Chu Qing meant to tear only one Abyssal Rift, a clean cut in the world’s skin. But her method resonated with something nearby, and a second unknown mouth split open.

The rift Chu Qing had opened stalled, its growth held like a breath. The Earth Dragon Heart before the Doctor beat like a furnace, becoming the core prying the Abyssal Rift wider.

Crimson braced the first tear like a woman holding up a collapsing sky. She had no spare strength for the second, and could only let it bloom—praying it stayed too weak for anything above Cantata One.

The rift above Crimson’s head surged like storm-tide. Chu Qing had called an unknown presence in an unknown way, and within seconds the breach swelled to permit a Cantata Two breakthrough.

If Crimson stepped away, the fracture would keep opening like an ice crack in spring. A Cantata Three would be a sure thing, iron fate carved into stone.

The new tear budded near the lab, and the lab held devices meant to pinch small tears shut—caged lightning and steel clamps built for early-stage, minor Abyssal Rifts.

This rift linked to a herd of metal Monsters, kin in shape to the giant golems Chu Qing had crafted. Their mana cores sat naked on their plating, gem-bright on iron skin. The strongest among them were at Cantata Two.

Through their gaps, Crimson saw deeper—one metal colossus lying still on a floor of pure alloy, like a mountain that chose to crawl and then sleep.

By its carapace and the pressure rolling off it like winter wind, it was Cantata Three, no doubt.

“Get back—now!”

Her voice cracked like a whip, and the Monsters recoiled. The gap in power was a cliff they wouldn’t climb. But once the breach grew, their Cantata Three would lead them into the fight.

The Doctor rushed in from next door, shoving the suppressors on wheeled frames. The rift was truly newborn, but for unknown reasons it expanded like wildfire. He didn’t know if these machines could restrain a tear already two people tall.

The devices hummed to life. The rift’s two lips drew together as if invisible hands were stitching torn cloth, the wound narrowing to the eye.

But the Earth Dragon Heart kept dragging in Abyssal Aura like a whirlpool. Dials flicked into red, needles kissing limit. Thin machines had reached their edge.

He’d never held hope. This tear and the thing peering through it were storms paper shields could never stop. Modern science was soft wax before a forge.

To seal it fast, they needed Cantata Three strength. Rouge Rabbit had a Cantata Three on hand, but something had snared it elsewhere.

And the true culprit sat right here: the Earth Dragon Heart gulping Abyssal Aura like a thirsty beast. Kill the Heart, and the opening would slow. Maybe.

It was precious to Rouge Rabbit’s boss, a trophy glimmering like a ruby in glass. But the choice had run out. The Doctor extended his tendrils, slid them past the lip of the rift, and thrust for the Earth Dragon Heart.

The Heart seemed aware, a beast bristling at the spear. Metal fused with unknown soil climbed its surface, hard shell knitting shut, wrapping the Heart in a crude armor.

The Doctor couldn’t crack it fast. He couldn’t suppress the tear. He was a scientist, not Cantata Three wrought in flesh. Faced with a wall he couldn’t climb, running was the right answer.

He ran without looking back. Behind him, a dial needle buried itself, then the panel burst. The casing spat blue sparks; smoke billowed; fire sprang like foxes and licked his nape.

Before the flame could spread, the Abyssal Rift gulped it down like a hungry mouth. The Doctor reached the passage, air cold on his face, and knew he’d judged right. One more heartbeat late and he’d be an Eye Orb again, drifting through half a life.

With no one restraining the Heart or the tear, the rift pushed toward completion, driven by a flood of Abyssal Aura like a river in spate.

Two Abyssal Rifts crossed streams. Pressure crushed down on Crimson like a falling mountain. The second breach’s power was no weaker than the first. Her body wouldn’t hold long—unless she unsealed and burned, then nailed both rifts shut.

That circled back to the same cliff. In this state, unsealing would shear at her lifespan. The price wasn’t one she could afford.

Every time she touched Mana, unknown whispers brushed her ear like cold reeds.

One more unseal might be madness. One more might be death. With her end nearing, she asked herself why she’d unsealed for strangers, why she’d die alone in a corner and be forgotten like dust.

Her name was Crimson, a blade from the previous generation.

She was a genius with Mana, and a charging brute who only knew forward. She acted without counting costs, willing to spend her life like coin for others.

Because she rushed without brakes, some despised her. Because she rushed without brakes, she won comrades whose hearts beat the same. Her flaw and her light were the same stripe.

Headlong charge let her break walls. She carried her comrades’ hopes like torches and pushed through, their strength in her hands, their trust under her skin. With that, she beat back most disasters.

Her will had been iron. Time and fear sanded it down grain by grain. She wasn’t the old Crimson anymore. She was someone who feared the grave, hands half-raised.

“Crimson is Crimson. She won’t change.”

Yellow had said that after a battle, and Blue and Green nodded, laughing in the smoke. If Crimson stopped being the hot-blooded fool, maybe the world would end that day.

Who could have known: she didn’t fall to an apocalypse. She stopped to weigh her life, to measure if any was left to spend.

If they knew, she’d be teased to pieces. She could hear the laughter, sharp as bells.

Why did she ever spend her life for others? Why did she throw everything behind those unrelated faces?

Holding the Abyssal Rift like Atlas, Crimson chewed the question, and no answer came. Her old self looked foolish from here.

She would use her body to stop falling stones. She would pour Mana to calm a storm. She would face Monsters for the people behind her.

“Crimson! What are you hesitating for!”

Night Frost, crouched in the corner, saw the hesitation plain on her face. She didn’t know why Crimson wore that look. But this wasn’t the Crimson in her heart.

In her mind, Crimson was strong, always forward. Their team didn’t retreat, not even before a Black Dragon. That was the Crimson the world knew.

Crimson’s thoughts snapped like a thread. She hadn’t thought an outsider would know her; the recognition pricked guilt like a thorn.

“I…”

Her lips parted, then the words stalled a breath from flight.

“You’re not someone who goes down easy!”

The shout tugged her back, like a voice from old smoke. When they faced a foe that couldn’t be beaten, someone had told her the same thing.

“You’ve never been one to fall with a nudge, Crimson. They still haven’t given up. Why are you the first to drop? You still have strength to fight, and you still have reasons.”

Her manager had once picked over rubble, dodging falling stone, and cupped her face between dusty palms.

“Look.”

Behind her, Blue, Yellow, and Green still grappled the colossus, blades and breath against iron. And she lay here, strength untapped like water in a well.

“A reason to fight… Why am I fighting?”

Night Frost had watched the film where Crimson and her team starred, a reel lit by truth, built to mirror the real scene. She learned her story, and then dug the net for the rest, thread by thread.

Crimson danced on every battlefield. Seven years ago you could still find her name in each major campaign, a red flare on the list.

“Isn’t your creed to carry things to the end? Didn’t you enter the Order Keeper to go forward for the people behind you?”

“I don’t know what you fear, or why you hesitate. I know this: everyone has a wall they can’t climb, and some will hesitate a lifetime.”

“But when danger came, you stood up and held the Abyss with your hands. You could have run alone. Why did you brace that tear with your arms?”

Night Frost’s outline overlapped with the old manager, words like twin waves rolling to the same shore. Crimson fought for the people behind; she burned her life for the world behind.

“My reason to fight…”

“You said you wanted tomorrow’s sunlight, and everyone’s smiles. You hoped for peace, hoped for beauty. You risked it all for that goal. Why stop now?”

Her manager wiped grime from her cheek, turning her gaze back to Yellow, Green, and Blue.

“Everyone caught your fire and moved toward one star. Look.”

She pointed at three figures under the giant’s shadow, three sparks under a mountain of iron.

“Yellow had no goal; now she fights for peace. Blue was distant; now she smiles. Gentle Green stands at the front, shoulders squared.”

“You gave them that strength. Only you could. So please—keep fighting.”

“There’s nothing worth hesitating over—”