Pride swelled like a warm tide; walking the corridor, Lucimia couldn't help whisper, I'm amazing.

The snag pricked like a thorn: sneak Yuna out unseen, yet fear for her alone outside like a lantern in fog.

She shed today's knots like molted silk and stepped outside the frame, thinking as a passerby under a wide sky.

How could she keep Yuna safe alone like a lamb in tall grass? Her answer fell cold: she couldn't.

So the path cleared like rain-washed stones: she would stay at Yuna's side, a shadow stitched to her heels.

Next came the knot to unpick like tangled thread: keep Yuna close, yet let no eyes catch them.

A spark flared like dawn in frost as her gaze fell on the grimoire: this world is Dark Deity and magic both.

Magic can bloom miracles like lotus from mud.

So she skimmed the table of contents like a hawk over fields and found the Invisibility Spell.

The pages unfurled like maps; she learned most folk carry a mana corridor within, a winding gallery where power is stored.

Casting wasn't mere chants or waving a staff like festival tricks.

You rouse the corridor's mana, shape it like a blade, and carve a Magic Array at its heart.

Your Magic Array decides which techniques unfurl like flags in a storm.

Skilled mages make one array sing with many spells like a chorus of birds.

Say you carve a triangular Magic Array; it yields only a Fireball Spell, a single spark in the dark.

Alter that triangle, add strokes like branches, change the shape, and you can cast a second spell alongside the flames.

Keep refining, keep grafting, till one array blooms with many magics like a tree in spring.

It's not about copying two arrays whole like tracing paper.

You grasp each array's core like a seed, fuse core with core, and if they don't clash, you've done it.

In short, the body becomes the Magic Array, a living sigil carved like rivers on a map.

Without an array, no spell answers like a drum without skin; each mage's array differs, shaping their spell sets.

But if you've learned a single spell's array, your skill wavers, and carving the main one inside clashes like steel on stone, what then?

Then you turn to wands and foci, carve a single array on wood and jade like etching frost, and chant to cast.

Her mind swelled with new lore like a tide filling a bay.

Relief cooled, then doubt sprouted big in her small head like weeds after rain.

Without a Magic Array, how was she casting at all, like a flame without a wick?

The book spoke of mana condensing only on arrays, yet her gathered magic obeyed her hands like clay, changing form and element.

Frustration pricked like nettles, but it wasn't the main problem now.

She flipped to the Invisibility Spell and, with talent like a swift river, mastered it in a short breath.

The book taught by carving arrays like runes chiseled in stone.

But Lucimia seemed to need no array; a thought flickered like a firefly.

Mana draped over Yuna like silk, and the pink-haired girl vanished in a blink.

Joy burst like fireworks in her chest.

Only the eyes were fooled like mirrors; touch could still find her like rain on skin.

She urged Yuna gently, voice like string and bow: hold on to me—clothes, hem, arm—anything.

Relief settled like warm tea; Yuna gripped Lucimia's skirt and didn't let go, moving only when Lucimia moved.

Calm spread like incense; at the dining room, she bowed to her parents and took her seat.

Their faces stayed smooth like still water, and Lucimia felt cleverer by the heartbeat.

Her trickery stepped forward like a cat on velvet; not a Deceiver devoted to Elyssus, yet already akin to a Deceiver.

Between bites, her father spoke in his usual calm like a bell at dusk.

"Lucimia, the church's exorcist squad arrives tonight."

"After breakfast, go see Vittor and have him send all the food for the banquet."

"I spoke to him yesterday, like setting a pot to simmer already."

"Mm, I understand," she said, the words light as feathers.

It fit her wish like a key; she was planning to head out anyway.

After breakfast and a parting bow like falling leaves, she left through the front gate this time.

Miss Kaeli might be watching like an owl on a eave.

She'd pick the right time to act, and keep Yuna hidden for now like a pearl in cloth.

Worry paced her steps slow like a careful drummer; she feared Yuna behind might lose her.

It took a long while like crossing a field; the crowd in town today made Lucimia's eyes widen in surprise.

A tide of people surged like river foam.

Couples walked arm in arm, laughter ringing like wind-chimes, basking in leisure.

Stalls brimmed with goods like colorful shells, and sellers called warmly to customers.

Tomorrow was the Exorcism Day, an important festival here, like a full moon on the calendar.

So many people was normal, like fish schooling before rain.

She still didn't know if the Exemption Blessing could fool the church's checks, like smoke hiding a mirror; she'd have to wait and see.

But she wouldn't sit and wait for doom; she'd prepare for the worst like tying sails before a storm.

As thoughts drifted like clouds while she walked, a figure snagged her attention.

Huh? Was that a guard, helmet glinting like a beetle?

One guard hurried to his fellows like a darting swallow, whispered fast, and their faces tightened.

The next second, they grabbed weapons and ran back the way he'd come like a breaking wave.

Did something happen, like thunder behind hills?

Speaking of guards, she wondered about yesterday's bookstore, whether they'd found anything, like dogs trailing a scent.

She'd go look later, like lifting a curtain.

She reached the "Delicious Fare" shop and food depot, its signboard bright like lacquer.

Before she stepped in, she met that squad again next door; they formed a line like a fence and cordoned something off.

People pressed together like reeds, craning to see, murmuring into each other's ears.

"What's going on, why's the street buzzing like bees?"

"Looks like someone died; I saw blood, bright as berries."

"Is that real, or just smoke in the air?"

"Of course it's real; I got here early and saw it clear as noon."

"A woman died; her neck was half cut, head hanging like a torn banner—brutal."

"Huh? How'd it turn like this, like fruit rotting overnight?"

"Was it a person, or was it... something else?"

"No idea; can't you see the soldiers investigating like hounds?"

Lucimia caught every word like nets catching fish.

What? Someone dead—like a candle snuffed?

Her mind leapt to the Deceiver, that big octopus, shadows slick as oil.

No—its fate should be sealed like a stone sunk; maybe it was another Deceiver.

Curiosity rises in everyone like steam; Lucimia was no exception.

Using the crowd as cover like trees, she clutched Yuna's hand and squeezed forward on her small frame to the front row.

Shock hit like ice water; her pupils shrank, breath drew sharp like a gasp, and her hands trembled nonstop.

The one lying on the ground was familiar to Lucimia like a face in a mirror.

She wore a green long robe, half stained dark with blood, like moss drenched in ink.

Beside her lay a woven bamboo basket, flowers spilled like stars across the dirt.

Her neck was half cut; the head hung askew like a broken lantern, mouth ajar, eyes full of terror.

Those unclosing eyes met Lucimia's gaze like night crossing a window.

The dead was—Aunt Julie, a name falling like a stone in her chest.

Yesterday she praised her and gave her a flower, kindness warm as sunlight.

"This flower is for you—ah, it suits you so well, so beautiful."

A reflex rose like a tide; Lucimia touched her head and found only emptiness.

She remembered the white flower was tucked into her Storage Ring like a moth in amber.

She drew the flower from the Storage Ring again and cupped it like a tiny moon.

No—no longer white; its roots had withered, petal edges yellowing like parchment, petals curling.

It had begun to wilt like evening over a field.

Just like Aunt Julie's life, fading like a lamp in wind.