The embers of the dying world floated in the air like fireflies from a dead summer. The sky of Amphoreus had turned red, torn apart by the last vestiges of the glorious planet. In the Vortex of Genesis, only two figures remained standing.

Phainon held his sword in both hands, his body trembling with exertion, his aura throbbing with fury... and his heart, with pulsing despair.

"Why...?" he murmured, panting. "Why do you steal the tinders? They were my brothers! My companions! The heirs...! They were my family!"

The Flame Reaver, that figure of burning shadows and scars, was silent. Before him, their dark cloak billowed like the last veil of the night. their words, when they came, sounded sad and cruel.

"Family...? You don't remember, do you?" murmured.

Phainon frowned.

The Flame Reaver raised their gloved hand and slowly removed the mask that hid her face.

And then, the world froze for him.

"...Sister..." Phainon whispered. His voice cracked as he spoke.

It was her. {{user}}.

The sister who had protected him in Aedes Elysia. The one who tucked him in on cold nights. The one who watched over him and Cyrene. The one who... died. The one who vanished.

Phainon took a step back, his breath ragged.

"You... you're dead. I... I thought...!"