patches, revealing scorched earth. A familiar-looking white and gold black lance was shattered on the ground.
And everywhere... there was blood. Dark stains on the pure white snow.
Forgetting this was just a memory, she rushed forward, a cry of alarm on her lips.
"Hello? Is anyone here?!"
she searching for any person alive, keep searching to more as the area become more and more like a war.
And that's when she saw them.
A boy and a girl stood at the center of the clearing.
The boy looked weak, his face pale.
A thin, wicked-looking lance, forged of pure void, was impaled straight through his chest.
Yet, he didn't seem to mind the fatal wound.
His eyes were fixed on the girl in front of him, a gentle, sad smile on his lips. He was still speaking, his voice now a weak, stumbling whisper.
"...so even if the whole world forgets you, even if you forget you... I won't. I'll remember. So please..." he stumbled, his legs giving out. He fell to his knees, his voice cracking as he repeated the words over and over again, like a prayer.
"Mò... Wàng..."
"Don't forget... Don't forget... me..."
Kiana's breath hitched. She tried to rush to his side, to help him, but her feet felt rooted to the spot. She could see his face clearly now. It was a younger, more innocent version of... Mo Wang.
A wave of dizziness washed over her. Who was this girl? Who would do something so horrible? Kiana's fists clenched. Even if she was just a little girl, she would fight her! She would protect him!
She was going to teach this girl a lesson she would never forget.
She looked up, her eyes blazing, ready to confront the attacker.
And then she saw the girl's face.
Silver hair. Pouting lips.
And brilliant, furious, golden eyes.
It was...
The shock was a physical jolt, a current of pure horror that ripped her from the dreamscape and slammed her back into the present.
Her consciousness crashed back into her body with dizzying speed.
But she wasn't in the Ferris wheel cabin anymore.
She was running. Her lungs burned with the effort, and the cheerful music of the park was a distant, distorted noise. She could feel the hard pavement under her feet and the jostle of bodies as she pushed through a crowd.
And she was crying. Tears streamed down her face, hot and unstoppable, but the emotions behind them weren't hers. They were a torrent of overwhelming sorrow, shame, and a strange, heart-wrenching tenderness that was completely alien to her.
Sirin was still in control.
"What happened?!" Kiana screamed inside their shared mind, her own consciousness reeling from the emotional whiplash. "Why are we running?! And why are we crying?!"
Sirin, who was piloting their body with reckless abandon, didn't answer immediately. A choked sob was the only response.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Kiana insisted, her own panic rising. "What did he say to you in there?! What did Mo Wang do?! no.. what Did YOU DO!?"
"Shut up!" Sirin finally shrieked back, her voice thick and cracking. "None of your business, you idiot! Just... shut up!"
The body kept running, leaving a bewildered Mo Wang sitting alone in the Ferris wheel cabin, clutching a giant, fluffy Homu.
The cabin door was about to close when a park security officer with a weary, seen-it-all expression stuck his head inside. He looked from the empty seat, to Mo Wang, to the giant plushie that was now his only companion.
"Rough fight, son?" the officer asked, his voice dripping with tired sympathy. He sighed and shook his head.
"No... just pufferfish. There's another problem now," Mo Wang said, looking toward the seaside. A white creature's feathered features were starting to appear on the surface of the water.