In an unknown reach of the Abyss, a cavern bristled with green crystals like a forest of frozen spring.

At last, before the world’s dusk, the pact we swore with the Demon King stirred like a seed under ash. Wrinkled elders cried out, voices like wind through pines.

We waited like stone under tide, through cycles like falling leaves; the Hericot Clan’s old banner would lift again like dawn mist.

“Chief, who do we send to answer the Demon King’s call?” The question fell like a cold pebble into hot coals, and faces dimmed like lamps in rain.

The years ran like sand through a broken gourd. Only these few fossils remembered chasing stars beside the Demon King, a moth-eaten glory fluttering in their chests.

No gods were born in our line, no immortal pillar held our hall. Only elders with one foot in soil kept those buried embers.

“The Demon King just broke his chains. He’s weakest now, and needs hands like fire needs air. But who among us still shines?” Shame dried their tongues like dust.

“Then we seek help. We aren’t the only ones bound by pact. We answer the call, find the other vassals, and ask their aid like travelers sharing fire.”

“Good. So who goes? We’re begging for aid; the envoy must be sharp, a tongue like warm spring, not a club that scares game.”

“Choose Nabelia. The child weaves ties like ivy. She can dance this web.”

“That child… let it be her.”

Soon, a green‑haired girl walked in with steps like water over jade. “Nabelia greets the honored elders.” Her bow opened their frowns like buds in sun.

“Nabelia, you’re the keenest of the young. We give you a task heavy as winter snow, and bright as harvest moon.”

Not far from the green crystal mine, a short‑haired boy with moss‑colored hair blinked like a lost fawn. “Where is this? I only tested space magic. It shouldn’t be far, but I’ve never seen this place.”

Annoyance warmed him like a fever. “If Nabelia were here, she’d read this cave like a map. With a sister like sunlight, I’m just the shadow.”

He muttered as he searched, footsteps tapping like pebbles in a well. The tunnels curled like a maze of roots, and no path showed daylight.

“Damn it. I’ll risk space magic and leave.” Fear pricked him like thorns. His space art was random, a dice tossed into fog, but the maze pressed like a net.

Elsewhere, green crystals traced a ritual like vines circling a stone. Nabelia pressed a fist to her heart. “Elders, rest easy. I’ll do my utmost.”

Her courage flickered like a candle before a storm. A Demon King was a god on the mountain. Treat him as a god, and you won’t die by rudeness.

Dealing with a god chilled her like night river water. Her heart beat like a trapped bird in reeds.

Light rose from the crystals, and the array turned like a slow wheel. “Go, child, carry our hope like a lantern.”

As Nabelia stepped onto the array, a figure popped into the circle like a fish into a net. Before the elders could breathe, both vanished like sparks.

“That looked like Eika, didn’t it?”

On the Clock Tower, Ouyang’s mind slid back into his body like a sword into a sheath. He shoved a certain little girl’s will aside like a curtain and took the reins.

The magic circle flared green like spring lightning, and Ouyang’s mood stretched like a cat in sun. “My dear subordinates… ah‑ha‑ha…”

Then two figures landed like dropped plums—both clearly underage. A girl elegant as a lily; a boy adrift like a leaf.

“Brother? Why are you here?” Nabelia’s mind stumbled, then clicked like beads. “You… used space transfer and landed right on the array, didn’t you?”

“Uh… yeah. I cast it and, well, here I am, like a cork in a stream.”

Frustration climbed Nabelia’s spine like ants. She had come to parley with a Demon King; with this baggage, the climb went from steep to sheer cliff.

Ouyang watched the bickering pair, thoughts scattering like startled birds. “You two… from the Hericot Clan?” His voice went flat as winter light.

“Did your line all die out? No Transcendent blades? Not even an esoteric adept?”

Eika wore confusion like a mask. “We are the Hericot Clan, but I’ve never heard of adepts, and we aren’t—mmph—”

Nabelia covered his mouth like a lid. She pinched her violet skirts, bowed like willow in wind, and spoke clear as a bell. “Nabelia Hericot greets the Demon King.”

First impressions mattered like first frost. She had chosen violet silk and let green hair spill like a river.

“Heh.” Ouyang’s smile was lacquer over wood. A chill skittered down him like a knife of ice. “Forget it. Run for your lives. I’m leaving first.”

A White Elf’s gaze had been a blade at his neck, so he dropped like rain over the tower’s edge.

Nabelia still floated in fog. She did not know Ouyang had sold her like straw to the wind. Minutes later, a White Elf found no Demon King, and bound the siblings like firewood.

“Where is the Demon King?” Her voice was winter iron. Eika trembled like a reed. “I really don’t know. I cast space magic and ended up here by accident.”

“Yes. Because of my idiot brother, we appeared here. Someone jumped off just now. Maybe that was your Demon King?”

For once, having a foolish brother felt like a charm in Nabelia’s sleeve.

The White Elf pondered, eyes like cold moons. She dropped the hunt for answers. These two were too weak, small fry who never taste the soup.

She had already probed; Eika rang true like a clean bell. Nabelia might have lied, but a gnat’s buzz didn’t matter to a hawk.

“He speaks truth. Watch them. I’ll hunt the Demon King.” The White Elf left those words to Irina, who arrived panting like a dog after a run.

Irina waved a limp hand like a wilted leaf. She heard “failed space magic” and took it as gospel, a lantern pointed the wrong way.

“Hey, did that Demon King hurt you?” Irina asked kindly, voice like warm tea. Eika opened his mouth, and Nabelia pinched him hard as a crab.

He shut up at once, letting his sister steer the boat through rapids.

Meanwhile, as Ouyang dropped, an Oil Paper Umbrella bloomed in his hand like an old lotus. Its surface was worn thin, a rain‑scarred relic of years.

He had once held this same umbrella over Xi in a storm, a small roof in a sea of rain.

Whoosh—the umbrella opened like a night flower. From that height it caught him, bones and all, and did not tear.

At the same time, the White Elf halted mid‑air with a crystal ball, like a falcon freezing over prey. “He vanished… he slipped from fate’s river.”

The stars snuffed out like candles. Red clouds rolled like boiling blood. Red lightning stitched the sky, and thunder beat like war drums.

Ouyang touched ground and stared upward, fear pricking him like sleet. He ran under the umbrella’s shadow, hunting shelter like a fox.

“As I thought. Last time I didn’t rouse the umbrella, and the sky slept. I used it now to dodge the White Elf, and the heavens roared.”

“Even broken to a tenth, this umbrella can shoulder Heaven’s Punishment like a crumbling wall still stopping wind. I don’t fear it, but now’s no time to flaunt.”

He folded the umbrella like a secret. It faded from his palm like mist, and the omen vanished with it.

The red cloudsea drained. Stars re‑pinned the night like silver nails, and the world breathed again.