Friday, August 29th, 2042, Lucia's personal HUB, Virtual Reality.

Lucia lay down on the second VR rig in the back of the van, neural connector already snapped in place. Her hands trembled slightly as she initiated the dive. The rig's interface blinked confirmation, and her surroundings dissolved.

And she was in, in less time than it took to blink. All around her, her customised entry virtual HUB appeared. Unlike Ryan's cyberpunk aesthetics, Lucia's virtual space had a more grounded appearance. She stood in the antechamber of a virtual home. Before her stood a cosy, well-decorated living room, as warm and welcoming as always.

She glanced down at her virtual hands. They looked like her own, if slightly softened. No enhancements, no sparkles—just her, in a neutral grey tank top and cropped jeans.

This is likely the last time I'll see these hands in VR, huh? Once I create my character, then that's who I'll be online.

As she took one step, she immediately felt the difference between her family's rig and the high-tech one. It was like watching a movie at sixty frames per second when your brain expected twenty-four. It was smoother, yes, but at the same time somehow felt fake? As if her brain expected a certain degree of latency in VR, and she was now forcing it to adjust to a new, faster and better reality. She hoped that returning to normal hardware after this would not be a problem.

I really don't want to deal with some kind of unexpected side-effects…

She quickly stepped through the living room and arrived at the main hallway connecting it with the rest of the house.

She turned to her right and opened the door to her office space. Inside, a standing desk held a computer workstation. Triple monitor setup. All ultra-wide curved monitors, of course. Her computer club friends had insisted on setting her up like this, in a highly retro way. They had said the point was to fool her brain into thinking she was actually working at a computer.

She walked to the desk and shook the mouse to wake the computer out of sleep mode. She rapidly navigated to the app store and searched for A Realm Reforged Again.

Lucia pressed the Add to Cart button and immediately authorised the payment from her bank account. She ignored the download link, since the app was already installed on this rig, moved on to account creation and started filling in all the fields.

When she finally reached the final confirmation screen for her account creation, she swallowed hard.

Every step took her closer and closer to throwing her life upside down.

And unlike Ryan, who did not know what he was getting himself into, she was fully aware of what she was doing, and the risks she was about to take.

She pressed the button. The game icon appeared on her virtual desktop. A Realm Reforged Again.

She double-clicked it, and once more, the world around her faded. She now stood on a grassy plain surrounded by distant mountains. In one direction, a giant, towering white structure loomed ominously. It looked like a giant temple, with a very tall central spire. It reminded her of a church's bell tower, except there was no belfry. In each cardinal direction, smaller spires stood away from the central mass, all equidistant from each other.

No matter which direction she looked, a single option floated before her eyes. Create Character.

She approached one hand and stopped immediately, noticing her now translucent arm. She examined herself—still wearing her avatar's tank and jeans, but her entire appearance was see-through, like she was a ghost or a spirit.

That tracks, though. I'm in the game world as a disembodied mind right now.

She tapped the option with as much resolve as she could muster. Which at this moment, was not much. But it was enough.

"Choose your creator," the game instructed.

Sixteen sigils appeared before her—each glowing with soft, elemental energy. Some pulsed like coals, others shimmered like mist. A deep hum filled the air, almost musical.

Lucia's eyes drifted across the choices. She reached for the twin jet black and moonlight silver sigils, for the god and goddess of darkness. Her fingers hovered over one.

The interface pulsed.

"Nocturne, the Lady of Discovery, Goddess of Mysteries. Alignment: Darkness."

Lucia skimmed through the goddess's lore panel.

"One of the youngest gods, Nocturne manifested out of Luxoria's shadow. Mystics—the name of her priests—serve the community as seers. Lunar eclipses are her sacred holidays. Her followers spend those days meditating on secrets, offering interpretations about dreams, and organising shadow plays for the people. She is the patron of Shadow sylvani, dark knights, shamans and miners. Worship of Nocturne is widespread, but her biggest temple hides in Myrknar Woods, near Umbraholme."

"Really? Her priests organise shadow puppetry to entertain children? No, not just entertain. I'm guessing their plays are fables filled with hidden meaning and lessons." Lucia shook her head. "But dream and interpretation? Meditation? For a goddess of darkness, Nocturne's curriculum is anything but evil. She seems downright good."

Behind the description windows, the avatar of Nocturne stood immobile, arms crossed. Her head was partially hidden under a leather hood, with some black hair spilling out. Her hair floated gently in the wind, as if made of smoke. Other than her face, the goddess showed precious little skin, her entire body covered in black leather and her hidden under her cloak.

Glowing red eyes tracked Lucia's every move.

"… and that's not unnerving at all."

Lucia took a shaky breath.

"Alright. Since it looks like you can see me, I hope you can hear me, too," she whispered. "Please guide me as I try to understand and help Ryan and Kaelyn."

She pressed the button to confirm her choice, and immediately, the surrounding light dimmed.

It did not vanish—it folded into shadows, gently curling at the edges of her vision. The atmosphere became hushed. Reverent.

For a moment, she felt the goddess' presence—not in words or gestures, but as a presence in her mind, just beyond reach.

To seek understanding is not a weakness. But tread carefully, child. The truths you unearth yourself are not easily forgotten.

"Good." Lucia smiled faintly. "I don't intend to—"

Lucia stopped herself. She spoke the words, but they had not come out in her voice. Instead of the voice of a sixteen-year-old, she had sounded older, wiser and definitely raspier. "The truth you unearth," she repeated, as an experiment.

This confirmed her suspicion. Her own voice now sounded exactly the same as the one she had just heard in her mind. Looking down at her arms, she saw the same leather-gloves and armour the goddess had worn.

"Incarnating a divinity. I suppose the act of creating my character will be a collaboration between Nocturne and myself."

She finally focused back on the interface that patiently waited for her input.

Six sigils floated before her, with the instructions "Choose your species."

Lucia swept her hand left and right, flipping through them like a carousel. She knew what she was looking for.

Homini, sylvani, mineret, dracan, burrovian—she made sure to take a quick glance at them, but she selected felinae.

Then, she picked the first option—Half-blood—and then female.

A feline figure shimmered into view—lean, athletic, with expressive cat ears and a sleek tail. The youthful avatar's face was androgynous, the smile playful but closed, as if guarding a secret. The girl, who appeared maybe sixteen, had golden-brown hair. It was technically long, but most was tied up in a small top-knot, except for her bangs and parts framing her face softly.

She had large green—more agate than emerald—eyes that glinted in the light. A soft tail flicked behind her, a shade darker than her hair. Her hands were thin, but calloused. She stood in a slightly closed-off stance—arms crossed, feet at an angle, like she had not decided whether she belonged here yet. Her skin tone matched Lucia's Hispanic ancestry more than Kaelyn's.

"…Okay," she whispered.

Lucia stared at her face and recognised echoes within it—of herself, of Megan, and of Kaelyn.

Lucia tilted her head.

"You're beautiful," she whispered.

But what truly caught her was not the beauty—it was the potential. The unfinished edges. The possibility of someone still becoming.

"Not cute. Not sexy. Just… her."

She nodded. "This is the one."

She clicked to advance to the next section, and the interface blossomed open—sliders, palettes, toggles.

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Lucia adjusted only a few options. The girl already seemed like a shoo-in for Kaelyn's younger sister. A tweak to the nose. A flick down on the height. She made her slightly shorter than Kaelyn.

Confident. Athletic. Unafraid to take up space.

The voice slider, she left alone. When prompted to, the avatar spoke—"Hey," softly, nervously—it sounded like someone she could be.

Quickly, she reached the toughest part. The prompt for her character appeared.

Lucia's hands hovered.

Not Lucia, Luci or Luciole.

She started typing, almost letting her instinct guide her. Liora.

She did not know where it came from. It sounded close to light, but grounded. Simple.

"Liora," she said out loud. "Should we call you Moonshadow too?"

But this felt wrong. Kaelyn's last name did not feel like a family name. It felt like a title.

"Mariposa," she then settled. Named after the moon orchids. But also the Spanish word for butterfly—the insect known for its iconic and most drastic metamorphosis.

"Choose your class," the game prompted.

Eight icons arranged in a circle. Three blue icons, two green ones, and three red ones.

She quickly found the priests' emblem between the two healers.

The description loaded. "Priests are the lifeblood of any party. Their healing magic mends both body and spirit. Devoted to Luxoria, goddess of radiance, they shine brightest in the darkest places."

Lucia hesitated.

She glanced back at Nocturne's sigil, still hovering in the corner of her screen like a watchful moon.

"I'm counting on you to make this work."

She confirmed her selection of the priest class.

A soft chime rang out. The interface dissolved into motes of silver and black.

A short text faded in before her eyes. "On Thorin's First Thundersday of Harvestfall, 1442, Liora Mariposa was born. May the Sixteen watch over her as she sifts through the darkness."

And as darkness enveloped her, Nocturne's voice echoed in her head.

"To love someone fully is to carry the shape of their grief."

Liora opened her eyes and could immediately tell she was not in Luminara.

Instead of a bustling city, her vision swam with sunlight filtered through pale linen curtains. She recognised the room from the atmosphere alone; she was home, in her mother's isolated house, somewhere on the Nogoon steppes. A low creak sounded nearby—wooden floorboards shifting beneath small, bare feet.

She looked down and saw her legs—slender and nimble. Her skin tone was tanned from frequent exposure to sunlight. Something struck her as odd, however—she appeared far younger than during character creation. She wore a simple cotton tunic, undyed and stained. Threadbare from too many adventures across the steppes. The hem was stitched with tiny star-shapes, and more were strategically placed to cover tears in the fabric.

She looked up and saw her sister. Liora's sister.

This version of Kaelyn was far younger than the ones in the popular images circulating online—she looked only a little older than Liora, maybe by three or four years, by human standards. But she attributed this difference to her species' shorter lifespan. Liora recalled that only two years separated their births.

The older girl's tail swayed nervously as she crouched by the window, nose nearly touching the glass, watching someone approach outside.

"The scary man is back," Kaelyn muttered. Her voice was tightly wound.

Liora had had frequent nightmares about the man—a Noble burrovian, dressed in a long black overcoat. His hands were constantly gloved. But the worst part was the long-beaked mask he always wore inside their house.

Liora stepped beside her, peeking. "He's going to help Mom, right?"

Kaelyn did not answer, concentrating on her task. She watched the man's approach to the front door, her eyes glued to his every move.

Then there was a knock. A token gesture. The man opened the door and stepped inside, knowing full well their mother, Sousiane, would not get up to let him in. She had been bedridden for weeks now. She kept coughing blood—too much. Always too much. Liora remembered averting her gaze, keeping her eyelids tightly shut and clasping her ears down whenever this happened. She hated the sight of blood. She hated how the disease had turned the gentle sound of her mother's voice into this harsh, awful sound. The sound of death approaching.

Liora's ears flicked as she heard the soft footsteps of the burrovian approaching. The tall figure—stately, long-eared, with mostly black but greying hair and fur—stooped slightly beneath the low ceiling of their rural cottage. She could see no skin—just cloth, gloves, and polished buttons. And as usual, he wore his grim mask over his face.

He stopped when he noticed them peering from the other room through the doorway. He looked at them, his facial expression unreadable under his mask. But he remained silent and immobile for a few moments. Then he crouched on one knee and opened his satchel.

Kaelyn stood stiff as a board, her tail whipping stiffly behind her—a clear sign of how tense she was.

Liora shrank behind her sister, her tail curling tight around her ankles. Unlike Kaelyn, who was on edge, Liora was afraid. Of him, but also for her mother.

His voice, when he spoke, had an odd echoing and muffled quality from speaking within the mask. "Your mother's lungs have worsened. She's no longer able to breathe unaided."

"No," Kaelyn whispered. "You said she was getting better."

"I said the fever had broken," he corrected gently. "But the damage to her lungs remains. I'm sorry. There's not much we can do at this stage."

Kaelyn took a trembling step forward. "We'll take care of things! She just needs rest—she'll be okay!"

"No, it's a little late for that. I'm afraid you need to prepare yourselves," the doctor said. "You should cherish what little time you have left together."

Liora's eyes went wide. "Can I see her?"

He kneeled down, trying to level his gaze with hers. "Her condition is very contagious. You should not approach her. Not without proper protection."

The doctor's ears drooped a little.

Kaelyn clenched her fists. "This is wrong."

"Kaelyn—"

"No! I don't believe you! She got through worse than that before! She's going to get better, you'll see!" Her voice cracked.

Kaelyn stormed past the doctor, towards the front door, footsteps thundering down the hallway. Liora heard the door opening and then slamming. Hard.

She remained rooted in place. The air in the cottage felt thinner. Like the world itself was holding its breath.

She turned to the doctor. "Can I see her?"

He hesitated.

"Please?"

"From the doorway." Finally, he nodded. "When you speak with her, stay in the hallway. No further. She wouldn't want you getting sick."

Liora padded softly down the hallway. She did not have to open the door—it was already ajar.

Their mother lay on the bed. Her breathing was shallow, wheezing through lips pale as paper. She looked so thin and pale now. Smaller and weaker than any memory Liora had of her.

The girl stepped up to the doorway.

"Mom?" she breathed.

Her mother's eyes fluttered open.

A faint smile curved her lips.

She coughed, covering her mouth with one hand. Then spoke weakly, "Hey—my little firefly…"

Liora's breath caught in her chest as tears blurred her vision, both in the memory and beyond it.

The mention of Lucia's nickname did not escape her notice.

"I'm here, Mom. I'm not leaving," Liora whispered.

Her mother did not say more. Just looked. Memorising her. Like she was trying to hold Liora's face in her mind for as long as possible.

"I'll stay right here," Liora promised. "I won't go."

And she did.

After taking her vitals and doing some checkups, the doctor eventually left. Liora remained there, by herself. For what felt like hours, she just sat outside the room, back against the wall, humming little songs, telling quiet stories, listening to her mother's breathing.

Following the doctor's instructions, she never crossed the threshold. She also never looked away.

It took hours before Kaelyn finally returned. She was exhausted, with dry tears covering her cheeks and red puffy eyes.

"Kae!" Liora stood up and ran to give her sister a bone-crushing hug. "Mom asked me to tell her about the stories in my books, so I did, and she listened, and then I read some more… She hasn't coughed in hours! You were right, she got better! "

Kaelyn gasped, her face a mixture of joy and disbelief. She freed herself from her sister's hug and guided her to the doorway by the hand.

But once she saw her mother's still body, Kaelyn turned around and guided Liora back to her bedroom.

Sousiane had not got better. She had ceased coughing, as she had stopped breathing, and ultimately passed. Liora had been too young to tell the difference.

It fell to Kaelyn to break the news.

That night, the two orphans cried themselves to sleep, their sobs echoing in the darkness as they clung to each other.

Liora opened her eyes again, disoriented. She was hunched over a small wooden desk, her cheek resting on her arm. Her lower back ached from the hours spent perched on a round stool.

She raised her head slowly and looked around. A simple cot in the corner. A narrow bookshelf lined with tomes. The modest desk. The stool. This was her room in the orphanage's dormitory. She was Luminara, now. Was this the present? She pinched herself.

"Oww!"

Yes. Undoubtedly so.

She focused on her immediate surroundings. Had she fallen asleep while reading? Writing? She looked down, but found no scrolls, no open books, no ink pots—just empty wood and the faint imprint of her arm.

Her fingers rose instinctively to her cheek. Dried tears pulled at her skin. She had cried in her sleep.

"That dream again," Liora mumbled.

Again?

She could not tell if it was really a memory or just something her mind conjured to punish her. But it always felt real—down to the warmth of the sun, the creak of floorboards, the silence after.

And now… she knew it was not just a dream. She had been there. Watched her sister run. Held vigil outside the door.

She let out a long exhale. "Tuberculosis, then. That's how she died. Not a big surprise—these bacteria have been around for over ten thousand years."

She leaned back and let her gaze wander to the low ceiling, her voice little more than a whisper.

"I wonder how much Kaelyn still blames herself… for missing Mom's last moments."

Liora swallowed. Unlike her, who had been too young to understand what was happening, Kaelyn had known. But she had rejected the truth. She had fled from it.

And now that memory was written into Liora's bones—undeniable, immutable.

The faint creak of wood echoed from the doorway. Liora blinked, pulling herself upright. She turned—and there she was. Mother Nyxara Vervaine.

Tall, statuesque, and draped in robes darker than ink. Violet filigree shimmered like constellations across the folds of her sleeves, the only hint of colour. Her pale face was unreadable, carved from the same stone as her reputation. Her violet eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, fixating on Liora with unblinking precision. Vervaine's gaze lowered slightly, focusing on the dried tears. Gently, with one finger, she wiped one cheek clean.

"Another visitation, little moon orchid?" Vervaine's voice was calm. Controlled. Just shy of warm. "You are truly blessed by the goddess of mysteries."

Liora's ears flicked at the nickname. That her mentor used it instead of her actual name? It felt deliberate. Like she explicitly did so to reveal how she had access to her private inner thoughts.

Liora sat straighter. "It was just a dream…"

Vervaine paced across the room as if it belonged to her. And—to be fair—it probably belonged to her more than to Liora. "A dream," she echoed, her presence filling the modest dormitory like mist seeping into every crack. "—Of your mother?"

Liora held her breath. Had Vervaine simply guessed, or had they ever talked about this specific dream in previous encounters? She searched her memories, but could not recall doing so.

"I…" she hesitated. "Yes."

Vervaine nodded once. She took a slow circuit of the room, eyes trailing across the shelves of tomes, the empty desk, the window with its still-drawn shutters.

"The lady of darkness often employs dreams to expose truths. But dreams are meant to be interpreted. They are not answers, but guides."

She turned back, fixing Liora with that impossible gaze. "Tell me. What stood out the most to you?"

Liora hesitated. "It was… a memory of our mother's final moments. When the doctor told us to say our goodbyes, Kaelyn ran away. I stayed by mother's side until she passed, despite her contagious condition."

"This dream. Was it accurate to reality? Do you think it matters?"

She flinched. "I don't remember. I'm not sure."

"Good." Vervaine folded her arms. "The ones who answer too quickly rarely understand the question."

A pause.

Then, her tone shifted—so slightly Liora nearly missed it. "You stayed by her side. Even knowing the risk."

"—I was too young to understand the risk."

"Even so." Vervaine tilted her head. "Think, little moon orchid. Think of the difference between your reactions. Consider what it could mean about your opposite nature."

Liora looked down.

Vervaine stepped closer, soft robes whispering against the floorboards. She extended a gloved hand—not harsh, not commanding. An offering.

"Come, Liora. Today, your training as an acolyte comes to an end—and your journey to understanding begins. Not beneath bright skies or in well-lit corridors, but through dark, twisting tunnels. I will accompany you until you are suitably ready."

Liora blinked up at her. That name—Liora—sounded different when Vervaine said it. Like a secret spoken aloud. A name worn properly for the first time.

She reached out and took her hand.

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