As the platform rose, everything it passed crumbled in an uproar. Even the darkness itself seemed to wither past it. Lorelei lay with her ear pressed against the crimson sword, gazing aimlessly at the grand ouverture far above. Her faint smile slowly stretched into a long, echoing chuckle. The white particles had fully regenerated her body by now, her hanging intestines and malformed ribs dissolving into the air, only to be replaced by brand-new ones, whole and pure. But one thing remained stubbornly unchanged: the state of her mind. Her soft chuckle swelled into hysterical laughter, ringing out across the dissolving darkness, yet it stayed perfectly clear, untouched by the chaos around her. In the midst of it, both her sword and her gun slipped from the platform and fell. She watched them crumble in the endless calamity below, powerless to lift even a single finger. The platform rose, and rose again. Crimson light poured off the blade, brightening until it blinded Lorelei. Her clothes had become a tattered mess of hanging cloth, her white jacket dyed a vivid scarlet—the scarlet of her own blood. It was like a blank canvas slowly being painted, dab by dab, with each of her deaths. But none of it mattered anymore. She had obtained what she came for. The crest on the palm of her right hand was proof of it. Lan's spirited sword. Blut.
* * *
Lorelei gently parted her eyelids under a red light of unknown origin, growing steadily brighter. She woke still seated on her throne, floating high in the sky—a stone throne draped in a deep crimson veil. She gazed down upon a scarlet, never-ending land below. It looked exactly like the world she came from, with one single difference: everything was draped in a lovely scarlet. The trees, the earth, the mountains, the rivers. All of it, wrought from her blood. It was the new world she had created out of her own flesh and blood, born from the incalculable deaths she had endured. A crimson world, fogged by her fear and her anguish. Lorelei laughed, gazing at what they had shaped from her blood. This was the new hell they had preached. This was the world she was meant to be queen of. By accepting the crest, she had accepted the crown—and reign over a soulless world, damned by her own hand. She leaned on her clenched fist, resting it against the throne's armrest, and studied the newly restored crimson blade lying in front of her. Its chipped, weathered appearance was gone entirely, as if it had been forged that very moment. Its crimson glow burned brighter than ever, more alluring than before. She stretched out her right hand toward it, and the crest flared in her palm, confirming that it was hers. Everything in this realm was.
"Is this what..."
"Is this the new hell?"
She stepped slowly off the throne, drawing the veil with her left hand. It coiled around her and took shape as a new jacket—longer than the one she had worn before, falling almost to her ankles, with sleeves that swallowed her arms entirely, a little excess pooling over her hands. After a few steps, the veil adjusted itself to her size. She stopped before the sword, still buried in the ground, and pulled it out one-handed. The crimson blade caught her reflection as she raised it toward the red sky. It was far longer than she had imagined, yet it felt absurdly light—as if the sword were part of her body, as if she had simply reattached a missing limb. The ends of her hair had turned entirely red, dyed with blood that dripped from them. Even though the rest of her old body had evaporated, these drops clinging to her hair had not. Lorelei didn't mind in the least; after all, it was proof of everything she had suffered to claim this prize. She stood at the edge of the platform, gazing slowly across the sky. Seven scarlet stars burned weakly, dimly illuminating the world she had created.
"Seven stars," she said softly.
The sword thrummed when she pointed it at one of them, but the stars held their skies, unmoving.
"My gloves."
Even when she had looked down from the throne earlier, she'd seen nothing resembling her gloves anywhere on the platform. But at her very words, the veil that had become her jacket rose into the sky and lowered two gloves into her waiting hands before settling back against her shoulders, resuming its jacket form. Lorelei slipped the gloves on slowly, then announced it openly to the crimson world.
"I am not your king!"
The same voices she had heard from the two statues resurfaced. Then become our god.
"Neither am I your god!"
The statues' voices fell silent. Lorelei drew a deep breath and leaned out past the edge of the platform. Her body tipped off the side and drifted downward, floating gently like a feather. She turned in midair, facing the seven scarlet stars one last time. Though there were only seven of them, they reminded her of Clovis—the first human she had ever trusted, the first who had accepted her in spite of who she was. No matter what she had learned about him, her vision of Clovis never wavered. The Mister she revered and loved had not faded. Even though he was dead, Lorelei kept the memories they had woven together alive in the depths of her heart. She smiled gently as the stars answered her gaze with their dim crimson light.
"Are you looking at me... mister?"
Her body sank into the crimson ground, which rippled and distorted into a watery substance at her approach. She slipped beneath its surface, felt herself flipped and tumbled about within, and then was thrown back out into her original world.
* * *
"Wake up!"
"Hey!"
"Wake up!"
A swift gust of wind whipped Lorelei's hair backward. She forced her eyes open to find the source of the voice.
"If you're up, grab the handle, or you're going to fall!"
She recognized that voice at once, despite the thunderous ache in her skull. But the sight that met her when her eyes finally focused caught her off guard. They were high above the clouds, gliding across a fluffy sea of condensed vapor.
"Hold on! I just told you!"
Through her confusion, Lorelei obeyed, gripping the brown leather handle that wiggled oddly in front of her. In fact, the whole thing she sat upon was swaying side to side, almost like a fish swimming through the sea—except this one was swimming through the air. She took a brief look at the rider in front of her. It was Shiniel. The defiant, spiked points of her blue hair were unmistakable, as was the oversized black-and-silver cap covering the crown of her head.
"What is the meaning of this?" Lorelei asked, bewildered.
"I'd love it if you could speak up!" Shiniel shouted back.
The creature's exhilarating speed pressed hard against their eardrums.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
"Cough—"
"Cough—"
Lorelei coughed several times. She could barely feel her fingertips, much less move her legs. All she could do was cling to the leather handle on the beast's back. The pillar felt like a bad dream—a very bad dream. But the vivid pain that had left her body numb was proof enough: this was no dream at all.
"I'll explain later! Hang on!"
Shiniel kept one hand on the reins while the other pressed her hat down over her eyes. Old habits die hard. Even at twenty thousand feet above the ground, her only concern was keeping her hat from the harsh wind. The beast itself resembled a stingray, save for the little wings sprouting from its flanks. Lorelei couldn't fathom how so tiny a pair could possibly lift them, but she didn't question it further, letting the wind currents sway her as they would. The bright blue sky and the warm glow of the sun felt refreshing. Suddenly, Shiniel leaned forward, and the beast followed, diving headlong into the clouds. Lorelei shut her eyes as the condensed water droplets wet her face and clothes. For the next two minutes they wove through the clouds before bursting out the far side, trailing a ribbon of tiny water drops behind them.
"Lend me a hand here," Shiniel said, keeping her usual calm tone.
"With wh— cough— what?"
"Tell me if I'm getting too close to any trees or mountains."
The tiny winged stingray began a slow descent, weaving around the tall, dense trees and lofty peaks in its path. Lorelei kept her eyes peeled, straightening herself on the creature to help with navigation. Shiniel guided it toward a flat, open expanse of grass before it gradually lowered, settling until its belly lay flat against the ground. Lorelei was deeply puzzled. When she had entered the pillar, she was certain a snowstorm had buried everything in its path. She was certain winter was just beginning—yet the nature around her seemed to insist otherwise.
"What's the date?" she asked, confusion plain in her eyes.
"Seventeen April, 1043 Second Virtue. By Vileth's calendar."
"What?" Lorelei repeated, still in disbelief.
"You spent five months in that pillar."