She returned to Jaha Town, and in all that time she hadn’t touched Invisibility Magic, like a blade kept sheathed to keep its shine.

She took the same road as her first visit, the stones familiar as old scars. She passed the restaurant where she’d eaten before and paused, head turning like a weather vane in a soft wind. The place still bustled; her last stunt hadn’t scared off a single diner, lamps warm as honey behind the panes.

Aside from the writhing worm she’d seen, the memory of that night—eating with Desty under lamplight like pooled amber—rose up. Her feelings tangled like reeds in riverwater.

That night should’ve been with Yuna.

She’d promised good food, little delights, and classes at a magic academy—promises like lanterns she’d lit and set adrift.

But her opening gambit had been read cleanly by Elyssus, and everything spun out like a kite cut loose. She’d been forced to Devour Yuna, just to handle the octopus and claw a chance at survival out of the dark.

As she sank into it, a black lock slid across her cheek like a strip of ink and veiled her eye.

A pinch of breath brought her back. She swept her hair behind her ear, let out a long breath like mist, and kept walking.

She passed the wooden-comb shop again. Her steps stopped of their own accord, like a tide catching a rock. The same saleswoman who’d pitched combs to her before was now pitching to someone else, her hands fluttering like sparrows.

Between blinks, she saw herself and Desty again, buying under that woman’s coaxing. The image was a pressed flower in her mind’s book.

It jolted another vow loose.

“…That should’ve been a shopping trip with Yuna too,” she murmured, then frowned. “What am I doing?”

Lucimia couldn’t say what she was doing.

From waking up, to coming to this town, to buying a comb with Desty, giving her coin for a new weapon, buying ship tickets early, sharing a good meal...

Through all of it, Desty was the kind of person she used to hate. So why didn’t anger flare, like dry tinder taking spark? The old her would’ve dropped Desty without a backward glance.

“…Am I just chasing comfort?” The question rose first as a tremor, then steadied in her chest.

“Yes. I am chasing comfort.”

Naming it should’ve eased the weight, like loosening a belt after a long march. Instead, guilt seeped in, a cold dye running through clear water.

Why chase comfort at all? Normally, only if Yuna had truly died—with no chance at revival and their promises shattered—would she look for comfort in someone else.

Yet there was a chance to save Yuna. So why wasn’t she searching harder, like a lantern in a storm? Why hunt comfort instead?

Did it mean that, deep down, she had already decided Yuna was dead, and she hadn’t even wanted to save her with both hands?

Maybe she’d decided there was no reviving Yuna. That finding a Time Ability User and a Dark Deity with the [Resurrection] Authority Power was too hard, too thorny, too likely to scratch her pleasures. Maybe she hadn’t looked in earnest at all.

Or maybe it wasn’t comfort she wanted, but to sand down her guilt, so she could enjoy her days like sun on a porch—and quietly give up somewhere along the road.

She hadn’t changed. She was selfish, a moon that only cared to light itself.

But she knew that was wrong. Yuna wasn’t a stranger. Yuna had helped her deal with Elyssus.

Then why not act?

Afraid of the snares and webs that came with people and power, so she held back?

With her current strength, she could crush forward if she wanted. She didn’t need to tiptoe.

She had the Devouring Authority. Why quibble over energy like counting grains of sand? Devour, and be done. Pick a macro description, and who could match her?

Devour the abilities of every Time Ability User in the world.

A thought like that was perfectly within reach. No need to find them one by one. Devour the concept, and the net would close.

Yes. Just Devour it like that. Why play at schemes?

She lifted her right hand. Her will rose like a tide. Then her eyes flew wide. Her breath hitched for a few seconds. She stared at her right hand—the one about to unleash—and grabbed her own wrist with the other, forcing it down.

She bent at the waist. Her breathing went ragged, her skull throbbed like a hive.

“…What was I about to do?” The scare struck like cold water down her back.

She had nearly used the broadest macro description to Devour every Time Ability User.

Don’t forget: more than half her energy was locked in a dead grapple with Elyssus. If she used Devouring now, it would overfill her like molten metal in thin glass. She’d burst, lose control in an instant, and turn into a mad thing.

And that would let long-dormant Olivya slip through the crack and seize her body.

This wasn’t Elyssus nudging her. This was—

“Pollution…” Lucimia let the word out like smoke.

She’d almost forgotten—she couldn’t let her emotions spike. Strong waves would let the pollution gnaw into her, like rot in damp wood.

“Tsk.” The sound snapped in the air like a twig.

Her thoughts were messy, threads snarled into knots. Wild, extreme ideas kept popping like sparks.

That wasn’t good.

“Are all Dark Deities like this? Or is it because I’m not truly one?”

In works from her past life, Dark Deities polluted mortals. They didn’t rot themselves from the inside out.

It was strange. This world’s Dark Deities weren’t like the ones she’d read about.

There was another angle. Strictly speaking, the Devouring Authority didn’t belong to Lucimia at all. It belonged to Olivya.

Maybe she was a pseudo–Dark Deity, and that’s why this was happening.

Look at Elyssus. It didn’t seem polluted. In centuries, it must’ve swallowed countless human souls. Yet it still chatted with Lucimia like a calm winter river, and it could weave suffocating schemes.

Maybe that guess was right.

Phew—

She let out a long breath and smoothed herself flat, like wind calming a ruffled lake.

She held on to what Yuna had said: “A smile can drive away the dark.”

Lucimia patted her cheeks. A smile bloomed, small as a new leaf. She used the Disguise Power to turn her hair pink, then slipped into an empty corner and canceled the Invisibility Spell. She walked to the comb shop’s door.

The saleswoman saw a new customer and stacked a bright smile on her face, her brownish hair like toasted chestnut.

“Such a lovely miss. Your hair is beautiful, I think— ahem, ahem—” Her voice snagged, and she turned to cough twice, shoulders bobbing like a pair of sparrows.

Huh? She’s still coughing? No Mystic Return Smoke, or even Mystic Return fizz tablets?

As Lucimia thought it, the woman offered an apologetic look. “Sorry. My throat’s been inflamed lately.”

Is that so.

Lucimia didn’t bristle. Her tone stayed soft as felt. “You don’t have any Mystic Return Smoke or Mystic Return fizz tablets?”

“Heh, those things aren’t always on the shelves,” the woman said with a genial smile, hands open like empty baskets.

“Alright.” Lucimia nodded. Before the pitch could start, she spoke first. “Do you have a wooden comb that matches my hair color?”

“Of course.” The woman’s eyes lit up like candles catching wick. Happy she didn’t need to sell, she plucked a pink comb from her basket.

“Thanks.” Lucimia took it, paid, and left with a polite dip of her head.

She weighed it in her palm, fingers stroking its teeth like reeds. Then she slipped it into her Storage Ring.

“When Yuna comes back, I’ll give her this.”

In that moment, the truth settled in her like an anchor. She had made a choice—run, or save.