Desty’s idea wasn’t wrong, but it came from the window of her own mind, fogged by her private weather.

She didn’t know Lucimia’s Reversion had hairline cracks, like ice under strain.

She didn’t know the taint in Lucimia ran deep, black silt in a riverbed she hid.

She didn’t know Lucimia didn’t want to draw that power again, not unless the blade touched her throat.

Unless forced, Lucimia wouldn’t burn energy for nothing; she still wanted to find Yuna and drift home like swallows at dusk.

There, lazy mornings like warm light on a quilt, pleasure simple as sun on a window ledge.

With Olivya’s plan to sacrifice descendants, her heart shut like a clam; she refused to be an offering on a cold altar.

Saving the world didn’t tempt her; she kept just one small wish, to sleep in at sunrise like a cat beneath eaves.

From start to finish, that thought sat with her, a smooth pebble in her sleeve.

After laying the Magic Array, Lucimia slid back to Desty’s side like a shadow over water.

“Hey, don’t fuss over that,” Lucimia said. “Don’t lean on Reversion; a bridge breaks if you pile weight on its cracks.”

“…Really?” Her doubt fluttered like a moth.

“Really.” The word fell like a stone in a pond.

“Alright, you must have your reasons.” Even with no explanation, Desty trusted her, like sailors trust the star that never drifts.

“Then why set the Magic Array?” she asked, voice like a pebble tapping glass.

“To fight, of course.” Lucimia cut through the water as she spoke, her words slicing like fins.

“Say we had no Reversion. In this mess, how would we respond?”

“Uh… pursuers and a rat swarm.” Desty paused, the pause heavy as rain. “If you won’t spend much energy, running’s all I see.”

“What if running fails?” Her worry curled like smoke.

“Well…” The word frayed like a rope.

“Besides, we can’t leave the valley; it’s a bowl, and the swarm follows my motion like tide.”

“Even if we exit, coming back for the Cross grows harder; without rats stirring chaos, their deployment flows like an open road.”

“Makes sense…” Desty nodded, a reed answering wind.

“But I think they’ve got ways to deal with the swarm; otherwise, why walk through the storm untouched?”

“So, how do we answer it? Got a method?” Curiosity pricked her like a whisker.

“I do. Let me analyze.” Her tone sharpened like a blade.

Lucimia slipped into her best craft—analysis—clean as steel through silk.

In cunning, her judgment and guesses outmatched her knack for posing riddles, like hawks outpacing sparrows.

“Picture three roles. Up front, you and me. In the middle, the rat swarm. In back, the pursuers, a storm behind us.”

“Assume an enemy master with a Flight Spell. He stays aloft, safe from bites, like a kite in clear air.”

“How do the rest get through?” She lifted a hand, the question bright as a coin.

“They must carry a counter to the swarm. The rats breed, split, and don’t die, an Authority Power-level effect.”

“So, besides my Devouring, what’s the likeliest answer?” Lucimia asked, eyes like quiet knives.

“Purification, right? Only Purification.” Desty spoke easily, like clear water washing ink. “And Purification cooperates with Ment.”

“Exactly. So our pursuers likely carry a way to counter the swarm.” Her words stacked like stones.

Desty thought a beat, rain ticking. “We saw no soldiers, only arrows like cold rain.”

“Could that archer be the Flight Spell master? What if he alone hunts us—an Inquisitor from the Church?”

“Then there’s even less to fear.” Lucimia’s scorn flicked like a fan. “One person catching us? Not worth a line item.”

“Unless that one is the Purification Deity himself,” she added, a thunderhead passing.

“Do you think Ment and the Church would send just one?” Her roll of eyes swept like wind over grass. “Don’t even consider it.”

“Seems so…” She felt she’d assumed too much, thin ice whispering underfoot. “Then?”

“Then? Then… wait—shore first.” The decision landed like a stone.

Lucimia shifted to human, grabbed fish-shaped Desty, and sprang from the water in a silver arc and spray.

She turned Desty human again, a gesture neat as folding silk.

“What’s wrong?” Desty touched down, slapping off droplets like beads, and checked the sword at her waist.

“Talk while we move.” Lucimia caught her wrist and hurried upstream, pebbles clicking underfoot.

After a stretch, she spoke. “Given the analysis, the valley’s likely seeded with soldiers, a net woven through forest and hill.”

“Remember the arrows dropped from high sky? That archer likely has a Flight Spell and will hunt us.”

“To strike us in the river, the cleanest method is lightning, a whip in the water.”

“He’s a mage; he won’t just chase with eyes and flight. A mage kills in a mage’s way.”

“Using the terrain is a required course, hills laid like a chessboard.” She’d read that in a grimoire scented with ink.

“I see.” Her understanding opened like a fan.

“Likely, troops sit in deep forest and low hills.” Lucimia’s voice mapped it like ink. “The expert presses from the river’s rear.”

“That’s only what the Purification Church brings.” She lifted a brow like a crescent. “Ment will have helpers—say, Lev.”

“Maybe Lev’s the one casting lightning, while the archer waits above to shoot the instant we break out.”

“Good thing I saw that coming; their snare should fail, a rope cut before it tightens.”

Lucimia went on, voice smoothing then snagging. “One point still feels strange.”

“What?” Desty’s breath sat like a bird.

“In theory, Ment knows where his own Cross is hidden, right?” The notion stood like a signpost.

“Right,” Desty echoed, her word flat as slate.

“We marked two suspicious spots.” Her finger traced air like chalk. “One was a decoy. What about the other?”

“Let’s not argue whether a Cross sits there. Suppose it does. Ment knows our destination.”

“So why doesn’t he look hurried?” Lucimia’s doubt hung like mist over reeds.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Confusion blinked like rain on lashes.

“It feels off.” Lucimia paused, the silence a held breath. “If the upper reach has a Cross, and they can resist the swarm...”

“Why deploy troops elsewhere? They could drop on us or encircle us, yet it’s quiet, air still as pond water.”

“Fuzzy Orb’s scouting saw no encirclement, just blank hills like sleeping beasts.”

“That… does seem true.” Desty scratched her head, knuckles tapping like a drum. “Why?”

“Either there’s no Cross upstream, or they don’t care if one gets ruined.” Her tone cooled like evening.

“They’re set on a trapped-beast fight in this valley, a ring tightening.”

“Maybe Ment’s already raised white fog around the rim, a lid over the bowl to stop escape.”

“Next, they’ll use the Purification Magic Array the Inquisitor used in Jaha Town, a net of light to grind us.”

“They need time to lay it; that’s why the forest breathes quiet.”