The air in the Roundtable room was thick with the scent of ozone and the weight of billions of years. Fuuko Izumo stood alone, the sole bearer of a trillion memories. Behind her lay the wreckage of a world consumed by Sun; before her lay the shimmering, silent void of a new beginning.
"This time," she whispered, her fingers tracing the cold metal of the G-Liner pen, "no one gets left behind." The air in the Roundtable room was thick
Fuuko didn't head for cover. She headed for the soul she knew was already suffering. In a dusty, forgotten corner of the world, a man with a blade through his chest and a curse in his veins sat waiting for a death that would never come. "This time," she whispered, her fingers tracing the
"Who the hell are you?" he growled, hand tightening on his sword. "Who the hell are you