The injured woman looked at Narisva Starisnova as one might look at a legend that had stepped out of history and decided to exist in the present. She did not speak at first. Her mind would not allow it.
Ever since she had been a child, she had heard the name whispered with equal parts awe and terror.
The Scourge of Nemesis.
No one on the continent of Xypelia had lived without hearing it. The stories were unavoidable. They passed through cities and villages alike, woven into lullabies, warnings and half-forgotten gossip. Some spoke of her as a necessary calamity. Others saw her as a monster wearing divinity like a crown. All agreed on one thing:
Narisva Starisnova was catastrophic.
The tales said she had made a deal with a Celestial—used him, some versions claimed—and through that pact had orchestrated the annihilation of the Starisnova Dynasty in its entirety. Entire branches were erased in a single decisive act of violence that reshaped the political and social landscape of the continent.
All except one. One survivor was elevated amid the ashes to become the reigning Monarch of Starisnova. Whether Narisva had spared them intentionally or simply deemed them irrelevant was a question no one dared answer. And now, the injured woman saw her not as a name or a rumor but as an overwhelming reality.
The stories had always spoken of her beauty, too. They said that she was the most beautiful woman Starisnova had ever produced since the Dynasty's formation. Her appearance was so striking it bordered on the unreal. Standing here, staring up at her, the woman realized with quiet terror that the stories had not exaggerated. If anything, they underestimated just how beautiful she was. Narisva Starisnova was devastatingly beautiful. Looking away felt wrong, like denying gravity.
It took the injured woman several seconds to realize she had been staring. She lowered her gaze abruptly. She was shaking from the sheer impossibility of the situation.
A Divine Being stood before her.
"How long have you been in Frostdeath?"
The question reached the injured woman belatedly. She tried to gather her thoughts.
"I... I… I don't know exactly. Days. Maybe longer."
"Phase?"
"F-first," she answered quickly, as though confessing a crime.
"How did you survive this long?"
The injured woman opened her mouth, then closed it again. The answer tangled itself up in fear and confusion. She tried to explain anyway, words spilling out unevenly. Halfway through, she realized Narisva was no longer listening to the specifics. The air around the injured woman shifted.
She felt it before she understood it. The crushing weight of her own body eased, then vanished altogether. Her feet were lifted from the snow without effort until she floated several centimeters above the ground. She gasped, panicking briefly.
"Relax."
Gravity itself was altered, cradling the injured woman like an invisible hand. The pain in her injuries receded further as strain vanished from her muscles. Narisva turned and began to walk. The injured woman floated beside her.
She did not dare speak unless spoken to now. She hovered in silence, watching blackened trenches and bloodstained snow slide past beneath her, acutely aware that she was being carried by a power so far beyond her comprehension that resistance or objection would have been absurd.
"How many Xypelians were with you before you became separated?"
"Eight… around eight hundred," she said quietly.
Narisva did not stop walking.
"What happened to them?"
"A swarm of the Sunderer Rank. We tried to hold formation but they came from beneath the snow. I—I was pushed away during the fighting. When I tried to get back, there were… losses. A lot of them."
She did not know how many. Saying the number aloud would have made it real. Narisva absorbed this without visible reaction.
"What about leadership?"
"There's... there was a Third Phase Ascender with us. He might still be alive. He's strong. Stronger than the rest of us."
Narisva glanced at her sideways.
"Is he your partner?"
The injured woman nearly choked.
"N-no. No, absolutely not. He's... he's already engaged. I just meant he's important. To the group."
"Hm."
They continued in silence for several moments, Then Narisva spoke again.
"As much as I would like to retrieve them all, it's too late. The longer we remain active in this region, the higher the probability that Scavenger Rank Krepsunas will respond. I am not interested in expending unnecessary energy on entities that provide no strategic or personal value."
She did not argue.
Scavenger Rank Krepsunas were not creatures one can fought. They were forces of nature. Even seeing one meant death for someone like her. She would barely inconvenience it. At best, she might leave a scratch.
"We need to rest," Narisva concluded.
The injured woman lowered her head.
"Yes. Of course."
There was no resentment in her voice. Only acceptance. Gratitude, even, for the fact that she was alive at all. The injured woman hovered beside Narisva in uneasy silence for a time.
"Lady… Starisnova," she said, stumbling over the title as if afraid to choose the wrong one. "What… what happened to us?"
She was asking why she had been taken. Narisva did not answer immediately though. She continued walking silently. When she finally spoke, her tone was calm.
"It's simple. Tell me your name."
The woman was shocked. A Divine had asked for her name.
"My name is Erythiel. I'm a First Phase Ascender in a City in Xypelia."
Narisva inclined her head a fraction, acknowledging the name as one might acknowledge a recorded datum.
"Erythiel, huh? Then listen carefully. Have you heard of the First Epoch Cycle?"
Erythiel nodded quickly.
"Yes—yes, a little. Some students from Minafallen Academy talked about it. They said… they said people were sent away. To the past, maybe? Or somewhere that looked like the past. No one really knew. Most thought it was a rumor."
"It wasn't. The First Epoch Cycle was a forced displacement of select students across temporal strata. We are now in the Second Epoch Cycle. All Dynasties and associated populations were forcibly transferred here."
"Transferred… where?"
Narisva lifted her staff slightly and gestured not toward the land around them, but somewhere far beyond it.
"To a sealed multirealm construct known as the Hidden Citadel. It's an artificial convergence of eight major distinct realms, layered and stabilized through means most Ascenders and Divines would not survive comprehending."
Erythiel felt dizzy.
"The Hidden… Citadel," she repeated faintly.
"That is where we are now. Frostdeath is one of its peripheral environments. It is ideal for filtration."
Filtration. The word chilled Erythiel more deeply than the cold ever had.
"All the Dynasties are here?"
"Yes."
The Dynasties were not just political powers. They were pillars of the world with bloodlines that shaped history itself.
"When… when did this happen, Lady Starisnova?"
"Today marks one month since the Second Epoch Cycle began."
'But to me, that lives exactly four years and twelve months until the Mopherian Pantheon initiates its offensive,' Narisva said to herself.
"Then… then what about us? The Xypelians?"
Narisva looked at her directly now.
"I have been retrieving Xypelians who fell into the Second Epoch Cycle without protection or coordination. Your group was the last registered batch."
The words sank slowly.
"I am confident that you are the only survivor."
The image of eight hundred faces—some familiar, some barely remembered—rose unbidden in her mind. She even remembered the children she protected for that one month period. She lowered her head. Tears froze against her lashes before they could fall. Narisva watched her for a moment before she turned forward once more.
"You survived. That matters."
To Erythiel, those words were not cold. It was true. She was fortunate enough to be rescued.