"Not exactly." Cerise smiled lightly, keeping her cards close. "You just got one step ahead of me."

"I see..." Shelika breathed out, her earlier edge ebbing like a tide.

The spacious sanctuary sat hushed. Their words drifted to the far vaults and came back as soft echoes.

After about a minute of stillness, Cerise stepped closer, like a shadow crossing still water.

This immaculate-seeming maiden glanced at Shelika, head bowed in thought, then broke the stillness. "My dearest friend, you know why I need your kin. So, your answer?"

"Will you hand Charlotte to me?" she added.

Shelika lifted her head a fraction, silent, her gaze weighing Cerise with quiet doubt.

Catching that doubt, Cerise added, "Shelika, you know I do this for the Gaia Empire, and for our Blood Clan's standing within it—"

"Wasn't that the very thing you hungered for when you left the Empire sixty years ago?"

Shelika hesitated, the words rough as gravel. "You're right..."

"Shelika, my dear friend—since you returned, you should know this. Six months ago, the Queen heard false news of your death and shut herself away."

"She's missed council for a long time."

Cerise's voice rose, striking like a bell. "In times like this, if we don't act, if we don't hold our name and station together, our Blood Clan is finished!"

Shelika answered quietly, the words a low drum. "You're not wrong."

Cerise stepped in again, pressing. "Then answer me. Will you let me have Charlotte? I need her as a substitute Master."

"With that alone, whether my fears come true or not, we won't lose our voice."

Shelika watched her, watched the gap shrink like a closing jaw.

She said, "Cerise, I'll ask you one thing first."

With those words, in a hall where no wind should be, a faint current stirred, like breath from stone.

Cerise studied Shelika in turn, gaze thin as a blade.

"Speak, third child of the Queen, and my dear friend."

Shelika met her eyes, her voice clear as winter steel. "I ask you, Cerise—when you say you think of the Blood Clan, do you carry your own private intent?"

"What do you mean by that?" Cerise's half-lidded, serene eyes opened a touch, like dawn cutting mist.

Shelika didn't answer; she pressed on. "Answer me. In this matter, do you have your own agenda?"

As her words fell, the faint current broke into messy gusts, like leaves shaken from a tree.

Maybe it was the wind head-on; Cerise's brow tightened for a heartbeat.

Then she answered plainly. "Of course not, my friend. I stand for the whole Blood Clan—I'm doing this for the Gaia Empire."

Shelika watched her, then turned away and walked. Her words tossed over her shoulder like pebbles into a pond: "You know the Dark Blood Clan's selfishness is notorious—"

When the distance opened again, Shelika turned back, facing her. "But Cerise, you swear it's for the whole clan, for the Empire. Do you think I will believe you?"

Cerise's eyes were fully open now, twin embers wide.

Her face stayed serene, yet her crimson eyes shimmered with a faint red glow, like coals under ash.

The earlier breeze thickened into stronger wind, a cloak gathering storm.

Cerise's once-even tone sharpened with killing intent. "Shelika, so what if I do? Over that alone, you'll refuse to yield Charlotte?"

"That's right." The killing intent lanced the air like a blade, the wind carrying its chill, yet Shelika didn't flinch. "Because I have my own intent, I choose to refuse to hand over Charlotte."

"What a tedious excuse!" Cerise snapped, and slammed her staff hard on the floor.

With a dull boom, a fresh gust surged. The wind in the hall rose, wild and circling.

Then Cerise, as if conceding ground, said, "Since you won't give up Charlotte, how about this—didn't you seize the enemy's Divine Warrior?"

"Hand me that big iron man."

"With a matching weapon, our Sacred Hymn Guard can repel their strikes. Then we won't need a substitute Master. How about it?"

Shelika gave a cold, small laugh. "Cerise, you're the same as ever—too selfish. Did it not occur to you these things come with a price tag? Ever heard there's no free lunch?"

Cerise bled cold into her words. "Shelika, your jokes are dated. Don't you get it? When the Wasteland Deity returns in triumph, and I've led the Guard's mage corps, I'll rise high."

"You can have anything then—only then you'll call me 'Lady Cerise.'"

Shelika's face didn't shift; she smiled and went on, "You're the one joking, taking promises not yet kept as collateral—"

Then she dropped the blade in her words. "To me, right now, you have nothing."

"Some pull in the Holy City and the title of Divine Priestess of Blood—that's all."

At that, the hall howled, sudden gales like wolves circling.

Power surged—pale blue light wrapped Cerise head to toe. She planted herself in the wind and tightened her grip on the staff.

"Shelika, speaking with you was a mistake. Allow me to make you bow by force."

"Then Charlotte, your Divine Warrior—and you... will all be mine. Heh, heh..."

She gathered power into the staff. Less than a heartbeat of chant, the spell was formed. She leveled the staff at Shelika.

Ice Wind Roar—seventh-tier elemental art.

A storm of dense ice spikes rode the raging gale, a relentless volley aimed at Shelika.

The ice came like rain, about to turn her into a porcupine. In a flash, Shelika flared her wings and dove hard, soaring into the sanctuary's high air—she slipped the barrage clean.

Yet at the split-second before she steadied in mid-air—

"You think I didn't know you could fly?" Cerise mocked.

The glowing tip swung toward her again.

In the next blink, the wall nearest Shelika—

Sprouted a thicket of vines at that point.

They grew with savage speed and unnatural life, green snakes uncoiling.

By the time Shelika reacted, the vines had wrapped her tight—like a butterfly caught in a web, bound and still.

Seeing it, Cerise exhaled, smiling. "Heh, heh... I win."

Shelika said, "Not necessarily."