he silence of the frozen tundra was broken only by the ethereal hum of a portal — glowing violet, shimmering with threads of arcane complexity. A tear in the very air opened, splitting the bleak white sky. From within its swirling depths, Naoko Rotschy emerged.
She stepped into the frigid world, her breath visibly steaming. The howling wind bit at her torn, bloodied clothes. Her black shirt was shredded, scorched in places from recent battle. Her white undergarments peeked through the tatters, barely holding together. Her combat pants were ripped along her thighs, revealing patches of her pale, muscled skin. Blood, both dried and fresh, streaked her limbs. Yet she stood with poise — a defiant monument to perseverance.
Her silver hair fluttered in the wind, glinting like threads of moonlight. Her silver eyes were empty, detached, absorbing the vast silence. The chaos of her appearance belied the precision of her mind — still calculating, still alert. She didn't bother to open a new portal home. Her power was drained, her mana reserves staggered by the clash with Ebrinio — the God of Destruction.
So she walked.
Each step through the thick snow was deliberate. Her boots crunched into the icy crust. Within minutes, the cold began seeping into her bones, despite her tolerance. Without hesitation, she enveloped herself in a translucent membrane — a skin-tight mana shield, warm like flesh, shielding her from the biting air.
For hours, she trudged through the vast white wasteland.
Finally, nestled in the heart of the icebound land, a shadow rose. A palace — grand and quiet — stood defiant in the snowstorm. Its pale lavender stonework shimmered against the white, and its towering black gate loomed.
Naoko reached the gate and pressed her hand against the seal. With a pulse of recognition, it opened.
Inside was warmth.
Golden chandeliers bathed the ancient interior in a soft glow. Red carpets stretched across polished wood. The scent of aged timber, wax, and tea leaves permeated the air. She walked silently, her footsteps muffled. The hallways echoed with the serenity of memory.
At the heart of the palace sat a woman.
Elizabeth rotschy — Naoko's mother. A vision of grace, beauty aged into refinement. Her platinum hair cascaded to the floor. Her grey eyes — soft and wise — widened in shock as her teacup rattled against the porcelain saucer.
She rose swiftly.
"Naoko?!" Elizabeth's voice cracked with disbelief. She rushed forward, teacup forgotten, and cupped Naoko's face in trembling hands. "What happened? Who did this to you?"
Naoko didn't flinch. Her silver eyes stared back, empty.
"I was fighting the God of Destruction," she said, voice detached, as though discussing the weather.
Elizabeth's mouth parted in stunned silence. Then came the rage.
"You went alone? Are you out of your mind?! What if you died?!"
Naoko's face remained still. "I accounted for all possible outcomes."
"Naoko," Elizabeth said, voice low with exasperation, "The world isn't just a math equation. Even if you're strong — no, especially because you're strong — you mustn't act recklessly."
Naoko didn't reply.
Suddenly, a new voice echoed from the grand staircase.
"So the great warrior returns," said Tishara rotschy, descending the steps with the elegance of a feline.
She was seventeen — radiant, meticulous, and striking. Her golden hair spilled in waves down her back. Her silver eyes gleamed, framed by long black lashes. Her lips were painted crimson, cheeks brushed with soft rose. A golden pendant in the shape of a flower hung at her throat, matching her earrings. A gleaming watch hugged her wrist.
Her leather jacket — short, tight, and black — gleamed with polish. Underneath, she wore a fitted white shirt. Her long boots clacked with each step. She moved like a storm wrapped in perfume.
Tishara looked her older sister up and down, a mixture of worry and disbelief flickering beneath her playful smirk.
"So, you picked a fight again. What was it this time? A demon? An angel?"
Naoko stared blankly at her.
She walked past without a word, up the stairs.
Tishara blinked. Then turned to Elizabeth.
"...Was it a demon?"
Elizabeth sighed. "No. It was Ebrinio."
Tishara's mouth fell open. "You mean the Ebrinio? The God of Destruction?! She fought him?"
"Apparently," Elizabeth said, brushing her hair back. "Though she didn't tell me if she won or lost."
Tishara stared at the stairs in disbelief.
"She's insane. I love her, but she's insane."
Elizabeth shook her head. "She needs punishment. No sweets for an hour."
Tishara snorted. "Mom, really? She doesn't even eat sweets. She gives them to me."
Elizabeth froze. "What? She doesn't like sweets? But she's always been so... delicate. Beautiful. Girls like that eat sweets."
Tishara raised an eyebrow. "That's your logic?"
Before Elizabeth could answer, a sharp scent drifted through the air.
Burning.
"The pot!" Elizabeth yelped, dashing into the kitchen.
Tishara remained alone in the lounge.
She glanced at the stairs, then down at her gold watch. She smiled faintly.
"Mom's naïve. And my sister... my sister's a ruthless goddess with a dead stare."
Footsteps.
Naoko reappeared, descending slowly. Her body was cleaned and wrapped in fresh clothes — a simple sports bra and denim shorts that ended at her upper thighs. Her pale skin gleamed in the light, muscles taut but feminine. Her eyes, unchanged, stared ahead.
"What's going on?" she asked, voice neutral. "Did she burn something again?"
Tishara grinned. "Yep. This time the whole pot."
Naoko exhaled softly and walked toward the couch.
As she passed, Tishara reached out and slapped her sister's rear — hard.
The sound echoed.
Naoko stopped.
Slowly, she turned. Her eyes narrowed.
"What was that for?"
Tishara smiled innocently. "Just testing your reflexes, princess."
Naoko's voice turned cold, deadly.
"If you do that again, I'll break your hand."
Tishara raised her hands in mock surrender. "Noted."
The fire cracked in the hearth. Snow fell silently outside.
And in the warmth of the ruined peace, the Rotschy sisters stood in their fragile, bizarre version of domesticity — one forged in steel, the other in perfume and laughter.
Naoko sat.
Tishara joined her.
Neither said anything for a long time.
The war was far from over.
But for one evening, in the shadow of gods and destruction, there was only this.
Family.
---
Heat: what do you think of the Rotschy sisters?