"Ugh..."
Jasmine’s head pounded with a vicious headache. Her eyes stayed shut against her will, as if her body was refusing to wake up.
Uncomfortable, she forced them open—only for her vision to swim. Without thinking, she turned her head.
"O-ouch!"
Her forehead smacked into sothing sharp. She flinched and rolled back.
Jasmine groaned, clutching her forehead as the stinging pain on the outside synced cruelly with the pounding inside her skull. At least it snapped her fully awake. Her vision sharpened.
"W-why does a simple head bump hurt this much...?"
She pushed herself up onto her feet.
The floor beneath her was flat and perfectly even, made of clean obsidian—onyx, maybe—polished enough that she could see her reflection. She was still wearing her robes.
When she caught sight of the red mark on her forehead, Jasmine whipped her head toward what she’d hit, ready to glare at it—
—and froze.
It was just a stone wall. Rough. Ordinary-looking.
Confused, she stepped closer and poked one of the jagged edges sticking out. She winced as the sharpness nearly pricked her finger.
Her eyes narrowed.
Then widened.
"It’s... it’s filled with mana?"
The entire wall—sothing that could’ve been decorative in front of an estate gate—was saturated with mana. And not just any mana.
"How dense..."
Jasmine couldn’t even begin to comprehend the quality. It was overwhelming. Massive.
A shiver ran through her. She took a step back, and a harsh gust of wind swept over her, snapping her robes and hair. She clenched her eyes shut and held her hair down.
’The mana in that wall is so high it can hurt my body... Where the hell am I? I knew it. I was pushing my luck! I should’ve let it go with Azriel and talked to Celestina tomorrow instead!’
She cursed her own greed.
’Why does breathing feel so good here? The wind... it’s filled with mana. So much I can practically taste it...’
It felt like her body was being overcharged every second she stood there.
Heart beating faster, she opened her eyes and turned around.
And the mont she saw what was in front of her, her breath left her.
Her eyes went wide.
She could only stare in pure, stunned wonder.
"Wow..."
An imnse city spread out before her.
No—she was inside it.
The city didn’t rise only outward, but upward, stacked in layers of towering platforms and circular gastructures that looked like they were defying gravity. The architecture was unlike anything she had ever seen—nothing from history, nothing from stories.
A second later, excitent sparked in her eyes.
"So cool...!"
Massive disk-shaped platforms hovered—or rested—on thick central pillars, each one supporting what looked like entire districts. So were crowned with smooth dos. Others bristled with spire-like antennae and clustered towers.
Then Jasmine’s gaze flicked upward.
"...The sun is blue?"
A low azure sun washed everything in soft blue light, catching on tal edges and curved surfaces. Between the platforms, narrow bridges and winding roads threaded through the air, connecting districts like veins in a colossal living thing. Far below, the city continued—dense, layered, alive—though whatever moved down there was too distant to make out clearly.
Greenery clung to terraces and ledges: small trees, patches of vegetation softening the engineered landscape.
"Wow..." Jasmine breathed again, like the word was all she had.
"This place is beautiful... and dystopian..."
The mont she said it, her expression tightened.
"Wait. Place...?"
Her eyes darted around—the sky, the structures, the depth of the city below—then behind her.
That was when she noticed a glass wall and a paneled door.
She was standing on so kind of terrace, likely attached to a cliffside mansion.
Jasmine looked through the glass.
The room inside was almost too perfect to touch.
Soft blue light spilled over pale, pure-white floors. A bed sat tucked into one side, low and wide, half-hidden by the shape of the room. Behind it, a round window glowed warmly—like a second blue sun. Above, plants hung down through an opening in the ceiling, thin green strands suspended in still air.
A table stood farther back, spotless. Chairs pushed in neatly, as if soone had just left—or as if no one had ever been there at all. Here and there, rough stone broke through the sleek design, an odd contrast against all that smoothness.
"W-where the hell am I?!" Jasmine’s voice ca out louder than she ant. Panic rose too fast, too sharp, flooding her chest.
"Don’t—don’t tell I’ve entered another scenario?!"
She grabbed her hair with both hands, groaning.
"Gah! I really shouldn’t have pushed my luck! This is punishnt, isn’t it?!"
"Not quite."
A rough voice spoke from behind her—strangely lodic, almost hypnotic.
Jasmine’s body locked up like she’d been turned to stone.
Like dusa had looked her in the eye.
Forcing herself to move, she turned slowly, every muscle tense, ready to fight—
—and froze again.
"Wow..."
A handso man stood there.
No... not just handso.
Very, very—ridiculously—beautiful. Almost unreal. Like an angel made flesh.
He was draped in flowing robes of pure white, so immaculate they seed to reject both darkness and light. His long silver hair reflected the bluish hue of the sun, falling all the way to his feet. His skin was pale—milky—almost doll-like, except for the faint patches of blush that made him undeniably alive.
’His hair... it reminds of Celestina...’
Both were that sa pure silver.
Then Jasmine looked at his eyes.
And she hissed under her breath.
They were the purest black—like the deepest abyss.
But where his irises and pupils should have been, there were only ringed silver bands, flickering and shifting, zooming in and out in a way that felt... wrong. Hypnotic.
He smiled.
And Jasmine felt her heart flutter.
Imdiately, she clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. Blood welled as she bit down on her lip, fighting that foreign, dangerous feeling.
Those eyes...
She didn’t recognize the being in front of her.
But she rembered sothing Azriel had told her—about a certain being, and his enigmatic gaze.
Jasmine swallowed. Sweat trickled down her forehead.
In the calst voice she could manage, she said—
"...Pollux, I presu?"
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