Siberia
Schicksal Babylon Research Facility
Inside a pale, sterile laboratory, a man known only as Dr. Y stood behind a reinforced observation barrier. His eyes were cold, stripped of any trace of empathy.
He wore a specialized white lab coat, a blue surgical cap, and thick gloves that sealed him off from the outside world, as if even human contact were beneath him.
The room was filled with instruments designed to measure Honkai resistance. At the center stood an operating table.
Strapped to it was a young girl.
Her body trembled violently from pain. Her face was twisted with fear and despair as she struggled against the restraints, but in this place, resistance meant nothing.
This was not a laboratory.
It was a man-made hell.
Dr. Y glanced at the data displayed on the monitor.
"This one is inadequate. She can't even tolerate this level of Honkai energy."
His voice was flat. Indifferent.
"Next."
That single word fell like a death sentence.
An assistant dragged in another subject from containment.
A young woman.
Her face was pale, streaked with tears. Fear filled her eyes.
"Please… no… let me go…"
She struggled weakly, but it was useless.
Dr. Y stepped forward and crouched in front of her. He lifted her chin with gloved fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze.
There was something twisted in his eyes. A quiet enjoyment.
"Don't be afraid. It will be over soon."
His tone was soft.
To her, it sounded like a final judgment.
At his command, the assistants secured her to the table.
Her resistance faded quickly, swallowed by terror and exhaustion.
The lab fell silent once more, broken only by the low hum of machines.
Dr. Y began the procedure.
With practiced precision, he injected the Honkai solution.
Her screams echoed through the room.
Then stopped abruptly, cut off by the soundproof barriers.
Time seemed to freeze.
Only Dr. Y moved beneath the harsh lights, his shadow shifting across the walls.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
As if he were admiring a piece of art.
When it was over, he removed his gloves. His hands, pale under the light, looked almost delicate.
He stared at the unconscious woman.
"This one has potential. Take her away."
A pause.
"For the next trial, increase the Honkai concentration."
His voice carried quiet certainty, as though success was inevitable.
"Next."
The word came again, dragging the assistants back to motion.
"Doctor," one of them asked hesitantly, "we're running low on subjects. Should we gather more?"
Dr. Y turned toward the window, a faint smile forming.
"Yes. Have them bring in more this time."
"These consumables are being used up far too quickly."
A strange harmony of madness and conviction echoed through the room.
"For the sake of humanity."
"Yes. For the sake of humanity."
Beneath the frozen plains of Siberia, the Babylon Research Facility stood as a symbol of humanity's pursuit of the unknown.
Hope and despair coexisted here.
Scientific brilliance intertwined with moral darkness.
Dr. Y and his team pushed toward the limits of knowledge.
But perhaps they did not realize that every step they took had already been anticipated by Otto.
"A place of despair, fueled by Honkai energy… the perfect cradle for a Herrscher."
As the heavy gates of the Babylon facility slowly closed, silence swallowed everything once more.
…
Sirin had once lived in a small, worn but warm home with her mother.
That fragile happiness ended on a freezing night.
She lost the only person she had.
Snow fell endlessly, turning the world into a blank, white void.
Inside the house, a dim light flickered.
Sirin clung tightly to her mother's lifeless body. Tears streamed down her face, soaking her thin, worn clothes.
The night was silent, broken only by the whisper of falling snow.
Her heart was filled with fear.
With emptiness.
With something she could not name.
Again and again, she whispered the same words.
"Ich liebe dich."
When morning came, neighbors found her.
The sight froze them in place.
The little girl curled in the corner, clutching her mother as if trying to disappear into the cold.
They rushed to pull her away, wrapping her in blankets, lighting a fire, whispering gentle reassurances.
"You'll be okay."
"We'll take care of you."
But something inside Sirin had already broken.
The sudden loss was too much.
Little by little, her memories of her mother began to fade.
The warmth. The voice. The face.
All slipping away.
All except one thing.
"Ich liebe dich."
With government assistance, Sirin was sent to a nearby orphanage.
It was clean. Orderly.
Filled with children her age.
But to her, it felt empty.
There was no familiar scent. No warmth.
She sat alone in a corner, her eyes hollow, lost in a world she no longer understood.
That was when it appeared.
A small white cat.
It slipped quietly into the room, glancing around before its gaze settled on her.
Sirin felt it.
Someone was watching her.
"…Who?"
Her voice was barely a whisper. No one else heard it.
She looked toward the creature, wary and distant.
The cat did not retreat.
It paused for a moment, then began walking toward her.
Clumsy.
Unsteady.
As if it were injured.
Its eyes were a deep, clear blue.
Like the ocean.
Sirin had never seen the sea before, but somehow, she knew.
That was its color.
And within those eyes, she saw herself reflected.
The cat stumbled, nearly falling more than once.
Sirin hesitated.
Then, with a quiet sigh, she reached out and gently pulled it closer.
Its soft fur brushed against her hand.
Something stirred in her chest.
A warmth she had almost forgotten.
But…
Why couldn't she remember?
The adults had told her that the person she held that night was her mother.
So why did the memory feel so distant?
The cat rubbed lightly against the back of her hand, purring softly.
Sirin looked at it.
A strange sense of familiarity rose within her.
As if this small creature had come from somewhere far away.
From that "magic spell of happiness."
A messenger.
Carrying love.
Carrying something she had lost.
The cat tried to jump onto her lap.
Failed.
Tried again.
Failed again.
For the first time in a long while, Sirin moved on her own.
She picked it up.
Held it gently in her arms.
Its soft fur brushed against her cheek.
Without thinking, she began to play with it, her fingers lightly teasing its ears.
A faint light returned to her empty eyes.
She stroked its fur carefully.
As if holding a treasure.
In that moment, she felt warmth again.
Comfort.
Something fragile, but real.
Silently, she whispered in her heart:
"Ich liebe dich."
A response came.
Soft.
Clear.
"Ich liebe dich too."
A young boy's voice.
Echoing within her mind.