Accident, Honest.

Plink!

A prickly sensation brushed against the tip of her nose, stirring her from the depths of sleep. Her brows twitched slightly as she instinctively turned her head, her body half-lost in the heavy warmth of slumber.

Something flicked at her again.

Her eyes cracked open—just slightly, hazy and unfocused.

The first thing she saw was Zora's tail, the fluffy appendage idly flicking back and forth near her face, the motion slow and rhythmic. She blinked sluggishly, her brain catching up—

Then she saw the fantasy—Three of Faces, watching her.

Her breath hitched, her muscles tensing before she fully registered what she was looking at. The hidden head. The slack arm holding onto the coffins. 

A sharp inhale—then an exhale.

Not real.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then turned away, rolling onto her side with a deep sigh. The glow of her neural implant flickered in the center of her vision, booting as her daily diagnostic screen materialized in front of her. A cascading line of text scrolled by—heart rate, saturation levels, minor notifications—all routine.

She ignored it.

She had other concerns. With a low grunt, she forced herself to move, rolling over just enough to—

Thump!

She miscalculated.

Her body met the floor with an unceremonious Kuh! as the impact jarred her senses fully awake.

For a moment, she just lay there, groaning as she pressed a hand to her forehead. If she hadn't gotten up, she would have fallen asleep again.

Maybe she should have.

Maybe she shouldn't have opened her eyes.

Because the moment she did, her breath hitched.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, a violent, erratic pulse that thundered louder and louder as her gaze locked onto the thing hanging in front of her.

A body.

Suspended.

His limbs were limp, his head tilted slightly to the side.

A deep, ragged gash ran across his neck, dried blood painting dark, uneven trails down his once-pristine uniform. The insignia on his chest was unmistakable—Crisis Control of Fiesta.

The moment she saw him, her stomach lurched.

"Why, Sera?"

Her breath came in short, uneven gasps.

"Why?"

Her fingers curled, nails biting into the cold floor.

"Why?"

She scrambled backward, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, until her back slammed against the bed frame.

She could smell it now. The coppery stench, thick and suffocating. The way the blood had congealed, turning into something disgusting against his skin.

Her vision swam as she moved her head to another direction, as her mouth pressed into a thin line.

The dead man stared down at her, his mouth just slightly open. As if waiting for an answer.

Her hands shook.

She knew this wasn't real.

But her body didn't.

Her body reacted as if it was standing in the center of that moment, in the middle of blood-drenched streets, held down as she was forced to stare—

She clenched her jaw so hard it ached.

Not real.

She forced herself to breathe.

Not real!

The figure swayed slightly, as if responding to her thoughts.

Seraniti swallowed thickly, her fingers curling into the sheets behind her.

Then—

She blinked.

And he was gone as the room went silent.

The only sound left was the faint, rhythmic flicking of Zora's tail, still lazily moving near the edge of the bed.

Seraniti exhaled shakily, running a trembling hand over her face.

It's fine. I'm fine. Not! My! Fault!

That was a complete lie.

She barely made it to the bathroom before her stomach twisted, forcing her to lunge for the toilet.

"Fuck—!"

The bile burned as she coughed and retched, her body convulsing as her stomach turned itself inside out. The acidic taste made her grimace, but she had no time to process it. A second wave hit, her arms trembling as she gripped the sides of the toilet bowl.

Her breath was ragged. Her face was pale.

The circle in her irises spun erratically. The minuscule leak of manas from her body made the air dense, lingering for only a second before fading.

She sighed, long and deep, before shoving herself up.

She turned to the sink.

She turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto her face, inhaling sharply as the chill forced her back to normal.

She rinsed her mouth next, shoving her toothbrush into her mouth with more force than necessary, scrubbing away the taste of acid and sickness.

When she finally pulled away, she stared at herself one last time.

No use dwelling on it.

She stepped out of the bathroom and into the washing room. Her jacket hung neatly alongside her shirt, her folded pants resting nearby. She tugged open the dryer, spotting a few pieces of underwear and socks still inside.

"I'm too tired to do anything…" she muttered to herself, her voice hoarse from earlier.

Despite her words, she moved through the motions. Socks first—warm. A fresh pair of underwear—warm too. She hummed absently as she grabbed her shirt, slipping her arms through the sleeves, buttoning it up halfway before stopping just short of the top button. Not worth the effort.

Then her pants—easier said than done when exhaustion made her limbs heavy. She pulled them up sluggishly, fastening them in place before running a hand through her hair, rubbing at her eyes.

Her gaze flickered toward the bed.

Zora was still there, still curled up, her tail draped lazily over the sheets.

Seraniti narrowed her eyes.

With zero hesitation, she grabbed the blankets and flipped her over.

"Wha—!"

Zora yelped, limbs flailing as she was violently turned, landing face-first into the mattress before bouncing back up, groggy and half-aware. Her ears twitched as she groaned, rubbing her eyes.

"Mmmgh… what the fuck, Mashaa—?"

Seraniti stood over her, arms crossed.

"Get up. We're going to the lobby."

Zora blinked slowly, processing the words like a sleep-deprived cat barely registering its owner calling for food.

Then—

"Mashaa, it's the ass crack of dawn."

"It's not even morning. Just get up."

Zora groaned again, stretching like she was some spoiled noble waking up in a luxury suite.

"Five more minutes—"

Seraniti grabbed the pillow and smacked her in the face.

"Ow! Okay, okay! You're worse—"

She rolled onto her back, mumbling something incoherent before finally begrudgingly sitting up.

"If I die on the way down, I'm haunting your ass."

Seraniti rolled her eyes, already moving toward the door.

Zora, still sluggish, took her time standing. She threw on an outfit—a loose, oversized hoodie, shorts and some shoes, her tail flicking lazily as she followed Seraniti out the door.

The hall was quiet as they stepped out, the air still carrying the distant scent of old fires and recycled air. The walls, cleaner than yesterday, contrasted sharply with the outside world—a reminder that the misery beyond these walls hadn't yet seeped in.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, and they stepped inside.

Zora leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her gaze flicking toward Seraniti.

"You look like you fought a sarkhn in your sleep."

"Bad dream." she muttered.

Zora studied her for a moment before exhaling through her nose, her tail flicking idly.

"You get those a lot."

Seraniti glanced at her from the corner of her eye but didn't respond.

The elevator doors slid open as they reached the lobby. The atmosphere inside was different this time—not tense, not dangerous, but heavy in a way that most war-touched places were. People moved quietly, some with purpose, others just drifting, as if still unsure where they were supposed to be.

Aaliya was at the counter, as composed as ever, though her gaze briefly flickered toward them the moment they stepped out.

Seraniti walked up first, her fingers already tracing absent minded patterns against the smooth surface of the desk.

"Mmm. You look like you had a very restful sleep." Aaliya's tone was teasing, but her eyes carried the same knowing gaze from before.

Seraniti snorted softly. "If by restful, you mean waking up and nearly punching a ghost, then sure."

Aaliya hummed, leaning forward slightly, resting her chin on her palm.

"A ghost, huh? And here I thought I kept this place clean."

Before she could answer, Zora leaned in with a grin.

"We're here for food. And some other supplies."

"Ah, food… well… it's best if you hurry up." Aaliya tapped her fingers against the counter, her voice tinged with weary resignation. "Food is not being restocked as fast since most of it is going to the war."

They continued their exchange a little longer before stepping out of the building.

The street had grown more crowded since they entered. More people, more vehicles—each with a sense of purpose molded into their expressions. The movement of the crowd was rhythmic. Both of them fell into step, letting the current of bodies carry them forward.

"I still do not believe we are in war, Zora. I do not know what emotion I am supposed to be feeling."

Seraniti spoke without turning her gaze, her focus set further into the crowd—on the people, on the fantasies they carried. She was a casket to boot, one of the lucky ones who hadn't faced outright hostility. But she knew—it was only a matter of time.

A significant portion of Humanvmy had to use suppressors just to fight against Óhrin. Even now, her existence was tolerated at best. Caskets used to be more than just a derogatory name; there were actual caskets—bodies placed within, before being buried. But those days were long past, their numbers reduced to nothing.

When nomadic cities were starting to pop up, most of the population journeyed to these cities before settling down. And those who got infected on the way were pushed away to unwanted areas within the same cities. 

And it still wasn't enough.

Why?

Last night, the news had played scenes of supposed peaceful protests—then cut to footage of caskets being dragged into the streets and executed. She had watched in silence as people yelled, others looked away, as the anchors moved on without dwelling too long on it.

Would she meet the same fate?

She wouldn't know. She was no preserver.

"—In other news, multiple city-states have fallen in what appeared to be—"

"Zora, wait." Seraniti stopped abruptly, her eyes locking onto a screen high above them, flickering against the side of a towering high-rise.

Zora spun on her heel, stepping back toward her.

"—Blæc Rocc has much influence in the reg—"

Seraniti hesitated, the words forming but refusing to leave her lips. Instead, she shook her head. "Nothing… let's go."

Her thoughts, however, refused to quiet.

Caskets, huh? Brewster Hills… we had bigger problems than Óhrin. Will it be the same here?

The weight of it all pressed down on her shoulders as the scenery before them shifted. Stores were closing. The streets, once moving in a controlled current, were now depressing—too many people, too little space. A sharp jolt to her side sent her stumbling.

"Watch where you're g—"

The man's voice cut off mid-sentence as his gaze landed on her neck. A few shards there that were hidden behind her jacket.

His expression twisted—disgust, recognition, something bitter bleeding into his features before he turned away with a muttered curse.

"Damn casket."

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself against the weight of a word she had never had the misfortune of hearing directed at her before—a miracle in itself. Not that it mattered. It was always coming.

Unlike games, Óhrin didn't grant you power. No skill trees, no unique talents, no hidden blessings wrapped in tragedy. All it did was make life more miserable than it already was, as if civilization needed another excuse to grind them beneath its heel.

Óhreinn Clusters. Ohiruim. 

The so-called miracle of civilization.

That was a bit of a lie. A well documented, widely accepted lie. Because the clusters did not belong to this civilization, nor did they belong to any civilization before it. They were older, before the very concept of fire, before manas, and before the existence of countries. The first stone laid in the foundation of civilization was not man's own doing—it had simply been there, long before they had words to describe its potential.

The rock—the magical rock. And yet, for all that is was, it was also the failure of civilization. The glossy black rock, stained brown of sin with the white circle missing a piece. 

It was like a hand—both literal and figurative.

She had been close enough to see it, the way its form coagulated over many weeks. No warning. Just black rain falling before the silhouette took shape. The fingers—towering, jagged—stretched downward. And then, the moment the first fingertip made contact with the soil, they broke. Nothing more than particles.

And from that fall, the clusters were born, impaling themselves into the ground. 

It never truly left her.

Not when she closed her eyes. Not when she ran her fingers over the shards embedded in her neck. Not when she heard the pain that followed every catastrophe.

But those thoughts scattered as soon as Zora opened her mouth.

"Mashaa, I think we'll have better luck if we rob people."

Zora's expression was dead serious, the kind of resolute conviction one might expect from someone proposing a well-thought-out plan rather than stupidity.

Seraniti raised an eyebrow as they stepped out of the second store, the weight of their pitiful haul pressing against her frustration. All they had managed to secure were a few preheated meal packs and some extra clothes—nothing of real substance, nothing that would last them if things turned dire.

"Oh please. We haven't gone that low… yet." She muttered the last part quieter, as if speaking it too loudly might make it a reality.

"Yet it can still happen." Zora nodded sagely to herself, absentmindedly tracing figures in the air, her fingers moving with a casual sort of mischief.

The moment hung between them for only a second before the soft chime of a notification cut through the air. Seraniti lifted her left hand, and a screen popped up before her. The sender was Hot Stuff.

"Oh. That was faster than I thought it would take."

Zora, still playing with the imaginary lines in the air, glanced over. "Didn't you say all you wanted was more storage on the small one and to change a few things on that box?"

Seraniti hummed, scrolling through the message.

"Yeah, something like that." Seraniti replied, barely paying attention as her eyes scanned the rest of the message. Now, they just had to go pick it up.

"Let's go, we're just wasting time here. You know the way, right?"

"Mmm!" Zora hummed, her answer as effortless as her movements.

Before Seraniti could take another breath, Zora's hand wrapped around hers, fingers cool but firm, and then—

They disappeared.