Right before the Netherworld could drag me back like a cold tide, the Abyss surfaced like a rift in the sea.

His words still circle me like crows; I still don’t know what he wanted.

Maybe he wanted me to cut down the Celestial God Yulia on the spot, like felling a thunder-struck tree.

Forget it. Those threads drift past me like smoke; they don’t belong to me.

All I know is, that thing punched open a passage through the Netherworld like a spear of night through ice.

It let me leave that endless field of death again, a weak reed in the wind—but my mind still held the reins.

That thing shattered my memories like clay pots dropped on stone.

Maybe the Abyss, failing to grip me, tried to split me apart and eat me in slices, like a swarm nibbling fallen fruit.

Whatever it was, it handed me another chance at life like a spark under ash.

Honestly, I never saw clearly if it was the Abyss doing it; the fog was a veil over a moon.

But who else would weave such a net, if not the Abyss itself.

In short, all of this lay in his palm, like dice in a cup.

All I can do now is take revenge, a knife held to my own heart; I won’t ask why the Abyss helped me.

I only know that day, I lost miserably, like a cliff face chewed by the sea.

As for that masked man, I’ve got a few guesses, shadows under torchlight.

He might be sleeping inside my mind right now, like a serpent coiled in roots.

I don’t really know what happened; the past is a broken mirror.

But since the birth of Eli’s soul and persona, a tiny thought has budded in me like green under frost.

It feels like every piece was his move on a board, set long ago.

That’s all that’s left in my head, a dwindling ember.

...

“Sorry… I lost my composure.” Birand leaned against the reef rock, smiled at Ascaraun like sunlight on a blade.

“You really are… bold, sir.” Ascaraun pressed his aching forehead, a hand over a bruise like a storm cloud. He had almost been killed too.

Serving a man like him was like walking beside a tiger; the stripes are beautiful, the teeth are real.

Follow him, and your head could roll any time, like a gourd down stairs…

Birand caught the muddle twisting Ascaraun’s thoughts like tangled kelp. He sighed softly, a wind over still water. “Relax. You’re still useful to me. No matter what, I won’t kill you.”

He stood, dusted his hands like shaking salt from fingers, and patted Ascaraun’s shoulder. “Everything will turn out fine.”

“Yes, my lord.” Ascaraun bowed, his spine like a reed bent to the current.

Birand nodded, satisfied, and walked ahead as if the shore opened for him.

Ascaraun kept his head low; Birand couldn’t see the tide of feelings crossing the man’s face.

Ascaraun wasn’t a fool. He’d run the New Era Sect for years like a helmsman riding storm crests; you don’t survive without tricks.

He found he could resist Birand’s mental projection more and more, like a tree rooting deeper against wind.

Before the man revived, the curse on him and Birand’s planted projection made him prepare for that revival by reflex, like a moth to flame.

Now that Birand was alive, he seemed to reel that impulse back like a fisherman drawing in line.

Good. The sea was calm again, or at least it looked that way.

He still couldn’t resist that terrifying power head-on, like a skiff before a hurricane. But he had a sliver of a way to save himself.

Ascaraun smiled faintly, a knife kept under the sleeve. He thought, You said I’m useful, so you won’t kill me. But…

What if I’m no longer useful? Will you butcher me like you culled every creature in the sea today, not even sparing me a glance before the blade falls?

Birand, have you forgotten how to win hearts, the way you once lit bonfires on cold nights? For all your glory, great Hero, your hands feel colder now.

Ascaraun’s smile turned mocking as he lifted his head like a mask rising from shadow.

In truth, the real Birand died long ago. What’s left is a beast whose skull holds only revenge, a winter that won’t thaw. Birand, I don’t know whether I should pity you.

...

“What did you say!” Edlyn seized Yiyi by the shoulders, her voice sharp as broken ice.

“M-my true self—she’s in trouble!” Yiyi bit down, breath spilling like steam.

“What happened?” Edlyn asked, baffled, a storm gathering behind her eyes.

Yiyi paused, then looked at Edlyn, strange light flickering like foxfire. She frowned and whispered, “Edlyn, give me a second. The original me just sent a bit of information.”

“Huh? Didn’t your avatar core leave her already? How can you still talk to her? What’s happening now?” Edlyn’s urgency thudded like drums.

Yiyi ignored Edlyn and sat down on the spot, like sinking into a pool to listen to the deep.

How are you, original? Yiyi stared at Eli’s fading figure, her voice trembling like leaves in wind.

Eli’s face was heavy, expression stiff as frost. His soul, thinning to mist, repeated one line, like a bell tolling. “Get them out. Don’t come for me. Whatever happens, don’t.”

...Original? Original? Eli?! Wake up!

Yiyi kept calling, like throwing pebbles into a well with no echo.

Eli’s soul thinned and then vanished, like dew under sun.

Yiyi stared, stunned, like a statue in rain, then drifted back to the present.

Eli had poured a little of Birand’s truth into her mind, a bitter draught down the throat.

She had to tell Edlyn at once; the urgency burned like a brand.

Yiyi opened her eyes.

Edlyn’s anxious face filled her vision, sharp as a hawk’s gaze.

Yiyi grit her teeth and raised her left hand to Edlyn.

She pressed her palm to Edlyn’s brow, like stamping wax with a seal.

Then she reflected that memory into Edlyn’s soul, a mirror catching firelight.

“This is… Birand?” Edlyn blinked, shocked, like lightning brightening a night ridge.

Wasn’t this the man she wanted dead every waking hour, the shadow she chased through her dreams?

That presence was utterly different from Eli’s, a steel chill to his summer rain.

She knew him at a glance, the way a hunter knows wolf prints.

“This feeling… it’s also a bit like the Angel on Angela,” Edlyn murmured, eyes narrowed like slits of cold moon.

...

“Huh? Got anything else to talk your way out of?” Edlyn clapped her hands, the sound like a whip crack.

Akenachel put on a smile like lacquer over rot. “Well, Demonic Lord, hear me out. Maybe your future self only got bored because you listened here today first.”

Edlyn paused, rubbed her chin like testing a blade’s edge. “That… kind of makes sense.”

Akenachel’s face brightened like dawn. So this really was the Demon King of this era!

“So. Will you listen?”

“…You can talk,” Edlyn said, one brow arched like a drawn bow.

“Actually, your little sister comes from me. Born from me. Abyss, you can’t call me a parasite,” Akenachel said, voice smooth as oil.

“Uh-huh. But you are a parasite,” Edlyn said, disdain like salt on iron.

“Hey—without me, there’d be no little sister, okay? Soul units don’t change. Think—without Pandora, would there be a present-day Edlyn?” Akenachel urged, impatience flitting like gnats.

“Uh-huh. But you’re still a parasite,” Edlyn said, disdain steady as rain.

“Tch. Why can’t you get it? Your sister is me, and I am your sister. Only the shape and blood and mind are shuffled. This is my body too. Get it?” Akenachel snapped, anger flaring like sparks.

“Uh-huh. But you’re a parasite,” Edlyn said, the same flat blade.

Edlyn finally let out a slow sigh, like wind leaving bellows.

The basic method was the same, threads woven from the same loom.

So where was the knot that trapped everyone in that question of rebirth, where did the river split?

And what was I now, really—fog over a mirror, or the mirror itself?

If, back then, the Hero only said one word—rebound—could it really ripple this far, like a pebble ruling a lake?

The power of word-spells… it shouldn’t be that great, not like a mountain overturning the sky.

She had etched every moment into her mind like carvings on stone; she would never forget them in this life.

The arrogant Demon King stared at the Hero’s face. Thinking of Birand’s earlier words, a thought sparked. He burned his last life-source for a word-spell, and laughed as he spoke, a curse like winter hail: “Hero. I curse you. I curse you to become a woman, bound to serve me loyally through every lifetime. Pitiful Hero, I’ll make you the finest slave of my Demon Race!”

Just kill him, Hero. Just kill him, and the curse will splash back at least. No matter how strong Birand was, he’d be touched by it. Even if it failed, the Hero would be neither human nor ghost, a shadow wearing flesh.

That was my plan, wasn’t it? A fox thinking it had out-tricked the trapper.

So the problem’s here. This is where the river froze.

Our transmigrator Birand heard that imbecile of a speech and laughed out loud, the sound bright as hammered bronze. “You know, in my original world, the old me wouldn’t bother with grade-school trash like you. But I’m in a great mood, so I’ll talk.”

He leaned close, enough to wrinkle the Demon King’s brow like paper.

Birand smiled, clear as noon, and in the name of a Celestial God unleashed a word-spell. He said it to his face, a spark carved into stone: “Rebound.”

There. That was the hinge.

From those two points, that person flipped the order and rewrote the flow like hands rearranging stars.

Who was it?!

The Abyss and the Celestial God were both asleep then, like giants under mountains.

Who else had that kind of hand to touch fate?

A dozen shards flashed through Edlyn’s mind in an instant, like swallows skimming a pond.

Then she knew.

Something was off. Eli wouldn’t die; he still had a path, a hidden bridge in the fog.

Edlyn clenched her teeth and stared at the portal Yiyi had used to get here, its edge shimmering like ice.

“Edlyn, what are you doing!” Yiyi rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Edlyn, holding her like a rope around a tree.

“You need to calm down. The original told me to get you all out. Even if you go after Birand now, it’s useless. You’re not his match,” Yiyi said quickly, words like stones set in a flood.

Edlyn ground her teeth. Her Demon King source hadn’t fused yet; the seed was still under snow. It was too soon. She should be calm.

“But…” Edlyn trembled all over, like a bow drawn to breaking, as if swallowing a pain made of fire.

“How am I supposed to wait till then, damn it!”