The whistling of the wind in her ears was abruptly interrupted by a shock of unheard-of violence. Eleanor slammed into the surface of an underground river nestled deep in the crevasses of Tenebris. She felt her bones crack under the impact, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the void that took hold of her mind. As she floated, not even trying to get up, her consciousness began to fade, giving way to fragments of memories she thought she had buried.

Her thoughts drifted back to the time of the Thousand-Year War. At that time, she was a young dark elf, slender with an already elegant stature, much more cheerful, whose hair still captured the glow of Babylon’s crystals. Her master was known as Konstantin, though the world would eventually call him Diavolo.

Konstantin was not only her mentor; he was her origin. She was a creation born from his genetic manipulations, forged from his own DNA. She was literally his daughter. He had taught her everything: whether it was the manipulation of mana threads or anything else.

Yet the perfection of their master-student relationship had been shattered by betrayal. Eleanor relived with intact bitterness the manipulation by the angels, those hypocritical beings of light who feared Konstantin’s power and independence. Through their intrigues and lies, they had pushed the mortal kingdoms to turn against him, ultimately leading to his downfall.

Since that tragedy and the imminent arrival of demons in the mortal world, Eleanor had set herself a single goal, an obsession that justified every murder and every betrayal: the creation of the Tree of Good and Evil. She knew, from her father’s forbidden writings, that only this tree possessed the power necessary to resurrect the soul of a dead person.

But the price of this rebirth was exorbitant. The construction of the Tree required ingredients of extreme rarity. She already possessed the blood of Siel that she had collected. Siel was a Nephilim, a being considered a half-angel. To complete the tree, she still needed the blood of a powerful dark elf, that of an exceptional human, the mana of a high-ranking spirit, and the blood of an elf of pure lineage.

But the crucial element for the creation of the Tree of Good and Evil was the heart of a fallen angel. Eleanor knew this angel. It was Loriel, the archangel whom the heavens had stripped of her divine power because she had chosen the love of a human, Sulyvhan, rather than obeying her celestial duty. Loriel now hid under the features of Director Amaera Castillon, and Eleanor knew it.

Thinking back to the scene on the cliff, just moments earlier, Eleanor relived every detail with unbearable clarity. She had had Amaera at her mercy. Her mana thread blade, sharpened as never before, was ready to slice that alabaster neck to seize the long-coveted heart. Her arm did not tremble. Everything was perfect. Her goal, the one for which she had sacrificed everything, was within reach. It was then that Klein had intervened. She thought he was an enemy preventing her from achieving her objective.

But the moment their eyes met, Eleanor’s world had shifted. She had understood that Klein, whom she thought was her enemy, was in reality only the other face of Kaiser. The man she had known, the one she thought she was manipulating to achieve her own ends.

She had hesitated. Why? She had sworn that Kaiser was only a means, a strategic pawn on her chessboard toward her final goal. She thought she had put an end to their moments of closeness, but the shock of finding him here, on this cursed continent, had troubled her more than she would ever have admitted. Seeing Kaiser again in Klein’s eyes, Eleanor had realized a truth she had pushed away for years: her attachment to him had never disappeared. It had simply been buried.

This micro-second of hesitation, this sentimental doubt, had been her fatal mistake. It was this deep turmoil that had prevented her from anticipating what was to come. When she felt herself falling, she had not tried to save herself.

The water from the depths was now carrying her away, and the cold was beginning to numb her limbs. She felt her body growing heavier with each movement, her fingers gradually losing their sensitivity. Her silhouette slowly sank into the abysses of Tenebris.

She then thought of the time she had spent under Kaiser’s orders. It had not been so bad, after all, she told herself with a certain nostalgia. She remembered the first time she had removed her Oni mask, thus revealing features of a disconcerting youth. For someone who acted in the shadows, one would have said that this revelation was nothing extraordinary.

Her memories then drifted toward the stifling calm of the Academy’s library. She was sitting with her back to him, pretending to concentrate on a thick treatise of ancient sorcery.

"I wonder how it would have been if you had not died," she finally said aloud, as if Kaiser could hear her in the depths of these liquid shadows. "Or rather, if you had not pretended to be dead."

She paused, an air bubble slowly rising in front of her eyes.

"It was really a disaster for the others," she murmured. "They really believed in you, you know. They cried thinking no one was watching them."

She felt her throat tighten, despite the cold. I wonder how they will take the news when they find out you are alive. She sketched a fragile smile.

Knowing them, they will jump for joy. Maybe they will even resent you a little at first. But it won’t last.

The darkness around her seemed to thicken, but she continued to speak, as if the words could keep her at the surface.

"You should have told me, Kaiser. Or at least given them a sign." she confessed. She closed her eyes, and the icy water enveloped her entirely, carrying her last words into the depths.