Estela/Rising

This article contains information from the Destiny: Rising universe, and is not a part of the established Destiny canon.

Estela
Biographical information
Other name(s):	Ahamkara Bane
Species:	Human
Gender:	Female
Hair color:	Ginger
Eye color:	Light brown
Political and military information
Class:	Lightbearer ( Solar)

"A cursed wanderer haunted by misfortune, determined to stop her past sorrows from repeating."

Estela is a Lightbearer risen by Tin Can. She is a playable character in Destiny: Rising, and first introduced in Season of Daybreak.

Biography

This section is a stub. You can help Destinypedia by expanding it.

Gameplay

Spiteful Whisper
Specifications
Element:	Solar
Core mechanics:	Corrupt Summon

Overview

Traits

• Mythic
• Solar
• Offense
• Medium Range Combat

Weapons

• Pulse Rifle
• Machine Gun

Relic Abilities

Passive

• Corruption: Attacking combatants with weapons accumulates Corruption, up to 10 times per second. Casting Bewitched Illusion consumes Corruption. This ability cannot be cast without sufficient energy.

Signatures

• Misfortune's Guide 8.0s

Corrupt

Unleashes contaminated energy, dealing damage to hit combatants and inflicting them with Misfortune.

Estela rapidly gathers contaminated energy, aims, and fires it up to 60m.

When the contaminated energy hits a target, it deals 2000 Solar damage and inflicts Misfortune for 8s. All Bewitched Illusions will also blink to the afflicted combatant.

• Bewitched Illusion 1.0s

Summon

Estela summons a Bewitched Illusion to join the battlefield and fight combatants on its own. The more Corruption she has accumulated, the higher the level of the summoned Bewitched Illusion will be. Higher level Bewitched Illusions deal greater damage.

Summons a Bewitched Illusion at the reticle position for up to 25s.

Reaching 15/40/100 Corruption summons a Lv.1/2/3 Bewitched Illusion respectively, attacking once every 2/2/1.5s and spewing 1/2/2 Breath of Temptation each time.

Each Breath of Temptation deals 400 Solar damage to a single target and restores 320 health for Estela on hit. However, all Bewitched Illusions can only trigger this up to once per second.

Lv.3 Bewitched Illusions also gain the Intrusion ability. Intrusion fires a powerful Breath of Temptation that overpenetrates combatants, dealing 3000 Solar damage to all combatants hit. Cooldown: 10s.

Bewitched Illusions will seek out combatants within a 46-meter radius of Estela and attack them after approaching. They can be attacked and defeated, and each of them has 2600 health. Up to 3 Bewitched Illusions can be present at a time.

Bewitched Illusions will disappear once their duration expires, refunding 10/15/20 Corruption based on their level.

Super

• Violent Reverie 120.0s

Summon

Summons a powerful Violent Reverie to continuously attack combatants by firing a contaminating beam.

Estela summons a Violent Reverie in the direction of the reticle that lasts for 14s.

When the Violent Reverie is summoned, it will inflict Knockback on targets within a 4-meter radius and deal 1440 Solar damage.

The Violent Reverie automatically attacks the nearest combatant within a 70-meter radius with a continuous contaminating beam. This beam inflicts 920 damage every 0.2s to targets within a 3-meter radius of the beam's end point. If the target is defeated, the Reverie will instantly begin attacking another target.

The Violent Reverie cannot move, but it can be attacked, and it has 4000 initial health.

Relic Traits

• Calamitous Pandemic: Combatants affected by Estela's own Misfortune spread Misfortune to the nearest combatant within a 10-meter radius when they are defeated, dealing 2000 Solar damage. However, Misfortune's duration is reduced by 2s with each spread, until it reaches the minimum of 4s. A single instance can spread up to 5 times.

• Dream Aid: While Violent Reverie is present, all combatants' Misfortune countdowns will be paused, and Corruption will be accumulated with 80% more efficiency.

• Focused Fire: When Misfortune's Guide is cast, Bewitched Illusions' Blink will fire 3 Breaths of Temptation at the target simultaneously.

Weapon Mastery

• Distorted Desires

• LV.1: Attacking a combatant affected by Misfortune with a weapon 11 times triggers an Accident, dealing 880 Solar damage to the combatant and granting 5 additional Corruption. If a combatant is defeated with Misfortune, Estela gains additional Corruption equal to 7 times the number of Accidents that have affected the target.

• LV.2: Accidents deal an additional +30% damage.

• LV.3: Accidents deal an additional +60% damage.

• LV.4: Every time an Accident is triggered, the number of attacks required to trigger the next Accident on that combatant is reduced by 1, for a minimum of 7 attacks.

• LV.5: Accidents deal an additional +100% damage.

Talent Tree

• Battle for Battle: When Estela or her Summons attack targets inflicted with Misfortune, they will recover health equal to initial damage dealt x 40% or 1200% respectively.

• Overflowing Calamity: When a Bewitched Illusion expires or is replaced, it gains the Sacrifice ability, charging at the nearest combatant and exploding. This explosion has a 6-meter radius and deals 1200/2880/4800 Solar damage based on the Illusion's level.

• Manifested Support: Increases Bewitched Illusion's max duration to 42s.

• Deepened Misfortune: The additional damage Estela's Summons deal to combatants inflicted with Misfortune is increased to 50%.

• Soul Soothing: Estela's Summons now deal +20% damage.

• Corrupting Influence: Estela recovers 2 Corruption per second while in combat, and 4 per second while out of combat. The base Corruption granted by triggering Accident is increased to 10.

Files

"And my vanquisher will read that book, seeking the weapon, and they will come to understand me, where I have been and where I was going."The following is a verbatim transcription of an official document for archival reasons. As the original content is transcribed word-for-word, any possible discrepancies and/or errors are included.

Spiteful Whisper

"I know you… In that dazzling halo of light. I have heard your name."

Whispers

You are curious about me, yes?

You've heard my voice, remembered my words, and glimpsed my form at the periphery of your vision.

Soon… Soon you shall know more. Curiosity is the bond that connects all things. It leads one to discover everything—the secrets, the darkness…and me.

The more you understand me, the tighter our bond will become, and the thinner the veil between us will grow. I eagerly await the day we formally meet.

I may once have been a dangerous Ahamkara, perhaps once considered—by your standards—wicked to the core. But now, I am naught but bones.

Do not fear. You are merely reading a file. And me? I am merely curious about you, o reader mine.

Estela

"A cursed wanderer haunted by misfortune, determined to stop her past sorrows from repeating."

Name: Estela

Race: Human

Revival Location: Europe

Ghost: Tin Can

Relic: Spiteful Whisper

An eternally itinerant Lightbearer, Estela was revived carrying an Ahamkara bone, and part of the wish dragon's consciousness, still clinging to the remains, connected with her when she was resurrected. This gives her strange supernatural powers, but also causes her many auditory and visual hallucinations.

She has been deeply troubled by a vicious curse: wherever she stays too long, misfortune follows.

As a result, Estela avoids forming deep connections, embracing a solitary existence on the fringes of society.

Tin Can

A Ghost rendered mute by an injury, yet still brimming with an innocent curiosity for all things.

Diary

"And my vanquisher will read that book, seeking the weapon, and they will come to understand me, where I have been and where I was going."The following is a verbatim transcription of an official document for archival reasons. As the original content is transcribed word-for-word, any possible discrepancies and/or errors are included.

Elathi

Although I've had dreams that didn't belong to me, Elathi seldom appears in them Bréc said it's because I feel guilty.

He said I miss her as much as I fear seeing her.

Nonsense. How could I possibly be afraid of seeing her? He's just trying to get to me.

I finally dreamed of Elathi tonight.

She was sitting in the cabin and fixing that broken window again. We hadn't been able to close it all winter, and it would rattle loudly when the frigid winds kicked up come nightfall. Elathi had tried all possible means to fix it, but the result was always less than satisfactory.

I hadn't slept well those first few nights. Elathi thought the wind was frightening me and tried to block the crack. But what I really feared were all the possible disasters lurking behind it.

It was a sunny day. She was leaning by the window tinkering with a few parts when the sun hit just right. I watched her from outside the door. It was as if time had frozen, with the only movement being the specks of dust floating through rays of light. A scene of warmth, serenity, and mundanity.

Then she raised her head and smiled at me. It took me a good moment to realize that she wasn't looking at me right now, but at the Estela of the distant past.

I saw myself pushing the gate open with two rabbits in my hands and a bright grin on my face. It felt strange—I seemed joyful, carefree…blissful, even.

I listened as I spoke with a confidence I no longer recognized. "Let me make roasted rabbits for you, Elathi."

She answered with a blunt laugh. "Please, spare my rabbits and stomach."

In the end, the rabbits became two servings of Elathi's signature stew.

Elathi was absent-minded as we ate. I could see she wanted to say something but hesitated a few times.

But the me in that moment was trying to deal with a slippery chestnut, paying no mind to her conflicted expression.

Finally, she called my name, "Estela."

I looked at her blanky.

"You've forgotten many things, right?"

I nodded.

"Do you remember your parents?"

I shook my head.

"What about your birthday?"

Another shake of my head.

Elathi looked at me, took three deep breaths, then posed a question with a smile and feigned casualness. "Then…how about we make today your birthday?"

I froze. I wasn't sure what to do other than stare at her.

She reached out and took my hand, as if passing me her infinite love and courage through a simple, warm touch.

And then she followed up with another question. "From today onward, I'm your mother, and you're my daughter. What do you think?"

I couldn't feel my body or control my mouth, but I clearly heard myself answer,

"Okay."

Answers

Dear Estela, my poor little crow, my shining star of destruction. This may be the only time I speak to you personally. You don't have to believe, but you must remember all that I am about to say clearly, for every word is the answer you've been seeking.

…Why would you ask a question like that?

How could you not know who I am? How could you not know my name? You've never seen my face, yet you listen to my whispers day in and day out.

Don't be afraid. Don't make that face. I am the last one who would ever hurt you. I am your unseen friend, your undefeatable opponent, your selfless assistant, and an inseparable part of our shared destiny.

…Promise? You need no promise. My dear Estela, if there one thing in this world that is real and trustworthy, it is a corpse. The dead have no use for deception, after all.

And I am one such corpse, am I not?

My body is long gone, and I failed to keep my consciousness intact. There remains only that which you aren't meant to know and hear, and the broken bones you now hold.

I might be a liar, but what could a dead liar possibly take from you?

Life? I've long since lost count of the years I've lived and the marvels I've seen. Saying I have no ambitions of revival would be a lie, though a fragmented consciousness is unable to perform any kind of rituals—a toothless hyena cannot eat, now can it?

Destruction? No, that is not my mission. Destruction is a one-way ticket meant solely for the living. It may have proved useful when I was alive, but now? That ticket is naught but worthless scrap.

Now, listen carefully. All I need from you is a vow, an ever-lasting determination.

I will tell you what ruined your life, what took everything from you. And in return, you shall find your foe and slay her.

For we share the same enemy and the same misfortune, you and I. I want her to face the same end I did—reduced to nothing more than a corpse. A fractured body, a rotted heart, a dissipated consciousness, even.

You are dying as we speak.

But worry not—this is an insignificant death. When the sun goes down, that defective Ghost will bring you back to the reality that belongs to you.

You should record this conversation before your subconsciousness forgets it.

It is the only way to save both of us, o revenger mine.

Svapna

This was the first time I dreamed about Bréc.

He was quite ugly—a sort of mutated, slender lizard with scales resembling flowing red ink and a blooming flower-like thing for a head. I'd thought his twisted bones looked odd enough, but his true appearance was…much stranger than I could have ever imagined.

In my dream, Bréc was hiding beneath a mossy boulder, taking shelter from the rain. The air was hot and humid. Dense raindrops fell onto the moss, splattering and splashing, then creeping down the rock in rivulets until finally, they converged into a tiny stream. Bréc laid down, staring into his own three eyes reflected in the water. Soon, four more eyes—another Ahamkara—appeared behind him.

"You failed," Bréc said (I was surprised to hear him speak without the pretentious nonsense I've come to know). "I told you, he is not so easily deceived."

"He will let his guard down," the four-eyed one answered, "It is only a matter of time."

"Why don't you just find another target, like that Titan he is with—that fool has always been eager to take his place."

"Boring." The comment is accompanied by a yawn. "Fools always have boring ambitions."

Bréc sneered, "Do not starve yourself to death, Svapna."

So this is Svapna. His sister. His kin. His enemy…

…My enemy.

Svapna turned her head to face him. Her eyes shined like lapis in the rock's shadow.

"Such a day will not come, dear brother." Something akin to a smile bloomed across her face. "You will understand this soon enough—his wish will surprise you."

Scars

Tin Can was a mess when I first saw him. It took me a long time to get him cleaned up. Of course, I was curious about how he got all those scars, but sadly, he cannot tell me the story himself.

Up until I met another Ghost, I thought none of them could speak. Tin Can seems to be the only exception… Poor little guy. That Ghost called Didi advised me to cheer up, but why would I need to? Nothing is wrong with Tin Can—he's more genuine, warm, and innocent than anyone I've ever met.

And last night…I dreamed of him.

He was scouring some rubble, searching for a corpse—for me. But apparently, it would be quite some time until he did. Two moons were hanging in the sky, suggesting that he was not on Earth, but on Mars, a planet I've only ever seen in old video clips. Cold and pale, Phobos and Deimos observed Tin Can's fruitless efforts, as well as the man in tattered clothes not far from him.

He appeared sorrowful and silent, yet…oddly peaceful. Light flowed beneath his skin—a Lightbearer—yet his heart matched his appearance, old and haggard. He was like a dying snake.

But Tin Can was unaware of this. He like the Light, and when met with it, he was as defenseless as a sunflower gazing up at its namesake. He flew over to the man and greeted him.

Tin Can actually said hello.

This was the first time I'd ever heard him speak—clearly, without using any recordings, in his own voice just like the other Ghosts.

The man turned around slowly, allowing Tin Can to finally see his face. I'll never forget that grotesque look—a combination of disgust, depression, and a bit of anger, all merged into an iron grimness.

"Hello?" Tin Can asked again.

He waited again for an answer, but all he got was a bullet.

This was how he got his scars.

Death

Cala was feigning sleep.

I haven't seen her for quite some time. I almost thought I'd forgotten her face. But when I saw her in my dream once again, I realized that I'd always remembered her—her curly dark hair, the scar on her face, and the tiny red mole on her nostril.

Cala was the second person I met after being revived. At that time, I had no idea who I was or what I should do. So I kept walking and walking until finally, on the other side of the river, I saw a campfire, a tent, and living people.

The first one I saw was a burly, bearded guy holding a steaming can. He glared at me as if I were a rat crawling out of mud and said, "Scram, ya little beggar." Then a second person emerged from the tent, telling him to shup up unless he wanted to draw the Fallen. That was the first time I saw Cala.

It was a cold night. Cala hadn't fallen asleep yet, and her two teammates were talking loudly as they kept watch, leaving her no choice but to listen.

They were talking about me, the strange homeless orphan, the tiny, scrawny rat that came scurrying out of nowhere. They wondered how I'd managed to reach this snow-covered forest dressed only in thin rags.

Cala opened her eyes, stared at the kerosene lamp for a moment, then closed her eyes again.

Now the watchmen turned the discussion to whether I was still alive. I couldn't blame them for wondering this; I'd been staying in a nearby cave and hadn't shown my face for three days at this point. In a world like this, any resources are precious, and for mercenaries accustomed to death, the best option was to simply ignore me. Not chasing me away the moment they saw me was kind enough of them.

Giving up on sleep, Cala got up, grabbed a blanket, and shoved the two cans on the table into her pocket. Just as she was about to leave, she turned back and took the kerosene lamp from its hook.

Upon noticing her, one of the lookouts asked where she was going and noted that it wasn't her shift yet.

But Cala kept going without the slightest hesitation, making an excuse that she needed to relieve herself.

The canned food was delicious. I never found a can that delicious again, though. Bréc says it's because when you've been starving, your first meal will always be the most delicious. But I know he's wrong. He's just dampening the mood, as always.

Cala seemed relieved when she saw me. She said it was a miracle that I was still alive. But what she didn't know—what she would never know—is that I couldn't die. As for herself and the blanket she left me, the Fallen would burn them to ashes in just two days.

It was my first death after being chosen by Tin Can, and the first revival I would remember.

At that time, I didn't know why I could come back to life, and Tin Can had no way of telling me. Finding myself standing in the ruins, I naively thought myself lucky enough to have escaped death.

In reality, I am but a plague that spreads misfortune.

The bearded guy was right. They should have chased me away the day they saw me.

Spring

Elathi once told me that her favorite season is spring, for it has moderate weather, and wildflowers suddenly bloom after the snow melts. Beasts also come out of hibernation—a trapper's boon.

I didn't know how to respond, because I found spring somewhat frightening.

I often dream of spring. Elathi describes it as a time of warmth and color, of air filled with the scent of furs; for me, it is a time of uncertainty, of the first rainfall once the snow melts away.

These dreams are probably memories form before I was revived. They are choppy and vague, yet convincing all the same. To me, they seem undoubtedly real.

In one such dream, I was sitting in that strange yet familiar dark room when someone knocked on the door five times. A person dressed in black entered, blindfolded me, and led me along a long, long road. The gravel beneath my feat gave way to dry soil, then to a dampened shoreline until finally, we ascended an endless spiral staircase. Up…up…up…

Then the man in black pushed the door at the end of the staircase open. Spring had arrived.

Spring is silence. Spring is hunger. Spring is terror.

The silence is countless cold faces and mouths kept shut. It is the absence of response no matter how many times I knock on the door or make a racket. It is questions forever left answered. The hunger is the silver cup with water and a plate left empty for three whole days. And the terror… It is the blinding brightness that keeps sleep at bay. It is the white light beaming outside, day and night, like a miniature sun that never sets.

Trapped in silence, hunger, and terror, I opened that book and put pen to paper. I heard Bréc whispering in my ear—

A farmer will kill himself with a hatchet in a cowshed.

Not a single drop of rain will fall for the next three months.

You will see a woman with a red garland at the ceremony. She is your birth mother.

She had soft brown hair and a pair of eyes that mirrored my own. She stood among the throngs of people—the fifteenth in line, as I'd counted over and over again. I waited for her to approach, my heart pounding violently against my ribs.

But when she finally did, she seemed…devout. Her eyes were filled with reverence and anticipation, but not yearning.

She looked up at me from below without so much as a trace of maternal love in her gaze. It was as if I was not her daughter, as if she neither remembered nor recognized me…as if she and I shared no bond.

She seemed to be no different from the fourteen people who had come before her—just another devotee waiting anxiously for me to press my ox blood-dipped finger to her forehead and grant her this year's blessing.

Soon, she became bewildered due to my hesitation. She and the rest of the crowd stared at me in silence. Identical looks of confusion appeared on their faces. Then came the panic.

"D-Divinely Selected," Mother asked, voice trembling, "why won't you bless me?"

I wanted to ask her why she didn't come to hug me? Why didn't she call my name, or hold my hand…anything that a mother would normally do with their child.

But the words wouldn't come.

Speaking was offense, crying was profanity, and leaving my seat was the worst—an omen of disaster.

I must stay silent, hungry, and terrified.

All I could do was extend my finger and gently touch her forehead.

The Beginnning

I had another dream.

Bréc said that I would record all of my dreams sooner or later, just as I did before. I think "before" means when I was still alive.

Although I don't want to listen to him or do what he tells me—doing so only feeds into his bragging, know-it-all nature—I did dream of a book tonight.

It was in that dark room, under that tiny semicircle window, on that table with one leg shorter than the rest.

I must have been familiar with that table once, for I still remember its color and how rough the scratches on the upper-right corner—ones I'd carved with a fork—felt beneath my fingers.

I've had many dreams, but the last thing I'd like to dream about is this very room.

It's neither scary nor dangerous. In fact, it holds nothing but isolated darkness, eternal silence, and myself.

And I don't like any of them.

In my dream, I opened the book, only to be met with blank pages—disappointing, but not surprising. In the end, fate is fair to all. It granted me near immortality, then took away all of my memories.

Will I lose them again one day? I have no idea. But if I write them down, if and when such a day comes again, maybe I can find my past through these records. Or maybe, someone else will stumble upon this diary and read it out of curiosity. Either way, things won't completely fade away so long as someone still remembers.

So I decided to record my dreams. I don't know if anyone else has weird dreams like I do, but Bréc insists that they are precious things. He's always been a despicable liar, but I really hope he's telling the truth about this.

The Omen

I looked up blankly beneath a dark sky.

Black flies swarmed into iron-gray clouds, devouring the pale sun like rabid dogs. The thick clouds blocked nearly all light, making it easy to gaze up at the heavens. All mysteries stem from that which we cannot see and that which we do not know. Being able to face the sun like this, it seems less lofty. Less untouchable.

Then I looked down.

My gaze was met with flames and crumbling ground. The fallen buildings were moaning, the burned earth was howling, and the crawling roots of a flaming tree were screaming.

Where am I? What happened to this place? Is there anyone else left?

I paced, then walked, then ran over the scorched soil, fruitlessly searching for fellow survivors. I needed to prove that I wasn't the culprit of the disaster, that I hadn't brought hell upon this place.

After searching for what felt like forever, I found a hand exposed under the sun and praying as I dug through the rubble. Finally, I saw the victim's face—it was Wolf.

Grabbing the hand, I cried out just like I had when I first saw Cala's body. I'd long learned that asking 'why' was meaningless. All I could do was keep repeating, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

Suddenly, the hand gripped me like a vice.

Wolf was still alive. Wolf was still alive! But…as that face I'd become so familiar with turned toward me, it morphed into something unrecognizable. Countless faces twisted and overlaid with each other until at last, they formed a giant black hollow.

The black hollow said to me, do not fear. Do not hate.

The black hollow said to me, this is fate, a tale already written. Love, pain, existence, death—they are nothing but lies.

It engulfed all of my emotions, thoughts, and words. All I could do was stare on in utter still ness.

But the hollow, seemingly having heard my answer, started to expand limitlessly—it devoured Wolf, me, the city, and even the sun above.

That was when I woke up. This is all I have dreamed of.

An Apple

Hemminki was picking out fruits.

I stood right next to him, yet he still didn't see me—another dream. In my dreams, nobody can see me.

He picked up an apple and inspected it. I hadn't seen the man standing opposite him and peeling a cherry wood stick, but the two seemed familiar with one another. Without stopping his work, the man said, "Two credits."

Hemminki turned red with anger. "What? You're robbing me blind! I can buy a whole can of meat for just five!"

The merchant answered, "It's been four months without rain. Half the fruit trees are already withered."

Hemminki put the apple back and walked away from the stall. After taking a few steps, though, he suddenly changed his mind and returned. He pulled out his card and snarled, "Swipe it yourself."

When the merchant approached, Hemminki was still grumbling. "Couldn't you peel that stupid stick of yours somewhere else? Those shavings are flying all the way over here."

Classic Hemminki, always complaining and moaning about that little card in his pocket. I'd heard people calling him a "miser" more than once, but he never cared. Most folks are misers, he declared proudly; he's just more honest than them.

The merchant ignored his complaints and swiped the card, then grabbed a handful of orange candies and passed them to him. "On the house."

Hemminki stared at the candies, mumbled something unintelligible, then stuffed them into his pocket.

"You bought an apple for two credits?!" The clerk beside him must have known of his "reputation", hence the surprise. "What, haven't heard? He's got another mouth to feed—an adopted daughter."

The clerk suppressed his smile at the word "daughter" and looked at Hemminki cautiously. Hemminki didn't seem to appreciate his thoughtfulness, though. Not a bit.

Clutching the apple, he turned to leave the shop.

Just as he did so, however, a blast roared from the west. Everyone turned in its direction, mouths gaping and eyes wide. This was the first time I'd seen that sky from this angle. It glowed fiery, scorching red, like coals in a furnace. Thick, black smoke billowed out across the crimson canvas, forming a painting that was equal parts beautiful and horrifying.

A shout rang out. "The forge exploded! Run for it!"

The merchant turned to Hemminki with shock and hesitation as he asked, "Isn't that your...?" He was right; Hemminki was the only smith here, and his workshop was at the west end of town.

Hemminki rushed off toward the fire.

I knew why he wanted to return—he was worried that I was still there. There were two forges in his workshop, and if the fire spread, there would be a second blast before long. Hemminki pushed past the people evacuating toward the east, running through the smoke until he was gasping for breath.

In the burning wood frames, he called my name loudly, "Estela! ESTELA—!"

He would never hear my response. I was hit in the chest by rubble and crushed to death by a collapsed beam.

But he didn't let up. "ESTELA! E—STE—LA—!"

I wish I could tell him to just leave me behind and run as far as he could, but I was helpless. When the incident happened, I was already a corpse waiting for my revival; now, I'm only dreaming.

To the Reader

To the reader/anyone who's read this far/Wolf,

I don't know whether you'll find this diary or when you will see this. This is the evidence of my crimes, the record of the miseries I have brought and all the disasters I have spread. If anyone is to witness it all, then I hope it is you.

The nightmare began when I unknowingly and carelessly made a wish upon an Ahamkara. What I got in return was an unbreakable curse, an incurable wound. It's like snake venom. A self-proclaimed doctor once told me that the most important thing to do after being bitten by a venomous snake is to find out its species. I don't know when I will finally be done paying the price for that wish. All I do know, is my only hope is to find that snake and kill it—that's how I will atone for my endless sins.

You've heard their voices, haven't you? Those whispers are like auditory hallucinations, anywhere and everywhere, always finding a way in. When you feel sleepy, they echo in your ears. They're always lurking, desperate to be heard—behind you, in an afternoon shadow, in the reflections of a spoon.

So here I beg you: don't listen to them, don't trust their hollow lies, and don't promise them anything.

Wolf, I don't know why Bréc called you a "player," but you are my first friend, and thus I trust you.

If you have read this diary to its end, you will understand that any attempts to approach me are unwise. I don't want to ruin you, Haven, or your life—they're all too precious.

That's why I had to leave the city and everything I cherished. It wasn't anyone's fault; rather, it was the best solution I had.

If you meet me again one day...please don't greet or approach me. Stay as far away as you can.

That is all I ask of you.

Appearance

• Destiny: Rising: Season of Daybreak (First appearance)