I awaken in a black, endless room—just like the one I found myself in before my soul awakened.
At the far end, seated on a throne, is a woman. Beautiful. Serene. Imposing.
The air trembles as the dark room shifts around us, the walls pulsing with an unseen force.
She is the conclusion, the measure of all things. A force of nature.
She is the END
Her hair, once silver-blue, now flows like an ocean of decay, reflecting the death of countless worlds—hundreds, thousands, entire multiverses crumbling within its strands. She is the end. Every being, every creature that has ever died has met her.
And now, she is here.
I can tell she is holding back, restraining herself from ending me, from ending this story, this world.
For a moment, I see as she does. I see the past, the present, the future—woven together like threads in an unfinished tapestry. It fills me with sorrow, a pain so deep it drives me to the edge of madness.
I know my future.
And even still, I have no way to convey it to myself.
I look at her pearl—a massive, clear core. It stretches across worlds, universes, multiverses, too vast for me to comprehend. A colony. A Tetravice core, so immense it dwarfs my understanding. I am nothing but a grain of sand within its endless expanse. A single speck in an infinite river.
She is beautiful. A silent goddess upon an endless throne, spanning past, present, and future.
A throne.
She does not speak. She does not move. Her head rests against the chair, eyes distant. Watching. Waiting.
And in that moment, all is silent.
She is bored.
"Send me back," I command.
She looks surprised. For the first time, she stands, her movements slow, deliberate. Each step cracks the ground beneath her, fissures spreading—pure and black.
"Why should I?" she taunts, walking toward me.
"Because Sora won't allow me to end."
She laughs, sharp and amused. "You think I fear Sora?"
"Yes," I say, grinning. "You do."
Out of all the Tetravice—not Goodois, not Byrel, not Ionis—none make you hesitate more than her. None but Sora would make you let me live.
"Send me back."
"I don't have to follow this story," she muses, tilting her head. "She bargained for your life. She wants you alive. I could end it right now."
"You wouldn't."
"And why not?"
"Because I'd stop you."
She chuckles, dark and knowing. "And how would you do that?"
"This needs to happen. I have to save them. I have to save her."
"You can't stop me."
"Then watch me."
I will be stronger. I will change the story.
She smiles—a wild, mad grin. She steps closer, pressing a finger against my hand. Her touch is warm, her skin human.
"I'll let you remember my name," she whispers. "If you ever need me, call upon me."
I hesitate. "What will it cost?"
She tilts her head, amused. "You already know."
GASP.
I inhale sharply, my body jolting back to life.
A name lingers on my tongue, the only thing I remember.
Beira, the End.
A true beauty. A true end.
I try to recall what we spoke about, what we did. But all I remember is the throne. And her finger—cold against my skin.
And the name.
A cost.
Each time I speak it, it will take something from me. A part of myself. A part of my soul.
Still, I whisper it.
"Beira."
The world convulses.
The air tightens, shuddering as if gasping for breath. The trees groan, their bark splintering. Stones crack, the earth itself caving inward. Around me, frogs that had been croaking just moments ago seize mid-jump and fall still, their bodies hollow, emptied. The night flickers—not fades, flickers—as though reality itself hesitates, unsure whether to continue.
Even Var—limitless, ever-present—blips out of existence.
And then so do I.
Darkness. Cold.
I stand before the throne.
She watches me, lounging, her silver-blue hair flowing with the weight of countless endings. A smile tugs at her lips, but her eyes hold no amusement.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes.
No Var. No breath. No self.
She lifts a finger—human, warm—and touches my forehead.
Everything disappears.
I awaken, gasping.
The world is as it was. The trees stand. The ground is whole. The night hums with distant life.
But the frogs are gone.
The air still feels thin, fragile, as if something fundamental was erased.
I clutch my arms, shivering. I know I saw her again. I know I stood before the throne. But I can't remember what happened.
All I remember is the cold.
And the feeling that next time, it will cost even more.
I awaken, gasping.
The world feels... wrong. The air is too still, the silence too deep. The frogs are gone. No bodies, no traces—just erased, as if they had never existed.
Did saying her name do this?
My hands tremble. If a whisper could snuff out life so easily, what would happen if I used it again? Could I direct it? Shape it?
I glance at the bear. It has only moved a few steps, its massive form still looming in the dark.
A thought creeps in. What if I spoke her name again? What if I spoke to the bear?
No power comes without a cost.
I push the thought away, gripping my arms. I will never ask it for help.
My wounds have healed, my body whole once more.
The bear shifts. Slowly, its head turns toward me.
And it smiles.