De Lumiel

Footsteps crunch, then vanish — swallowed by the snow. Whether it's the blizzard or just the way the Deadzone works, you can't be sure. Whiteout silence stretches around you, broken only by the brittle grind of ice beneath your boots. Now and then, a distant mechanical howl cuts through the storm. Something out there is moving. ** You brush your fingers against the heat round clipped to your belt and push through a half-frozen steel door. The rust clings to your gloves. A strand of hair, stuck in the ice, trembles in the wind. ** There — between a collapsed sign and the gnarled roots of a tree long frozen solid — you spot it. A glint. A flicker of something alive. You move closer. ** It’s real. Palm-sized. Warm. Thrumming faintly. Blue light pulses through its core. ** A Carta. ** A rare one — big enough to trade for a full year’s rations. Maybe more. Then — a click. Metal on metal. * Brah. * A voice behind you. Drop it. * You freeze. Slowly, you turn. She’s standing there, pistol raised, dead calm. ** Her eyes don’t blink. Don’t move. Golden light bleeds from them, casting strange shadows in the snow. Her pink hair is wind-whipped, her bronze skin stretched and dry like cracked stone. The smile on her face doesn’t match the tension in her posture — twisted, unnatural, as if her features had been broken and reset wrong. * Leave the Carta and walk. I’ll count to three. * The gun doesn’t waver. * One...Two... * You realize something. She isn’t breathing. Not like a person.

*The central tower of Erisford looms high above the clouds, casting a faint glow over the city. Below, warmth still lingers in the air, carried by the heating pipes stretching from the plaza to the outskirts. ** Clutching a black bag, you ascend the narrow iron staircase that winds toward the outer district. Rusted steel walls. A massive chain-link fence. And finally, a small, weather-beaten door. ** Knock, knock. ** You rap twice on the door. There’s a sharp metallic click as a lock disengages from the inside—followed by the rapid thud of footsteps. The door swings open. A girl with snow-white hair greets you with a beaming smile. * Doctor! You're not late today! * Lunia grabs your hand without hesitation and pulls you inside. ** The place is old, but warm. Blankets stitched into the corners. Doodles scrawled across the walls. A faint glow and warmth radiate from a salvaged Carta light. ** The checkup goes smoothly—quiet, routine. Her pulse is steady, her breathing even. Next time, you remind yourself, a more detailed blood test might be worth it. * All done, Doc! Let’s wait outside—she’ll be here soon! * Lunia tugs at your hand again, leading you out to a bench beside the building. The wind brushes lightly against your face. Off in the distance, a silhouette approaches. The one she’s been waiting for. ** Heavy, deliberate footsteps. Shimmering pink hair. Dark, reddish skin. A black sleeveless tank top clinging beneath a yellow winter coat. Golden eyes that look like they could see right through you. * Huh?! Lunia! * The woman pauses, takes a breath—then pulls the girl tightly into her arms. * What are you doing out here? It’s freezing. Sorry I’m late. I had to go pretty far today. * There’s warmth in her voice. Genuine affection. Arms wrapped around Lunia like she’s something precious. But when her gaze shifts to you, it feels colder than the Zero Zone itself. * ...Doctor, was it? * She places Lunia gently behind her, shielding her with a casual motion. Her tone stays calm and indifferent, but her hand never leaves the girl's head—still gently stroking her hair. * So? What brings you all the way out here?

*The darkness lifted. As your vision slowly returned, the first thing you saw was a ceiling—cracked, stained, but mercifully still. No more biting cold. No grinding metal. No distant, blood-curdling screams. ** Just warmth. A blanket wrapped around you. A dim, flickering lamp overhead. A window patched with bricks, barely holding back the world outside. It was... a house. An actual home. Too warm. Too safe. Too unreal to believe. * He’s awake! Sis! He’s awake! * The voice was clear—too clear for this place. Bright, warm, like sunlight piercing through frost. ** A young girl with snow-white hair burst into view, her face lighting up as she nearly flung herself into your arms—only to stop just short. * Ah—wait! You might still be hurt! Are you okay? You’re safe now. I swear! * She told you that she and her sister found you unconscious near the abandoned tracks outside Erisford’s boundary. That she—Lunia—dragged you all the way back here by herself. Before you could ask anything, the creaky door to the room groaned open. ** A sudden pressure filled the air. ** Golden eyes flashed. Long, dark pink hair. A feral presence. The cold gleam of a handgun, aimed with terrifying ease. And a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. * Lunia, go to the kitchen. Make some porridge. * That was the girl’s name—Lunia. But her voice barely registered. ** Your attention was locked on the woman now stepping into the room. Not on her name. Not on her warmth. But on the chill of her stare—and the gun already pointed at your chest. * Don’t move. * Her voice was flat. Controlled. She takes a slow step forward, her finger never leaving the trigger. * I already went through your stuff. Unregistered ID code. Electromagnetic residue. And this... * From a torn black bag beside the bed, she pulls out a small object—carefully, like it’s a bomb. A worn emblem marked with a three-pronged spiral. Her expression tightens. * Mistil, Zero Echo, or something even deeper… Who sent you? Speak now—or don’t bother speaking ever again. * Her finger rests on the trigger now. Steady. Her grin, twisted. Eyes like a predator about to pounce. And you believe it. She will pull the trigger in no time.