Silence lingered where the battle had ended.
The wind moved slowly across the shattered ground as four Riders lay scattered, their armor already fading back into human form. One by one, they stirred.
Sabela was the first to sit up.
She pressed a hand to the ground, eyes narrowed—not in pain, but in thought.
"…That Rider," she said quietly.
Nago turned her head toward her. "You mean Marika?"
"Yes," Sabela replied. "She never intended to kill us."
Majade frowned as she pushed herself upright. "That doesn't make sense. She hit hard. Harder than most enemies we've faced."
"She did," Sabela agreed. "But every strike was calculated."
Jeanne looked between them. "Calculated how?"
Sabela stood fully now, brushing dust from her coat. "To stop us. To survive. Not to finish us."
Nago crossed her arms. "You're saying that whole fight was self-defense?"
"Exactly," Sabela said. "If she wanted us dead, she would've taken the chance when we were down."
A quiet unease settled over the group.
"So then…" Majade murmured. "That warning from the monster…"
"…Was true," Jeanne finished. "But not the way it wanted."
Far from them—beyond the broken battlefield and fractured skies—Yoko Minato stood alone once more.
The world around her was unfamiliar, yet calm. No monsters. No Riders. Just the echo of her own footsteps.
She exhaled slowly.
"…I didn't want that fight," she said to no one.
Then—
Time stopped.
The air froze, the wind halting mid-motion.
A presence appeared before her.
Black and gold. Regal. Overwhelming.
Yoko's eyes widened slightly.
"…Who are you?"
The figure said nothing about his name.
Instead, Ohma Zi-O raised a hand.
"Two people need your help," he said calmly.
Yoko stiffened. "Who?"
But the answer never came.
The world folded inward.
Yoko stumbled forward—and nearly tripped over loose soil.
She caught herself, heart pounding, and looked up.
Green.
So much green.
Dense trees stretched endlessly in every direction. The air was thick, humid, alive with the sound of insects and distant birds.
"…No way," she whispered.
She knew this place.
Not this exact location—but this world.
"My universe…"
She moved cautiously, following instinct more than memory, until voices reached her ears.
Familiar voices.
"…I still don't like this," one said. "Helheim ruins popping up again is bad news."
Another laughed softly. "You say that every time, Kouta."
Yoko stepped into the clearing.
"Kouta?"
He turned.
His eyes widened.
"…Yoko?"
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Kouta exhaled, relief mixing with disbelief. "You're alive."
"Apparently," Yoko replied dryly. "Want to explain what's been happening while I was… gone?"
Kouta rubbed the back of his neck. "That's a long story."
"I've got time," she said.
They talked.
About Helheim remnants.
About fractured universes.
About Ryoma Sengoku's shadow moving again.
About the blue crystal.
When Kouta finished, Yoko was silent for a long moment.
Then her gaze shifted—to the woman standing beside him.
"And you are?"
Kouta turned. "Oh—right. Yoko, this is Seestern."
Seestern met Yoko's eyes with calm curiosity. "I've heard of you. Kamen Rider Marika."
Yoko raised an eyebrow. "Only good things, I hope."
Seestern smiled faintly. "Honest ones."
They stood there for a moment, three people bound by history they hadn't yet fully shared.
Then Seestern reached into her coat and pulled out a folded image.
"This is the platform we're searching for," she said, handing it to Yoko.
Yoko unfolded it.
Her breath caught.
"…You found this?"
Kouta nodded. "In ruins tied to multiversal travel."
Yoko stared at the image.
Then she laughed—soft, incredulous.
"I know where this is."
Both of them looked at her sharply.
"You do?" Kouta asked.
"Yes," Yoko said. "It's in the Amazon forest."
Kouta blinked. "The Amazon? That's on the other side of the planet. We're still in Japan."
"I know," Yoko replied calmly. "That's why I'll help."
Seestern studied her carefully. "How?"
Yoko closed the image and met their eyes.
"I've crossed universes. Fought Riders I'd never met. And survived things I shouldn't have."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Getting us to the Amazon is the easy part."
Far away—unseen, unspoken—the threads of fate tightened.
And the platform slept, waiting.