“Never thought it, Alice—your cooking’s not bad.” Eli held a bowl of something that barely counted as porridge, a gray puddle under cloudlight.

Yeah, true—doesn’t look great, a smear of dusk on a plate.

A bit like black mud thinned with water, creek silt after rain.

But it tastes surprisingly good, a warm sweetness like sun melting frost. Hm…

Sweet. Uh-huh… a paste like glue, sticky as tree sap.

It’s honestly okay, rough but steady like bread baked in a mountain hut.

Still… its looks alone make it hard for Eli to convince himself to swallow, like forcing down a puddle of midnight.

Alice blinked, silent, eyes bright like lake stars.

But her eyes spilled light; the kid was thrilled, joy fluttering like a sparrow under eaves.

Anna watched her dad with awed eyes while hugging a box of cookies, munch-munch, a squirrel under a pine chewing its hoard.

“Ahem, let’s put the food aside for now.” Eli paused, then hurried to pack the pots and bowls, a quick clatter like pebbles in a brook.

He downed the black paste in a few gulps, swallowing a lump of night, then gathered the important gear like a traveler bracing for a storm.

He glanced at the two little girls still perched on the bed, like twin sparrows on a snowdrift, raised a brow. “Why are you two just sitting there?”

“Eh?” Anna and Alice looked at each other, stunned, eyes flicking like fish in clear water.

Does that mean… he’s taking them this time?

“Pack your things. I’m taking you somewhere.” Eli finished his bundle, his smile a brief crescent moon.

“Huh? We’re not hunting the Snow Wraith anymore? Or did you find it?” Anna’s curiosity rippled like wind on ice.

“Mm. Not for now. Maybe I have another way to wake Edlyn.” His voice steadied, like a lantern in fog. “I’ve searched the whole snowlands and didn’t even find the Snow Wraith’s shadow. We can’t waste time here.”

Eli hesitated, the thought heavy as rain-soaked cloak; he chose not to tell them what the One Spirit had told him.

His future self had sent them back, meaning these two carried the key to changing the past, an ember cupped in small hands.

But one thing was sure: his future self didn’t want these two hurt, a vow laid like a charm against storms.

From the One Spirit’s words: the past of the future—this very now—was a tangled river of time, and the future boiled with uncertainty, a sky of broken currents.

Would it return to its course, or carve a new channel? Hard to say, like water meeting stone.

So the future world was rife with chaos, a land of squalls and shifting sands.

To protect them, his future self left the key on these two girls and used all kinds of excuses to send them back, a quiet ferry through dim mist.

With time skidding off its rails, they couldn’t go back, the bridge behind them glazed in ice and gone.

Eli’s head throbbed, a drum in fog.

Whatever he did, danger stuck to them like burrs after a trek. After turning it over and over, only the Abyss felt slightly safe, a cave beneath waves.

With all those tangles piling up, Eli made his decision, a blade set to wood.

Leave the two in the Abyss. There he could better spot the sparks on them that might shift the weave of events, fireflies in a dark grove.

“Then… Mom isn’t important anymore?” Anna paused, her voice odd, like wind through hollow snow.

Seeing the small slump in Anna’s shoulders, Eli’s chest tightened, a string pulled taut. Was the kid thinking he was about to abandon Edlyn?

He rubbed her hair, warmth like a hearth, and smiled quick. “How could I? I’ll take you back to see Edlyn first. Stay by her. Wait for my good news.”

“Oh…” Anna still looked listless, hollow-eyed, like a kite with its string cut.

Eli sighed, said no more, took their hands left and right, and led them out of the snow house they’d lived in for three years, a white shell emptied at last.

He paused, a thought rising like steam from tea.

If… this all settles, could he bring them back here and live free days in this snow, a quiet harbor after storms?

He chuckled and shook his head, a leaf shaking off dew. Life or death is unknown; why dream so far? One step, one footprint on frost.

…

In the Abyss, Edlyn slammed a palm onto the throne, shock vaulting her up from the table, lightning in her stance.

“You mean it?!” Her voice cracked bright, a spark in a cavern.

“Yes… at a time like this, would I lie to you?” Angelo rubbed his head, a weary wave on rock, and sighed.

“Good, good. My Demon Race’s got bite. We can face the other human empires head-on now?” Edlyn’s excitement fluttered, like fire catching dry grass.

Angelo quickly waved his hands. “Oh, my Demon King. It’s only because the Demon Race is wedged among several powers.” His words fell calm, like rain tamping dust. “Outside, the Demon Race absolutely can’t fight them head-on.”

Angelo paused, then continued, a measured beat like oars on a black river. “Right now, every race needs a pretext to slip into human territories. This is the best chance to crush Holy Paris. They need that excuse to stay alive in the storm.”

“On the surface they’ll carry the banner of ‘purging demons,’ but in the shadows, who knows whose knives will flash,” he added, the darkness thick as briar.

“So… that means our Demon Race is in danger?” Edlyn’s head swam, a boat in chop.

“That’s not exactly it… In short, aside from humans, the other races won’t let us collapse too early. They’ll help us quietly set a foothold in human lands, so they can slowly eat away at human power,” Angelo said, patience like a steady flame.

“Mm. Oh. Got it.” Edlyn crossed her arms and nodded with an air, like a cat pretending to read maps.

Angelo’s mouth twitched, a ripple in a still pond.

Yeah. That’s the face of not getting it at all.

“So, Angelo. What should we do now?” Edlyn asked, her voice soft as moss.

Angelo bowed his head, thought for a moment, then spoke slow, like a bell tolling once. “Our batch of the Demon Race is still in the dark. That’s a real advantage. Since the other races want to use this opening to enter human lands, we’ll do the same. On the surface, this is our Demon Race’s domain. Then, let that so-called Miter Empire march under the Edlyn banner.”

“Eh! That’s good!” Edlyn grinned foolishly, a crescent of mischief.

Angelo sighed, words thinning like smoke, at a loss.

“Your Majesty, give me a thread of your aura. I’ll go personally to aid the demons outside,” Angelo said, a hunter asking for flint.

“Huh? I’m not going with you?” Edlyn’s doubt hovered, mist over stone.

“Emmm. Do you want to see Eli?” Angelo’s smile slipped sly, a fox in brush.

Edlyn’s cheeks flushed, a cherry glow under pale skin, and she turned her head. “No way…”

“Hmm… then come with me,” Angelo said, closing his left eye, his right eye steady as a spear.

Edlyn tangled her fingers together, knitting air like silk, and muttered, “Then… I’ll stay here.”

“Then please lend me a strand of aura.”

“Oh… wait? That’s not right.” Edlyn frowned, a petal folding. “Why? High demons naturally command lower demons. Just do what you want.”

“Uh… I’m worried the Demon Race’s gene shifts might cause accidents. So it’s safer with your Demon King bloodline suppressing them,” Angelo sighed, caution like a hand on a blade.

“Fine.” Edlyn beckoned, and a rich black mist flew from her right arm, ink pouring from a sleeve into night.

It drifted to Angelo’s right hand and stamped there lightly, a raven feather sealing to skin.

“Mm. When the demons in our domain see this, they’ll know what to do. The outside’s yours,” Edlyn said with a smile, bright as a coal stirred.

“…Mm. Rest easy,” Angelo answered with a smile, with a faint fatigue like ash on embers.

“By the timing, Eli’s almost here. Don’t rush.” Angelo’s tone held a sour note, a lemon twist in the brew.

Sigh. A mere Hero gets to be at the Demon King’s side every waking hour, while I—the Fiend Grand Marshal—stand ocean-far. Forget it. Bow till I break; die after I serve. What can I say—I’m just that good, thunder under restraint.

…

Birand stood in midair, head slightly tilted up, raindrops drumming his face like cold nails.

Killing intent and rage churned through him, a storm tide within.

Yet he looked frozen, cold as a carved block of ice, glacier-still.

“…Just now… what was that feeling?” Birand pinched the goosebumps that rose like frost.

He, of all people, had felt fear, a shadow crawling under skin?

Earlier, while pushing on, a human eye had appeared in the sky, not magnified, just a normal-sized eye, a single moon of flesh.

Its gaze locked onto him, a spear of sight pinning him to the air.

That glare dropped him into endless danger, with a pressure he could not resist, a mountain pressing on his chest.

Goosebumps rippled over him, hail on a field.

He couldn’t figure out what that thing was, a riddle coiled like smoke.

Once he shook off the fear, he hurled attacks at the eye like waves, but the eye vanished fast, a lantern snuffed.

His attacks dragged a sea and slammed the clouds, and that’s what birthed this rain, a river poured from sky.

Birand frowned at this long-lost fear, staring into it like a hunter peering into fog.

For a moment, he was at a loss, compass spinning.

“What kind of monster makes me feel this fear? Celestial Gods, the Abyss, the Netherworld—even death—none of that scares me. What is this…” His voice fell low, thunder muttering.

As he brooded, the place his spirit sense watched rippled faintly, a tremor through silk.

Birand paused, threw the terrifying mystery aside, and became the avenger Birand again, blade-calm.

He bared a cruel smile and looked toward a point in space, eyes like hooks. “If you’d stayed curled up in the Abyss, I’d have no way to reach you. Heh. Now… I finally caught a fold in space.”