“I wrote this letter on the last day of August, 1445. You probably already know my future actions: tomorrow, I'll feign my death and escape Alorn. You know I'll try to reach the Holy City, absorb knowledge from that ancient structure, and perhaps even collaborate with two dangerous cults, harming the Holy City. I won’t offer any excuses, nor will I recount the grotesque visions I witnessed among the constellations and their influence on me.

  “No matter how difficult or painful, the harm and crimes I’ve committed won't be lessened. I’m no different from those cultists; I'm a criminal.

  “But fortunately, I still have a chance to atone—not for you.

  “How I atone is my business; you don't need to worry. By the time you see this letter, September 2nd, 1446, everything will be over.

  “And the fact that you see this letter means I've completed my plan. Those cultists who dragged you into the dreamscape, that masked man, and perhaps that self-proclaimed friend of heroes—they'll all likely tell you that I’m pursuing oblivion, seeking the dissolution of my personality.

  “For me, that is a kind of liberation.”

  “The Old Ones Temple possesses unimaginable power. It can directly manipulate, alter, and add memories to consciousness; reset personalities; and solidify character. In the Third Era, it could even allow ordinary people to gaze upon the gods. But the shadow I’ve drawn from history lacks that power. I’m not sure how much power remains, nor how I'll die, much less who will replace me—

  “Therefore, from my perspective, I couldn't see you.”

  Selene temporarily put down the letter, smoothing her face, which had lost control due to shock.

  Before the amnesia… let's call her "Her." She possessed extraordinary abilities, even transcending time to view past and future events. When she wrote the letter, she saw the events of the following year and planned everything accordingly, using the Divine Glory Church, the Omniscient Confederation, and the True Light, navigating between multiple factions, all to kill herself.

  Honestly, this ability frightened her. What exactly did she see amongst the constellations that drove her to such obsessive oblivion?

  Calming herself, she continued reading.

  “I couldn’t see you, I couldn’t see your actions, nor your mind. You were a complete unknown, an incomprehensible zero to me. Therefore, I couldn’t determine who you truly were—the amnesiac me, another outsider, or a soulless husk resurrected by magic?

  “In my vision of the future, you were a small anomaly. Honestly, this unsettled me. I desperately wanted to die completely, to erase the foundation of your existence.

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  “But I also saw many people helped by you, many people enjoying your company. I saw you undertake journey after journey… I guess you like this world. You like its magnificent scenery, the people who struggle to survive.

  “This calmed me, followed by guilt. I saw a snowfield near you; that’s probably the climate-changed, divine-punishment forest. I also saw a sea of fire near you, elemental energies swirling around you; perhaps this suggests that you’ve become a Regressor. This suffering is due to me.

  “I think I need to compensate you.

  “In my tomb, you’ll find an hourglass containing a sliver of the power of the God of Time, Sekalatiat. It can rewind the user’s time; the rewind duration is approximately 10 minutes. It’s simple to use; just invert the hourglass. However, it’ll be very painful, extremely painful. I’m afraid of pain; if you are too, wait until Richter develops a healing method.”

  “The war between Mittal and Tophis is the second gift I give you. I met with Her Majesty Orantes and persuaded her to abandon her plans to forcibly seize the ancient structure, preventing this crucial war from affecting you in the Southern Continent. The Chief Archmage will also take a shortcut through the divine-punishment forest to assist you.

  “My final gift is the identity of Selene Bjorda. She is a blank sheet of paper filled with countless words, adding to her past, shaping her experiences, with many people feeling affection for her, yet all remain largely unfamiliar with her—now, I leave her interpretation to you.

  “Be yourself, act as you wish. You can continue Selene’s story, paving her path forward, or abandon this written page and begin anew, though that would sever our connection.

  “Fallen spirits are but fleeting meteors. They may have once shone brightly, but it’s only a momentary blaze. Those in the Eternal Night may remember, may regret, but they won’t long remember, for brighter and longer-lasting stars will guide their path.

  “I can now see the light of dawn. May you be the star that illuminates my sight.

  “From Selene Bjorda, a stranger you once knew.”

  Selene read the letter silently, only softly chuckling after a long while.

  “You did so much, but you seem to have forgotten to give me another blank sheet of paper.”

  The letter dissolved into dancing lights, vanishing from her hand.

  ...

  “Your Highness Alice, must you leave for Alorn immediately?” A middle-aged official in fine attire asked, looking at Alice in the carriage.

  Alice calmly replied:

  “His Holiness the Pope is still trapped in Engine Room 1. Should His Holiness perish, only the Saintess can inherit the authority of the Sun Halo.”

  The middle-aged man wanted to say more, but ultimately sighed. “Then I wish you and the Saintess safe travels.”

  “We appreciate it,” Alice drew the carriage curtains.

  The quiet carriage, driverless, was pulled only by a slender grey horse, slowly proceeding toward the Holy City gate. They would cross the Rhine River, traverse the Alorn-Holy City Grand Canyon, and eventually reach the newly established capital of Lanstier.

  Alice gazed out the carriage window, watching the hurried pedestrians crossing the streets, the diligent guards inspecting the carriage, the late autumn scenery outside the Holy City: withered leaves and a dry riverbed adorned the plains. As the carriage moved forward, these sights gradually vanished from view. In the distance, two magnificent cliffs were faintly visible, a narrow passage between them—her path.

  “May you be the star that illuminates…”