DRIP.
A single drop of water fell.
It echoed—not sharply, but as a distant chime, like a memory trying not to fade. It rippled across an invisible surface, concentric rings spreading slowly into the abyss. Time lost all meaning.
Belle floated—suspended in nothing.
There was no sky. No floor. No sound. No breath. Only stillness.
Her body, or what was left of it, glowed faintly with soft, silver light. It pulsed slowly, like the heartbeat of a star, dimming with every second.
Her long silver hair drifted weightlessly around her, suspended like ink in water. Fingers slack. Limbs outstretched. Her jacket fluttered softly in a current that didn't exist.
She was alone.
Her eyes—half-lidded, distant—gazed into the void.
"Where… am I?"
The words echoed through the emptiness, like thoughts too heavy to disappear. They circled back to her, muted, familiar. She blinked slowly, as if awakening underwater.
A breath escaped her lips.
"Right… I remember."
Fragments of reality returned, sharp and blurred all at once:
—The smell of burning stone.
—The roar of a monster born from miasma.
—The pain. The blood. The cold.
"I got… beaten."
"The dungeon break… I couldn't stop it."
The words fell like stones into a deep well.
She didn't cry. She didn't scream.
There was a strange serenity here, in this place of silence.
Her heart should have ached. But instead—it was just… quiet.
"Why?"
The question rose, barely a whisper.
"Why am I trying so hard?"
The void rippled around her, as though listening.
"This world… Eldoria… it's not my home."
She turned slowly in the weightless dark, the faint light of her soul shimmering like fireflies on water.
"The people, the places… they're strangers. I don't know them. I never asked for this."
More memories surfaced from Earth:
—The fluorescent hum of classroom lights.
—The gentle patter of rain on windows.
—Lumine's voice reading to her under a blanket fort.
—Empty desks at school, always beside hers.
—Late nights with fantasy novels she didn't used to read, not until...
"I'm not strong," she whispered. "I wasn't… anything."
She wasn't a fighter. Not a warrior. Not some chosen one with ancient bloodlines. Back then, she couldn't even run a full lap around the school field without gasping for air. She couldn't even react to a volleyball flying towards her.
So how?
"How am I fighting like this?"
Images slammed into her:
—The sharp crackle of fire magic bursting from her hands.
—A perfect dodge of an incoming strike with instinctual grace.
—A showdown with the Cyber Dragon.
"None of this should be real."
"It should only exist in stories."
Her voice trembled now. Human. Fragile.
"So why does it feel like I've done this before?"
"Why do I care so much?"
The final whisper was not just doubt—it was sorrow.
"What… is my purpose?"
And then—a ripple.
Not from the void. But from within.
Like something deep inside her soul stirred… and pulled her downward, inward, backward—through layers of memory.
Earth — 5 Years Ago
The beeping of a heart monitor hums softly in the background. The room is washed in pale morning light, filtered through sterile hospital curtains. The scent of antiseptic was all over the air.
Belle, small and pale, lies under white sheets, her forehead damp with sweat from a lingering fever.
She was twelve.
A fever had wracked her body for days.
Her limbs felt like they were wrapped in sandbags. Her silver hair sticks to her face, her eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. The world around her is blurry. She remembered waking in a haze, throat dry, her sister's voice calling her name over and over.
"Belle… Belle, can you hear me? Please… just wake up, okay?"
Lumine.
Still in her high school uniform. Dark circles under her eyes. Holding Belle's hand like it was a lifeline.
Belle remembered her sister's warmth—the tears she tried not to let fall.
She had never seen Lumine cry before.
Lumine had been visiting her everyday without fail, sometimes with warm food tucked into her bag, sometimes with a silly doodle of a cat knight she drew in class just to make Belle laugh.
Days passed. The fever broke. Belle was transferred to recovery.
It was there, in the pale pink hallway of the children's ward, that she met Aoi.
A girl a year younger. Bedridden since birth.
She had a soft voice, big brown eyes, and an imagination that could swallow the world.
"You're Belle, right? The nurse told me about you. I heard you have a drawing of a cat knight."
Belle blinked, caught off guard by the girl's gentle voice. The sterile white of the hospital room blurred behind her—like a dream just out of focus.
The girl stepped closer, clutching a thick, well-loved fantasy book to her chest.
The cover shimmered slightly beneath the overhead light, worn edges framing an illustration of a winged dragon breathing starlight over a warrior's blade.
"My name is Aoi," the girl said with a quiet smile, as if sharing a secret. "Nice to meet you."
She didn't wait for permission. She sat lightly on the edge of Belle's hospital bed, like she'd done it a hundred times before. As if the room—and Belle—were already part of her world.
"Do you like fantasy stories too? Dragons? Magic?" she asked, eyes sparkling. "We can talk about it. If you want."
Belle hesitated.
Fantasy?
It wasn't really her thing. It was Lumine's. She liked logic puzzles. Detective stories. Science shows and quiet documentaries that explained how things worked.
The real world made sense. Fantasy didn't.
Too loud. Too far-fetched. Too… silly.
But Aoi didn't speak like she was talking about fiction. Her voice held the weight of belief. Of something real.
"There's this world," Aoi continued, flipping open her book, eyes wide with excitement, "where the sky is green, and the clouds hum like lullabies. Magic comes from your feelings, and the stronger your heart, the stronger your spell!"
She laughed, soft and breathy, like it took effort.
"The main character? She's not brave. Not at first. But she wants to be. And that's what makes her strong. Even if she's scared… she still stands up for what matters."
Her hands curled over the pages, protectively.
"One day, I'm going to read every fantasy novel in the world. All of them. Then maybe… maybe I'll meet a real dragon too."
Belle didn't respond. Not at first.
She just listened—half out of politeness, half out of curiosity.
Aoi's world was so vividly colored, so filled with hope and wonder, it was hard not to be drawn in.
She returned the next day. And the day after that.
It became a routine. Between IV drips and muted heart monitors, Belle found herself waiting for the sound of Aoi's slippers shuffling down the hall.
Sometimes, Aoi brought new books. Other times, they reread old ones—her voice filling the small space with tales of flying cities, enchanted forests, cursed knights redeemed by love.
When Lumine wasn't there, Aoi was.
And somehow, Belle found herself caring. Not just about the stories—but about her.
Until one day… Aoi stopped visiting.
The night before Belle's discharge, she peeked into Room 402.
Aoi was asleep, curled beneath her blanket like a storybook character between chapters. Tubes in her arm.
The Starglass Chronicles lay open on her lap, its spine cracked from overuse. A small drawing rested near her pillow—two stick figures of Belle and Aoi riding a wide-winged dragon, their arms outstretched, their faces beaming with joy.
Belle smiled.
Then the nurse stepped in.
"Belle… what are you doing here?"
She blinked, startled by the tension in the nurse's voice.
"I came to read with Aoi."
The nurse looked at her for a long moment, expression unreadable.
Then a single tear welled in the corner of her eye.
"Aoi needs to rest tonight, Belle. She's not getting better. Her body's too weak."
Belle froze.
Aoi had been sick since birth. Her condition was terminal.
She had spent most of her life in this hospital. She had never had friends. Never went to school. Never visited a theme park, or picked out her own clothes.
She just stayed here. Reading books her parents occasionally brought, escaping into stories.
Belle was her very first real friend.
She didn't remember walking to Aoi's bedside—but suddenly, she was there, sitting quietly, hand wrapped around hers.
She didn't say anything at first. She couldn't.
When Aoi opened her eyes again, she smiled like nothing was wrong, Belle couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Doesn't it make you angry?"
Her voice cracked.
"That you never got the chance to live out your dreams?"
Aoi looked at her, tilted her head slightly. Eyes tired. Skin pale. But glowing.
"No," she said gently. "Because I got to imagine it. And that's enough for me."
Belle stared at her, disbelief and heartbreak twisting in her chest.
"But you…"
Aoi reached up, weakly, brushing Belle's cheek with trembling fingers.
"If you ever get the chance, Belle… don't waste it. Don't just imagine it."
"Live it. Fight for it. Protect it."
She smiled—gentle, radiant, eternal.
"Make it matter."
Belle cried that night. She didn't know why it hurt so much.
The next day, she came back. Lumine was with her, holding her hand.
But Room 402 was empty.
No books. No drawings. No Aoi.
Just a quiet bed. A half-open window. And on the nightstand, the final page of Starglass Chronicles, carefully marked with a single pressed flower.
No goodbye. No final smile. Just silence.
Aoi had passed away that morning.
Belle stood frozen in the doorway until Lumine pulled her into a hug.
No words. No explanations.
The memory folded around Belle like a warm mist—soft, suffocating, yet strangely comforting. It draped over her skin and sank into her bones, as if the past itself refused to let go.
The silence in the void was profound. Not empty, but full—with echoes of forgotten voices, whispers of yesterday, and the fragile weight of dreams that never had the chance to bloom.
Belle floated motionless in that nothingness, the vast, starless dark pressing in on her from all directions. She didn't know how long she'd been drifting—minutes, hours, years. Time didn't seem to exist here. Only feeling did.
And right now, she felt everything.
Her heart ached. But not in the way it used to—not with sorrow or hopelessness. Not the kind of ache that made you collapse. No… this one was steady. Sharper. Clearer.
Like standing in the cold after a long fever. Like remembering someone you tried not to forget.
"…Aoi."
Her voice was quiet, yet it cut through the void like a blade through still water.
"You never got the chance."
Her fists trembled at her sides, her body suspended between stardust and shadows. Her breath caught—there's no air here, not really—but she exhaled anyway. Words flowing from a place far deeper than lungs.
"But I did."
She looked down, as if she might somehow see the world beneath her feet. That forest cloaked in fog. The blazing sky. The faces of the people who had saved her… who she'd saved. Who still needed her.
"I've been thrown into a world you would've loved, Aoi."
Her voice wavered. The tears came before she could stop them—silent, silver streaks that rise into the air like droplets in reverse, fading into the infinite dark.
"A world of magic… of danger… of stories."
She closed her eyes.
And heard Aoi's voice. That soft, steady whisper etched in her soul.
"Magic comes from your feelings… and the stronger your heart, the stronger your spell."
Belle pressed a hand to her chest.
Aetherion's core pulsed beneath her chest—its soft hum syncing with her heartbeat. The light was faint at first, like the glow of an ember buried beneath ash. But it grew stronger. Warmer.
Her other hand clenched. Her nails bit into her skin. She felt the rawness of her own doubt, fear, anger… and love.
All tangled together. All hers.
"This world…" she murmured, voice shaking, "it isn't just some dream."
"It's brutal. Unfair. Full of pain and chaos. Full of monsters. Of blood and silence and fear."
Her shoulders rose with every word.
"But it's also full of hope."
A spark flickered in the dark.
Belle lifted her chin.
"It's full of people worth fighting for."
The void stirred. No… trembled.
A low hum thrummed through the emptiness around her, as if the void itself was listening. As if it, too, remembered.
Her eyes opened slowly.
Where there had only been darkness, light now began to creep in. A shimmer. A fracture. Like a star on the edge of breaking through a blackened sky.
Aetherion's core flared brighter against her chest, and blue light—etheric, circuit-like—spreaded outward like veins made of lightning and memory. They pulsed in tandem with her breath, coiling around her arms, her legs, her spine.
With every beat of her heart, the space around her fractured further. Thin cracks spiderwebbed outward through the dark, glowing like starlight seen through shattered glass.
She inhaled deeply. The pain remained. But it didn't paralyze her. It grounded her.
"I'm not done," she whispered. "Not yet."
A promise surged up, not just from her lips, but from her very being.
"I made a promise, Aoi."
A final crack splitted the void, blinding blue light pouring through its seams. It swallowed the blackness whole, replacing it with something vast. Something alive.
"Keep watching over me, Aoi. This time… I'll make it matter."
End of Chapter 75