Over the calm expanse of empty space, thirteen vessels flew. Their pace was steady, yet the space around them warped continuously as they crossed light-years in seconds. Each approached from a different direction, yet all bore the same amber-and-blue flag, their smooth hulls plain white and small in size.

  Very few even detected their passage. Those who did, upon recognising the banner, merely acknowledged it and kept a respectful distance.

  All thirteen vessels, each arriving with only a short delay between them, docked at a single planet—a world shrouded from outside eyes, its very existence untraceable to any without the authority to enter.

  The last of the thirteen vessels glided into place, their approach slowed by unseen threads of Magika that rippled softly through the docks. They came to rest without a sound, as if the void itself had cupped them in invisible hands. Faint shimmers lingered in the air before fading into nothing.

  From each vessel descended several cloaked figures, their long, smooth white mantles flowing like liquid, the sigil of gold and sky etched upon both breast and back. White masks hid their faces, leaving only the gleam of eyes visible through narrow slits. Between them walked a single girl—each one different from the rest. The escorts’ stances were solemn, their heads bowed in deep respect.

  The thirteen girls advanced with unhurried grace along separate corridors, each path lit in its own pale glow. Every one of them carried her own nature: some dark-skinned, gleaming like polished onyx; others pale as carved marble; some with curling horns or fur along the forearms; others with the faint gleam of scales catching the light. Their forms varied, but all shared the same quiet, regal bearing.

  Their paths, at first separate, converged into one. Together, they stepped into a vast chamber that seemed carved from living stone, its white surfaces smooth as glass. Sweeping arches rose high overhead, etched with fine patterns of gold and silver that bent the light into soft, shifting halos. Amber-and-blue banners hung from the heights, swaying gently in a breeze that no one could feel.

  At the chamber’s heart stood a raised dais of pale marble, its steps flanked by slender spires that glowed with a slow, living pulse. The air here was still—heavy, sacred—so that even the sound of footsteps seemed subdued.

  And there, the thirteen young girls stood in perfect stillness, side by side. Several steps behind them waited the cloaked, priest-like figures, their white mantles unmoving, the gold-and-sky sigils gleaming faintly in the chamber’s light.

  Seconds passed in silence. No one stirred. Then—without sound, without ripple or flash—a figure sat upon the dais, as though she had always been there, unseen until now.

  The woman was beautiful beyond human measure, her presence radiating something sacred, untouched by mortal limits. Her hair, long and white as winter frost, spilled over one shoulder in a silken fall. Her skin was smooth, sun-kissed with a soft, warm tan that seemed almost to glow. Her features were flawless, their balance so precise they felt more like the work of a master artisan than nature’s hand—lips gently curved, cheekbones high, and every motion steeped in quiet command.

  And yet, above all else, it was her gaze that held the world still. One eye shone like molten amber, rich and deep as gold caught in firelight. The other was the clear, piercing blue of an endless sky—both so vivid, so utterly alive, that to meet them was to feel weighed, measured, and laid bare.

  The woman let her gaze pass over all thirteen girls, each meeting it without flinching. She paused, just briefly, on one among them—clothed in dirty white, pale-skinned, with large eyes and a face lacking the grace that marked the others. But the pause was fleeting.

  “Dismissed.” The word came soft as silk from the woman’s lips, music to the ear, yet it rang clear across the chamber—audible here and nowhere beyond.

  As the sound reached the chamber’s farthest edges, the cloaked figures vanished, leaving only the woman upon the dais and the thirteen girls before her.

  The woman’s smile was faint, no more than the curve of a breath. Then, without warning, another figure blinked into existence.

  She descended before the thirteen girls, small and delicate, clad in a soft white dress. Her frame mirrored theirs, yet her features bore a striking resemblance to the woman on the dais—a younger, almost childlike echo of that impossible beauty. Her white hair was far too long for her slight frame, cascading nearly to her toes, which hovered inches above the polished floor. Her eyes remained closed, her expression serene, as if lost in a gentle dream.

  The woman regarded the new girl for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then her blue eye glowed, its hue shifting. In an instant, the other thirteen girls vanished, their forms dissolving into nothingness as if they had never been.

  As they faded, the eyelids of the lone floating girl began to flutter. She blinked slowly, returning to awareness—and, like the woman before her, one eye held the light of the sun, while the other shone with the beauty of a clear sky.

  Her descent was gentle, bare and delicate feet coming to rest upon the smooth white floor.

  For a moment, her gaze wandered—first to her small hands, then to the space around her. A heartbeat later, she seemed to steady herself. Stepping forward, she gathered her dress and bowed in a refined, lady-like gesture to the woman on the dais.

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  “Mother,” she said. Her voice carried no warmth, only plain respect, as if the word itself were merely a formality.

  “Your request has been granted,” the mother replied. “Return to your chambers and rest. On the night of the twin star eclipse, you will proceed to the Garden of Eden for your ascension.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  The woman gave a single nod. “That will be all.”

  The girl, her gaze still flat, nodded once more before turning away.

  Her steps were calm as she made her way through the vast corridors, the silence broken only by the soft echo of her bare feet. Cloaked figures bowed respectfully as she passed, their movements slow and reverent.

  Then, mid-step, the world seemed to pause.

  The girl did not find it strange. Instead, for the first time, a smile bloomed on her face—soft, genuine—making her look like the child she truly was. Her eyes searched, and then found exactly who she had been looking for.

  Without hesitation, she ran. All etiquette vanished as her small feet pattered over the polished floor. She threw herself into the arms of a woman dressed in a flowing gown of amber and blue.

  “Grandma!” she cried, pressing her head against the woman’s chest, hugging her tightly.

  “How has my little Eve been?” the woman asked, her voice calm yet brimming with warmth and joy. Her features mirrored those of Eve’s mother, though her hair was thicker, looser, and crowned with a strange symbol upon her forehead. The faintest signs of age touched her face, though they only seemed to deepen her grace.

  “I… I missed you,” Eve said, her voice small but heavy with the emotion she’d kept locked away.

  The woman’s arms tightened around her, protective and steady. “And I, you. More than you know, little star.” She leaned back just enough to study Eve’s face, brushing a stray lock of white hair from her eyes. “How was it?”

  “It was… informative.”

  “Oh, just… informative?” The woman’s brow lifted, faint amusement in her tone.

  Eve’s lips pressed together in thought. “I believe the world they showed me is not all there is. All thirteen experiences… they were crafted to make me see only cruelty. Darkness. To show me how easily people abandon morality, how some take joy in breaking others, in grinding their dreams to dust. In every life they gave me, the worst of people was paraded in front of me—betrayal, greed, indifference to suffering.”

  Her grandmother’s gaze softened, but she said nothing, letting the girl speak.

  “But…” Eve continued, her tone firming, “I think they want me to believe that’s all there is. That outside this place, all is foul and dangerous. They want me to grow suspicious, to see every kindness as a trap. They want me to think safety only exists here behind these cold white walls.”

  She took a breath, then shook her head lightly. “But even in those lives… in the worst moments… there were flickers. A baker who gave bread to the starving boy next to me, knowing it would cost her. A soldier who looked away so a family could flee. A child—dirt-covered and sick—who shared half his only meal with someone smaller. And…” she hesitated, her voice softening just a fraction, “a boy who held to his morals and his will, even when everything around him tried to break him.”

  Her gaze drifted briefly, almost absently, yet a trace of warmth touched her tone before she reined it back in. “Small things, but they mattered. They were… proof.”

  “Proof of what?” her grandmother asked quietly.

  “That even in the dark, there is light. That the world is bigger than the picture they want me to hold in my mind. That… if they are so desperate to hide it from me, maybe it’s because that light is more dangerous to them than the darkness they try to drown me in.”

  A flicker of emotion passed through her grandmother’s eyes. She held Eve’s gaze for a long, quiet moment before a small, knowing smile curved her lips. One hand slipped behind her back.

  “I brought you something—your present, before your tier ascension.”

  Eve’s head tilted slightly, curiosity sparking in her eyes. Her posture straightened, as if every part of her was suddenly alert. “A present?” she echoed, her voice a mix of suspicion and excitement.

  When her grandmother’s hand came forward again, it cradled an egg the size of a fist, its shell a deep, luminous sapphire. Light seemed to move within it, not just reflecting, but flowing—slow and liquid, as if the egg held a fragment of the sea itself.

  Eve’s eyes went wide. She stepped closer, almost reverently, and took it in both hands. The shell was cool against her skin, the surface so smooth it almost felt alive. She turned it gently, watching the light shift and swirl… but—

  “What is it?” she asked, her voice bright with curiosity, eyes glimmering.

  “A surprise,” her grandmother said with a grin. “For my favorite little star.”

  Eve glanced up, a sly glint in her eyes. “Grandma… this isn’t some world-shattering treasure… right?”

  Her grandmother chuckled, the sound warm and threaded with secrets. “Depends who’s holding it, little star.”

  Eve shook her head. She knew her grandma had a tendency to… go overboard. She still remembered the day she learned her favorite bedtime toy had been an A-grade Artefact—worth more than an entire small star sector. So, naturally, she eyed the ‘egg’ with suspicion.

  Her recent journey had shown her just how sheltered she’d been—how easily she’d taken for granted what others bled and risked their lives for, scraps compared to the luxuries she’d always known.

  Still… it was a gift from her grandmother—her only true friend. Well…

  A face flickered in her mind: a boy streaked with dirt and sweat, flashing her that goofy, unshakable smile.

  She wondered where his story would lead him… and if their paths would cross again.

  Eve’s lips softened into a smile as she looked back at her grandmother. The truth was, she was the only reason Eve felt glad to return here… to this gilded prison of white, amber, and blue.

  “Thank you, Grandma.”

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