Lucimia slipped into a coma; her mind sank like a stone through black water.

She dreamed of Olivya, of the First Era, of a Devouring Authority raging like locusts over barren fields.

She dreamed of many people, men and women, their black hair like night reeds, all wielding Devouring like a black flame.

They broke one by one, like mirrors under a hammer: madness, pain, twisted limbs, self-harm, suicide, selves blown away like ash.

Time crept like frost over glass; she opened her eyes to an altar.

Darkness pooled like ink; the altar rose like a cliff; a vast Magic Array glowed faintly under her feet.

“This is…?” Her doubt coiled like smoke.

Wasn’t this the sacrifice array the believers once built, buried like a bone in her memory?

It hadn’t appeared in ages; why had it surfaced here like a whale from deep night?

Lucimia stepped forward; below the altar, no followers stood, only silence thick as moss.

She looked back; Olivya’s phantom was gone; only a maiden’s statue watched like a pale moon, and a stone shelf held a book like a sleeping beast.

She approached the shelf; the ancient cover read: The Usurpation Plan, letters like scars on old bark.

“Huh? Not Olivya’s Resurrection Plan?” Her voice rippled like a disturbed pond.

Last time, the book had been Olivya’s Resurrection Plan; who had swapped the pages like wind switching banners?

Who was moving pieces, and where was this place, thin as a dream and heavy as stone?

She recalled Yuna’s whispers of Kalan Village, of black-robed men like crows snatching her, of a sacrifice to Lucimia.

Then this altar must be near Kalan Village, hidden like a thorn under the earth.

She’d need to ask someone where Kalan Village lay, like a trail through mist.

For now, she would read, letting the paper breathe like old leaves.

She opened the book; words rose like cold tide.

“Sealing the false Dark Deity only walls off the true Dark Deities, a glass lake between storms.”

“They’ll claw at the seal like wolves at a fence, seeking any path to break it.”

“Each false Dark Deity who descends is a new root in the soil, letting them spread power like ivy over stone.”

“To drive them out, there’s only one road, a knife-edge under snow: become a Dark Deity.”

“Not join them, but usurp their Authority Power, seize their crowns like lightning taking a tree, and become a new Dark Deity.”

“Every Authority is a fallen shard of them, a feather from a black wing; devour it with soul and life as fuel.”

“Don’t limit the river; don’t fear the flood; devour creatures like wildfire eating dry grass.”

“Devour every Authority Power in this world, year by year, generation by generation, like a relay of flames handed in the dark.”

“Devouring will inherit; Devouring will be passed on; devour them all like stars being swallowed by dawn.”

“Each Authority devoured is a bite of one of them; they lose the tongue to speak that power into the world.”

“Until the last, devour yourself, then storm the gray mist like a raider at dawn; devour concept; become a Concept Deity.”

“Begin with devouring self; end with devouring self, a circle drawn in ash.”

“Come, 75th holder of Devouring Authority—Lucimia Lancelot—offer soul and life like lamps in the wind.”

“I know you may refuse, but you cannot; your path is carved like a riverbed.”

“What the hell is that?” Lucimia flung the book away like a burning coal.

“False Dark Deities? True Dark Deities? Authority Power is just something the true ones send down like rain?”

Her chest tightened first, then her memory stirred like reeds: Nirael had said, I’m not a Dark Deity, you aren’t, none of us are.

In that moment, understanding cracked open like ice.

The people in the dream were all Lancelot Family; Olivya’s plan was a chain, each generation to devour Authorities; now she was the Sacrifice.

Why her, like a lamb singled out? Why not someone else, like the other two brothers?

Anger rose like fire; it spoke before her hands did.

She noticed the front pages were thick as stacked slates; she flipped back, fingernails cold.

“The 74th holder of Devouring Authority—Qir Lancelot—dead, body shattered after failing to devour Purification Power.”

It was her elder brother, a name falling like a stone.

Lucimia fell silent, silence heavy as rain.

So he had already walked that road; after he died, she was born; the wheel turned and caught her.

“Purification…” she whispered, the word like salt.

After two beats of quiet, she kicked the stone shelf; the blow rang like iron.

“I’m not listening to you,” she spat, breath hot as steam. “Saving the world has nothing to do with me. I’ll live my own life.”

She spun away; the steps echoed like hollow drums.

“I’ll just devour Temporal Authority,” she muttered, a plan thin as paper. “Then I’ll find Yuna, and live my days… and then…”

She stopped; a thought reared up like a serpent.

Could Yuna have been sent by Olivya on purpose, like a carrot swinging before a horse?

Was it designed so her Devouring would awaken only by devouring the soul of someone with Blessing, the hook buried under honey?

And for resurrection, she’d have to chase Temporal Blessings along the road like fireflies, and likely devour other Authorities too.

This path of Devouring would line up with the task neatly, like stones set in a riverbed.

They didn’t demand one generation to finish it; each devoured a part, then lost control like a lantern blown out; the next generation continued.

The more she thought, the less impossible it felt, a net tightening like vine.

Maybe the Purification Deity and Elyssus already knew, so they tried to wipe out the Lancelot Family like axes at roots.

If the Lancelot bloodline died, Devouring couldn’t be inherited; the chain would snap like a bowstring.

Then… should she not look for Yuna, and just run like wind?

Just use Reversion, roll back to when she’d entered the city, toss Desty aside, and flee to some remote small country like a bird to quiet hills?

It sounded workable, a road of sand, but…

Yuna’s choice to sacrifice herself burned behind her eyes like a candle; their promise stood like a carved oath.

She had promised to take Yuna to school, to bring her back; could she abandon that vow again like a dropped thread?

No. She couldn’t.

Lucimia clenched her fists like stones, then released them like wet leaves.

She drew a deep breath; she turned back to the distant statue, and her smile was a blade.

“Your plan fits a Dark Deity’s taste,” she mocked, voice crisp as frost. “Only a Dark Deity would do this.”

The statue’s lips curled like a crescent; it spoke like wind under a door: “Madness is the only way to fight madness.”

Lucimia chuckled twice, quiet as rain.

White light washed over her like a breaking wave; the world went dark; her mind slipped like a fish.

—

She surfaced with coughing; well water spilled from her mouth like cold glass; Desty was pressing hard on her chest.

“It hurts like hell!” Lucimia swore, breath jagged like saw teeth.

“Ah, you’re finally awake!” Desty bent down fast, concern like a warm cloak. “Are you okay? What happened below? How’d you drown… you can’t swim?”

The start felt like care; the end pricked like a joke; Lucimia shot her a glare sharp as a thorn.