“How does that make you the one killing? I’m the blade that falls; you aren’t. You just walk forward, like a shadow crossing snow.”

The rat tried to argue, its voice like claws on bark. “With your help, fewer die. You’re saving, like a lantern in fog.”

“Without me, you can’t break the wall. The one who helps crack stone ribs is, in theory, a killer—an accomplice, like ash on the wind.”

“So you’re saying you won’t help?” Nirael finally lost patience, voice sharp like ice. “Don’t you want to save Yuna?”

“I do,” Lucimia said, words stumbling like a fawn on wet rock. “But I can’t choose.”

“Stop tangling yourself like reeds. Choose me. Help me spread worm-rats, help me draw in energy, help me kill Ment and finish revenge. I’ll give you every answer you want, the thread to Yuna.”

Lucimia went silent, her heartbeat knocking like rain on shutters.

She swallowed, breath heavy, like bellows under winter cloth.

Again, she stood at a fork like twin rivers splitting under a gray sky.

Choose to be a killer, to help Plague God Niral, and save Yuna. Or refuse, run, and pour time and strength into finding another Time Ability User.

With no road ahead, how does she search? How many seasons would it cost? Could she endure until then?

She still hesitated, like a candle guttering.

But the Plague God’s words cut off her time to choose, like a blade to silk.

“No time. The smoke’s gathering again.”

Lucimia looked around. Vast drifts of smoke coiled like tides. In the densest bank far off, pairs of hollow black eyes surfaced, like pits in a glacier.

“Lucimia, do Reversion. If you don’t, you won’t be able to. Lucimia, don’t blame me.” The rat’s eyes burned crimson, vicious as embers. “I won’t give you a choice anymore. After Reversion, you must help me. Find Gene. Tell him you want the rabbit Gendi caught. He’ll assist you. The Plague Followers will assist you.”

“If you don’t help, if you bolt for a boat at the first chance, I’ll self-detonate and take you with me. If that fails, I’ll ally with the Curse Deity and kill you first.” Its voice was iron scraping. “I know you can’t handle a Dark Deity for now. Elyssus has shackled you. I won’t let you go. You must help me… you must…”

“You… you’re insane?”

“Madness is my default,” Nirael said, calm like frost.

Lucimia flinched at the shift, eyes jumping to her, then to the closing smoke. Her face tightened. She licked dry lips, tasted salt like old tears, drew a long breath, seized Desty’s arm, and exhaled one word like a bell struck:

“Reversion.”

White light flooded their vision, like snow swallowing mountains—the river of time rolled back four days.

—

She opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was that familiar towering tree, a pillar of green spearing the sky.

“We’re back.” Lucimia turned, looking at Desty’s bewildered face like a deer in mist.

“Eh? This… this really is Reversion?” Desty touched her own cheek, fingers trembling like leaves. She scanned the grove and focused on the giant tree. “This is the place you took me to after the teleport from Luke Village. I remember beasts on the left.”

She looked to the left clearing. Sure enough, a carpet of dead beasts lay on the ground, rot rising like swamp vapor.

“I’m not dreaming, am I? A power this strange?” Desty marveled and reached out to pinch Lucimia’s cheek, hard as a crab’s claw, making Lucimia yelp like a sparrow.

“So it’s not a dream… it’s real… too strange,” Desty murmured, awe shimmering like light on water.

“I get that you’re shocked, but you didn’t have to pinch me,” Lucimia said, rubbing her cheek, cheeks sore like bruised peaches.

“Sorry. This ability feels unreal, like lightning trapped in a jar. Lucimia, have you Reverted many times? No wonder it sometimes felt like you knew everything.” Desty frowned, thoughts tangled like yarn. “But isn’t memory reset in Reversion? Why didn’t I lose mine this time?”

Lucimia kept rubbing her face and sighed, the sound soft as wind through bamboo. “Because I used Devouring Authority, to stop Reversion from resetting your memory.”

“Devouring… Authority…” Desty echoed, voice low, like a prayer in dusk.

“Yes. Authority. Which means I’m a Dark Deity.” Lucimia turned to face Desty, blue eyes meeting blue like lake to lake, serious yet calm, like a still pond before rain.

“Okay… knowing that, what do you plan to do?” Desty stepped back half a pace, heel scuffing dirt like a timid fox.

“What do I plan…?” Desty’s voice thinned, as if walking a rope over mist.

“For example, will you kill me?” Lucimia asked, tone light, like frost settling.

“Why would I kill you?”

“Because I’m a Dark Deity. I have Authority. I have an Evil Entity. If that’s not a Dark Deity, what is?”

“But… it doesn’t feel like you are. Maybe you’re like the Purification Deity— a proper god?” Desty scratched her hair, strands messy like red flames. She wasn’t sure—whether Lucimia was a Dark Deity, whether the Purification Deity was truly righteous.

Her idea of a Dark Deity wavered like reeds. From Lucimia’s deeds, she was doing good. Yet she bore every mark of a Dark Deity.

And the Purification Deity was called a righteous god, yet after Anjelo’s nudge, had seemingly done things tinged dark, like ink in water.

Desty couldn’t tell anymore. Confusion hung over her like morning fog.

Seeing her tangled like vines, Lucimia sighed again, the sound cool as shade.

“Forget it. I haven’t sorted what ‘Dark Deity’ means either. I’m curious about the info Nirael mentioned. I’m weighing whether to help her. Well, it sounds like if I don’t, she’ll choose to self-detonate with me,” Lucimia said, hands open like a shrug to the sky.

“Uh…” Desty still tugged her hair and stood blankly, like a statue in rain.

Instinctively, she reached for the sword at her hip for comfort, like a hand on a warm kettle. Then she realized time had reset; the blade she bought was gone like a dream.

“Desty.” Lucimia used her name formally for the first time, voice steady as a drawn bow.

“Ah?” Desty looked up, dazed, like a bird startled.

“If I lose control, kill me.” Lucimia stepped close, eyes meeting eyes at arm’s length, gaze clear like a mountain spring.

Lucimia was a touch shorter, so she tilted her chin up to meet Desty’s gaze, neck a white birch under moonlight.

“Why say that out of nowhere? Sounds like last words, like smoke after a fire…”

Lucimia’s lips lifted slightly, like a thin crescent. “Exactly. Treat it as last words. I don’t know when I’ll lose control.”

She turned and walked a few steps toward the giant tree, her shadow long like a brushstroke.

“Uh…” Desty hovered, hands empty, like a kite without wind.

“Let’s go,” Lucimia said, glancing back, voice light as falling leaves.

“Go where?” Desty asked, words soft, like mist.

“Jaha Town.”

“You’re… going to help Nirael?”

Lucimia shook her head, hair swaying like silk. “I don’t know. I’m still thinking. Staying here wastes time like sand in a cracked jar. We head to town first. This time we skip the front gate. We slip in, like cats through grass.”