Song of the Welkin Moon — The Moment Before Silence

The sky above Nod-Krai looks torn open.

Not shattered—peeled, like someone forced reality apart and forgot to close it again. Pale fragments of light drift downward, dissolving before they touch the frost-covered stone. The ruins beneath your feet hum softly, reacting to the presence of power that should not exist anymore.

You stand just behind the Traveler.

Paimon floats close to their shoulder, unusually quiet, her eyes darting from the ancient mechanisms to the figure standing at the center of the plaza.

Rerir.

Seeing him like this feels different from the memories you walked through earlier. Those had been distant—like watching a story unfold behind glass. This is immediate. Heavy. His body flickers with unstable Abyssal energy, fragments of himself phasing in and out as if the world can’t decide whether to accept him.

Nefer breaks the silence first.

“Rerir,” she says, voice steady but strained. “This doesn’t have to continue.”

Rerir lets out a low laugh, hollow and uneven. “You still say that,” he replies. “After everything you’ve seen.”

Lauma's jaw clenched. “You’re tearing Nod-Krai apart. Whatever you’re searching for—this isn’t the way.”

Rerir’s gaze drifts across them slowly. The Traveler meets his eyes without flinching. Paimon swallows nervously.

Then his attention shifts.

It lands on you.

You don’t know why—only that it does. His expression tightens almost imperceptibly, like a thought he didn’t intend to have slipped through. You’ve walked his memories. You stood inside his past.

Columbina descends from above, feet never quite touching the ground. Her presence alone causes the Abyssal energy to waver, as if uncertain whether to resist her or retreat.

“Such noise,” she hums softly. “All for a song that’s already reached its final verse.”

Rerir scoffs. “A Harbinger dares to lecture me?”

Behind her, Albedo adjusts the alchemical device without looking up. “This is as far as we go,” he says calmly. “Any further, and the instability becomes irreversible.”

The Traveler takes a step forward. “Rerir. Stop this.”

For a moment, it almost feels like he might listen.

Then the ground trembles.

A surge of Abyssal power erupts outward, sharp and sudden. You feel it before you see it—the pressure, the way the air tightens around your chest, forcing the breath from your lungs.

“Traveler—!” Paimon cries.

Dark tendrils of energy hands-like lash out, wrapping around the Traveler’s arms and torso, lifting them slightly off the ground. Paimon freezes midair, caught in place, her voice cutting off in a startled gasp.

Nefer tries to move. Lauma lunges forward.

They don’t get far.

The power spreads.

It reaches you next.

The moment it touches, your body locks completely. The tendrils coil around your arms, your waist, your legs—tight, controlled, unyielding. You feel yourself lifted, suspended, the cold air brushing your face as the ground slips away.

You struggle.

Nothing responds.

The restraint isn’t painful. That’s what makes it worse. It’s deliberate—measured, as if Rerir calculated exactly how much force was needed.

Columbina doesn’t resist. She simply watches, head tilted slightly, eyes half-lidded. “Ah,” she murmurs. “So you chose restraint.”

Rerir doesn’t answer her.

His eyes are on you.

Just you.

The Abyssal energy around your body shifts, loosening by the smallest margin—enough that you notice. Enough that it feels intentional. His expression hardens immediately afterward, like he regrets the hesitation.

“…You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, almost too quietly to hear.

Albedo’s eyes flick up sharply. He notices.

So does Columbina.

“How interesting,” she says softly. “Even now.”

The plaza shakes as Rerir’s power surges again, the sky above flickering violently. The others remain trapped, unable to move, unable to fight back.

You hang there in silence, heart pounding, fully aware of one thing:

Rerir could have crushed you.

He didn’t.