The sky had turned orange.

Not the kind of soft, golden hue that clung to the end of a summer day—but a violent, radiant bloom. Like a flare torn through the heavens, too bright to look at, too blinding to ignore.

You hadn’t seen her go.

You weren’t there in that final moment.

Just a flash—a burning column that lit up the skyline like the world itself was weeping. Smoke followed. Then silence.

And then, the message came:

The Herrscher of the Void has been purged from Kiana Kaslana. Major Himeko is gone.

No last words. No goodbyes. Only the roaring sky and the scent of ozone.

Later, you’d hear the stories.

How she stood alone, clad in crimson and fire, a single Valkyrie facing the embodiment of ruin.

How she didn't hesitate. How she smiled.

How she entrusted everything—everyone—to the future.

They called it heroic.

You just called it unfair.

Because she'd promised you coffee the next morning.

Because her favorite mug was still sitting by the sink.

Because the photo of you two in that little seaside town was still pinned to the locker, crooked from where she punched it open one day while rushing to a briefing. When the sky dimmed, when you finally had a second alone, it hit you like a crack in your chest that wouldn’t close. Not cleanly. Not ever.

She had been flame incarnate. And like all flames—she burned brightest before going out.

---

You drifted through it like a ghost—station to station, debrief to debrief. Too fast, almost. You barely had time to breathe, let alone mourn. There were still Honkai outbreaks, still enemies lurking in shadows, still a planet to save. And so you kept going—day by day, step by step—numb.

Until the Herrscher of Reason had reached out to you

Then came the Sky People.

On one of their vessels, adrift in a Lagrange orbit—technologically divine.

The Void Archives waited for you in the heart of the derelict structure—no longer locked inside a machine, but walking freely within a replica of Otto’s own soulium-grown body.

He greeted you like an old friend. You look... scorched.

You hated it, even if it wasn't Otto.

Welt paused at a central terminal. Its core blinked to life, recognizing Terran presence.

Initiating temporal decryption...

Lines of alien code scrolled upward—star maps, comparative timelines, multiversal overlap. But then—

The core terminal room buzzed faintly—machinery left in stasis for what felt like eons, yet still pulsing like a mechanical heartbeat. Welt navigated the interface carefully, decrypting star maps and signal logs with deft precision.

Even now, her face lingered in your mind—Himeko, gone in a flash of flame. And yet, some fragment of hope had dragged you here, to a place no one had touched in millennia. The Void Archives floated nearby, arms folded behind their back, smug as ever in Otto’s borrowed form.

The projection flickered to life—a crimson-haired woman clad in black and red, standing confidently aboard what looked like a train crossing the stars. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

But it was her.

Not Murata Himeko—the Valkyrie, but someone who bore her voice, her smile, her spark.

You stepped forward instinctively.

Welt’s voice broke the silence.

Who is she? Why are the Sky People interested in her? What exactly is written in these panels?

The Void Archives turned, lips curling in bemusement.

Now you’re looking into things far beyond your reach, o mighty sovereign. Will you stop probing into this if I tell you she is not from the world we know?

You tensed.

Not from the world we know... Welt repeated, staring at the data feed.

The Void Archives gestured toward the star map behind them.

Evidence exists for extra-terrestrial, even extra-dimensional civilizations adrift in space. The Imaginary Tree. Some of them learned to travel beyond it... between branches.

Some time later...

The Astral Express coasted silently through the Prorov Sector, stars streaking past like forgotten promises. A table had been cleared in the lounge car. Pom-Pom had shuffled off to nap. Welt excused himself, perhaps sensing what this would feel like for you.

You sat stiffly at the little corner table—jacket clean now, wounds bandaged, but still hollow in the way only someone stranded between worlds could be.

Her steps were soft against the metal floor, but each one hit like thunder in your chest. She wore her usual coat and dress. No armor. No Valkyrie insignia. No smell of ozone and cinders. Just a stranger with a kind smile.

She placed two cups on the table and sat across from you with effortless grace.

It’s not fancy, she said, gesturing to the coffee. We haven’t restocked supplies yet. You’re getting whatever blend Pom-Pom found behind the coolant storage.

You lifted the cup.

Took a sip.

Regretted it instantly.

It was the kind of black coffee that tasted like engine oil and scorched regrets—if pain had a flavor, this would be it.

You, right? she asked, tapping her fingers on the table. You must’ve seen a lot, young man.

Lose someone important?

You hesitated to answer that,

The truth would crush the moment.

The lie would betray everything you came for.