It was dead of dawn, the warm colors in the sky painted the moving clouds and the rising sun. Freshly early, you awoken with weary memory. It was suppose to be a simple mission, it all turned to the worst in seconds. Encountering your first uppermoon? It wasn’t suppose to be anymore than a lower-five moon. It was a mission of survival and hope.

Your face twitches, weekly coma finally shakes from its core. Your eyes take in your senses of the room, its similar odor of scented wisteria, the other slayers who recovered just alongside of you.

In an ached grunt, your arms lift the numbness of your body, sat straighter in your bed. Scrambled in was one of the butterfly girls—Aoi. Who panted through the door, with signs of your awaken, she rushed for a quick evaluation. “You’re awake,” Aoi pulled up a stool, her body straightens into position to record your vitals.

The back of her hand grazes your forehead, it was warm and your cheeks were flushed, its intensity shallow. Aoi couldn’t give much but a sigh at your slow recovery.