Fala still tried to become a streamline of sorcery, a silver fish darting through a river of light.

Without Arcadia’s Soul Power field to push her, her speed lost its edge, like wind after rain.

Yekase moved the last piece on her board, a stone dropping into a quiet pond.

Fala could ride Earth’s sorcery field like a current.

So Yekase would gather every nearby streamline into one whirlpool, a net woven from water and light.

Could anyone do that, under this sky?

The answer came like thunder: yes.

Yekase drew the Southern Sky Cross from her space clasp, a cold star cupped in her palm.

It held the topological tree’s main bough from the Cosmic Bubble, an afterimage of world-ruin, a small arcane node apart from Earth’s sorcery sea.

Small or not, a node is still a heart, like a seed that remembers forests.

Her will flicked, and the Southern Sky Cross spread its field like dawn mist, wrapping Fala in a soft cage.

No matter how Fala threaded as a sorcery line, she looped like a trapped sparrow around the Cross, unable to burst through.

Fala sensed the lattice like rain on skin, and sat down without trying, a stone accepting gravity.

“I understand,” she said, voice like ash.

“I know,” she echoed, a breath like smoke.

“We lost,” both voices fell like leaves.

At last, the dust settled, like snow after a storm.

The Sinister Organization’s Shadow Realm War lost three champions and an intern, all nailed down like stakes.

Lu Yao let out a long breath and sat by the ruins, a tired reed by gray water.

Yekase grinned, sunlight through cloud.

“I like people who know the score,” she said, tone like warm tea.

“Any hidden subordinates in the city?” Her words tapped like knuckles on wood.

Fala shook her head, a willow in still wind.

Then she looked past Yekase into the sky, surprise rippling like a startled pond.

Thinking of a silly UFO ploy, Yekase curved around a clean 180°, a swallow turning in air, and looked.

Three black dots rushed in, like meteors crossing a pale noon.

“Hey, your reinforcements?” Yekase called, voice like a tossed pebble.

“Still want to keep fighting?” Her brow tightened like a drawn bow.

“No…” came the answer, soft as dusk.

In a blink, the dots grew shapes: a black dragon, a skeletal dragon, and a bed sailing like a cloud.

“Uh… why is it you?” Yekase muttered, humor like a hiccup.

They didn’t show at the Sidonia Dragon Fortress, yet now they came like kin seeking hearth.

Or is this Aurora’s mischief, a cat pawing string?

And which great archmage of Mysidia came to join the spectacle, moth to flame?

The visitors were Mikala Aira, Carol Liancheng, and Alicia Alicia, names like banners in wind.

Yekase had just borrowed Carol’s beastclaw to cut the Boron Reaper, a blade like moonlight.

She couldn’t close the door now, pride a thin porcelain lid.

And she did care how they fared in Siberia, concern like embers in ash.

“Threat’s cleared,” she waved them down, hand a fan cutting air. “Land anywhere.”

But they didn’t seem to hear, sound drifting like fog.

Alice stood on the bed in pajamas, a willow on a cloud, Flame Burst Spell glowing in her hands.

“Move!” Yekase grabbed Lu Yao and dove aside, bodies like stones skipping water.

Boom!

A pillar of fire speared up behind them, a volcano writ thin.

“What… what are you doing?” Yekase asked Alice, words like ice chips.

“Shadow Realm War is a mortal foe to me and to Mysidia,” Alice said, eyes like winter stars. “I slipped.”

“You looked calm,” Yekase shot back, voice a flicking whip.

“What, want to spare her?” Alice’s chin lifted like a blade.

“Rare to have one this cooperative,” Yekase said, patience a fraying rope. “We ask for intel, then kill.”

“…” Alice paused, a clock missing a tick.

“A pause… you didn’t think of that?” Yekase’s doubt crept like smoke.

“Forget it,” Alice said at last, words like a closing book. “I’ve almost finished digging.”

“Hard mouth,” Yekase thought, anger a caged hawk beating wings.

Yet she couldn’t flare at her cut-rate master, respect a bridle on fire.

She turned to the next two… two dragons, silhouettes like mountains.

“Why are you here?” she asked, curiosity a pricked thorn.

“Can’t we come?” Mira said, arms folded like locked gates.

“The lord told us to,” Carol added, voice like a river stone.

Then Carol stared at Yekase, eyes widening like moons.

Yekase blinked and remembered she hadn’t dropped her Magical Girl guise, color like a banner.

“Ivaris? No—the colors are reversed,” Carol said, doubt like frost. “Who are you?”

“Uh, I’m Magical Girl Icarus,” Yekase said, smile like a paper mask.

“There’s such a Magical Girl?” Carol’s brow wrinkled like ripples.

“2.0, 2.0!” Yekase answered, pitch like bells. “New generation!”

Carol’s face held naked doubt, a curtain thin as rice paper.

“Did you feel a resonance just now?” Yekase asked, tone a tuning fork. “That was me calling you.”

“Oh, so it was you, kid,” Mira said, crossing her arms like tree roots. “Nice. You’ve got guts. Borrowing from seniors already.”

Truth is, she’d been borrowing for half a year, habit like rain on tiles.

Yekase flashed the beastclaw again, a crescent of iron, showing Carol.

“This is my power,” Carol said, eyes like flint. “Why do you have it?”

“Because it’s 2.0,” Yekase replied, voice a steady lantern. “Except Aura and Xi, dragged by an external body into the Void Realm, I have all other Magical Girls’ abilities.”

Carol finally believed, skepticism melting like snow.

Dorothy and Harrison came from the palace, footsteps like soft drums.

Harrison had meant to ascend with his kin, souls like sparks in wind.

But he couldn’t leave Arcadia’s ruins, attachment a root gripping stone.

He chose to stay here, a stray ghost among lonely graves.

He’d gone home already; now was the time to stand alone, spine like bamboo.

“Aurora wants Arcadia back above Europe,” Carol told Harrison, words like maps. “Sheltered under Sidonia’s name.”

“Wow, a reliable career woman,” Yekase thought, admiration a warm breeze.

The heiress who once scorned the company mess hall now worked in earnest, focus like a needle.

Yekase’s eyes stung, tears a brief rain.

Meanwhile, a certain fallen Magical Girl had lost her own organization and stayed lazy under another’s roof, a cat in sun.

“Later, we may repair and refit it, turn it into a huge airborne museum,” Carol said, plan like scaffolding. “But we need your say.”

Everyone silently agreed Harrison should decide his homeland’s future, respect a silent stone.

A museum could spread Arcadia’s true history, a river carrying memory, and fulfill the Speaker’s last wish.

But would a museum disturb the sleepers, wind rattling their reeds?

Harrison hesitated, thought a slow tide.

“Let me think,” he said, voice like gravel.

“Please,” Carol nodded, permission like an open gate.

Alice rose again, skimming the air like a kite, and scanned wide with a sensing spell.

She confirmed the land was clean, horizon like a washed blade, then left on her own.

Yekase couldn’t even ask if it was worth the long trip for a grudge, the question a bird swallowed.

Maybe that’s a Longlifer’s whim, cloud-light and mountain-heavy.

Lu Yao was badly wounded and drained, strength a guttering candle.

She took a quick mouthful of Yekase’s blood, a bitter tonic, found an empty house, and slept.

Yekase and Dorothy slipped from the talks and walked the cold, quiet street, footsteps like ink on paper.

“Teacher, you’re still a Magical Girl,” Dorothy said, wonder a bright spark.

“I’m one of the creators of the Magical Girls,” Yekase said, pride a hidden spring. “A programmer who left herself a backdoor.”

“So amazing,” Dorothy breathed, admiration like dew.

Yekase frowned, puzzle a knotted rope.

“How do you know Magical Girls?” she asked. “The ten were in East Asia. Europe’s front used monsters, paladins, and mages.”

“Haven’t you watched The Ten of Glory, teacher?” Dorothy asked, eyes like lanterns.

“What’s that?” Yekase said, emptiness a blank page.

“After the Reverse Meme vanished from the One-Year War, the heiress of Shadow Curtain International’s Huaxia Branch funded a documentary for the Magical Girl battalion.”

“It detailed their lives, deeds, abilities, transformations, and lines, precision like needlework.”

“Ah?” Yekase blinked, surprise a wingbeat.

“They’re cute and human heroes,” Dorothy said. “Anywhere online, they burn like comets.”

“Even girls in France imitate them in play, echoes like birdsong.”

“They really became big stars,” Yekase murmured, amazement a widening lake.

“Wait, hold on,” thought Yekase, alarm a struck gong.

“Ten?” The number hung like a crescent moon.

“How could Gu Xiangshi know so much?” she thought, suspicion a shadow blade.

“One answer only: she asked Mira, truth a single thread.”

“And ‘ten’… she swapped out That Person’s concept, a mask sliding past the Reverse Meme like mist.”

“For those who met That Person, that person is a blade in the mind.”

“Think of the core, and the curse bites; memory falls like sand.”

“But for the public?” Yekase wondered, thought a lantern on a pier.

“Through the film, they meet a third-generation Magical Girl among ten, no different from the other nine, a pebble in the same stream.”

“In their minds, That Person isn’t That Person, but a blurred emblem, a banner flapping in wind.”

“Thus Gu Xiangshi made That Person drop the banned main account and reopen with a small one, mirror-clear.”

“Can this truly work, under stars?” Doubt curled like smoke.

“Won’t They be replaced by a similar shadow, a reflection stealing a face?”

“And the other nine?” Yekase thought, ache a low thunder.

“They’re teenagers at best, green bamboo in rain.”

“Their private data was exposed without consent, like boxes cracked open.”

“Now they face a world soaked in capital, a sea of coins.”

“They face themselves as traffic idols, mirrors stacked to the sky.”

“How do they live with that, heart a caged bird?”

“Gu Xiangshi likely doesn’t care, her will a straight blade.”

“She only wants the childhood hero revived, a statue warmed by sun.”

“Whether it’s the real hero or a simulacrum she molded, she doesn’t mind, choice a dry leaf.”

“Her stance on heroes is selfish and self-contradictory, a knot in silk.”

“Yekase knows it better than anyone, knowledge a scar.”

“I… once again failed to protect them,” she whispered, regret a bitter tea.

She nearly bit her lip to blood, a rose thorn under snow.

Dorothy had been lively about The Ten of Glory, chatter like sparrows.

Seeing Yekase like this, she thought a beat and grasped most stakes, mind a weaving loom.

Yekase thought deeper and noticed a subtler thing, shadow behind shadow.

Why did Mira and Carol leave Huaxia after the team dissolved, and trek to empty Siberia, road like frost?

Because dragons don’t watch TV, ignorance a thick fog.

They don’t know them.

They could take dragon names and live anew, masks like fresh snow.

Mikala Aira—Todo Moka.

Call it “fallen” if you like; better “seeing clearly” and bowing to reality and desire, reed bending to wind.

Beneath her manic mask lies constraint, iron bars in silk.

She had to play high schooler, tiring herself thin, and became class rep, a bell rung on time.

She could quietly win Yekase a slot at the Sovell Conference, favor like a hidden bridge.

She could scold Carol for freeloading and still keep her fed, a hen clucking under rain.

Thinking back, Unrecognized Consortium X had a particle collider because she knew Yekase would need it, foresight like starlight.

She also knew staying in Huaxia, she could shine under the Magical Girl brand, fame a blazing lantern.

Then food, drink, and vice would drop like ripe fruit.

So she ran with Carol, footprints light in snow.

“Such a troublesome soul,” Yekase sighed, breath a thin cloud.

She glanced back.

Carol still discussed follow-ups with Harrison, words like chess stones.

Mira, bored stiff, had flung an exogenous lander’s wreck into the sky and whipped it with her tail, a dragon playing ball.