BANG!
Janeus threw the door open, stepping with quiet confidence into a vast underground vault packed wall to wall with weaponry, plainly an armory belonging to the local police department.
Janeus cast her gaze forward, where hundreds of people sat huddling together in the dimness. This was her first time laying eyes on them in the flesh.
"Where did you come from, child?"
An elderly woman made her way toward Janeus, carrying a bottle of water and a rag for her to wipe her face. The old woman's skin was streaked with grime and mud, and one of her eyes appeared completely ruined, milky white and sunken out of alignment.
Seeing this, Janeus simply took the bottle of water, her fingers brushing lightly against the old woman's hand before she turned and walked away.
Not a single word of thanks escaped her lips, nor did she make eye contact, a coldness that left the old woman standing there in visible bewilderment.
Janeus paid the confusion no mind. She slid down to sit against a concrete wall, keeping her distance from the crowd currently sizing her up with intense curiosity. Soon after, however, she noticed a figure approaching her from the direction of the doorway.
"Please forgive her, ma'am. She isn't usually like this, but as you can see, she is in terrible shape and desperately needs some rest."
Promet stepped up to the old woman, smoothing things over on Janeus's behalf. After all, he was likely the only one here who knew she was a princess, and a princess would hardly appreciate an old woman demanding a friendly interaction.
Besides, her body was completely shattered to the point of utter exhaustion.
Promet eased the old woman's worries. In truth, the grandmother held no ill will toward Janeus; she was simply concerned, given how much the girl resembled a walking corpse.
Janeus's gaze was completely vacant, dark bulging veins mapped across her limbs, and though the blade in her hand remained deadly sharp, the way she held it radiated an indescribable, bone deep lethargy.
Moreover, what truly set her apart was that in this bleak, black and white monochrome realm, while Promet retained his golden hair and amber eyes, Janeus still preserved her striking golden tresses and signature emerald green irises.
A sight like that, how could it not spark an overwhelming, restless curiosity among the survivors?
"Big sister, why is your hair such a strange color?"
"Yeah, what's your name?"
Janeus lay motionless on the floor, unable to summon even the strength to open the water bottle or wipe her face with the cloth.
Seeing her blood soaked visage and those vivid emerald eyes rolling amid a ruined mess of skin and dark blood, the gathering children recoiled in sudden terror.
"I am so sorry! Let me keep my kids away!"
A frantic mother rushed forward, pulling her two young sons back into her arms after catching sight of the horrific condition of Janeus's face.
Once again, Promet had to step in to manage the commotion for Janeus, though he certainly didn't enjoy having to play caretaker.
After resolving the awkward situation, Promet found himself cradling two frightened children in his arms while doing his best to assist the rest of the survivors.
As for what was going through Janeus's mind, God only knew.
Indeed, even with mind reading magic, it would take a miracle to make sense of the chaotic storm raging inside her head.
Because she lacked a host to stabilize her Gift, she was rapidly losing her sanity. Simple, coherent thought had become a brutal ordeal, making lucid awareness nearly impossible.
'A black cane dancing to classical music set atop a stack of silver coffee saucers...'
'A spinning chocolate wheel made of soy milk crackers...'
Her thoughts drifted in a dazed, drug like stupor before pulling her under into a waking dream. She lay on the cold ground, one ear pressed flat against the stone while the other twitched subtly in the air.
She was simultaneously tracking seismic echoes through the floor while processing ambient sounds, a raw, primitive form of territorial defense inherent to wild beasts.
In other words, she was no longer lucid enough to function consciously, forcing her body to rely entirely on primal instinct.
Before she drifted off, she could still feel the heavy blanket of anxiety suffocating the armory, though that atmosphere was somewhat dulled by the bustling human activity around her.
It seemed they were praying, desperately clinging to the hope of finding a way out alive.
Janeus surrendered to surreal hallucinations of moving pastries before sinking into a long, deep slumber...
'Listen close, little princess... Ron... listen carefully to what I am about to tell you...'