Lucimia wanted Yuna back, wanted a way home, wanted to savor a future; only this path stretched like a narrow bridge over a storm gorge.

Doubt pooled like fog in her chest. Was she wrong? Maybe yes, maybe no, like a coin flipped in rain.

At the root, she felt small, like a reed in wind. If she were strong enough, she would Devour Nirael’s time-acceleration like swallowing a burning comet. She couldn’t. And even if she did, the taint would spread like oil in water, the energy cost would flare like a furnace. It might stain Elyssus, letting him slip through cracks like a fox and rise again.

No—if she were strong enough, Yuna wouldn’t have died, and Elyssus at the beginning wouldn’t have pressed her like a mountain.

Yes. It was her weakness, a pebble that started the avalanche.

“Yes. It’s your weakness,” a voice chimed, airy as a bell and steeped in honeyed charm.

“!”

The sound brushed her ear like silk, yet hooked like barbs. A woman peeled out of Lucimia’s body like smoke uncoiling, bare shoulders gleaming, hair a wild waterfall, her skin wrapped in black mist braided with countless watching eyes. She leaned to Lucimia’s ear and whispered like night rain.

“Yes. You’re not strong. Didn’t I tell you? You must Devour—only Devouring births strength. You keep nursing your Devouring like a candle in a jar. How could it blaze?”

“…Olivya.”

No one else saw this wicked Olivya, a shadow with perfume. Only Lucimia saw her, like a mirror nobody owns.

Everything in her recoiled like a startled bird. How could this be the Olivya Nirael called the savior of the First Era?

“…Who are you, really? Why crawl back now like a tide?”

“Hehe~” Olivya didn’t answer. Her hands unfolded like snakes and hugged Lucimia, her voice sinking like dusk. “You’re too weak. You can’t wield Devouring. You don’t deserve this great Authority Power, so…”

“So?”

“So let me… Devour you.”

The words fell like stones. Her elegant body and fine face split like a mask, her mouth yawning wide, stuffed with rows of needle-teeth, enough to swallow Lucimia whole like a moon swallowed by night. Her form twisted, warping through angles that hurt to see, blooming into shapes language refuses, like knots in dreamwood.

Terror surged cold as a river. She tried to fight, but her limbs were nailed by frost. Around her, the villagers still smiled and chatted, their voices drifting like warm smoke from cookfires.

Am I… going to die? So sudden, like a trap springing? Is this the so-called pollution, coming like a rogue wave?

“Bloodkin sister!!”

A young girl’s voice rang from behind, fresh as a bell in a courtyard, and it snapped her awake. The gaping Olivya puffed into smoke with a soft “poof” and vanished like mist under sun.

Olivya was gone. The black fog was gone. Those twisted things left no footprints. The chill loosened like a knot, and her body thawed; as if what had just happened was no more than a fever dream.

Lucimia swallowed, her throat dry like sand. Awareness flowed back. She was drenched, her back icy as a slate, soaked in cold sweat; the wind bit her spine like winter teeth.

She let out a long, murky breath, as if emptying a clogged flute, and turned toward the girl who had hauled her back from the ledge. The child waved and ran to her, sunlight skipping on her steps.

“Aili.” For the first time, Lucimia spoke the girl’s name, letting it settle like a warm pebble.

“Sister!” Aili bounded to a stop, smiling sweet as ripe fruit. “Sister, the village chief asked me to ask—do Bloodkin drink animal blood? If you do, we can bring you chicken blood, duck blood.”

“Uh…”

Kindness hit her like soft rain. Lucimia froze, then after a few breaths forced a smile like paper. “No need. Thank you.”

“Aw… okay.” Aili’s disappointment flickered and went out like a tiny flame; joy relit fast. “Sister, you’re amazing! I mean your magic. So many beasts, and you brushed them aside like leaves. I suddenly want to learn magic again. With magic I can protect the village, and—most important—magic can help the villagers light fires!”

“Eh? R-right? That’s great. Keep at it.” Lucimia’s heart shied away like a skittish deer; she didn’t want to face this clear-eyed child.

She couldn’t say, Your future is already written in ash. The words stuck like thorns. She turned slightly, giving Aili her shoulder.

“Mm-hm! But Dad won’t agree. He says it costs a lot, and magic needs talent… so…”

“So?”

“So… it’s… it’s…” The girl fumbled, her voice curling like a shy snail.

“Say it straight.” Lucimia had already guessed, like seeing a path through fog.

“Mm…” Bolstered by her tone, Aili gathered courage like cupping fire. “So, I want… to ask Sister to teach me magic! If I show a little talent, maybe Dad will let me go!”

As expected, her guess fit like a key. If the girl cast even one spell, not just her parents, the whole village would likely send Aili to learn.

“Alright.” Lucimia agreed, the word falling gentle as snow.

She didn’t know what string in her heart she was plucking. Teaching wouldn’t change the cliff ahead; Aili would die here like a candle in wind. Yet she said yes—maybe to soothe a bruise inside, maybe like those who grant wishes at the edge of night.

So she agreed. She led the girl to the house she was borrowing, and began explaining the bones of magic with a teacher’s calm.

“Magic,” she said, “is mobilizing the mana in your own circuits, shaping that mana into a Magic Array, then feeding mana in to release.” Her voice flowed like chalk on slate.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Aili nodded, eyes bright like stars.

“It sounds simple, but doing it is all needlework,” Lucimia continued, patient as winter sun. “For a beginner, the hard part is moving mana smoothly, guiding it to walk the routes you intend while you’re moving it. When you inscribe the Magic Array, each loop needs a different pressure—meaning a different amount of mana input—like weaving threads of uneven thickness.”

“For mages past the First Tier, the knot is carving multiple arrays onto one plate without conflicts. That calls for wisdom like a library, and lots of reading.”

“I understand!” Aili nodded hard, her ponytail bouncing like a bellrope.

“We’ll start with the simplest—Fireball Spell.”

“Okay!”

Time thinned into quiet strands as Lucimia taught Aili to use Fireball Spell, beginning with sensing, channeling, and steering mana, like learning to breathe and walk. Luckily, Swordmaster training has this same first step; Aili grew up in the Empire and had learned it already, so the road ahead smoothed like packed snow.

When it came to inscribing the Fireball Spell Magic Array, Aili struggled at first, her lines wobbling like a child’s chalk. Under Lucimia’s patient guidance, she finally etched a rough but complete array, a circle like a slightly chipped coin.

“Great!” Aili cried, joy popping like a firecracker.

“Mm. Let’s step outside and test it,” Lucimia said, her smile soft as lantern light. “The fineness of the array affects mana cost, power, all that. We’ll talk details later. For now, you’ve learned it.”