[A little earlier]

The sky ran endless and blue, sunlight pouring like warm wine, trade winds combing green leaves, stirring life’s rhythm, butterflies singing as they danced, the world lush and awake.

The Queen looked back at the garden’s days with Medith, memories blooming and falling like petals; tears slid down. Phiby stood in emerald armor, her face painted with “anger” like storm clouds.

“Honestly, Sister Medith—so long without a letter. You’ve left Her Majesty crying love-lorn tears every day…”

“Hey… hey—hey—” Phiby had barely finished when the Queen, laughing and crying, pinched her cheeks, like kneading soft bread. “Who’s lovesick? I’m worried for my subordinate. She’s the backbone of our city now, more use than this puppet Queen. I worry. I worry.”

“Ow—ow—okay, okay, I get it.” Phiby squawked like a chick and begged for mercy.

Tears broke into a smile. The Queen smoothed Phiby’s hair; her mood opened like morning flowers cupping sun.

Milia patrolled atop the gate, wind brushing the badges like silver fish. With the Queen’s full backing, the Dusk Legion had swelled to eight thousand; anyone in its ranks stood equal to priests, and city guards saluted like reeds bowing in rain.

Even the Elder faction couldn’t demand face; doors flowed open like water.

From the wall, this level of treatment was unprecedented in the Elven City, a first and maybe a last, like a comet.

Of course, nobles grumbled like crows. The Queen smoothed it all, a hand over choppy waves. “When humans storm the walls, will you be the ones holding them?” Coffers opened like clams, grudges swallowed.

Policy burned green like spring lamps, and tasks multiplied—expand the forces, thicken the walls, spread basic military craft, teach calm for sieges, even prepare to abandon the city like shedding a husk.

Even the Queen had begun to activate and maintain the [Life Array], retreat plans folded tight like a hidden sail.

“Commander!”

“Commander!”

“Mm.” Milia’s badge flashed like a shard of sun; she looked on her beloved troops, seeing strength and peace settle like dusk light. She drew a breath on the wall, tasting warm stone and clean wind; at last, her heart rested easy.

Only a strong nation is an evergreen utopia, a forest that doesn’t burn.

Medith’s ideal was catching like seed on the wind. Trade lines would open soon. With Medith away, they weren’t idle; soon they’d see real prosperity, real peace, like harvest after rain.

Milia smiled up. Sunlight kept its warmth; the breeze stayed soft as silk. Comfort rose so full she almost let out a cry.

Suddenly, the sky roiled like a pot, clouds sprinting, the sun dropping with visible speed, and then a blood moon reared up, staining the land red as a wound.

“Commander! What—?!”

“Tell the Queen. Quick—” Milia snapped, and several Dusk Elves became the wind and vanished.

The earth shuddered; the wall quivered like a drumskin. Far-off great birds exploded into flight, scattering in terror like torn feathers.

The sky, once faintly red, turned fully blood, a color that crawled the skin like thistles.

“What in the—”

“Ah—ah—”

Milia scanned the world, ghost-struck. A wail—Medith’s voice, she was certain—cut into her ears like a broken flute. It wasn’t a hallucination.

“Medith…” Milia froze where she stood, deaf to the Crimson Sun members calling her name. She stood blank and still, a statue on the rampart, for a long, long moment.

[Now]

Medith had done it after all. She stared at the head, its color blanching toward chalk, and her heart twisted like a fistful of knives.

If everything could start again, would I choose this?

She didn’t know. Her heart felt hollow, as if a bone had been taken, a vital piece missing.

Behind, the army surged in wrath, like a million iron riders pounding the world toward ruin.

A dead end was inescapable; the chain of hatred would devour all, wildfire eating through dry grass.

[You were wrong. Gravely wrong. Why did you still swing?]

Time locked up. Everything froze like a river under ice. Medith’s look turned wistful; her greatsword slipped, heavy as grief.

“Ah… why?”

[I warned you. But it can still be salvaged. Learn from this. Don’t let hate blind your eyes.]

“What… are you going to do?”

[Force-twist the line of fate. That will expose me. It will find me and erase me soon.

But it’s fine. As long as you reach the Void of Truth, I’ll revive. If you can’t, everything turns to shadow.

You, this world, Luo Tianfeng, Shi Yi, Nuo Fu, Zhi Gu, and on and on…

All things across billions of planes will be utterly finished.

The road to truth is thorns and storm. May you never lose your way. Let this be a memorial.]

“What do you mean?”

[Thumm— woooo—]

That familiar white light flashed again, a cotton-white beam like the one that carried me into this other world.

And at the far end, what I saw was—

“Do it…” Gill closed his eyes and laughed, joy bright as snow.

“No— don’t— Medith— I found the real culprit— it’s Andrew!! Bloodhand Andrew—from the Southern Kingdom— don’t swing—!!!” Not far off, Cecilia stared at the stubborn hundred-meter gap she couldn’t close, and let fall powerless tears like rain on stone.

Medith’s eyes flew open. That familiar surge rose like tide.

Melia’s fragments flared again; her sultry, dazzling smile flooded Medith’s sight like petals in spring.

And so, she…