The Queen’s face went still, like frost glazing a lake; it was the first time she’d seen Medith praise someone so highly.
Yet given Paris’s deeds, the words fit like a blade to its sheath. Eight generations of friendship with Eunomia rose in her mind, then fell like an ancestral tree cut by its own branch. No one foresaw this ending.
“What a pity for Ostos,” the Queen sighed, voice like moonlight on a ruined courtyard. “For a moment, I thought Eunomia would rise again, and even I might share the glow. Who knew fate would twist so hard, beyond our grasp.”
Medith nodded, calm as a stone in a river. Whatever happens, the road ahead demands care; the mountain behind them had turned to mist.
...
“Hey, Medith, didn’t the Queen say we can’t fall in love with humans? So what’s with those two silly sisters?” Milia wrinkled her nose like a cat smelling vinegar, glaring at Nameless and the Lita Sisters as they kissed and clung.
Medith spread her hands, palms open like leaves letting wind pass. “Life’s short. Why chain yourself with useless locks? If they both consent, no one has the right to meddle.
“And Nameless has looked after them lately. In the battle at the Sanctuary of Freedom, he descended like a god and saved the two. War’s grind and recent polish deepen bonds. It’s natural.
“Nothing grows love faster than a brush with death.”
“Mmph!” Milia puffed her cheeks like two steamed buns, eyes blazing. “I don’t care! Next time, you’re taking me!”
“Ah... relax. We’re prepping the next departure. This time, we head for the Northern Kingdom. I want the King’s counsel on investigating Paris. If the lips are gone, the teeth feel the cold; if we ignore Paris, we Wind Sprites will be the first on the altar.”
Medith’s words struck Milia like thunder cracking a clear sky. Her eyes flew wide, and she froze, stunned.
“Listen, Milia. What I’m about to say is for us two alone...” Medith shifted into wind-speech, her voice breaking like drifting leaves.
A cool breeze swept past, rustling the trees like rain on silk. In that wind, Milia heard a howl from the abyss; she stared at Medith, terrified, unbelieving.
...
On the morning of June 22, Medith came to the shelf, opened a hidden slot, and drew out the Book of Gods. She flipped through; the pages drank in recent days, swelling with fresh notes, down to the tiny moments of her travel.
“Huh? This...” She noticed a line about the moment she nearly cut down Gill, boxed in vivid red.
[With immeasurable blood, I grant you god-shaking power. May you reach the Void of Truth and join us.]
As she finished, a stab of pain bloomed, sharp as ice in bone. Her sight flooded with blood, and a blood moon rose, swollen and wrong. Blood-red hair blazed like a burning banner, and the last image fixed on her arm around Gill.
After a long breath, clarity returned. Her body felt scooped hollow, cold sweat clinging like dew on stone. Yet a surge of power poured in, like molten iron casting a new blade; soul remade, bones reborn.
The thought came hot; she moved without delay. Medith rolled up her uniform like a wave rolling shoreward and sprinted to the training ground.
...
BOOM—wooooooo— A brilliant white mushroom cloud rose, a lotus of fire unfurling. Birds lifted from the mountain in a flurry of wings, like leaves exploding into sky. Medith stood alone, a solitary figure like the moon on the horizon, a star burning bright in the river of night—lonely, silent, and dazzling.
“As expected... the Southern Kingdom’s in real trouble now.” Medith smiled, light as mist. Her body showed no change; everything looked ordinary.
But her stamina cap had doubled, like a reservoir suddenly widened. Her Magic Breaker range swelled with it, lifting cleanly by a full fold.
