Cornelia led Stella through the winding halls of Seraphine Mansion. Though familiar, everything felt distant… moody. Off.
Stella missed her home—the one filled with laughter, the scent of dinner, and Lumine's warm presence. Now, only shadows lingered. Faint illusions of memories appeared here and there—Lumine's laughter echoing softly, Stella's younger footsteps padding through these same halls.
Cornelia finally guided her into a corridor adorned with grand portraits. Five paintings lined the wall—each a former head of the Seraphine family.
Stella paused, her eyes landing on the two she remembered most clearly.
"Mommy, Mommy!""Yes, what is it, sweetheart?" Lumine replied, brushing Stella's hair behind her ear.
"I know the last two pictures are you and Grandpa. But who are the others?"
Lumine laughed softly. "Oh? Interested now? They're our ancestors—the heads of the Seraphine family before us."
"Waaah! So they're my great-great-great-grandparents!" Stella beamed.
"Not all of them," Lumine said, her voice lowering a bit. "There were more before these five… but we lost their records because of The Whitening."
Then, raising a playful fist, she added, "They were very strong, too!"
Stella's eyes sparkled. "Sooo cool! But… why do all the other pictures have two people in them, and yours is just you?"
Lumine's smile faded just a little. Her gaze softened—distant."…That's because…"She didn't finish.
Now, Stella stood in front of her mother's portrait again—years older, heavier with grief. Her fingers trembled as she reached toward the painting. So much left unsaid.
Cornelia, already at the dining room door, turned around.
"Lady Stella…"
Snapping out of her thoughts, Stella wiped her eyes.
"I'm coming," she said quickly, walking to catch up."Who's expecting me?"
Cornelia didn't answer.
Instead, she simply opened the door.
"STELLA!!"
A voice burst through the silence—a boy's voice, older now, but unmistakable.
Stella froze.
"…Grisha?"
The boy ran toward her, his smile bright with disbelief.
"Big brother…?"Her voice cracked.
Tears welled in her eyes again—but this time, for a different reason.
---
Von had stayed behind.
He returned to the place where Ray and Egotheon had fought—a battlefield of shattered stone and memory.
Everything lay in ruin. The sky above hung still, as if time itself refused to move.
Von wandered through the wreckage, trying to feel something familiar—the room where Ray once stayed…but the devastation had erased everything.
It was hopeless.
He stared blankly at the collapsed architecture, trying to recall even the rough location of their old hideout. But it all looked the same now—crushed, burnt, broken.
Eventually, Von sat down on the cracked remains of a fallen pillar, overwhelmed.But then—he noticed something odd.
A strange mark. Subtle, almost hidden amidst the rubble… but unmistakably deliberate.
A sign.
Something was guiding him.
He stood, eyes narrowing, and followed it.
After a short walk through the ruins, he came across a shattered bedframe—warped and barely recognizable. Yet something about it clicked.It was Ray's.
Von exhaled in quiet relief and pushed the remains of the bed aside.
Beneath it, a hidden door.
He pried it open and climbed down.
The hidden chamber was small—underground and untouched by the destruction above.Inside, there was only a table… and a single chair.
Von approached the table. Papers were scattered across it—most filled with Ray's handwriting. A pen still lay on top, perfectly still, like it had been waiting for someone to return.
Only two blank pages remained.
Von slid them into his pocket.
He climbed back to the surface.
Near the place where Ray had died, shards of glowing, glass-like fragments littered the ground. They shimmered faintly gold.
Von kneeled down and picked up the largest piece. It hummed softly in his palm.
He placed it in the same pocket as the blank pages.
Then, a faint vibration.
Von paused.
One of the papers in his pocket had begun to glow—a soft gold pulse, slow and steady.
He pulled it out.
Words had appeared.
"There's an imposter among the Seven.Umbran Year 6, Gemini 8th.Whitening. Windrise."
Von's eyes widened. His heart dropped.
"Wait... what's today?"
A long pause. The wind was still.
Then realization hit him like a thunderclap.
"No... it's already Gemini 2nd."
---
Long after the fall, when the Whitening had ravaged memory and progress alike, the living standards of humanity collapsed.
Languages faded. Records were lost. Even the calendar, once the backbone of civilization, became fractured.
The people of the new age—scattered, scarred, and struggling to survive—could no longer remember the names of the months.
So they created their own.
Looking up at the sky, they turned to the only constant left: the stars.
They named the months after astrological signs, one by one, until the wheel turned full again.
Now, time is kept in twelve names:Capricorn, Aquarius, Pisces, Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius.
Not as the ancients used them.Not for fate, nor horoscopes.But for the simple, sacred act of marking time—a fragile grasp at order in a chaotic world.
And so, the date etched into the paper—"Umbran Year 6, Gemini 8th"—wasn't just a date.
It was a warning.A countdown.