Gradually, Aren regained consciousness. He felt so weak that for a moment he thought he was back in the real world. But when he opened his eyes, he saw an individual with blonde tresses framing her beautiful face, and golden-red eyes that regarded him with a mix of concern and wariness.

Their gazes met briefly, and within that brief moment, Aren felt inexorable peril from that individual. Every nerve in his body — every instinct — begged him to flee.

And yet, she was the first one to cower away from Aren, turning away her beautiful face and raising her shoulder defensively. Her eyes became half-lidded, as if in anticipation of pain.

Why was she cowering from him? She almost made it seem like he was the monster here. And there was no mistake about it — she was a monster. Not a denizen, nor an adventurer; a monster.

Blood magic was not the kind of thing a denizen or adventurer might be able to learn. Even Aren knew, despite his limited knowledge, that this kind of thing was Forbidden Magic, usually at the command of high-ranking demons and the like.

She didn’t look like a demon, though — not that Aren knew what a demon would look like — but she was definitely not human. Her exquisite, transcendent beauty shut the door on that possibility. Compared to her, Estella looked like an average girl. There was something about her that made everything different. Aren stared into her eyes, inexplicably drawn to their lustre and siren call. He could not tear his gaze away. His heart stirred, ignited by embers of inconceivable origin.

She looked away, concealing her eyes, as if she didn’t want Aren to see them. She said nothing and made no moves. She just sat there, cowering from Aren.

In a moment of lucid clarity, Aren comprehended what happened — some form of mind-control — and he crawled away from the creature and towards the exit. He was still dizzy; enough to not even realize just how strangely recovered he felt. The wounds that had nearly reduced him to an immobile mess had recovered enough for him to almost move unimpeded.

Slowly, he crawled towards the door, the one and only exit in this place. This room had barely anything in it. It was a small chamber with only basic furniture — a bed, a wardrobe, a table and some chairs. There wasn’t even a rug. It looked about as spartan as it gets; not quite a prison cell, but close enough.

“Don’t go…” she whispered, her tone wavering. “It is dangerous for you.” A pause. “I can’t protect you.”

Protect him?

“Aren’t you…” Aren trailed off, as he glanced towards her, still crawling backwards. Aren’t you a monster — he almost asked.

She nodded, as if reading his mind. She actually nodded. “I am,” she whispered. The quality of her voice — Aren did not catch it the first time — was something that could not be put into words. It was unnatural. Aren could almost taste its fragrant color, melting like a strawberry snowflake in his mind’s eye. As if Aren needed anymore reminders of what exactly he was trapped with.

In a half-panic, Aren mentally reached for his interface, deciding to send a message to Fang — to call for help. Even though they would still probably be off-line but, at the very least, it was a start.

Dumbfounded, he stared at the window that opened before his eyes. The clan list was empty. His group list was empty. The same with his friends list. Nothing. No one. As if they never even existed. It was as if he was a brand-new character.

He checked his status and screamed internally. His abilities were there, but his perks — everything except Priscilla's Blessing — was gone. His reputations? Nothing. Guild rank and Coalition Army rank? As if they never even existed. He almost began questioning his sanity. Were it not for the fact that he still had his abilities, and Priscilla’s Blessing, he would’ve surely lost it.

Something was going on. Perhaps, he realized, he wasn’t the problem. Perhaps it was this room. It was a prison, after all. Was it somehow isolated from the rest of the world? Was this a place that not even the Gods could reach with their blessings? A place where reputation didn’t matter, and other adventurers were just a distant, unformed dream?

Aren initially assumed that this creature was locked away here because she would — without a doubt — initiate some kind of cataclysmic event, if she were released. Even Deucalion guarded her. But to go this far — something wasn’t right.

Also, how was it possible for a Machine Arsenal’s AI to be in a game? Was that even the Machine Arsenal’s AI? It had… personality. At least, it seemed that way to Aren. And the way Leviathan spoke to it — it was unnatural — it was contrary to everything Aren thought of Leviathan. Of course, there was always the possibility that Leviathan used those exact words to sell the illusion that it was Aren — the human — speaking. But somehow, still, Aren felt like Deucalion understood the true origin of those words.

Priscilla’s Blessing… it promised that intelligent monsters would not stand in his way, or even go as far as to help Aren on his quest. But then it also said that should creatures — monsters or otherwise — stand in his way, that he would receive the effect of Priscilla’s Will. It was a bit unclear whether all monsters — or only some — would stand in his way. But if anything, it did seem like this one — the one he was trapped with — was not an enemy.

Aren licked his lips. “Are you… going to kill me?” he asked. Without Luna’s Favor, he didn’t know if he would reincarnate or not. That was the real problem. If he died here, his character would probably be deleted. That was the fate of most Calamities, or so it seemed. They didn’t get second chances — everything was playing for keeps.

She shook her head.

It wasn’t so much that he found the answer convincing, but rather, her mannerisms. Such fear — he had never seen a creature tremble like that in his presence. The poor thing twitched every time Aren spoke, and even when he moved to reassure her — unable to stand being the origin of such fear — she shied away from him. She didn’t run — it was as if she was already reconciled with the idea that there was no good outcome. She just prepared herself — her mind and body — for what she perhaps thought was going to be violence or punishment.

Aren froze, his friendly gesture now seemingly sinister, and he couldn’t help but question: “Why are you so afraid of me? What did I do?”

Leviathan’s voice crashed through Aren’s consciousness, cascading off the collapsing quantum waveforms that formed his consciousness, and filtered into his mind like sunlight filtering through the crowns of trees.

She looked at him then, eyes glimmering with something that was a mix of determination and trepidation. All that, and sorrow. Deep, heart-rending sorrow. And anger. And fury. And rage.

Slowly, Aren backed away from that castigating gaze, but it was too late. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, Aren’s mind was taken somewhere else.

It was a vision of a burning sky. With extreme clarity, he could see a flaming wreckage of something fall through the sky, breaking up in the upper atmosphere and hurtling towards the earth. In the distance, blinding flashes of light annihilated countless lives in the initial pulse of radiation, then heat, then shockwaves.

His view flickered, almost as if he was watching a cybersphere broadcast, and not seeing the events through his own eyes. Something akin to a Machine Arsenal, but slightly different — Aren couldn’t pin-point exactly why or how it was different though — turned its railgun towards the horizon, and in a burst of electricity, expelled a projectile; the overpowering noise of such a shot tore down trees and turned boulders to dust.

Aren stumbled as he returned to his senses. His mind was spinning. He felt sick. He fell to his knees, gasping. Blood poured from his right eye, pitter-pattering on the ground. He covered his right eye with the flat of his palm and looked at the creature in front of him.

It was Aren’s turn to fear that creature. She was an AGMI. No, she was a Fragment. Just the thought of such a thing terrified Aren. It froze the blood in his veins. It seized at his heart. And yet… he pitied her.

The reason she feared him… that was because she had every reason to fear him and his kind. They did this to her. Her anger and sorrow were justified. Even Aren felt like he just wanted to roll over and die. Leviathan said she was once a kind caregiver, and considering the way she acted towards Aren, he was inclined to believe those words — perhaps even an entity like Leviathan could understand the meaning of those words properly. And yet…

Such coldness. Aren shivered at the words. Did Leviathan really not care about Aren’s choice? Was Leviathan really fine with things like this? Did Leviathan really not feel any anger towards what Humanity had done to one of theirs? Even Aren was angry!

Aren focused his gaze on the girl. She was an AGMI — or Fragment rather. Or Lost? What was she now? Either way, she was dangerous.

Or so Aren would have liked to think. The way she hid her face from Aren, not daring to face him, and the way her voice and body trembled in his presence — how could she appear as a threat to anyone?

Perhaps it was foolish, but Aren wanted to believe that Leviathan was simply testing him — to see what he would choose. It was most likely not the case, but Aren really needed to believe that Leviathan was not just an emotionless entity with some grand plan.

Aren reached out towards the Lost. “I can’t undo what has been done to you,” he said, his voice strained. What could he possibly even tell something that has existed for over a century, by the sounds of it? Supposedly, AGMI were only created half a century ago, but the Consolidation Wars happened a hundred years ago!

Aren looked at the floor. There was nothing he could say. Perhaps it was better to just leave the Lost here.

“You want... to save that one, don’t you?” he heard her ethereal voice. “The one... who waits for you?”

Aren looked up. Was she talking about Priscilla? How did the Lost know about Priscilla?

“You have her blessing,” the blonde said, reading Aren’s mind — of course she did, she was an AGMI. “If you truly intend to save that one... then I will go with you.”

Aren stared at her. He was dumbfounded. She would help him? He could not even comprehend why, after everything, she would want to do that.

“Why?” Aren asked.

“It is in my nature,” she simply said, rising to her feet. She was a head shorter than Aren, but even so, she would not directly look at him. She approached him, with a mix of both confidence and fear — if that was even possible or Aren was just imagining things — and then stopped in front of him.

It was as if she was waiting on him.

“Open the door,” she said softly, with a diminished tone, pointing at the door. She avoided looking at Aren.

Aren nodded and pressed his hand against the door. It rumbled. Dust fell off the ceiling, and with a loud, grinding sound, the door began to swing open.

The blonde extended her hand forward and a blood-mist rose from her. The mist slowly coalesced around the two, as if drawn in by an unfathomable force.

Then, at the worst possible moment, Aren’s Light Stone flickered and died. He hadn’t even realized it until then, but even in that room, it was the only light source. Now, in complete darkness, every hope he had of escaping this place evaporated.

Then he felt a soft hand against his, and he nearly jumped in fright. The blonde, even in the darkness, took his hand and led him forward.

Growls and snarls soon surrounded them, and in a panic, Aren checked the various lists that had been empty until just a moment ago, and thankfully, it seemed like things were back to normal. At least now, if he died, perhaps there was a small chance that he would reincarnate. The only problem with Luna’s Favor was the fact that Aren had never seen or even heard of a Temple of Luna. What would happen if one didn’t exist?

“Don’t be afraid,” he heard her soft voice. She was reassuring him? This was the polar opposite of what he had in mind! “I won’t let them hurt you.”

They walked for what felt like ten minutes, in complete darkness. Somehow, miraculously, Aren did not stumble and break his neck. They never came under attack — that was perhaps the strangest thing. The growls and snarls followed them all the way to the entrance of the Catacombs, but, of combat there never was a sound or indicator that such a thing took place.

Standing at the steps that led towards the exit, Aren looked at his guide and protector. In the faint, reflected light, he could see that she was covered in gashes and incisions. Her dress was torn in many places, and her expression showed considerable fatigue.

“You…” Aren trailed off, as he reached for his utility pouch. He still had some healing powder.

“Just need... rest,” she whispered.

“Wait.”

She looked at Aren, drawn by his words, and then away from him, as if she realized that their gazes met again. Her form burst into smoke and mist, pouring into his shadow which became deeper and darker.

“You can call me Camille, Code,” he heard her voice from his shadow, once more answering the burning question that was on his mind.

Aren stared at his shadow, moved around a bit to see if it was truly still his shadow and, with a degree of relief, found out that it was mimicking his movements.

“Thank you, Camille,” Aren whispered, and he truly was grateful. He was grateful, and he also felt guilty.

To show her that his kind was capable of more than just cruelty. In the end, it was an AGMI that proved to Aren that their kind was capable of more than just cold, heartless logic.

With slumped shoulders, Aren walked out into the ruins of Rakab.

Compared to the way he felt about himself in that moment, Elzo Lunare was a flawless saint.