The Earth, now silent, its surface an ashen grey. Thick dust filled the air as heavy winds soared through the land. Only silence followed. The ruins of a civilization, now crumbled and shattered, remained. The distant howls of a dead species could be faintly heard far in the distance. The faint shine of a now-dimmed moon rested in the sky—its fractured form spread across the stars, holding the memories of a clash between humanity and Honkai.
And from the moon, the second daughter of 'God' fell from the sky once more. Like before, she descended down to the Earth. But now, before her, lay the remains of a planet once brimming with life and possibilities—now a lifeless wasteland. She stood tall and imposing, her arms resting beneath her chest. Her gaze was cold—some could say it was inhuman.
Her starlight hair gently swayed in the wind, its tips gradually losing their Finality hue. The deep cosmic colour faded, returning to a lush, radiant white. She placed her hand against her chest. It phased through her body, and when she pulled back, within her grasp was a gem—the Herrscher Core of Finality. She gazed at it coldly, and with a single, dignified motion, she crushed the core.
An imaginary boom shattered the silence as a shockwave spread across the planet. The Trial of Finality was truly over for this era—and with it, the beginning of the next. She then threw the crumbled dust that was once the Herrscher core of Finality beneath her after all she could simply reconnect with the cocoon of Finality if she truly needed the Core of Finality.
She let out a long, helpless sigh. Her eyes closed, her white eyebrows furrowing slightly before snapping open with visible aloofness. Her pale blue eyes had been replaced by those deep, pinkish-purple irises that held the power of Finality but now they returned to those cold and warm blue pupils that once more held an aloofness.
"It seems I still have remnants of the other Herrscher powers within my body after all they were original imprinted within my body… It will likely take some time before these remnants fully become a part of me I might even keep the key abilities of them as well."
She spoke in a simple but dignified tone, though it carried the weight of someone who hadn't slept in several millennia. On a physical level, her body slowly began to relax. Her eyes now radiated a lazy tone—a cold aloofness filled the ambiance.
Her foot rested onto the ashen ground, followed by the other. Her clothes began to bend, and a spatial distortion rippled through the air linking to the imaginary space. In a single moment, her garments of her striking divinity transformed. A long, coal-black trench coat flowed down her back, beneath it a lily-white knitted jumper. Her long legs were coated in silky black-and-white stockings, paired with a pleated miniskirt sewn with delicate flower ornaments along the rim. Her high heels fit snugly around her feet.
Even a Herrscher has fashion sense, even if there's no one left to gaze upon her. Style, after all, was a form of presence demanding attention—a passion against the erosion of time. And she, above all, refused to not let said passion to leave her person.
Freya then began her walk across the barren land, her heels clicking softly against the cracked earth, each step echoing across a world that no longer listened. The wind—if it could still be called that—brushed against her trench coat like the trailing fingers of ghosts long forgotten. She said nothing. No sigh escaped her lips. No emotion flickered across her face. Only the silence marched with her, and the aloof coldness etched into her half-lidded gaze, as if all this—this death, this silence—was just another sunset she had seen too many times before.
She wandered like a traveller through distant lands, though there were no roads to follow that hadn't been absolutely destroyed . The great continents had long collapsed into one another, shaped not by tectonic drift but by war and entropy. Mountains sat hunched and hollow, scorched by cataclysms no historian remained to name. The sky, painted in washed-out greys and hues of forgotten auroras, bore down on the Earth like an old, tired god who had seen too much.
Time was strange now. It didn't pass so much as drag its feet behind her. Minutes could have been hours—or centuries. It didn't matter. Freya walked with neither haste nor hesitation. There was no destination she feared, and no journey that could exhaust her more than the slumber she'd just emerged from.
Eventually, her journey came to an end.
Before her loomed a structure half-consumed by the Earth—a monument of steel and sorrow buried beneath layers of time and dust. The massive gate of the underground facility stood like the jaws of some ancient mechanical beast, long dormant. Once, this entrance might have been patrolled by sentries, fortified to the fullest, bristling with the hopes of what was left of a civilization. Now it lay cracked, fractured and crumbling. Nature had reclaimed nothing—there was no nature left to reclaim it after all.
But why would she care? After all, she will live for practically forever, and she knew how boring it was to wait for lengthy periods of time. This bunker or facility was one of the few remaining places that held memories of Fire Moth. Here, Freya would enter her slumber or hibernation, enjoying the peace and quiet all by herself.
She took a step forward, descending into the bunker. Now deathly quiet, she was met with the crumbled remains of an elevator and the emergency staircase. She kicked the door down. It flew off its hinges, crashing into the railings and falling deep into the consuming darkness of the stairwell. A silent thud echoed from below as the door met the ground face-first.
Her eyes slowly drifted downward, peering past the deformed railings that framed the edge of the broken stairwell. Below, a vast, gaping shaft plunged into darkness—a vertical corridor lined with shattered lights and broken stairs, descending into what felt like the very start on one of those generic horror movies.
She didn't hesitate. No calculation, no theatrics—just a quiet, seamless motion. Without a word, and without breaking stride, Freya stepped forward, placing one heel on the railing. The metal groaned under her presence (now if it was a certain pink elf there would be far more metal groaning), flaking with age, yet it did not dare to break. Then, with the grace of someone stepping through a curtain rather than falling into a pit, she moved over the railing and vanished into the void.
The descent was near silent. No wind, no pull of fear—just the oppressive presence of black. Darkness wrapped around her like an old cloak, folding her into its depths. Her long coat fluttered gently behind her.
She didn't flail. She didn't fall.
She simply descended.
Gravity practically bent for her. Her body remained frozen mid-air, as if reality itself paused to accommodate her. There was no motion—just stillness, as though she'd become a statue carved into the void. Then, as if someone had pressed play on a movie, her body resumed its movement. She glided the last dozen meters with effortless control, descending like an angel falling from the heavens.
Her heels touched down with barely a whisper as she landed upon the remnants of the stairwell doors its deformed figure rested beneath her feat. The corridors lay in ruins—cracked and parts crumbled, their once-protective walls now rubble. Dust puffed around her put didn't dare to touch her, disturbed for the first time in man months.
She stood straight, unmoved, letting her coat settle around her legs.
Freya began her walk down the hallway. To her left, the walls were clean, with little to no damage. The place was practically abandoned, with the only life being the lucky rodents or bugs that had snuck in.
Eventually, she arrived at an all-too-familiar door. She had been here several times during her time here on Earth. Her finger gently pressed against the still-functional fingerprint scanner. A soft, mechanical beep followed, and the door swung open with a hiss. She stepped inside, the loud hush of the door closing behind her swallowing the outside world in an instant.
The air within was still—almost reverent in its quiet gasping silence. Dust hung faintly in the air, shimmering in the light. Her gaze traced the few room inside with slow deliberation. At the end of the space rested a large double bed layered with pinkness on an absurd level, its pink flower printed sheets tucked in with precision. The mattress was brand new, the surface undisturbed—like a forgotten statue preserved in time.
The room bore the stark minimalism of someone who didn't exactly care for decor—or never actually decide on living here fully. A few modest belongings were scattered about. To the left, a television sat atop a low cabinet, its screen reflecting the dim glow of the ceiling light. A thin layer of dust suggested it hadn't been touched in quite some time or possibly not even used to begin with.
Beyond the TV, a compact kitchen stood tucked into the corner. Its countertop was clean but cluttered with a few utensils—an old steel ladle resting in a drying rack, a chipped mug that had the writing of ' beside a kettle. The hum of the fridge was the only sound competing with the silence.
To the right, slightly hidden within the shadows, was a narrow entrance to a bathroom. Its glass door was slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of sterile white tiles and a single flickering light above the mirror seeming to not have been used often.
But her attention drifted to the shelf near the bed—a short, wooden piece with a subtle curve carved into its frame. On it, several photographs stood framed in mismatched borders. Her eyes locked onto them with quiet intensity. Light as a whisper, her steps carried her forward. She reached out, fingers gliding over the dusty surface before delicately lifting one of the photos.
The glass was cool beneath her touch. It held an image frozen in time—smiling faces, a sunlit background, and certain emotions that felt distant now. She studied the photo, her expression unreadable. The silence pressed in as memories—some hers, some not—drifted in and out of her mind.
"Elysia…"
Her voice was quiet. The aloofness broke for only a moment. Her eyes filled with nostalgia and even a hint of some unknown emotions that gently tugged her heart. The photo depicted the bright smile of a pink elf grinning foolishly with an arm playfully wrapped around Freya's waist. Her blue-and-pink pupils held cunning thoughts—you could clearly tell the pink elf had forcefully taken the photo, while Freya gazed aloofly toward her unimpressed. Clearly, Freya hadn't shown much care during the moment—leading to many such moments like this one.
Freya's finger gently rubbed the frame before clumsily placing it back onto the shelf among the others each held a lite amount of dust. Her gaze then locked onto the bed with almost predator like intensity. And with a sudden, unexpected motion—uncharacteristic for such a cold and aloof character—her heels flew off with a kick, and her body fell face-first into the bed the sound of the heels sliding against the wall on the opposite side of the room could be heard. The mattress bent inward from her weight forming a rough outline of her well built figure.
"Mmmhhhh…"
A quiet groan left her lips as she succumbed to the comforts of the bed. With a small gesture of her hand which now held a shallow transparent blue glow, the light switch flicked of. dropping the room into utter darkness. For once, she could slumber in the comfort of a memory foam mattress truly one of the greatest invention's of the now dead human civilisation she hadn't had the time after all to sleep, judgment came first after all.
"Much better than that hard uncomfortable throne… or sleeping on the moon…"
She grumbled, her head buried in the pillows. Her white starlight hair spread across the entirety of the bed like a secondary blanket. Her body slid slowly under the pink covers, which were patterned with delicate flowers sewn by a certain pink elf.
After finishing another trial upon a civilization, Freya Schariac would fall into a deep slumber—until the next time she was needed. Until the next timer began calling for the descent of Finality and the trials along with it. But that wasn't important not now there would be thousands of years before a new civilisation could be born once more on this planet.
Getting to laze about was far more important for this 'retired' Herrscher. And before long, she entered a long slumber that would last many millennia. As her consciousness faded and Freya fell into deep slumber beside the portrait of a certain pink elf, a gem appeared—resting undisturbed beside the photo. Its soft pink glow shined, radiating a warmth that could never be forgotten.
Even after death… she would never miss the opportunity for surprises after all in her words surprising a beautiful girl was the top of her list.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Some where deep within the facility a large pod filled with an unknown fluid had held within its embrace a child frozen in time her pink white medium long hair stood still only the silent noise of the beep of a heart monitor could be heard along with a terminal stood besides the pod the room held a long 'classified' experiment and this child would hold a important role in shaping Freya's person.
>> ACCESSING ARCHIVED TERMINAL LOGS
>> TERMINAL ONLINE
>> AEON OVERSIGHT PROTOCOL: FREYA.F-01
>> SECURITY LEVEL: COSMIC PRIORITY [CLASS ∞]
>> AUTHORIZED ACCESS GRANTED.....
> BEGIN LOG
To be continued.....