Luna's eyes snapped open. Not to the familiar Kagu courtyard, not to Arthur's concerned face, but to grey. Endless, featureless grey. A desolate, windswept grey shoreline stretched before her, meeting a churning sea the color of lead under a perpetually overcast sky. Salt spray kissed her face, cold and biting. Panic seized her instantly. She knew this place. Or rather, an agonizing echo of it. The conceptual space, the pocket dimension outside of normal causality, where Julius Slatemark, her first contractor, her dear companion, had sealed her away, protecting her from the backlash of his final, desperate act against a foe far beyond his measure.

'No,' her mind screamed. 'Not here. Not again. Please, not again.'

Then she saw him. Arthur stood on the shoreline, facing away from her, looking out at the turbulent sea. He wore simple, dark clothing, stark against the grey landscape. There was a stillness about him, but it was not the calm strength she knew; it was a cold, desolate emptiness that seemed to absorb the meager light. He felt like part of this non-place, carved from the same conceptual grey, embodying the same quiet despair that had surrounded Julius's final sacrifice.

"Arthur?" Her voice was a thin thread, nearly lost in the non-sound of the conceptual wind.

He turned slowly, his movements lacking their usual fluid grace. His face was impossibly calm, his eyes – usually so full of warmth, determination, or even fierce anger – were cold, distant, holding only a chillingly familiar, pragmatic emptiness. It was the look Julius had worn when explaining the terrible necessity of sealing her away.

"Luna," he said, his voice flat, devoid of the love, the connection that formed the bedrock of her existence. "It is necessary."

"Necessary? What are you talking about? Where are we? We have to get back, Alyssara–"

"Alyssara is irrelevant to this decision," he interrupted calmly. "This is about managing variables. Ensuring stability. Your nature, Luna, your fundamental connection to the tapestry of fate… it is an element of chaos I can no longer afford in the equation."

Her blood ran cold. 'He sounds just like Julius did… rationalizing the unbearable sacrifice. But this time… it is me being sacrificed.'

"You see too much," Arthur continued, taking a deliberate step towards her, his presence radiating not warmth, but a cold, irrefutable logic. "You influence outcomes merely by observing them. You introduce unpredictable ripples into the causal stream simply by existing. In the face of a threat like Alyssara, and what may come after, such unpredictability cannot be tolerated."

"What… what are you saying?" she whispered, dread turning her limbs to ice.

"I am saying," he stated, his voice a quiet hammer blow against her heart, "that for the sake of the mission, for the integrity of the timeline required for victory, your unique influence must be neutralized. Contained. Your perception makes you a potential anchor for paradox, a focal point for temporal instabilities. You are, forgive the term, a liability."

Liability. The word struck her with the force of a physical impact. Julius had sealed her away believing he was the liability, sacrificing himself for her future. Arthur was sealing her away believing she was the liability, sacrificing her for his mission. He thought she was not strong enough, that her very nature was a weakness to be excised. The betrayal felt absolute, a cruel inversion of her past trauma, amplified tenfold by the depth of her love for him.

"You can't," she pleaded, tears blurring the desolate grey landscape. "Arthur, please, listen to me. Don't do this. My sight, our bond, we can fight her together–"

"Your sight is the problem," he stated, raising his hand. Grey energy, utterly cold, devoid of the subtle warmth of Harmony, coalesced around his fingers. It felt sterile, absolute, a power focused solely on negation. He began to weave it into the conceptual space around her, not forming walls, but drawing lines of causal severance, intricate patterns that resonated with a profound, chilling finality. Seals. Woven not from light or magic as Julius might have, but from pure, unravelling non-existence. He was methodically, precisely cutting her off, not just from the physical world, but from the very flow of fate, time, and possibility itself, just as Julius had done, but with cold calculation instead of loving sacrifice.

"Arthur, NO!" she screamed, raw power erupting from her, golden Purelight exploding outwards in a desperate attempt to shatter the forming conceptual cage. But her light, usually so potent against non-divine forces, splashed harmlessly against the shimmering Grey seals. They were not barriers to be broken by force; they were statements of ontological fact, reality itself agreeing with her imprisonment, urged on by his will.

He looked at her, his expression still that unnerving mask of detached calculation. The man she loved was gone, replaced by this cold strategist who saw her only as a flawed variable. "Forgive me, Luna," he said again, the words utterly meaningless, devoid of genuine regret. "But victory requires certainty. You represent the opposite."

The final seal began to form above her, a complex lattice of Grey negation, designed to sever her connection to everything, to isolate her consciousness outside the normal bounds of time and causality forever. Absolute despair washed over her, suffocating, complete. Trapped. Again. Betrayed by the one she trusted most. Utterly helpless.

Just as the final Grey strand wove into place, completing the seal, locking her within a silent, timeless, fateless void, she felt it with every fiber of her being.

A snap.

It was not a sound in the grey emptiness. It was a profound, visceral severance originating from the deepest core of her soul. The bond, the unique, resonant connection forged between her Qilin essence and Arthur's spirit, the golden thread that had anchored her, defined her, given her purpose since the day they met… shattered. Irrevocably. Gone.

And with its absolute disintegration came the immediate, soul-destroying certainty: Arthur was dead. Somewhere far away, beyond the unbreachable walls of her conceptual prison, fighting the battle she should have been beside him for, he had fallen. He had died. And she, the being whose very essence was intertwined with the perception of fate, had been trapped here, blind, helpless, unable to foresee it, unable to prevent it, unable even to reach him in his final moments. Her greatest fear, the echo of Julius's protective sacrifice twisted into the ultimate betrayal and loss, realized in the most agonizing way imaginable. The universe went silent. Purpose dissolved into meaninglessness. There was only the grey emptiness, and the echoing, infinite void where his soul, her anchor, had been.

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