--Timeskip--
The third great disaster of this current era had finally arrived, just as Rosy had predicted.
At the very heart of Nagazora City, the sky itself seemed to rupture, tearing apart like cheap fabric. Thick, churning clouds of violet energy devoured the heavens, casting an eerie, unnatural twilight over the ravaged landscape. The air crackled with static, and the howls of Honkai beasts echoed like the tormented cries of ancient gods, their voices laced with malice and hunger. A storm of destruction had descended upon the world—the third Honkai eruption—and this time, it showed no mercy.
Once lively streets were now unrecognizable, transformed into a grotesque parody of their former selves. Buildings had been reduced to twisted skeletons of metal and stone, their facades scarred and blackened by fire. Fires danced atop the ruins, casting flickering shadows that writhed and pulsed like living things, painting the smoke-streaked sky in shades of crimson and purple. The ground trembled as distant explosions shattered what little remained of order, sending tremors through the earth. The acrid smell of burning plastic and pulverized concrete hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the devastation. Humanity's cries of despair were drowned beneath the roaring chaos of the Honkai storm, lost in the symphony of destruction.
In the midst of this ruined landscape stood what used to be a school—a sanctuary of learning now turned into a graveyard of dreams. Half of its buildings were gone, swallowed by the collapse, leaving gaping wounds in the earth. The air inside was heavy with the scent of burnt paper and ozone, a faint, ghostly reminder of what once had been, of the laughter and learning that had once filled these halls.
And within one of those broken classrooms, a faint, golden glow flickered, a beacon of defiance in the encroaching darkness.
A man sat calmly at the teacher's desk, seemingly detached from the chaos raging outside. His blonde hair caught the faint light filtering through the shattered windows, illuminating the sharp angles of his face. His pen—no, his quill—moved with deliberate grace across an ancient-looking notebook, its pages filled with arcane symbols and meticulously crafted words. The quill itself shimmered faintly, its material unlike anything of this world—the Quill of Alzuhood, a tool that could bend fiction and reality to its wielder's will.
"What a devastating disaster… isn't it, Rosy?" Adam spoke softly, his voice tinged with a mixture of wonder and melancholy. His words seemed almost out of place amid the ruin, a quiet tone of reflection in a world falling apart.
The small, floating figure beside him—currently taking the form of 0-08, a mechanical doll of intricate design, its gears whirring softly—turned toward him with eyes glowing faint blue.
[Affirmative, Host Adam. I cannot imagine what the previous era must have been like… if something of this scale is merely a minor disaster compared to the Honkai eruptions that came before.]
Adam's lips curled into a small, bitter smile. "Poor Flame-Chasers, aren't they?" he murmured, leaning back against the creaking chair. "They worked so hard to protect humanity… and yet, half of that same humanity was already lost to greed, corruption, and sin."
The storm outside flashed again—a blinding burst of violet light illuminated his pensive face, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. The air crackled with energy.
He sighed deeply, resting his chin upon one hand. "If they hadn't been suppressed by MOTH's higher-ups ninety percent of the time, maybe… just maybe… they could have stood a chance against The End." His voice was laced with regret.
[I agree, Host Adam.]
Rosy's tone carried a rare softness, almost human. Her voice echoed faintly in the ruined room, gentle but firm, a soothing balm against the harsh reality.
[If not for the wickedness and selfishness of mankind, the Flame-Chasers might have prevailed. Perhaps not forever, but long enough to give hope a true meaning.]
For a moment, silence fell. The only sound was the distant crack of thunder and the rhythmic hum of the quill as Adam continued to write, weaving his will into the fabric of reality. The ink glowed faintly gold, each word forming lines of power, scripting destiny itself.
Outside, the world crumbled—but inside that broken classroom, a god rewrote fate.
A sudden surge of Honkai energy rippled through the air, a palpable wave of power that sent shivers down Adam's spine. His hand froze mid-sentence, the quill hovering above the page. He felt it—sharp, chaotic, and unmistakably divine. The Queen of Thunder had awoken, her power resonating through the very air.
He exhaled slowly, closing his notebook with a soft thud. A single blink later, he vanished, leaving only faint sparks of golden light drifting through the classroom, like lingering embers of a dying fire.
When Adam reappeared, it was atop the remains of a nearby skyscraper, its skeletal frame silhouetted against the stormy sky. From there, he had the perfect view of the storm below, of the chaos and destruction that had engulfed the city.
The city beneath him was a battlefield of gods and mortals, a stage for a tragedy of epic proportions.
Lightning cut through the blackened sky like blades of judgment, striking the earth with the wrath of a forgotten deity. Each bolt illuminated the scene with stark, fleeting clarity, revealing the devastation in all its horrifying detail. In the midst of that brilliance stood a figure—a girl with long purple hair flowing wildly around her like a living storm, her eyes burning with divine rage, their violet depths swirling with untamed power. The ground around her cracked under the weight of her presence, the very air distorting around her. In her grasp hung another girl—white-haired, limp, and fragile in comparison, her body battered and bruised.
"What a mess," the Herrscher of Thunder hissed through gritted teeth, her voice laced with venom. "Getting injured trying to save that coward… Kiana!"
Sparks erupted violently from her body, dancing across her arms like living serpents of light, crackling with untamed energy. She stared at the unconscious girl in her grip, her emotions twisting and churning like the storm above—rage, grief, and something far deeper, something akin to desperate affection.
"You'd better wake up right now," she whispered, her voice trembling despite its venom, betraying the fear that gnawed at her heart. "I won't allow you to die like this."
Her eyes softened—only for a heartbeat—before hardening again with fury, a mask to hide the vulnerability beneath.
"I'm the only one who can take away your life."
The moment hung frozen in the storm, suspended between fury and despair. And then—she felt it. A presence. Heavy, ancient, calm, like the eye of a hurricane.
Her head snapped to the side, her senses on high alert.
There, standing among the debris, was a blonde-haired man with his hands clasped calmly behind his back, his posture radiating an air of serene confidence. He seemed almost serene, untouched by the chaos around him, his clothes unruffled, his golden eyes filled with quiet curiosity, as if he were merely an observer in this grand spectacle. Their gazes met—and for the first time since her birth, the Queen of Thunder felt something she hadn't felt before—fear, a cold, creeping dread that threatened to overwhelm her.
The world blurred, the air shimmering with displaced energy. The man was gone, vanished without a trace.
A massive shadow loomed above her—the Helios battleship descending through the clouds, its cannons glowing bright, ready to unleash their destructive power. The Herrscher's fury reignited, burning brighter than ever, and the battle continued, a clash of titans that threatened to tear the world apart.
Far from the chaos, Adam reappeared once again, sighing with mild frustration, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"Even when I conceal myself, she can still sense me… guess I'm not as subtle as I thought."
A small, chibi-like Rosy appeared on his shoulder, perched there like a miniature guardian angel, smiling under her blindfold.
[It's only been a week since you received these powers, Host Adam. Don't be too hard on yourself.]
Adam chuckled softly, a warm, genuine sound that contrasted sharply with the destruction around them. "Such a good motivator you are, Rosy."
His gaze drifted back toward the thunderstorm in the distance, his expression thoughtful. "So… the Nova girl. Has she arrived in St. Freya yet?"
[Not yet, Host Adam. According to our timeline, she'll reach St. Freya after a year of wandering Nagazora.]
"Hm. And where is she now?"
[That direction, Host.]
Rosy pointed toward the western outskirts of the ruined city, her tiny finger unwavering.
Without hesitation, Adam teleported, the air distorting with golden ripples each time he vanished and reappeared, a silent testament to his immense power. After a few short leaps through the debris-filled streets, he finally found her—a young girl lying unconscious beneath a cracked concrete arch, her breathing faint but steady, her face pale and covered in grime.
"So this is her…" Adam murmured, his voice soft with curiosity, brushing some dust from her cheek with a gentle hand. "Has she awakened the Stigmata of stars yet, Rosy?"
[Close, but not quite yet, Host Adam.]
"Then she'll need rest," he said quietly, his eyes filled with a strange light. He waved his hand, and light shimmered beneath her body—forming a soft, glowing bed that lifted her gently into the air, cradling her like a precious treasure.
He smiled faintly, golden light reflecting in his eyes, a hint of something akin to hope flickering within their depths.
"She still has a role to play in the story I'm weaving."