Kill... them... The thought rose like smoke from a cold altar.

"Right~ kill them." Her voice rang like a silver bell in fog.

Yes. I will... kill them... The vow settled like iron under winter snow.

"Exactly, exactly—like that~ That octopus is so smug; why not teach it a lesson, like snapping a reed in the wind? Just steal all its food, like netting fish from a dark cove. You're a god, supreme; why care about ants, like dust on a boot? Do what you want, like thunder choosing where to fall. Kill them, eat them—just rations for you, like grain in a sealed jar..."

The melodious woman’s voice brushed Lucimia’s ear, now left, now right, like a breeze through bamboo.

Yes... I'm... a god... The word burned like a sun over a black sea. A god only needs to do what she wants, like a river cutting stone.

"Mhm, that’s right. That 'paradise' the octopus promised—does it stir you, like a lantern in the night? You don’t need it to build it; build it yourself, like stacking stones by a stream. You could even make that octopus spawn little octopuses for you every day, like beads on a string—and roast them, crackling like pine over flame."

"So, accept me. Accept me, and you’ll gain supreme power, like a crown of fire on your brow."

"...", Lucimia didn’t answer; the silence pooled like snow on empty steps.

Her wounds were too heavy; even after one Healing Magic, her mind sank like a stone into the abyss. A white light bloomed before her eyes like dawn on ice.

Yuna was triggering Reversion; the time they’d agreed on had come, like a bell striking the hour.

Consciousness thinned and blew apart like mist; who knew how long.

... Pinch, pinch. The touch landed like raindrops on a sleeping leaf.

"Luci, sis."

Lucimia, drooling on the desk like a cat in a sunbeam, woke as Yuna’s soft fingers gently pinched her cheek, like petals pressing glass.

She pried open her sleepy eyes, and at the edge of her vision, pink hair flowed like a ribbon of peach blossom.

"Mm..." A small groan, thin as a reed whistle. She pushed herself up, blinked her left eye, rubbed it like brushing frost, and the sight in that eye returned, clear as a rinsed mirror.

Yeah—she had Reverted, like a boat turned back upriver.

The Reversion point was noon today, when she was studying magic at the desk, like ink drying on fresh paper.

She looked aside; Yuna stood there, quiet as a sapling after rain.

"...How did you get here?" Lucimia didn’t chase the fresh nightmare; the question slipped out like warm tea.

"Slowly. I felt my way, like a moth to a lamp."

"Okay. Did you bump into anything? Let me see." Lucimia took Yuna’s hand, then crouched to check her legs, like a doctor checking porcelain for cracks.

A little dust, nothing else—no marks, like untouched snow.

"Good." Lucimia smiled, a small flame in the dusk, then rose and wrapped Yuna in a hug, close as a quilt in winter.

"It’s okay," she whispered, rubbing her cheek softly against Yuna’s hair, like silk against silk.

It was to Yuna, and to herself, like two threads knotting on the same loom.

Yuna didn’t know what happened, but Lucimia missing their time meant trouble, like thunder without lightning. So she hugged her back, gentle as a tide.

"Mhm. It’s okay," Yuna said, sweet as ripe fruit.

They held each other for a while, like two boats moored side by side, until Yuna spoke first. "Luci, sis, what do we do next?" Her voice was a candle, small but steady.

"...Mm, let me think." Lucimia let go and sat, like a crane folding its wings.

Yuna waited quietly, like a cup waiting for tea. She didn’t pry; it felt like a wound better left covered, like a scab under linen. If Lucimia wanted to tell her, she would, like spring returning on its own time.

Lucimia propped her cheek on one hand and sifted through what had happened, like fingers through cold sand.

The pain still lingered in threads, like nettles under skin—like that nightmare where a snake bites you, and you wake with the sting still there, a shadow of fangs.

She remembered a woman’s voice at the end, asking her to accept her, like a hand extended from a mirror.

Who was she? Most likely Olivya—so Olivya really wanted to use her body to resurrect, like a seed stealing another tree’s roots?

Lucimia didn’t know what to do; the feeling crawled like ivy. She’d noticed it: whenever her emotions spiked, the taint came with it, like ink in clear water, trying to sway her toward a choice.

The first two times she snapped out of it fast, like a blade flashing free. Not this time. She hadn’t, and even now, part of her thought Olivya wasn’t entirely wrong, like a thorn with a sweet scent.

"Hah~ forget it. Not now." She shook her head, like a bell scattering dust.

She did think Olivya had a point, like a needle under silk. But she didn’t dare agree; what if she said yes and wasn’t herself anymore, like a mask that wouldn’t come off? Better to be careful, like stepping on thin ice.

Besides, her anger was real, hot as iron. She truly wanted to kill Bazeroth and Regino’s father, like snapping two dry branches.

They ambushed her and didn’t even make it quick, like a dull knife at the throat.

But how did they get there early enough to hit me on approach, like archers waiting where the path thins?

Maybe Bazeroth reached town by day, not by night, like a hawk arriving ahead of the flock. Maybe he’d already talked with Elyssus and learned about Lucimia and Yuna, like a spider gleaning tremors from its web.

And Elyssus isn’t a dumb villain; it could see her choices, like a reader seeing the next page. Either pull the rug out and run, like kicking the fire from under the pot; or stop the Sacrificial Ritual early, like damming a river at the spring.

Which would she choose? Obviously the second, like reaching for the cleaner blade.

Because when someone faces two paths, and the first is worst, while the second is merely less bad, they pick the better one first, like choosing higher ground before the flood.

Elyssus guessed that heartbeat, so it had Bazeroth occupy the spot ahead of time, like hunters staking a ridge, to snipe Lucimia in the sky.

But there’s still a snag. Did Bazeroth really start the Sacrificial Ritual that early in Val Town, like a bell rung before dawn? From the Royal Capital to Val Town, the fastest is tonight; slower, tomorrow, like horse hooves over long roads.

The speed feels off, like a clock that runs fast.

Unless Bazeroth rode nonstop, like a whip over wind. Or the Church lied and left earlier, like a ship slipping out before fog lifts.

Or Regino’s father started the ritual, like a shadow striking the match.

"What do I do?" The question pressed her ribs like a stone. Try again, or run, like a deer deciding between thicket and cliff?

She’d been careful, careful as a cat over tiles. She’d considered the Magic Array being in Val Town, Regino’s family being a problem, the wine already tainted, like bait lacquered with honey.

She’d planned for that twist: break the array, wait for the exorcist team, and while keeping the array ruined and the Holy Water swapped, also switch the wine, like changing the stream at all three forks.

But she didn’t expect them to be camping the spot already, like wolves at the pass, and land a clean hit, like an arrow to the seam.

Lucimia had died once; that suffocation, that closing night, she never wanted it again, like a net drawn tight over lungs.

"...Then maybe... run?" The thought slid in, pale as fog through a window.

Right then, Olivya’s murmur rose in her skull, like a flute under the floorboards. "Run? Hehehe, little girl, how can you be this dumb? You’d swallow this kind of insult, like ash with your rice? Kill them... eat them... That’s what you should do, like fire claiming dry grass."

"...Ugh." Lucimia pressed her brow; the words made her head swim, like a boat rocking in black water.

"Exhale." When the voice faded, her head cleared, like clouds parting for a brief sun.

"Mm..." She rubbed her temples, slow as grinding ink. "...It’s not... without reason," she muttered, the thought coiling like smoke in a jar.