Leaving Erwei City, Lucimia sifted her thoughts like fingers brushing snow from a cloak.

The threads likely weave like this—

The old city lord knew much of the Dark Deity, like an archivist in a frost-lit tower. He knew abilities, Authority Power, and how such gods are born, like seeds under black soil. He wanted to crush Ment while guarding his daughter, so a thorned plan sprouted—grant her Authority, let her become a Dark Deity.

Even if Dark Deities often meet ugly ends, he knew that without Authority, life itself snaps like a brittle twig in winter.

So, by means and whispers like smoke through cracks, he let Rexi gain a memory-born ability. Then he gathered many with the same gift, led Rexi to them, and had her kill them one by one like candles snuffed in a silent hall.

Maybe he imprisoned them, then a month ago made her cut them down all at once, like wheat under a cold blade.

Somewhere in that blood-dim path, Ment likely caught scent of it. He sent puppets to meddle, like shadows creeping along a wall, but they failed.

As for Rexi’s amnesia… maybe the old lord forced her hand and bruised her heart, so she fled inward, blanking herself like snow over a trail.

Fine—these are guesses, wind over reeds. As long as Rexi isn’t Vosh Ment’s hand, the rest drifts away like mist.

Lucimia returned to Rexi and Nirael, and the two drew close like sparrows to a warm perch.

“How is it? Do we start?” Nirael asked, her voice taut as a bowstring.

“Mm.” Lucimia nodded, calm as a lake at dawn. “In a moment, you summon your mice and strike like a red tide. Don’t show yourself—stay like fog behind stone. Vosh will appear to resist, storm to your shore. Then Rexi, enter her sight like a flicker behind reed, pretend you’re hiding, and keep smudging her memory like wet ink. She’ll feel the touch and guess you’re the ghosting hand. With her wit, she’ll sketch the contour of your Authority, and she’ll link it to how I drew her out at the start—she’ll suspect I edited her memory then. She’ll rethink the effect on her—maybe it isn’t Devouring, but memory itself—”

“Wait, wait!” Rexi cut in, her hand slicing the air like a startled bird.

“What is it?” Lucimia asked, unruffled, her tone steady as a creek under ice.

“Uh… if I show up before the Purification Deity, won’t she cut me down like grass? You said if she wants to break the besieged-beast fight, the best way is to absorb more energy. What if she kills me to drink it?”

“Relax. She won’t kill you,” Lucimia said, sure as mountain stone.

“Why?”

“Because killing you is a hassle, like dragging a net through black ice. Nirael will guard you like a wall. If there’s a way to take energy without lifting a finger, she’ll choose the easy stream.”

“What do you mean?” Nirael asked, eyes sharp as flint.

Lucimia didn’t answer. She only looked at Nirael, then at Rexi, gaze like a cat’s at dusk.

“Just do as I said. I have my way,” she said, like a lantern kept hooded.

Seeing Lucimia wouldn’t spill more, the two stopped pressing. Trust felt easier than questions, like warm tea in cold hands. The girl before them was sharper than most, and her plans usually cut clean.

Lucimia used Teleportation Magic and vanished on the spot, a drop lost in mist, leaving Rexi and Nirael to the hush.

“Uh… where’d she go?” Rexi asked, voice small as a moth.

“No idea. Let’s follow the plan,” Nirael said, steady as oak.

“Okay… but I’m scared. Can you really protect me? I can’t fight,” Rexi whispered, fear fluttering like leaves.

“Don’t worry. Lucimia told me to shield you, and I will, like stone against rain. She also said you’ll be fine, and that means you will.”

“You trust her that much?”

“Mm. She’s very, very strong,” Nirael said, certainty like iron.

“Is she?” Rexi half-doubted, her gaze like misted glass. She’d only heard Bevi speak of Lucimia, campfire rumor without witness.

Fitting then—this time she’d see with her own eyes, crisp as frost.

—

Vosh stayed in the Royal Capital, unwilling to move, unease crawling like ants under her skin. She didn’t know Lucimia’s intent, and the feeling grew feral, especially after Lucimia used Reversion.

Why finish the besieged-beast fight and not strike, but choose Reversion instead? After rewinding, what string did she pluck?

Vosh suddenly found Lucimia frightening, learning like bamboo after rain. The girl started naive as dawn, then after meeting Elyssus, she absorbed tactics like ink into silk. After the valley, she’d learned more, shadows gaining edges.

Regret pricked Vosh like thorn. Wanting one bite to grow fat was too naive; she should’ve killed Ment and retreated, tide out to rest. Not chased killing Nirael or Lucimia herself, and bled her edge dry.

“Olivya’s bloodline… each one more troublesome, like knots in old rope. This Lucimia’s the closest to Olivya herself, right?” Vosh muttered, a headache like iron bands.

She decided to flee at the first crack, like water through stone—after she scrubbed off the effects on her body.

Squeak-squeak-squeak—

From every side came a storm of rats, the sound rustling like dry leaves. Vosh looked, and saw a red swarm gnawing snow like fevered fire. Some rats burst, painting green liquid across white, the water tainted like bruised fruit.

Vosh knew Nirael was attacking, chesspiece sliding across ice.

“Heh. Did Reversion go fetch Nirael? So your plan is to drain me, like a leech at the river. Familiar,” Vosh said, face dark as a raincloud.

She had to stop it, bitter as swallowing sand. That’s the ugliness of an open scheme—everyone sees it, and you still must step into it.

She gathered snow-water, appearing on the Royal Capital street like a figure from mist. A toe tap, and she rose, arrow-clean into the sky. One hand reached out, pulling water like threads, the flow brightening until it turned azure energy, lake-blue under dawn.

She released it, a ripple widening like rings on a pond. Every rat the wave touched was Purified, ash under rain.

Nirael didn’t panic; it was within the map, a mill turning under steady grain. She kept pouring energy, summoning more rats, the attack renewing like surf.

“Hmph.” Vosh snorted, a cold spark in wind.

She gathered again, but a white blank rolled through her head like fog swallowing lanterns. She forgot what to weave and how to bind, and the half-formed energy scattered like beads from a cut string.

“Tch—what is this? Someone’s meddling? Lucimia?” Vosh frowned, storm rippling across her brow. “Is the Devouring effect inside me ticking?” She forced Purification Power through her, pressing the effect down like a lid on a boiling pot, then gathered energy again.

This time, a memory bloomed like ink in water: Nirael is a teammate. I can’t kill her.

She dispersed the energy by reflex, a hand opening before thought.

It lasted only a beat, a dragonfly on a reed. The next second, Vosh snapped awake—sharp and sure.

“Nirael is a teammate? Impossible. Something’s wrong,” she hissed, eyes sweeping the streets like a hawk.

There—a wall corner, a pale green-haired girl pressed flat like ivy, peeking at her with wide eyes.

The moment their gazes met, the girl jerked like a rabbit and slipped into the alley’s shadow.

“That girl… isn’t a puppet,” Vosh said, face sinking like stone into deep water. “Where did Lucimia find so many helpers?”