First, Devour Desty’s curse—like swallowing a thorn of moonlight. But the Purification Deity will keep flooding us with Authority Power, like a tide that won’t ebb. Damn it. Is there a way to kill Lev without the ripples drowning Desty? It feels like a dead river.

Lucimia slumped against an ice wall, like driftwood pressed to a glacier, hands useless and heart colder.

A tremor rolled beside her, like a drum under snow. A familiar great white snake nosed out of the drift, tongue flicking like a silver thread, vertical pupils pinning Lucimia like icicles.

She glanced at it and sighed, thin as frost. Guess we can only… use Reversion first.

She raised ice walls around herself, a ring of pale cliffs, to blunt any sudden strike. Then she triggered Reversion.

White light surged in like a breaking wave. A third stab of needles in her eyes, a whirlpool of vertigo tugging her down. No matter how often, the body rebelled like a boat in storm.

When she opened her eyes, she froze like a deer. She and Desty stood on the bank in the river zone, reeds hissing, instead of being tiny fish under the current.

Desty also stiffened. A guess rose in her like a tide of sand. Um… what time point did you Revert to?

One day earlier. Before we entered the valley, Lucimia answered without a breath, voice like a snapped twig.

Was this Ment’s curse on her Reversion? Each use pushes the timeline further back, like the sun slipping earlier behind the ridge?

Then the nausea and the delay—what do they really touch? Are they just there to make her choke on bile?

What do we do? Desty asked, voice like wind through wet grass.

No move… Lucimia exhaled, the word thin as smoke.

They stood there, two stones beside a gray stream, at a loss.

The open ground beside them flared with a Teleportation Array, lines blooming like a frost flower. Lev stepped out, a shadow cut by white fire.

Lucimia’s nerves snapped taut like a bow. She yanked Desty close, then cast a quagmire with a thought—earth melted like dark soup—and dropped Lev into the ground. Before he could breathe, she spent energy like flinging coal into a furnace and wrapped him with a Fuzzy Orb, a cocoon of furred night.

Purification arrows hissed from afar, white feathers like winter cranes, all aimed at Lev. This time the Fuzzy Orb Devoured them first, like a black tide swallowing stars.

Huh? They’re this fast now? Desty blurted, eyes wide as wet moons.

They probably set a Teleportation Array too, and used Purification or a curse to resist Reversion’s reset, Lucimia said, lifting her gaze toward Nat like lifting a blade to the sky.

Nat smiled, easy as a cat by a brazier. Quick reaction. You trapped Lev. That makes it not fun.

He said not fun, but his tone tinkled like bells—he was enjoying this game.

Lucimia’s face went flint. Strange. You could’ve killed yourselves on the spot, then injury-swapped onto Desty. Why run up to our faces?

Because it’s fun, he said, like tossing a pebble into a mirror-lake.

Fun…

Desty’s voice stuttered from behind, like a candle in wind. Lu… Lucimia… I think… I’m controlled again…

A White Sword gathered in her hands, light condensing like hoarfrost. She didn’t give Lucimia a heartbeat. She drove the blade toward her own heart, a swan diving into black water.

Lucimia’s raised hand froze midair, a statue in a snowstorm.

She’d expected it, but the moment landing was still a hammer.

Hahahaha. So, what now, Lucimia? Keep Reverting? I’d say don’t. Reversion eats your energy like locusts. Save it and think how to flip the board, ha!

The more she heard Nat laugh, the more her knuckles itched, like thunder trapped in a fist. That laugh was cheap as tin.

But he wasn’t wrong. Two paths split like a forked stream. Revert again, and Desty dies again—she can’t save her. Or don’t Revert, abandon Desty, and bank the fire for a later blaze.

Thinking cold, the latter was better. But Lucimia wasn’t a cold river. For the people who matter, she wouldn’t let go. Just like now—everything she did was to get Yuna back.

Reversion.

A fourth white surge, harsh as snow glare. The same needles in her eyes, the same spin of the world.

When it ended, she opened her eyes in scrub on a hill, leaves whispering like green flames. Not far off stood the seven Holy Knights they’d first seen, tents like dull shells.

Time got pushed back again… Her whisper was a falling flake.

She crouched behind a tent, peeking like a fox. Huh? How did it become eight? Nine? No…

She rubbed her eyes with a small hand, like polishing fogged glass.

Weird… why double images?

She narrowed her eyes. The doubles slipped away like ghosts, and the count slid back to seven.

What was this? Her sight was wrong. Far scenes split, and a squint glued them back. It felt like nearsightedness, a mist creeping over a pond.

Why would I go nearsighted? It shouldn’t be. What did I do to wound my eyes?

Wait. During Reversion, her eyes always felt stabbed by light…

No way… is this part of the curse? The thought dropped like a stone in her chest.

If each Reversion deepens the blur, will it end in night? And if she goes blind, Reversion dies with it—because its trigger is seeing light.

Lucimia fell silent, a snowfall with no sound.

Another bad news fell on her shoulders like wet snow. She’d thought Reversion only felt worse; she hadn’t expected time to be pushed back. She’d thought it stopped there, yet now even sight was a battlefield.

She turned to Desty. Desty was pale as paper, many deaths and the weight of being a burden grinding her down like millstones.

Lucimia considered ending her Devouring on Desty, letting Reversion reset the memories. Maybe Desty’s heart would breathe easier.

Desty felt Lucimia’s gaze like a warm palm and understood. Don’t, let me keep the memories, she blurted, words tumbling like pebbles. If I’d never known, fine. But to know and then be forced not to… that hurts worse.

She glanced at Lucimia and, seeing no answer, added softly, like a leaf falling: Uh… of course, if you need to save energy, I’ll follow your call…

She closed her eyes, waiting for the wipe like a tide waiting for moonrise. What came instead was a soft sigh.

Lucimia patted her shoulder twice, gentle as snow tapping glass. No need.

R-really? Desty opened her eyes, scratched her cheek, embarrassment pink as dawn. …Thank you.

What’s there to thank? Lucimia muttered, puzzled as a sparrow. Anyway, keep thinking. Got any bright ideas?

She asked because sometimes Desty’s odd sparks lit kindling.

Mm… Desty frowned long, thoughts circling like moths, then shook her head. Sorry. I’ve got nothing… I’m dragging you down…

She lowered her head and covered her face, tears weighing on her lashes like dew.

It was the first time Lucimia had seen her like this. Something shifted in her chest like ice cracking. She stepped in and wrapped her arms around Desty, a careful embrace in winter air.

She rested her forehead against Desty’s, chin on her shoulder, and spoke soft as a hearth-flame. It’s okay… It’s not on you. It’s on me. I left that hairpin. Ment used it as a medium to curse me. I dragged you under. If I hadn’t puffed up… truth is, I got cocky, and a bit sentimental…