Lucimia was about to seal the kill. A soldier crashed into her like a runaway cart, knocking her aside; heat bottled in her chest like trapped steam.

“What are you doing? I could’ve killed him. Why did you block me?” She pushed up from the ground, brushing dust from her skirt like ash off silk.

“Didn’t you see? Didn’t you hear? He was laughing—are you blind? Are you all deaf?” Her voice cut like a cold blade through fog.

“What are you even saying?” The soldier stared, eyes wide like saucers. “He was crying the whole time. When your ice blade went in, he screamed louder. You saw wrong. You heard wrong!”

“Me?” Lucimia refused to believe it. She looked back at the boy, and saw he truly wasn’t laughing now.

He lay there, breath thin as a dying ember, chest rising like a tired tide, life clinging by a thread.

Hallucination? No. Wrong.

If he were a normal civilian, her magic should’ve killed outright, not leave him lingering like a knife wound at a ‘severe injury’ stage.

It should jump straight to death, clean and cold as frost.

The boy is wrong. A Deceiver. No—was it… Elyssus?

“Tch… my head.” Pain bit like a nest of needles. Lucimia pressed her temples and stepped back two paces.

The onlookers heard her ravings, fear spreading like a chill breeze over tall grass.

“Hey… isn’t she tainted by the Dark Deity?” whispered one, voice a thin drizzle. “I always said it. We respect the Holy Knights, sure, but they grapple Evil Entities every day. Sooner or later, they crack.”

“Maybe… look at her, she’s still a kid,” another murmured like a wilting reed. “So young, and already… sigh.”

“Enough. Don’t scold her. Soldier? Maybe notify Count Alvis?”

“Uh—okay.” The soldier bolted, quick as a startled hare disappearing into brush.

The crowd flowed from jeers to fear and pity, a storm cooling into gentle rain.

Lucimia held her head; pain throbbed like a drum. Half-lidded, she watched the boy on the dirt. He lifted his face, and a wicked grin slid across it, sharpened with mockery like a hooked blade.

“Damn… it.” The words grated out like gravel underfoot.

Why is the boy fine? Why didn’t her spell’s fatal spark ignite? Did Elyssus use Deception Power, veiling the crowd’s eyes and tricking her magic’s judgment like smoke over a mirror?

Cole once slipped a spell under a Deception Blessing; there was precedent, a stain that never quite washed out.

But could Bazeroth start a Magic Array this fast? Last time took days. It’s been seven minutes, tops. Bazeroth can’t Instant Movement or Teleportation Magic; how would he reach the backup site?

Did Bazeroth butcher Desty and the church’s Holy Knights, then start the array in Val Town?

Seven minutes to kill dozens of fighters? Is he really that capable? The clock rejects it; the numbers don’t breathe right.

As Lucimia wrestled with threads of thought, Reversion triggered again, silent as snowfall.

Yuna couldn’t see, but she read the scene by sound, choosing whether to Reversion like a sailor steering by wind and waves.

White light flooded her sight; consciousness sank like a stone into deep water.

She reverted. Again.

Limbs gone, vision dimmed; it was that hollow state again, like drifting in a moonless pool.

Back at the altar… again?

“Yes. You came again,” Olivya’s voice answered, soft as a hand on still water.

Is that so… and why can you hear my thoughts?

“Why? Heh, guess,” Olivya teased, a smile in the voice like a fox in snow.

Forget it. I’m done guessing. Guess the enemy, guess where the octopus is, guess the array, guess the Deceiver, guess Elyssus… I’m tired. No more guessing.

Lucimia let herself sulk, small and fierce like a cat bristling under rain.

And I won’t touch that Fuzzy Orb. No need to waste breath trying to tempt me.

“Heh. I never tempted you,” Olivya protested, light as mist. “Lucimia, you’d better touch it. If you don’t, it’ll come looking for you.”

What?

Her sight snapped back like shutters flung open. Sensation flooded her limbs. A black Fuzzy Orb hovered in front of her, and she stumbled back like a bird spooked from a branch.

“What… the hell is that?” Her voice jumped, sharp as a startled sparrow.

She stood, clapped dust from her hands, and scanned the altar. It was the same stone stage, cold as a pond at dawn—yet the black-robed figures were gone, and Olivya’s presence had thinned like smoke.

“Hey—what are you pulling? Speak up. Where are you?” Her words echoed against empty stone, a lonely call into a canyon.

No answer came, just quiet like a held breath.

Helpless, she fixed on the black Fuzzy Orb.

It was the size of a ball, somewhere between soccer and basketball. Fur gleamed like polished coal. A tail swayed in the air, fluffy as a fox’s brush, absurdly cute.

Wait—a tail?

What even is this?

A ‘ball’ with a tail? That moves? Did the Fuzzy Orb grow a spirit?

While she leaned in for a closer look, the Fuzzy Orb’s eyes snapped open.

“Eek!” Lucimia flinched and hopped two steps back, heart leaping like a rabbit.

Two round eyes blinked on its upper half, clear as mountain springs.

Its pupils held two colors—a black center ringed with amber fire—strange and mesmerizing, like dusk around a new moon.

The eyes were limpid, blinking slow, with a dumb-cute charm like a sleepy cub.

The cute lasted a heartbeat. Her yelp spooked it; the body bounced midair like a spring. It shut its eyes and lunged at her, swift as a thrown pebble.

She couldn’t react. The Fuzzy Orb slammed into her nose, sharp and sudden like a cold tap.

Her nose tingled numb, a prickly buzz. She was about to sock the little thing, then paused—contact. Maybe…

Her thoughts slid. Consciousness sank again, weightless and dark, like a feather falling at night.

She understood. She was about to wake.

She opened her eyes and scrambled up, mind ticking through questions like beads on a string.

Who am I? Lucimia.

Where am I? Home.

What am I doing? Asking myself.

For now… no problem?

She didn’t feel a swapped persona, nor Olivya stealing her body; her skin felt like her own, her breath steady.

Did Olivya truly never plan to possess me?

No. Don’t decide too early. Don’t trust the first quiet.

Touching grants power. Where’s the power?

Lucimia snapped back to the room and glanced at Yuna by her side, like seeking warmth by a hearth.

“Yuna…”

“Mm…” Yuna didn’t know what to say. She hugged Lucimia, arms gentle as a blanket. “It’s okay, Luci-sis. We Reversioned. What happened… didn’t happen.”

“Mm.” Lucimia nodded into the hug. Holding Yuna soothed her like balm on a burn.

After a moment, something moved across her stomach, a soft wriggle like grass brushing in wind.

She looked down. The Fuzzy Orb—that little headbutter—was there.

Its tail wrapped around her waist, snug as a sash, hugging her. It buried its face against her, rubbing wildly, body warm and insistent as a kitten.

It was mimicking her and Yuna, a tiny mirror of affection, clumsy and sincere.