In a dim basement, a young woman lay on the damp floor. She appeared to be around seventeen or eighteen years old, with pale golden hair strewn messily beneath her. Her delicate features and fair complexion were striking, even in ill-fitting men's clothing that failed to conceal her smooth, pale skin. Her beautiful face wore an expression of pain, brows furrowed between tightly closed eyes, features shifting in the flickering candlelight.
Just as the candle on the candlestick was about to burn out, the young woman awoke. Clutching her head as if it might explode from within, she groaned and crawled up from the floor. The oversized clothes revealed more skin as she moved, but she paid no attention—or perhaps didn't even notice.
"Am I... not dead? Where am I? A hospital, or a church?" she muttered to herself, startled by her own voice. "My voice... cough—" She coughed dryly, but her voice remained unfamiliar.
Looking around, she found herself in a strange and eerie environment. Dark red bloodstains radiated from where she had lain on the uneven floor, mixed with unidentifiable black objects. Half-open boxes in the corner were empty. A candle, the room's only light source, flickered unsteadily on a wax-covered stone table, casting shifting shadows on various alchemical tools. A crucible on the stove still emitted residual heat. The only exit appeared to be a staircase leading up. This was no hospital or church she knew; it resembled more a secret occult ritual site.
She reached for her waist, but the gun holster that should have been there was gone. Had she somehow survived and been captured?
Just then, the lone candle finally burned out, its weak but warm light disappearing. Oddly, the world remained clearly visible to her, as if illuminated by an invisible light.
She knew she had to leave this bizarre place immediately. The damp environment, windowless walls, and upward-leading stairs clearly indicated a basement. Her destination was obvious.
Gritting her teeth against the headache, she stood up straight and walked towards the stairs she had seen earlier. The oversized, ill-fitting pants repeatedly tried to slip off, forcing her to hold them up with one hand while supporting herself against the damp basement wall with the other as she slowly ascended.
Seemingly unaccustomed to her limb length, she stumbled over the too-long pant legs and stubbed her toes on the stairs before finally reaching the top. There, she found a trapdoor in the ceiling.
"Good thing it's not locked from the outside. Without the right tools, escaping would have been too difficult..."
Grasping the handle, she cautiously opened the trapdoor a crack and peered out. As she had guessed, she was indeed in a basement. The trapdoor opened facing a wall bathed in red light. Besides some furniture along the wall, she saw no one.
Perfect. She would slip out, find help, or at worst, escape to open ground where her internal positioning chip could transmit a signal.
Having made her decision, she gently pushed open the trapdoor and nimbly climbed out of the basement. She carefully closed the trapdoor behind her, making no sound throughout the process. If she hadn't been holding up her pants with one hand, the entire sequence would have been even smoother.
With the trapdoor no longer obstructing her view, she could finally observe the room in its entirety under the crimson glow. The basement exit was in the center of the room, facing a wall with a landscape painting. To the left was a closed door with an old-fashioned bolt. Next to it stood an unidentified plant, appearing eerily exotic in the red light. Opposite the door was a vintage desk with an open tome, its pages covered in messy notes. A pen, ink, and other books were scattered about.
Looking up, she realized the red light wasn't from a lamp as she had assumed, but from outside the window. As if entranced, she crawled to the desk, disregarding her pants that had now completely fallen off. Using the desk for support, she stood up to look outside.
The street outside was bathed in the same crimson light. The deserted night street, cobblestone road, iron lampposts, and row of buildings across the street were all covered in the same crimson "tablecloth".
In the pitch-black sky, a blood-red "moon" loomed like a demon's eye, watching the street, the study, and the young woman inside.
"Ah—ah!" The headache suddenly intensified. She could no longer stand and collapsed to her knees beside the desk, her slender arms still clinging to it for support.
As if only now having the chance to observe, she noticed her arms in the red moonlight, then followed them down to her torso, and finally to her legs, now free from the confines of the fallen pants.
"No, this isn't... How is this possible?!" cried Angel, originally a male and a Templar knight, in a nightingale-like voice that felt alien to him.
A series of voices echoed from the depths of his memory, some determined and resolute, others highly tempting:
"...This is your only chance to become an 'extraordinary one,' do you really want to give it up..."
"...This mission is extremely risky, I suggest you..."
"...You don't think this is the end, do you? Follow the rules of the performance, and as your sequence rises, you'll see more..."
"...You are the bait. If you're unwilling, you can back out now..."
"...I didn't expect you to complete the promotion so quickly. I should fulfill my promise now..."
"...The main force hasn't finished assembling yet, we can only rely on ourselves to hold it back..."
"...These are the potion materials for Sequence 7, 'Witch.' I hope you'll like your new identity..."
The whispers in her ears gradually faded, leaving only the sound of pulsing blood vessels and the increasingly large red moon in her vision.
"The Kingdom of Loen? Tingen City? Where on earth is this place..."
This was her final thought