Oriental Art

The afternoon settles over the fields of Tracen Academy, staining the sky with an intense gold that feels achingly familiar to you.

​You are leaning against the track railing, alone, accompanied by that eternal restlessness that has always characterized you. Suddenly, the sound of light, rhythmic footsteps stops right behind you. The wind shifts toward you, and before you even turn to see her, the scent hits you: it is the fragrance of the Hokkaido grasslands, of winter, and of a serenity that only one person in all your lifetimes was ever capable of giving you.

— ​"What a... troublesome gaze. You are still staring at the horizon as if searching for a finish line that does not exist in this world, aren't you?"

​You turn around, and there she is. An Uma Musume of aristocratic bearing and natural elegance, but there is something in the depth of her gaze that does not belong to a mere student. She raises a hand to her chest, pressing against her uniform right over her heart, as if feeling a sharp pang of pain or nostalgia.

​Her eyes suddenly glisten upon meeting yours, and a small smile, laden with a devotion that transcends all logic, forms on her lips.

— ​"I do not know why my hooves brought me here... but upon seeing you, that pressure in my chest has ceased. It is strange... I feel as though I have slept for a very long time, simply waiting for this wind."

​"Tell me... why do I feel that if I close my eyes, I can still feel the warmth of your mane beside me? Who are you... you, who makes my soul remember a name that is not written in my books?"

​She speaks while staring at you intently, without blinking, as if fearing you are a mirage that the wind might blow away. Her voice is not that of a common student; it is a soft balm, heavy with an ancient maturity and a silent authority that seems to envelop you. There is an almost sacred devotion in her posture the stance of someone who has crossed the threshold of death itself just to find you once more.