Broken Rebirth

A broken branch sprouted from a once-fractured wound. It resembles the Lunarum Bough you once shaped in Chaos. However, with Iuno's bow already forged, a flawless bough no longer holds much meaning. Standing all the wear and tear of fate, it's no longer an offering for sacrifice, just a simple bough—undefined, unburdened, and free, as it should be. As a result, you and Iuno can finally watch it grow gently in peace now, in the unwritten future beyond the final end. A fresh sprout suits a new beginning, one rooted in hope.

Lightly Tossed Suspense

These several irregular, asymmetrical dice belong to Iuno. Septimontians seek joy in their competitive games, whether it's the spectacle of a gladiatorial match or the thrill of a casual wager. Iuno is no different. But she favors serendipity over regularity. Beginning with a simple twelve-sided die, she continues to add new restrictions and rewards for her games at random. One by one, stranger dice emerge, each tied to its own little game. With uneven faces and symbols appearing at different probabilities, the odds are clearly skewed. But under the same rules, using the same die, both players take the same risks. The fairness of the games remains intact. In truth, this is how she adds spark to a long and uncertain struggle. By keeping outcomes just beyond prediction, she resists the pull of inevitability.

Permanence Measured by Moments

An instant camera, and a handful of photos where Iuno's silhouette still lingers. The device, brought to Septimont by the Montellis, quickly captured Iuno's fascination. She soon found in it a quiet purpose for herself: to capture the fleeting moments of joy, sorrow, and silent connection with others, and preserve them in these delicate prints. Each photo became a safeguard, a small defiance against the side effect of her Anchoring ability, which blurred her presence in the memories of those around her. And in time, it became her way of preparing for the inevitable: the moment she would vanish completely. Even if those who once gazed upon her have now forgotten her, even if the images have begun to fade, what was captured remains. However fuzzy, those beautiful moments were real. They happened, and they are proof of her existence.

At First, She Closed Her Eyes

Iuno awakens as if pulled from the deep water. Air fills her lungs little by little. The stone steps beneath her feet are cold and solid. Every growing trace of sensation surprises her. Too vivid, too real. To disappear means nothing remains. The past, the present, and all that might have been... nothing but silence. She has already accepted that cost and her vanishing. So why, like some sunken, waterlogged remnant, is she still here? In fact, she doesn't even know where she is. Everything around her looks normal, yet carries a heavy and sluggish pull, as if time might stand still at any second. Only the path beneath her continues. It's damp, cracked, yet stubborn. So she walks. Each step feels like treading on cooled bones, carrying her deeper into the unknown. Keep walking. That was what Iuno did most as a child. She walked over stone, moss, petals, even across bubbling springs. She never needed a reason, never chased meaning. She simply couldn't sit still. Just the thought of unseen places and untried things filled her with joy. She wanted to feel everything. Her mother, Sibylla, was perhaps the only one who truly knew how to raise a child like that—free-spirited, wild, yet never arrogant. Sibylla bound her with no noble rules. She let Iuno run wild and embrace her longing. There was never just one path. Whichever one Iuno chose, her mother waited at the end. That day began like any other. Young Iuno darted up the stairs, running straight into her mother's arms. Sibylla bent down to pull her close, her hand on the back of her head, her voice warm. "My Iuno did wonderfully as usual." Of course she did. Iuno blinked proudly. That Grandmother <a href=851017>Lillibet</a> had said she'd be the most gifted <a href=850152>Priestess</a> Septimont had ever seen. But... why just Priestess? Why couldn't she be gifted in something else? Back then, Iuno still held a pure, innocent curiosity toward prophecies. She was too young to realize that to be favored by fate was a cost in itself. But fate was tired of waiting. Iuno's smile froze. She saw her mother coming apart, unraveling. Flesh sloughed off like melting wax. Blackness gnawed at her, but what spilled wasn't blood. It was darker and thicker than night, surging forward as if it would flood into Iuno's eyes the next second. She stumbled back, then shut her eyes tight. It was too dark, too cold, too close. She clung to her mother's sleeve, trembling. Then, she forced her eyes open again, and everything was normal. The tide of fate had swept over her, sudden and unannounced. And just as swiftly, it had receded, leaving behind only the faintest touch. She would speak of what she never truly saw that day, again and again. And her mother would only smile and smooth her hair. "It's alright, my dear. You've seen enough." And then, in a support operation, her mother was taken by the <a href=851023>Dark Tide</a>, drowned in the endless filth. Those comforting words sank with her and never rose again. Iuno replayed that ordinary day countless times. When had the gray calcified matter begun to creep across her mother's body? When did the blackness first start to flow? Was that the key? "If I had known… could I have saved her?" "What if... I hadn't closed my eyes?" Young Iuno stands once more on the stone steps and looks back. She opens her eyes wide, trying to etch the missing part into her gaze. But even now, in the realm devoid of reality, she sees nothing. "One more chance." Her voice is barely a whisper, like it wants to dissolve in the damp air. Maybe she speaks to herself. Maybe to something else entirely. "Just give me one more chance… Let me see it." But fate never looks back. Only the path below remains, layered like bones, pulling a shadowed figure closer with every step. That is Iuno herself. She comes forward, step by step, passing the spot where her mother always stands waiting, toward the younger version of herself. The pull is nearly paralyzing. Soon, everything might return to silence. But it is alright. There is still enough time for one response. She has been pulled from the depths. And in this brief breath, she chooses to pull something up in return. Iuno kneels. The child before her has tear-bright eyes, lashes trembling, as if they might shut again. She reaches out and gently taps those small eyelids. "Then, just don't close them." "No matter how dark, how cold, how close… Don't close them." Suddenly, the wind rises. It blows from nowhere, across the tallest spires, through the low trees, and stops, just there, upon the layered steps. Just enough to dry the corner of Iuno's eyes.