End of the Chaos Era, Year 990

  A warm wind weakly wafted over the cracked ground.

  The gray sky stretched endlessly above. And in the midst of it all —

  a sun blackened.

  It was neither an eclipse nor an illusion.

  It was the sun that had died.

  As Sheena noted the decay of her surroundings, dark shadows began to creep into her mind, pulling her deeper into despair, shrouding every flicker of hope. The wind's whispers carried echoes of forgotten tales, each breeze amplifying the ache of a life once vibrant but now lost to the void. Every inhalation felt like a weight upon her chest; each exhaled breath—an unspoken confession of the dark secrets that lingered like specters in the air.

  With a heavy breath, Sheena opened her eyes.

  Her body trembled, betraying her frail state. Surrounding her, corpses lay stretched out like a silent ocean, a testament to the battle that had claimed so many.

  "Where... am I now?" she whispered, her voice barely piercing the deafening silence of this stony realm. The air hung thick, her mind caught in a turmoil of fleeting shadows; echoes of laughter and moments of joy danced tantalizingly at the edge of her memory, stubbornly refusing to be swallowed by the oppressive darkness.

  "You cannot surrender now, not when there’s still a spark!" she murmured, her voice imbued with a quiet defiance as she struggled to her feet. Her left leg throbbed, bleeding from a vicious wound inflicted by a broken spear fragment.

  Each step wobbled, pain clawing at her body with every strained movement, yet even as the agony flared, it had become an old companion—familiar, almost comforting.

  Within her — a small life that had yet to be born.

  It was the flicker of hope, the single thread of reason that tethered her to this world.

  Sheena's gaze was drawn to the ominous clouds that amassed above, swirling like a dark ocean, heavy with unspoken storms. Occasionally, flickers of lightning danced in the distance, flickering like the last embers of hope that eluded her grasp. With each faltering step, she felt as though she were sacrificing herself upon the altar of suffering, trapped in a forsaken realm with no sanctuary in sight.

  "Even the sun has turned black..." she murmured, her voice barely rising above the desolation that surrounded her. In this fractured land, it felt as though time itself had succumbed to the weight of despair, caught in a prolonged breath, waiting for the world to exhale.

  With a vacant stare, Sheena traversed a field rife with death, her heart laden with sorrow. Each passing second dragged her further into the abyss, a crushing weight pressing upon her spirit. She began to feel an emptiness within, as if her body had become a mere shell, a vessel for the remnants of what she once was. Amidst the sorrowful ruins, hope flickered like a waning candle, lost in the engulfing darkness.

  "The sun sleeps peacefully," she whispered once more, a lament that echoed against the silent desolation.

  For nearly a full day, Sheena wandered, aimlessly drifting through the remnants of her shattered world. Vultures circled overhead, patient predators waiting for the moment her weary form would surrender to the ground, a feast they had long anticipated. With each unsteady step, shadows of dread began to creep into her thoughts, coiling around her mind like a thick fog, blocking the faint spark of hope. It was as though the world had transformed into a labyrinth of despair, each twist and turn a reminder of her unending journey, a haunting maze with no promise of an exit.

  "I... am so tired," she confessed to the wind, her voice a fragile wisp of sound among the ruins.

  As her consciousness began to wane, a distant sound broke through the suffocating silence. The rhythmic pounding of hooves resonated like thunder in her ears. It shattered the stillness of this deadened world, sending a thrill of anxiety through her veins. Her heartbeat quickened, a frantic rhythm clashing against the cacophony of hope and fear that swirled within her. Who approached through the shadows? A friend, perhaps, or a foe come to exploit her vulnerability? Each possibility clawed at her soul, an echo in the hollow solitude that surrounded her.

  Fitran...?

  The name tumbled from her lips like a lost whisper carried away by the shadows. A shiver coursed through her as the encroaching darkness threatened to consume her. Yet, within that blackened void, she felt the faint stir of something warm—a memory of a smile that had once illuminated her life. It swelled in her mind, elusive yet persistent, resembling the wavering light of a flickering candle struggling to shine in the oppressive gloom.

  When Sheena finally pried her eyes open, the dim light filtering through the fabric of the tent was almost blinding, an unwelcome intrusion to her fragile consciousness. Her head throbbed, each pulse of pain a reminder of the fragility of her existence. The air surrounding her was thick with the musty scent of damp earth mingled with the acrid tang of animal droppings, evoking the feeling of a place that had surrendered to the hands of time, a forgotten relic. In that moment of stark clarity, a deep loneliness settled within her, a chilling embrace that whispered of lost days and fading memories.

  "Ah... you’ve returned to us," a soft voice broke the heavy silence, layered with a gentle warmth that contrasted her surroundings. It belonged to a woman seated nearby, her demeanor calming yet enigmatic.

  The woman laid down her tome, its pages absorbing the dim light, and helped Sheena sit up, proffering a cup. The liquid within was bitter, an iron bite that scraped against her throat, yet necessity drove her to gulp it down without complaint. Half-lost in the mists of consciousness, Sheena cast furtive glances at the woman, whose gaze reflected an enigmatic depth, as if capturing echoes of lost dreams and aspirations buried beneath the weight of despair. How much had slipped through her fingers? How many yesterdays were shrouded in the haze of inaction? These thoughts tangled in Sheena's mind, like shadows grasping at the remnants of indiscernible memories that faded like smoke through her fingers.

  "I feared you would not awaken," the woman said, a hint of vulnerability softening her otherwise composed expression. "I am called Aphrodhite de Maria. Perhaps fate has woven our paths together for a reason." There was a subtle strength in her words, underpinned by a bond of kinship borne from shared adversity.

  As if caught in the relentless grip of an unseen tide, Sheena felt the dark sludge of despair cling possessively to her soul. The world unfurled before her like a tapestry woven from shadows, each thread imbued with the echoes of a suffering existence. Every fleeting moment twisted her heart, a painful reminder of her own fragility in the throes of this bitter reality.

  Aphrodite... de Maria?

  Sheena’s silence stretched, her breath halting in her throat as that name reverberated through the corridors of her mind, a poignant reminder of things lost in the torrents of time.

  The first lady knight. A legend. A saint.

  The dim light filtering through the tattered fabric of the tent flickered like memories long forgotten, intensifying the weight that pressed heavily upon her heart and mind. Haunted visions tangled with her thoughts, and Sheena felt her spirit rebel against the suffocating grip of this new, painful reality, waging a quiet war against shadows that clung to her like weary ghosts.

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  So...

  I have been cast back to the past.

  More precisely, to the end of the Era of Chaos.

  "I... am Sheena," she murmured, her voice laced with uncertainty, barely more than a whisper.

  But the words caught in her throat, stifled by the weight of her true identity. You are Sheena Fate now.

  "Forgive me. My name is Sheena Fate. I... I’ve forgotten what it is to be simply... me." Her gaze fell, seeking solace within the patterns of dirt beneath her feet.

  Her heart trembled, caught in the treacherous liminal space between stark reality and vivid imagination, entrenched in memories that tugged at her soul while confronting unyielding truths. Aliens to her own consciousness, the feeling of alienation wound tightly around her heart, imbuing her very being with an unsettling awareness that she was a mere spectator, detached from the relentless flow of time. It felt as though the ruins of this world whispered loudly, proclaiming that there was no sanctuary for her amidst the wreckage that loomed around her.

  Aphrodhite’s eyes widened, a spark igniting in the depths of her emerald gaze.

  "You... you’re not jesting with me, are you?"

  In that fleeting moment, the expression on the woman’s face cast a fragile glimmer of hope into Sheena's heart, yet that brightness was soon overshadowed by the heavy cloak of uncertainty that enveloped her thoughts. The path she faced, lined with the heavy thorns of her fate, loomed dauntingly before her—the most terrifying precipice she had ever dared to envision. She had to accept that this was not a mere journey meant for a heroic return; it was a cataclysm poised to reshape her world in unrecognizable ways.

  "Of course not," Sheena replied, her voice trembling, confusion dripping from her words as she struggled to comprehend the weight of the woman’s incredulous reaction.

  "You bear the name Fate. That... holds great significance in these tumultuous times."

  Aphrodhite rose swiftly, her determination palpable. "Stay here. Do not stray."

  Beyond the shelter of the tent, the wild winds howled mercilessly, carrying dual gifts of hope and despair, weaving a chilling shadow that compelled Sheena’s skin to prick with fear. It felt as if this world were a fleeting mirage, a page forcibly ripped from the annals of history—one steeped in suffering and desolation. Each breath she drew was burdened, as if every weary gust of air bore the anguished cries of countless souls ensnared in the relentless embrace of time's cruel progression.

  Not long after, four figures entered the tent.

  Sheena immediately recognized them.

  Saint Cosmo Jocasta, strength incarnate, with eyes like molten silver; Saint Erina Creon, her presence softened by a shroud of unshakeable resolve; Saint Crystal Aristaues, an ethereal figure whose laughter echoed like whispered promises; and Saint Sofia el Gaia, whose very being radiated a warmth that seemed to mend the fractured spirit of the world.

  The Four Pillars of the Saints—names that would one day echo through the annals of history as the saviors of humanity's remnant.

  Yet, behind their piercing gazes, Sheena felt a tormenting emptiness, a void that clawed at the edges of her sanity. They were like lost souls, wandering amidst the shattered remains of civilization, each of them haunted by the ghosts of what had been. In this moment, every breath she took felt heavy, as if it were resurrecting ghostly memories best left untouched.

  "Is your name truly Sheena Fate?" Cosmo inquired, his voice a rich baritone that resonated with gravity, threading through the silence like a clarion call.

  "Yes," she replied, her voice barely escaping her lips, fragile yet defiant.

  It was a simple question, yet it bore the weight of both promise and despair. Their scrutinizing stares seemed to dig deeper, probing through the rubble of her identity. "It seems... she is unaware of the significance her name holds," Erina murmured, casting a furtive glance toward Sofia, a flicker of concern illuminating her sharp features.

  When her gaze met Sofia's, it felt as if a scream built within her chest, begging for release. Why was everything—both the glimmers of hope and the shadows of despair—so intricately entwined? Crystal’s gaze was intense, unwavering, as if searching for something buried within her very soul. "Tell me, where do you hail from?"

  Sheena bit her lip, panic rising in her throat. "I... don't know," she stammered, the truth strangled by fear.

  Her heart raced, caught in the crossfire between truths left unspoken and a reality that loomed like a dark threat. In this world, teetering on the brink of destruction, every word uttered could transform into a curse, a weapon wielded against the fragile hope of survival.

  Sofia approached, her gentle smile illuminating her face, but a shadow of tension flickered in her gaze, betraying the warmth of her friendly demeanor. The air around them was thick with the weight of ash and memory, each pile of debris a monument to a world long lost, amplifying the somber atmosphere that surrounded them. With that same tender smile, she reached out and gave Sheena’s shoulder a reassuring pat. The scent of damp earth mixed with the acrid tang of rusted metal, an unrelenting reminder of the chaos that had ravaged their lives.

  "Please... don’t lie," Sheena's voice quavered, a fragile thread woven through her fear.

  "Relax. We're not interrogating you. It's just a regular conversation," Sofia replied, the kindness in her tone contrasting sharply with the grim realities they all faced. “You’re not alone here. Each of us bears our own burdens." Her voice was barely a whisper against the unsettling winds that stirred the shards of glass and twisted metal around them, as if the environment itself conspired to hold their secrets. Sheena felt an unsettling awareness of hidden eyes in the shadows, as though the very remnants of this forsaken place were watching.

  "After all," Sofia offered, her gaze steady and searching, "from your articulate and authoritative way of speaking... it’s clear you’re not an uneducated woman. You possess a depth of knowledge that perhaps runs deeper than what is evident." There was an earnestness in her voice, as though she truly sought to understand.

  Sheena inhaled deeply, the musty air filling her lungs with a sense of dread. A wave of alienation washed over her, wrapping around her already bruised heart. Sofia el Gaia. The saint renowned for her uncanny ability to discern a person's character, as if she could peel away the layers of the soul.

  Her heart raced, the thrum of anxiety threatening to spill over. I must tread carefully.

  And outside the tent, beneath the inky sky, the wheel of fate began to turn.

  The sky, a heavy tapestry of dark clouds, mirrored the turmoil swirling within Sheena's heart. It felt as though the burdens of her past and uncertain future wrapped around her like chains, each breath a struggle against their weight. “I didn’t come this far just to falter now,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. What she carried with her was more than just her weary body and her child; it was a profound sorrow, a haunting specter that clung to her every step.

  Not only her body and child.

  But also the secrets of the future that held the power to shape life and death for countless souls.

  “Do you feel it too?” she asked, her gaze lost in the swirling shadows outside the tent. “The echoes of lives that were never lived?”

  The silence hung thick between them, as if the world itself held its breath.

  “The past is a cruel master,” murmured a voice from behind her, rich and resonant. It was Elara, a seer with eyes that seemed to hold the very stars. “But we cannot allow it to dictate our future, Sheena. You are stronger than this darkness.”

  “You don’t know what I’ve lost,” Sheena replied, her voice a fragile thread. “The choices I made... they haunt me.”

  “Every choice carries weight, yes,” Elara said, stepping closer, her presence a soothing balm against the chaos. “But with each breath, we have the power to forge anew. Let the echoes guide you, not bind you.”

  As the thoughts of what she had left behind clawed at her heart, Sheena felt the shadows of lost lives flit through her mind like fireflies, illuminating her fears. “Every decision I face feels like a dance with despair,” she confessed softly. “They’re watching, waiting to see if I’ll falter.”

  Elara reached out, her hand tenderly resting on Sheena’s shoulder. “Then let them watch. Choose courage, even in the face of their scrutiny. Redemption is found in the depths of struggle.”

  With a deep breath, Sheena met Elara’s unwavering gaze, feeling the flicker of hope ignite within her once again. The darkness might loom, but she was not alone; she had the will to fight, even against the weight of a thousand souls. The path ahead remained uncertain, but every step would be hers to take.