#grandorder

Been farming Nero Fest for the past few hours

steadily, she crept in, almost like an intruder scoping the environment, minus announcing her arrival. If he had dedicated all his concentration to decorating a piece, disturbing him might just be calamitous. He was engaged in something, alright. His back to the doorway gave her eye chance to wonder, and settle upon a square sponge cooling nearby. Curiosity got the better of her thoughts, a finger aimed toward the piece, poking the air rather than dare to invade its mold. “Is this the castella you were talking about before? It looks like a loaf of bread with the side crusts cut off”.

      ❛   Do you think this is a proper reincarnation ?   ❜

           After all the things he’s seen, all the people he’s met ( or reunited with ), he knows better than to chase anything in the mist. But it can’t be helped— it feels like it’s his responsibility to see where the chase ends. She’s what made him first stray off the path, after all.

     ❛   … Yeah. It could be.   ❜

     ❛   And yet we still look the same !  How surprising... I wonder if I’ll find him in this mist, too. Do you think he was able to reincarnate too ?   ❜

          He offers a small smile and nod, but it takes all his effort to muster even a shadow of joy in it. She’s not real. He knows she’s not real. But even so... What else could he do ?  Asha brightens, but then her hopeful eyes spark with curiosity, tilting her head to look at something just behind him.  ❛   And who’s this ?  Another friend of yours ?  They surprised me !   ❜

          Ritsuka’s heartbeat roars in his ears. Very, very rarely in this mist does he actually encounter something ( or someone ) positive. He slowly turns, and finds himself face-to-face with...

        “ Kirschtaria Wodime.” That’s what Olga Marie had said. “He told me around the time I arrived here.”  Yet even recalling that, he’s momentarily stunned. After all... his voice was the one who had heralded the end. All of us are here by choice. That’s what Pepe had said. Yes, we did agree to help the Foreign God in exchange for our lives. But we made that choice willingly, not reluctantly.  … But even with all these other voices ringing around in his head, Kirschtaria Wodime has yet to say a word. It was hard to gauge his intentions in the mist... but Ritsuka was in no shape to pick a fight off basic principle. How long has Wodime been in this city ?  And what has it done to shape his outlook... ?

No matter what, things were never going to go smoothly, he knew that going in. There was some figure that had manifested, their features obscured by darkness and miasma that oozed like steam. It was impossible to determine what they were, or how powerful, but the aggressive air about them spoke as loud as any battle cry. Great. He had managed to make it into what appeared a mystical sector of the city, but trouble had immediately come. Perhaps it was karma, for his own violent transgressions. He could summon his units, but he’d no idea if that power would work outside of his own territory, and couldn’t chance aggravating a potential threat. Ultimately, it was the same song and dance: some weak boy waiting to get picked off, lacking the power to resist his fate.

   there was a small blessing, though. they enjoyed hiding within her hair at times and for once, she is thankful for how much of it she has. 

  it’s funny, though. considering her family’s magic, it was almost too fitting that it be stars that accompanied her. she supposes it has to do with the notions many carry about that which remains out of reach. the countless poetry about them, what they represent etc. etc. how many times has she read ‘ you are my moon and stars’ in a book or heard it in a show or a movie? too many to count.  it at least the small form of amusement makes this somewhat more bearable.... after all, Olga Marie is sure she has encountered all that could possibly add to this little galaxy. this is what she thinks, but such a thought is brought to pieces by a hammer.

                a hammer in the form of another star. 

    she is not seeing things. Olga is positive that small, golden orb hovering a few feet before her is another star. one meant for her, to be precise. eyebrows furrow as the book in her lap is snapped shut, form straightening as she looks around from her seat upon the park bench. left, right, forwards and back. yet no matter where she looks, she cannot find-- well, not the owner, but the producer of the tiny object.  “....What the....?”