Chapter 1: The Dusty Damsel

That day, that cursed morning,

"NAHARA, MANA-BOMB!!"

A cyan flash brighter than the sun.

"Pirouette, M-Bomb."

Two shockwaves powerful enough to down planes.

“Arice, smile for the camera!”

Had caused every single artifact on earth to lose its function.

“Evacuate the airport!”

Announcing the first day…

“Dawnless…”

Of humanity's last winter.

“Sleep well... Pirouette.”

***

Two seasons earlier,

No anthem, no choir, not a single noise.

A simple clean cut to white marble and a sky so orange it bordered on insult.

Nahara stood alone, his shoulders brilliant with crystals.

Not a single noise was allowed near him that evening, not even the hum of distant planes.

Behind him, carved into the stone, were the names.

Not all of them. That would have taken the entire horizon. Just the ones fortunate enough to stand the test of time.

Prycion, Kossel, Scarlet..

Founders. Stabilizers. Martyrs. Saints whose usefulness had outlived their personalities.

The cameras did not linger.

Nahara smiled.

“Citizens of the world,”

With nine fingers clenched and a few billion eyes fixated at his every move.

The saint at the peak of magic itself. Clad in brilliant soft silk.

Yellow Silk at which the wind tirelessly tugged,

Ascended the path to Mount Fuji’s shrine. One made for him, made for what he held.

“Our world was not always orderly,”

Rows upon rows of officials watched. Ministers. Engineers. Clerics. Soldiers.

All as still and attentive as the Sun, the cameras sharing what they saw.

–To every single human on earth.

“Ever since that fateful night, back in the heavenly home we all seek, the Garden of Eden we lost,”

Defying gravity he levitated, his hands cradling a pinecone shaped artifact, his care resembling that of a young mother.

A small glitch in the camera had caused the broadcast minimal delay. Still no one seemed to care.

His lips twitched and his eyes came to a close.

“The day…

His voice, amplified by the stillness of the atmosphere, was a low roll.

“Our forefathers fell victim to their own curiosity and bit the fruit of temptation…

“The day the Serpentine’s curse leashed itself upon humanity, and we fell like dead birds into the blasphemous sea of sin, onto our beloved shelter we called Earth…

“The day corrupted angels took our form to share our punishment, discarding their wings for feet, their light for mere skin, fueled by greed and cursed by a madness deeper than the Serpentine’s, a terror even greater:

The smile returned.

“Taedium, ania, ennui, boredom… Call it what you may.”

His hands raised to an arch seeped of authority, provoking a wave of goosebumps which sailed across the globe.

“Ever since that fateful day, we fought. We fought and fought. For millennia, we fought.

Every school in Asia had their gates locked that day, every workspace.

“We fought the corrupted angels who looked like us, breathed like us, hated like us,

“But did not die as we did.”

…

“The Dazvelt.”

Nahara paused. Precisely long enough for the word dazvelt to settle in the audience's minds.

A single person in the third row had started clapping a beat too early.

The camera did not show them.

“Their weakest mages rivaled our greatest saints.

Nahara bowed down and kissed the artifact he held.

“And yet, today we prosper.”

“In their names, The people who laid the foundation for us,

“Rose the kind, Helfer the courageous…

“Children of the new Eden, for the heads we hold high today, for the blood we bled,

“We as one, hereby must chant this spell,”

Words began to appear on every screen, humanity taking a collective gasp,

A spell, sung by billions of voices, brewed into an unsettling hum:

∮ Bloom forth an age of eternal peace.

For 3000 years of bloody spears must not serve as a mandate to Man’s horns.

But a crimson flower on the grave of the damned,

And a sunflower for the angels beyond the spring of Eden. ∮

With great reverence, saint Nahara then dropped the artifact which glowed blue as it fell into its premade resting hole at the back of the shrine.

News channels worldwide frantically fought to obtain the first seat at the conference deep within the Burrow of magic’s elites. The Sunlight fortress of Tokyo, and to record the prime minister’s speech soon to follow.

Claps and laughs as well as wine cups filled up the atmosphere of an advanced yet desperate society.

Skeptics simply bit their tongues and ordered much more earplugs and sleep pills.

Whispers of ignorant speculations stacked and scattered.

The cameras did not linger. Nahara smiled.

A simple clean cut to white marble and a sky so orange it bordered on insult.

***

“—What’s this? a new Theopolis? It never gets easier to ignore now, does it.”

Far below any attention. In a district that barely stood out from the rest. A girl lay curled in an alley. Blanketed under her own, long, yellow dress.

An alley that answered no questions.

Chapter 1: The Dusty Damsel

The last of the evening sun grazed her cold skin, doing nothing to warm her, as smells of moist dust and overflowing trash bins pricked at her allergy-stuffed nose. Moist air polluting the brightness of her yellow dress,

The atmosphere was strangely silent.

Above her, a voice cut through the haze, muffled mumbling made clear by the beat of steps.

Far enough to feel unreal. Close enough that it pressed through the fog in her brain.

"They don't know…”

Thud.

“They don't know a damn thing."

Thud.

The voice paused into a long unsettling breath, seconds from resuming,

“Every atom, molecule, plant and animal, every dazvelt and denvelt, everything including humans, seeks stability.

Thud.

“Even the broken ones.”

Thud.

A faint amusement crept in. 

Thud.

“Especially the broken ones.”

Thud.

“Then this is great right? This artifact is the great stabilizer, replanting the fruit their fathers foolishly ate.”

Thud.

She opened her eyes. Cold, damp concrete bit into her strangely-stiff cheek. An uncomfortable confusion.

She stared without focus.

There, highlighted against the streetlight, stood the blackened figure of a man. The only visible part being his extended hand–swathed in grimy bandages. Painted orange from that same light.

Thud.

“Is this not the ultimate salvation?”

Unsure of the danger at hand her instinct took over. She shut her eyes, playing dead.

And as if reacting to her, the voice’s tone shifted.

“They don’t know the terrible monster awaiting their winter.”

Thud.

The man’s shadow lengthened across her.

Thud.

Dumya began to shake.

Thud.

"Wake up." The voice finally hissed.

Clearly at her.

She opened her eyes once more, as he stepped forward, extending his second hand.

It was a human hand, the orange sunshine revealed that much.

A fact she felt greatly disturbed by.

"I made you with perfection. Act human. Live like one. Spread my print into all which you perceive." He said, his voice a low command.

“Tread your path with corpses.”

Her body ached and she tried to stand up, but her knees made a strange, grating noise.

“Careful,” he said. "Having trouble?"

"Come on, grab my hand,

“Dumya."

…

Dumya?

Dumya?

Dumya…

The girl's memory was as empty as one could be, no visions, no faces, not even fragments of her past. But that.. that name,

It rings a bell.

“That is your sole purpose. After all.”

A shift of weight.

Purpose?

Dumya wished he'd stop talking about such complicated concepts. Her shaky pupils drifted downwards.

Her body relaxed and she crouched until her nose contacted the ground, folded, unsure of what’s taken over her.

Her dry mouth emanated obvious cracks as the first words attempted to exit her mouth.

Dumya took a deep uninterrupted breath. Then slowly exhaled,

".....W........h..o........i..s.........d...u..m.....y...a........."

Her forehead kissed the ground as a small flare of red sparked in her right iris, yellow in her left..

Obscured from the man’s visions by her hair.

"Oh you can speak now!" The man exclaimed.

"Dumya is whatever you are, that's a simple fact even you can understand. A fact you especially should understand. That.. that name,”

A blurry smile creeped in.

“is why you're mine.”

Dumya's eyes grew even more shaky.

It…..

It's not….right,

This ,I'm.. he.....

The man's reaction to the silence indicated uncertainty. He took a moment, his eyes deep up his lids, as if searching a distant memory. 

Then, his mouth went on to announce.

“Finding a vessel took longer than intended. I hope the seed’s activation didn’t damage your core..”

The man took one step forward, then attempted to resume his cryptic speech. Peering at Her.

"Well you see originally–Wait… your face..." He rubbed his eye.

“looks a little differen–"

" You're wrong! ” 

Tore itself from Dumya’s throat,

A spiked whip, dark as shadow, uncoiled in her right hand. A blade of sharpened ice solidified in her left. she dashed, a blur of colors.

“Wait! Wai–”

The man screamed a word or two and waved his hand, scrambling to erect a shield. But she's too fast, and the wind blowing through her ears blurred his frantic voice.

The whip cracked. As Blood splatter painted the nearby bins a soft red, and the man fell on his back. Now missing a hand.

With a gasp, his remaining hand glowed blue. He slammed it into the ground, the resulting gust of wind hurling him back onto his feet.

His face quickly snapped backwards, looking for Dumya.

Yet nothing.

His gaze was met with nothing but his own, dull, detached hand on the ground.

Sweat at the shock, dripping from all across his young looking face.

"HA!" a manic laugh bubbled from his throat. 

He picked his detached limb from the red pavement, and proceeded to walk deeper into the alleyway’s obscurity.

His voice echoing once more from the darkness, 

A mix of pain and perverse pride.

"You've escaped. Well done, Dumya."

“See you soon.” 

He exhaled.

***

Two streets south from the alley, underground.

Rats, alarmed by the echo of footsteps, began to scatter, seeking shelter in whatever filth the sewers provided.

Something's not right.

He... I’ve seen him somewhere before…

“Wake up.”

That voice…

Dumya, struggling to maintain her breath following the long run into the sewer pipes, glanced at the rats with curious, empty eyes. Her Chest heaved.

It… It fills...

And finally, she gave in to gravity Thump, 

…Fills me with dread.

Collapsing under her own weight.

The rats shared similar curiosity and began oscillating their miniscule noses around her motionless form, as if scanning for any flesh under all that rubber-like skin.

Dumya lay motionless. Drowning in darkness.

Dethum. A pulse.

A pulse similar to the beat of a dying animal’s heart,

Dethum. Began to knock at dumya’s chest.

Dethum.

Dethum.

Dethum.

Dethum.

Dethum.

Dethum.

Dethum.

Dethu—Without any warning or probable cause, angelic green halos of light bloomed in the murky ceiling above Dumya, emanating from within her closed eyelids, still unconscious.

The rodents were taken aback, but soon. Hunger would reset their stance, from fear to curiosity, and they’ll tap their minuscule red limbs through the puddles of spoiled water. Their eyes still glued to their potential meal, the sleeping girl, her green from the mysterious shine.

In an instant, the green light phantom emerging from within her eyelids emitted an intense bright flash, then disappeared. Allowing the sewers their usual darkness.

…

Seconds later. Dumya awakened. Pure silence.

And her breath she silently questioned.

Her lungs, now bricks of stone.

The rats, sculptures of wood.

Her quiet mouth, sealed for good.

She clutched her chest in discomfort but quickly gave it up, letting her hand fall.

The memory of what it meant to be out of breath, to be tired.

Had already faded.

Dumya pushed herself upright. Thus forgetting even the fear she felt facing the ambiguous figure’s greetings at the beginning of her conscious experience. Only a slight impression remained.

Dumya looked back at the frozen rats with a smile.

A soft voice whispered from within.

But it's too low to make up any meaningful command.

Dumya resumed her barefoot stride, unaware of why, where and when.