After leaving the forest, Lucimia didn’t rush to Devour Nirael’s ability, nor erase the rats’ mark; restlessness buzzed in her chest like trapped bees.
She flew to the ruined clocktower and perched atop it like a lone swallow, gazing down at the scene like a cold lake reflecting sky.
“Did I do wrong? Am I the bad one?” she asked, her voice a thin thread in the wind.
No, I didn’t do wrong, I’m not a bad person, she told herself, the words like stones stacked into a small wall.
My wish is ordinary and bright, like a lantern in a window, not some shadowed thing.
I was merciful enough, like a hand held back from the blade; I only refused to guide them, that doesn’t paint me black.
And remember, she thought, tallying like chalk on a board, I’ve done plenty; they owe me, and I didn’t demand payback, which is kindness like rain in drought.
That’s what I say, yet...
Yet a heaviness sat in her chest like wet clay; she felt as if she’d committed an unforgivable sin carved into bone.
If I don’t guide them, Nirael will lose, Ment will seize the Empire, and more innocents will fall like wheat before hail...
All because I didn’t guide them...
But what has that to do with me? she argued, anger sparking like flint; if blame must fall, let it fall on the Dark Deity, not on me.
Except, I could stop it, she thought, the thought like a knife glinting in riverlight.
Had something stained me, even a little? she wondered, as if soot smudged a white sleeve; the old me might’ve guided them, since it cost no sweat, just a small kindness like handing bread.
But today I refused, and I looked unreasonable, like frost on spring buds; I kept threatening people, or I used Authority Power like a hammer on glass.
No, Nirael threatened me too, she argued, her pulse like drums; if she wasn’t wrong, how am I wrong?
Right, I’m not wrong either, she insisted, building a fragile bridge from breath.
I never had that self-sacrificing shine; I was just a girl in the Town of Tranquility, living happily like a cat in sun.
Dark Deity or salvation—both were cloaks thrown over my shoulders by others, cold and heavy like wet wool.
To save myself, I was forced to resist, forced to think, thoughts tangling like vines; I don’t want to think, I just want to live like water in a quiet stream.
“Was I wrong?” Lucimia pressed her hands to her head, her mind a skein of knotted thread.
—
In a hidden basement, orange-red lamps pooled like sunset, washing the stone room in warm ember.
Shelves loaded with books rose along the left like a small forest of spines.
On the right, two long tables hugged the wall; one sprawled with books like fallen leaves, the other crowded with glass bottles like dew-beaded berries.
A bed rested nearby like a quiet boat, and on the floor a Magic Array lay inked like a frost-white sigil.
Bevi fiddled with a glass bottle, stirring unknown liquid that glinted like blood caught in a swirl.
Rexi sat on the other side, bored as a cat in rain, waiting for Bevi to finish whatever he was brewing.
After a long while that stretched like melted wax, he said, “Alright.”
Bevi wiped his sweat, the gesture like rain brushed from a brow, set the bottle on the table, and Rexi leaned in like a curious fox.
The bottle was diamond-shaped; inside sloshed a blood-red liquid that seemed to flow even while the glass sat still, like a heart under skin.
“What is this?” Rexi asked, curiosity flickering like a candle.
“Bloodkin blood,” Bevi said, dropping into a chair like a stone into a pond.
“Eh? What’s it for?” Her words popped like kernels.
“Don’t worry what it’s for,” Bevi said, voice level as a blade, passing her the bottle like a relay baton. “Just keep it on you, and don’t break it.”
“Why so mysterious?” Rexi grumbled, the sound like a pebble skipping, but she didn’t dig deeper; she took it and slid it into her Storage Ring like a star into night.
“Then I’ll go. The Royal Capital’s north, right?” she asked, eyes like arrows.
“Mm.” Bevi nodded, a small tide rising, then pulled open the drawer beneath the table and took out a burlap pouch like a sagging moon. “This is for you. About four to five hundred gold coins.”
“Eh? Four to five hundred? That’s so many loaves!” Rexi yelped, astonished like a bird flushed from grass. “No, no, I can’t take your money!”
“You misunderstand. It’s not mine,” Bevi sighed, the sound like a door easing shut. “It’s from your father.”
“My... father?” Rexi froze, her breath caught like frost.
“Yes. Your father asked me to give it to you,” Bevi said, pushing the coins toward her like a tide nudging driftwood. “Rexi, when the day feels right, try to find your memories.”
“I...” The word hung like a raindrop.
Before Rexi could say more, Bevi pointed at the Magic Array on the floor, his finger straight as a reed. “This is an Instant Movement Magic Array. It can jump you anywhere within range. Teleport to the back side of Erwei City, then go straight.”
“...Okay.” Rexi took the coins in silence, the weight like warm stones, stepped onto the array half-willing, half-pushed like a leaf to water. Then she paused and asked, “What about you? You can’t stay in Erwei City, right? Where will you go?”
“Me?” Bevi paused, leaning his cheek on his hand like a man tired of rain, eyes closed. “I don’t have Authority Power. Going with you would be suicide, like walking into a furnace. I might even get eaten as fuel. So... I might return to the Bloodkin.”
“Oh. Alright then. I’m going,” she said, words like a quick nod.
“Go,” Bevi said, keeping his palm to his face like a mask, waving lazily. “After you settle things, make some friends like planting trees. Or try to get your memories back, then do what needs doing.”
“Oh...”
“Mm.”
Light flared from the array like dawn breaking ice, and Rexi’s figure vanished from the basement like a candle snuffed.
Only then did Bevi open his eyes again, and he let out a heavy sigh that rolled like thunder.
“Even if Rexi goes, it won’t work,” he murmured, the truth bitter as ash. “Nirael’s energy isn’t enough. The swarm won’t reach the Royal Capital.”
He sighed again, the sound fading like ripples, and fell into memory like one stepping into deep water.
He wasn’t as young as he looked; his years outnumbered even the old city lord’s, a ringed tree hidden under smooth bark.
He’d had a family once—wife and daughter—warm as a hearth, and the Dark Deity blew it all to smoke like a storm through paper.
So he took the road against the Dark Deity, feet bleeding like berries on snow, knowing he lacked the strength to face Authority Power.
He chose a side path, sharpening needles instead of swords; he helped others in secret, the way rain helps seeds.
No one knew he existed; he gathered intel like ants, tweaked plans like a tailor, and shored up the tiny gaps like mortar between bricks.
Time after time, when someone fought the Dark Deity and their plan had holes like moth-eaten cloth, something patched it unseen and carried them through.
This time, too, he’d do the same—offer his meager strength like a cup of warm tea—to drive the Dark Deity away.
He stood, straightened his collar like a man before frost, as if sealing a decision in wax.
—
Rumble, long and low—rumble-rumble rolled across the earth like storm drums.
Driven by Lucimia’s marks, the vast swarm of rats finally surged toward Erwei City, crashing like a tsunami, collapsing like a landslide.
They heaved up the ground like a plow and snapped the forest like brittle bones.
Perched on the clocktower, Lucimia watched the spectacle clear as winter stars.
“The swarm’s here... I should... leave,” she whispered, her resolve settling like a blade into its sheath, deciding to Devour Nirael’s ability and erase the swarm’s mark.
Just then, a vision bloomed from a Fuzzy Orb she’d planted in and around the city, an eye opening like a dew drop.
A young man stepped into view—black short hair like ink, slightly pointed ears like leaves, vertical red pupils like slits of ember, two sharp fangs like ivory.
Hands in his pockets, he walked out of the gate with a face blank as stone, and stopped before the tide of rats like a rock before surf.
“That’s... Bevi?” Lucimia stared, surprise flaring like a struck match.
