White corridors stretched endlessly ahead, their floors faintly gray. Mizuki walked calmly through them, her expression passive as she held Shiro's hand. He simply followed.
People wearing lab coats similar to hers moved about the halls—though Mizuki's coat hung slightly oversized on her frame.
She stopped in front of one door among many. Leaning closer, she pressed her eye against a section of the wall that looked like nothing more than part of the structure. Shiro didn't pay much attention. The door slid open. Mizuki stepped inside, glancing back briefly to make sure he was following.
Shiro exhaled and walked in after her. The door shut instantly behind them.
Mizuki approached one of several desks inside the room—apparently hers. It looked like a modest workspace. She skimmed over a sheet of paper resting on the desk, inspected it briefly, then set it down.
"Do you want to talk, Shiro?" she asked.
"Talk about what…?" he replied, uncertainty creeping into his voice. He still didn't fully understand his situation.
Mizuki sat down behind the desk at the back of the room. Shiro walked over and sat across from her. She picked up a pencil and idly twirled it between her fingers.
"We have a problem, Shiro. You literally don't have a soul."
"I don't have a soul?" Shiro repeated, thoughtful rather than panicked.
"Yes. Exactly that." A faint smile touched her lips. "Which opens up a lot of possibilities."
"If I were speaking strictly according to protocol, you'd already be inside a capsule while I worked on restoring your soul and continuing the usual, boring procedure."
Shiro leaned forward slightly.
"What procedure…?"
"That's not important." She waved it off. "What matters is that I have two reasons not to do that. First, I owe someone a favor—and I'd rather they don't show up here any minute now. Second…" She tapped the pencil against the desk. "Right now, you're basically an ether machine."
"Ether?" Shiro echoed.
Mizuki sighed, remembering he didn't even understand the basics—if anything at all.
"Imagine your soul carries a card. That card represents a power."
She raised her palm. A completely black card materialized above it, yellow flames flickering along its edges. With an awkward flick of her hand, it split into three identical copies, as if it were a simple magic trick.
"This is how people survive here, Shiro."
He listened carefully, trying to process everything.
"So… every soul has a different card?"
"Yes. But you don't have a soul." She gathered a few papers from her desk and skimmed them quickly. "Logically, that would mean no soul, no card. But if the space where your soul should be is empty—like a black vortex…"
She looked up.
"Then ether wouldn't be consumed."
"Then… what exactly is ether?" Shiro asked.
"Oh, right. Ether is what allows someone to use their card. With training, your ether lasts longer. For example…"
She tossed the three cards into the air. Instead of falling, they hovered.
"Right now, even these small, pointless movements consume ether—even if it's insignificant. A more offensive example would be…"
The cards began spinning rapidly, yellow flames flaring brighter along their edges. Suddenly, a purple ethereal arrow shot out from between them, appearing from nowhere. It streaked past Shiro's head. He nearly fell out of his chair.
"That consumed ether from my soul," Mizuki said casually. "But if I were sharing your soul with my card, I wouldn't even have to think about the cost."
Shiro inhaled deeply, steadying himself.
"Then… what's stopping you?"
Mizuki looked at him flatly.
"I can hear the noise outside from here. Are you deaf?"
"W-what…?" Shiro turned toward the door—
It burst open violently.
"Hey! I didn't give you permission to come in yet!" Mizuki snapped, standing abruptly.
Shiro looked toward the doorway.
What stood there was… striking.
The most hypnotic feature of her face was her eyes—two crystalline blue orbs that held both the depth of the ocean and the chill of a winter dawn. Her lips were soft, somewhere between pale rose and beige. Her dark blue hair framed her face, and her clothing seemed to belong to another era: a long, old-fashioned dress made of black fabric that absorbed light like an abyss, embroidered with electric blue patterns winding along its length. The high neckline concealed her slender neck, and at the center of her chest rested a blue rose brooch—beautiful, yet strangely out of place.
White gloves covered her hands, pristine but faintly worn at the edges. Black leather boots completed the look.
She stood at the doorway, letting out a calm, amused laugh.
"So it's you?!" she said, impatience mixing with excitement.
"…I hope you two get along," Mizuki muttered under her breath.
The woman didn't seem to care. She looked around Shiro's age—maybe slightly older.
She walked straight toward him. Before he could react, she grabbed him by the shoulders. One of her legs slid between his thighs as she leaned closer, still smiling brightly despite her composed appearance.
"It's you, right? Finally!?" she exclaimed, not letting go.
"Hey! You bold little— I didn't call you here!" Mizuki protested, already half giving up.
The girl laughed and leaned even closer to Shiro's face.
"My name's Kaede. Nice to meet you!"
And just like that, their eyes locked.