(12 hours left before everything stops…)
Krrrnnng… Krrrnnng…
Scarlet groaned. The phone was screaming like it had a personal vendetta. She stumbled across her apartment, dodging a chair she'd left in the middle of the room for no reason, and grabbed the phone.
"Scarlet!" Angel's voice came through, sharp and annoyed. "What took you so long? I've been calling forever."
Scarlet stuffed a bite of pizza into her mouth before answering. "Relax. I was cooking dinner. Pineapple pizza, fresh out of the oven, with orange juice squeezed by hand. Classy, right?"
Angel paused. "…Pizza and orange juice? At midnight?"
Scarlet smirked. "Hey, don't judge. Some people prep for the end of the world with meditation. I do it with carbs."
Angel snorted. "Ha! Very funny. You mean reheating convenience store pineapple pizza with the packet orange juice that's been sitting in your fridge since last week."
Scarlet smirked, unfazed. "Yup… that's right. Anyway, why'd you call me? It's not like it's something unusual."
Angel's voice cracked, wobbling between sarcasm and genuine despair. "What, I can't call my best friend anytime I want? Ugh… I can't sleep just thinking about winter break being over, Scarlet." Her words tumbled out, half whining, half crying.
She sniffled loudly into the phone before continuing, "I have to wake up early tomorrow, drag myself to school, and—wait. Oh no. I just remembered… I haven't even touched my English assignment. What do I do, Scarlet?"
Scarlet leaned back against the counter, chewing slowly on her pizza, unimpressed. "So basically, you called me to cry about homework at midnight?
Scarlet sighed, the kind of sigh that carried both patience and exhaustion. "Huhh… Angel, bring your homework tomorrow. We'll finish it during lunch break since English is in fifth period anyway. I've got some corrections to do too, so we'll suffer together."
She stretched, already half-asleep, and added, "Okay… bye. Good night. See you tomorrow."
Angel sniffled dramatically on the other end. "You're the best, Scarlet. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Scarlet rolled her eyes, hanging up before Angel could spiral into another midnight monologue. The room fell quiet again, except for the faint hum of the city outside — and the clock on her wall, ticking down the hours that remained.
Call Ended...
The night slipped away in a blur of pizza crumbs and unfinished thoughts. By the time Scarlet finally closed her eyes, morning was already waiting at the door.
Ding-dong-ding!
The school bell echoed through the halls of Chrono Ridge Academy, shaking the building awake as students dragged themselves back from winter break. Backpacks thumped, lockers slammed, and sleepy faces shuffled toward their first class of the year.
"Good morning, Scarlet!!!"
Angel's voice rang out, full of excitement, as she weaved through the crowd with her usual cheerfulness. Scarlet let out a long sigh, rubbing her eyes. "Huhhh… good morning. I can't believe I stayed up the whole night finishing my assignment."
"Booo… I thought you had finished it on time?" Angel teased, grinning. Scarlet's eye twitched. "Well, I did finish it… last night. Now let's go to class."
Wind gushed through the half-open window, flipping the pages of the book Angel was supposed to be staring at.
"Leaves are yellow or gone, branches shake in the cold, birds no longer sing…" Mr. Weslock's voice carried across the classroom, steady. He was the homeroom teacher for both Angel and Scarlet, though half the class looked like they were still mentally on vacation.
Angel, of course, wasn't listening. Her eyes wandered to the endless view outside the window — rooftops, bare trees, and the pale winter sky that seemed to stretch forever.
Scarlet nudged her with the end of a pencil. "Focus, or he's going to call on you."
Angel waved her off, chin propped on her hand. "If he does, I'll just say the birds stopped singing because they're depressed about school starting again."
Scarlet stifled a laugh, shaking her head.
And then— the school bell rang again, this time signaling the long-awaited lunch break. Chairs scraped, bags zipped, and the classroom erupted into chatter as everyone bolted for freedom.
As Angel and Scarlet were about to sit down for lunch in their classroom — the only two who hadn't bolted for the cafeteria — Angel froze.
There, on her desk, sat a folded letter. She blinked at it, confused. She didn't remember putting it there. She didn't even remember anyone walking past her desk.
(30 minutes left before the time stops…)
"Angel, what's that?" Scarlet leaned over her shoulder, curiosity written all over her face.
Angel hesitated, her fingers hovering just above the paper. The ticking of the classroom clock seemed louder than usual.
(00:29:59… 00:29:58…)
Scarlet frowned. "Did someone leave it for you?" Angel swallowed, her usual cheer fading into unease. "I… don't know. Maybe it's a love latter. She chuckled.
Suddenly, a cold wind blasted through the classroom window, rattling desks and scattering loose papers across the floor. The clear blue sky outside darkened in an instant, turning into a heavy black canvas. The chatter in the hallway faded, and the room fell into an eerie silence.
Scarlet leaned closer, her curiosity outweighing her unease. "Then let's find out what's inside." Together, they unfolded the paper slowly, careful not to tear it
The letter looked impossibly old, its edges worn and fragile, as if it had been waiting there for years. Yet, strangely, it carried the fresh scent of roses, filling the silent classroom with an unsettling sweetness.
Angel's hands trembled as she read the words aloud:
"Dearest chosen one, I shall tell you that whoever you are, you shall be responsible for what you do, for every action of yours can change every second of history and future. I shall guide you in your journey, but all I can do is guide. If you turn away from your responsibility, you shall be punished very severely."
The words hung heavy in the air, each sentence pressing down on them like a weight.
(00:00:03… 00:00:02… 00:00:01… 00:00:00…)
The classroom clock froze. The ticking stopped. The silence deepened.
Scarlet's breath caught in her throat. "Angel… what does this mean?"
Suddenly, deafening bell sounds rang out — but it wasn't the school bell. The noise was sharper, heavier, echoing like it came from everywhere at once.
The letter in Angel's hands shimmered, then burst apart into thousands of rose petals that scattered across the classroom, swirling in the cold wind.
CRACK—RUMBLE—BOOM!
The floor trembled beneath them. Angel's eyes widened. "What's happening? Is it… an earthquake?"
Scarlet turned toward the window, her breath catching. Outside, the world had frozen. Students who had been playing volleyball were stuck mid-motion, the ball suspended in the air like a photograph. Even the trees had stopped swaying, locked in place.
Angel's voice broke into panic. "Scarlet! Hold my hand!"
Scarlet grabbed her tightly, the petals still spinning around them, as the silence of the frozen world pressed in.
They both held each other's hand tightly. A blinding flash of light filled the room, forcing their eyes shut.
From within the light, a strange, terrifying voice echoed — deep, distorted, and impossible to place.
"You shall not anger the gods…"
And then, silence.
Angel's breathing was shaky as she slowly opened her eyes. The classroom was gone. The familiar desks, the chalkboard, the window — all replaced by a place she couldn't recognize. The air was heavy, the ground unfamiliar, and nothing about it felt like home.
Her voice cracked as panic set in. "Scarlet… are you seeing what I'm seeing? Where are we? I thought we were inside our classroom…"
She turned frantically, her voice rising. "Scarlet? Scarlet!"
Angel screamed in horror. Scarlet was nowhere to be seen.
Thump-thump… Thump-thump…
Angel pressed a hand against her chest, trying to steady her breathing. Take a deep breath, Angel… everything will be fine, she whispered to herself.
But the world around her was anything but fine.
"Move out of my way, young lady!" a stern voice barked.
"Freshly plucked flarry for just five Glimmers!" another voice called out, cheerful but strange.
Angel spun around, bewildered. The classroom was gone — replaced by a bustling street filled with people she didn't recognize.
"Don't block the path, young lady," an unfamiliar woman scolded as she brushed past.
"Oh, I'm so sorr—" Angel started, but was cut off as someone bumped into her shoulder.
"Aah! Can't you see?" the man snapped, dressed in aristocratic clothing that looked centuries out of place. His eyes narrowed at her uniform. "And what are you even wearing? Such inappropriate clothes…"
Angel froze, clutching her bag tighter. Nothing about this place felt real. Nothing about it felt safe.
Angel's frustration boiled over. "I'm so sorry for bumping into you, but what's wrong with my clothes? It's just a normal school uniform. I don't see the problem!" Her voice carried a sharp edge, louder than she intended.
The man's face twisted with disdain. He raised his voice, drawing the attention of passersby. "What a rude girl! Do you see anyone here wearing that kind of outfit? And besides…" His eyes narrowed, cruel. "You're not even beautiful. You're wasting my precious time. Now move out of my way. Shu-shu!"
He brushed past her, his aristocratic coat sweeping the air as he disappeared into the crowd.
Angel stood frozen, her fists clenched at her sides. The sting of his words echoed louder than the marketplace noise. She glanced around, feeling more out of place than ever — surrounded by strangers, strange currency, and strange rules.
Angel clenched her fists, muttering under her breath. "What a creep… how can he say I'm not beautiful right to my face? Scarlet… you'd have roasted him in seconds if you were here."
She sighed, trying to shake off the sting of his words. Her eyes drifted down to her uniform, and for a moment, she let her thoughts wander.
"To be honest," she whispered to herself, "I do sometimes think our school uniform is a little weird… a white shirt, a navy-blue waistcoat, a black skirt with golden strips, and the usual black-and-white socks and shoes. It's not exactly what people here are wearing."
Her lips curved into a faint smile despite the situation. "But still… it looks cool. Hmm… I don't think I hate it."
The marketplace noise swirled around her, but Angel felt more out of place than ever — her uniform now a symbol of the world she came from, and the reminder of Scarlet's absence.
Angel's frustration lingered, her thoughts circling back to Scarlet's absence. Standing in silence, she scanned the crowd again. The people around her were dressed so differently — women in elegant dresses, walking with confidence, men in old-fashioned suits and ties that looked straight out of another century.
Her heart raced. She ducked quickly behind a fruit vendor's stall, trying to blend in, her eyes darting across the marketplace. The smell of ripe pears and apples mixed with the chatter of strangers.
Angel slipped away, moving behind rows of buildings, hoping to find a quiet corner to think. But before she could take another step, a hand grabbed her wrist. She spun around, startled, her breath catching in her throat.
The tall woman's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. "WHAT ARE YOU WEARING, LITTLE GIRL?"
She stood in front of Angel, dressed in a golden and white flared gown that shimmered with elegance. Yet her expression was twisted with frustration — and, surprisingly, worry.
Angel stumbled back, startled, clutching the edge of her uniform tighter. Her breath caught in her throat. "I—I'm sorry," she managed, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean to…
The woman's eyes narrowed, scanning Angel from head to toe. "A young girl like you shouldn't dress like that."
Angel's heart pounded. She shook her head slowly, her voice barely a whisper. "No… I don't."
she hissed, though the worry in her voice softened the sharpness of her words. "Cover yourself properly before someone else sees you."
Angel swallowed hard, heat rising to her cheeks. She had no idea what counted as "proper" here, but the woman's urgency made her obey without question.
The woman hissed, her words sharp but softened by the worry in her tone. "Cover yourself properly before someone else sees you."
Angel swallowed hard, heat rising to her cheeks. She had no idea what counted as proper here, but the urgency in the woman's voice made her obey without question. She pulled her cloak tighter, hiding the navy waistcoat and golden-striped skirt beneath it.
The woman's eyes flicked nervously toward the crowd. "You should not dress like that. People will notice, and not all of them will be kind."
Angel's heart pounded. She nodded quickly, her voice low. "I'll be careful. I promise."
Angel, still startled, could only nod as the woman fussed over her. Before she could protest, the stranger grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a narrow side corridor, away from the busy street.
"Come with me. Quickly, a clothing shop is right around the corner," the woman muttered, her gown sweeping across the stone floor like a wave of gold and white.
Angel followed, heart thudding, unsure whether she was being rescued or scolded. The woman pushed open a wooden door and ushered her inside a small room filled with trunks, fabrics, and half‑finished garments.
"How may I help you, Madam?" the shopkeeper asked, her tone polite but her eyes already curious, flicking toward Angel.
The golden‑gowned stranger tightened her grip on Angel's wrist, her voice sharp yet trembling with worry. "Can you find something for this little girl who is dressed very… I don't know, strangely. And oh, it does not have to be too fancy."
Angel's cheeks burned. She wanted to protest, but the words tangled in her throat. Strangely? she thought bitterly. This is my school uniform, not a clown costume.
The shopkeeper tilted her head, lips twitching as though she was suppressing a laugh. "Well, Madam, I do believe we can find something less… eye‑catching. Perhaps something that won't make the entire street stop and stare."
Angel groaned softly, muttering under her breath. "Great. So basically, I look like a walking circus act." The golden‑gowned woman shot her a sharp look, but her eyes softened with concern.
After a few minutes, the shopkeeper returned, her arms full of folded fabric. She handed the bundle to Angel with a gentle nod.
"Put these on," she said simply.
The golden‑gowned woman's voice cut sharper, though it trembled with worry. "Whatever you're wearing now—hide it. Burn it if you must."
Angel blinked, confused but oddly grateful. Her fingers brushed over the garments: a soft linen chemise, a plain brown overdress, and a hooded cloak.
Angel whispered, half to herself, half to the strangers who had helped her: "Thank you… I'll wear them."
The shopkeeper gave a small smile, while the golden‑gowned woman's eyes softened, relief flickering through her sternness. For the first time since arriving in this strange world, Angel felt a fragile thread of safety — though the ache of Scarlet's absence still pressed against her heart.
A few minutes later, Angel emerged from behind the curtain, no longer the girl in a school uniform but just another face blending into this world. Her neatly folded uniform was buried deep inside her bag, hidden away like a secret.
The woman's eyes softened as she gave a satisfied nod. "Much better. Now you won't have every pair of eyes in the kingdom chasing after you."
Angel lowered her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper as she murmured, "thank you." She still couldn't understand why this stranger had taken such interest in her, but the relief of no longer standing out eased the tightness in her chest.
She trailed after the woman out of the cramped fitting room, tugging at the sleeves of the borrowed dress as she walked. The fabric was unfamiliar against her skin—coarser than her school uniform, heavier too—yet there was a strange comfort in its weight. Wrapped in it, she felt less exposed, less foreign, as though the world around her might finally stop staring.
As they stepped out of the shop, the woman finally offered her name. "I am Lady Leviniaa Thornweald, daughter of Count Thornweald. You may call me Lady Thornweald." Her voice lowered, almost conspiratorial. "You're fortunate I found you first."
Angel's heart gave a startled skip. "Why?"
Lady Thornweald only shook her head, a faint smile concealing whatever truth lay behind her words. "Oh, nothing. But you haven't introduced yourself yet, have you? Who are you—and from where have you come?"
Angel instinctively took a step back as Lady Thornweald's questions pressed closer, one after another.
Her reply came out small, trembling. "M-my name is Elviana."
Lady Thornweald arched a brow. "Elviana… and?"
Angel faltered, panic flickering in her thoughts. (What should I do? I can't use my real name here—it would sound far too strange, too modern for this world.) Her true surname caught in her throat, suddenly alien. At last she forced out a whisper: "Elviana Sylvene."
"Sylvene. That's quite a rare name."
Angel gave a hesitant nod, unsure if that was meant as praise or suspicion. "It's… not common where I'm from. I was traveling with a group, but somehow I got separated from them."
Lady Thornweald's expression remained composed, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly—interest, or perhaps suspicion, flickering beneath the calm.
Angel lowered her gaze, her voice softening. "I'm sorry. I don't know how I ended up here… and I don't know anything about this place."
Lady Thornweald's gaze sharpened, suspicion flickering beneath her composed tone. "I see. Do you have any money with you—or any relatives here? If not, then perhaps you should stay with me for a while. I'll help you, for as long as I can."
Relief washed over Angel at the offer, loosening the knot in her chest. Yet beneath that comfort lingered a strange unease. Lady Thornweald was unfailingly kind, her words generous, but something about her—something Angel couldn't name—kept her wary.
Angel stood frozen for a moment before forcing herself to speak. "I hate to admit this, but I don't have a single coin… and I don't know anyone here. I'm truly grateful to have met someone like you—someone willing to help a stranger. But I need to find my way back to the group I came with."
She hesitated, then added softly, "Since I'm new to this place, I would be thankful if you could share some information with me… and perhaps allow me to stay for a while."
Lady Thornweald's voice carried a hint of disappointment. "Hmm… very well. If you walk straight for a while, then turn left and again right, you'll come across an inn called Moonwell Inn. Here—take this." She handed Angel a small pouch. "You obviously can't stay at an inn without paying. And one more thing: if you ask the locals or the innkeeper, you'll gather some useful information."
Angel's eyes widened as she peeked inside the pouch. "Ohh… thank you so much! But… what are these?"
Lady Thornweald tilted her head, her tone casual yet edged with curiosity. "Don't you know what these are? They're Aether. It isn't much, but enough to keep you in a decent inn for ten days."
Angel's breath caught as she stared at the glittering contents of the pouch. "Aaa… I'm from a very poor family. To see this much Aether feels like a dream. I hate to admit it, but… I don't know anything about them."
Lady Thornweald smiled kindly, her tone turning almost instructional. "Hmm… I see. Don't worry. The tiny shards are called Glimmers. They're used for food, daily goods, and small services. The perfectly round ones are Pulses—standard coins refined from Aether. Those pay for tools, clothing, travel, and mid‑tier magic items."
She lifted a finger, as if giving a lecture. "The large ones are Heartstones, Aether cores. Those are reserved for land, enchantments, noble dealings… even demon contracts."
Her gaze held Angel's as she continued. "One Pulse equals ten Glimmers. One Heartstone equals a hundred Pulses—or a thousand Glimmers. Every shop has an Aether Reader to handle payments. With thirty to forty Glimmers, you can stay in a decent inn for a week."
Angel bowed her head slightly. "I see… thank you so much, Lady Thornweald."
The woman's lips curved into a teasing smile. "Then, until we meet again, little girl—or should I say Lady Elviana Sylvene? I suppose this is where we part ways. If you ever find yourself in trouble, you may always come to me."
Angel's smile was awkward, almost crooked. "Yes, Lady Thornweald. And I'll surely repay your kindness someday."
With that, they turned and walked in opposite directions.
Step after step, Angel muttered to herself, childlike frustration in her voice. "Huh… Elviana Sylvene. I guess that's who I'll be for now. Aaa… but I like my real name, Angel, so much more."