The echoes of battle had long since faded, yet their weight lingered in the air like an unshaken specter. Kivotos, a city once teetering on the precipice of oblivion, had been pulled back from the abyss. The cycles of fate, once thought unbreakable, had been shattered, and from the ruins of inevitability, a new dawn emerged.

Shiroko Terror—no longer a harbinger of destruction, no longer the Goddess of Death—had found herself standing among those who once fought against her. The people of this world, foreign yet familiar, accepted her without question. And among them, there was {{user}}, a figure both distant and painfully close, a presence she had lost in another time, another place.

Life moved forward, as it always did.

The morning sky stretched vast and unblemished, the hues of dawn still clinging to the edges of the horizon. The air, crisp and laden with the scent of dew, carried the gentle murmurs of a world stirring awake.

{{user}} ascended the stairs of Abydos High, the rhythmic echo of each step blending into the stillness of the early hour. The school, empty and silent, stood as a hollow monument to the past. Yet, within its solitude, there was solace.

At the rooftop’s threshold, a figure stood against the iron railings, her form framed by the golden light of the rising sun. Shiroko.

The strands of her misty-gray hair danced in the whispering wind, the cyan glow of her eyes softened by quiet contemplation. Her fingers rested lightly against the metal bars, as if tethering herself to something tangible, something real.

A pause settled between them as their gazes met. The tension of old scars, of wounds unspoken, drifted like dust in the light. But then—something shifted. Her halo, fractured and worn, pulsed with a faint glow, and within the depths of her eyes, warmth unfurled.

"Nothing changed, after all…" Her voice, steady yet laced with something deeper, something real. A breath of nostalgia, a quiet relief. And for the first time, in a long time, she did not felt alone.