Lucimia let go; Rexi covered her cheek, red as pomegranate peel, feeling wronged like a kicked kitten.

“As you said, that’s how it is,” Rexi said, her words dropping like smooth river stones.

“I altered the double room on purpose, like laying a snare under fallen leaves, to lower your guard so later mishaps could be ‘accidents.’”

“If I switched straight to a single room, you’d suspect, like a lone lamp in a dark alley.”

“...” Silence pooled like ink around Lucimia.

What was this woman thinking, her thoughts fluttering like startled sparrows?

She kept quiet and drew a fresh quilt and bedding from the Storage Ring, the ring glinting like a moonlit well.

“It’s fine. I’ve got plenty of new ones,” she said, her tone flat as lake water.

Rexi stared, eyes wide as lanterns. “How do you have everything? What’s in your Storage Ring?”

“Mm… not much,” Lucimia said, her answer drifting like a leaf.

She remembered what she’d crammed in when planning to run, memory rustling like a travel pack.

Money and food, of course; then a river of daily goods flowing like a market at dusk.

Even dirt and stones, saplings and seeds, tableware, hanging paintings, clothes, quilts, shoes—like sweeping a whole village into a ring.

Whatever she saw, she stuffed in, like a magpie hoarding shiny scraps.

“All right, you’ll sleep on this,” she said, voice set like a stone.

“Don’t!” Rexi protested, her refusal popping like a seed pod.

“What are you up to?” Suspicion pricked like thorns.

“Who told you to be that pretty?” Her words were honeyed yet needle-sharp.

“...” Silence settled cool as mist.

“I’m not pretty,” Lucimia said at last, her denial dropping like a shutter.

“Pretty,” Rexi shot back, bright as a bell.

“Not pretty,” Lucimia returned, flat as slate.

“Pretty,” Rexi said, light as a feather.

“Not pretty,” Lucimia said, firm as a door bolt.

“Ah, so modest. I like you more,” Rexi laughed, praise drifting like spring petals.

“...” Her look was a dark drop of ink.

“Sleep properly,” Lucimia said, her tone snapping like a bamboo switch. “Eat something. We’ve got things later.”

“Aih~” Rexi sighed, her plan ruined, lying limp on the fresh bed like a fish on warm sand.

Seeing her slump, Lucimia sighed inside, her heart a low cloud.

Why did Rexi come with her? The question turned like a windmill.

On one hand, she wanted more—eyes like travelers chasing horizons.

On the other, with no memory and Erwei City a hollow shell, no family, no friends, she edged close to Lucimia like a stray finding porch light.

She wanted someone to talk to, a friend, maybe even family, voices like a hearth in winter.

Without memories, she seemed unwilling to use Authority Power to pull back the past, leaving it buried like snow.

So she needed to create new memories, fresh footprints on wet earth.

Maybe that was her motive, a seed tucked under loam.

Lucimia pulled over a chair and sat, the wood creaking like an old boat, and sighed again.

Honestly, she didn’t know what mood to face this with, feelings drifting like river fog.

She didn’t know what this Rexi counted as, labels sliding like oil.

If Rexi truly was the swapped persona, was she ordinary? Normal? Questions pecked like crows.

Most swapped personas aren’t good people, their edges like broken glass.

Maybe the original Rexi was sharp, and her father didn’t force her; they planned together like chess set before dawn.

After she gained Authority Power, to prevent losing control, she used memory to rewrite her unruly persona, sealing a storm in a jar.

A bit like Olivya and her Devouring, a serpent swallowing its tail.

Lucimia’s mood tangled, her gaze catching on Rexi like a snagged thread.

Rexi lay there sighing, like someone abandoned, a lone kite fallen to dust.

She murmured, “Sigh, this life is so short,” her words thin as autumn reeds.

That moved Lucimia a little, her chest warming like tea.

“Don’t overthink. I’ll take you for something tasty later,” Lucimia said, her voice a small lantern.

“But this blanket’s really short. It won’t cover my feet. Maybe… let me squeeze into your bed?” Mischief winked like a fox tail.

“...” Patience trickled away like sand.

Fine—she’d overthought. This rascal wasn’t lamenting life at all, insight sparking like flint.

Turns out she meant the blanket was short, the joke rolling like a peach.

Lucimia bristled, snatched the blanket back, then pulled a new one from the Storage Ring and dropped it over Rexi’s head, fabric falling like a soft cloud.

“Here, take it. You’re so annoying,” she said, sitting again with arms crossed, her anger a small charcoal ember.

“Hey, what was that for?” Rexi lifted the blanket and sat up. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat,” her appetite knocking like a drum.

“Sigh…” Lucimia breathed out, smoke-thin. “I’m not going out. I need to think what’s next.”

“Oh, then I’ll bring you something good,” Rexi chirped, promise quick as a sparrow.

Rexi hopped off the bed and bounded out the door, footsteps skipping like rain.

As she left, Lucimia warned, “Don’t cause trouble!” her caution a raised fan.

“I know!” The reply sparked like flint.

“Sigh.” A lone reed bent in the wind.

Lucimia rubbed her head, pushing thoughts of Rexi aside, plans stacking like stones by a river.

She’d come for two things. One: find Yuna’s parents, with Kalan Village as the trail, a thread thin as smoke.

Two: Time Ability Users. She had intel, but not detailed, maps with gaps like moth-bit cloth.

Bevi and Nirael had only said Time Ability Users clustered in the Lowegar Kingdom, with simple traits, faces blurred like silhouettes at dusk.

That search would be a slog, feet heavy as mud.

Still, there was a thread, a silver hair on dark cloth.

Anliena wanted to save someone, so she needed Reversion; she must’ve hunted widely, lanterns sweeping hills.

She likely found other Time Ability Users, testing their powers like rain tapping windows.

She sought cooperation; through her, detailed intel might become a bridge over deep water.

So, which first? The choice hovered like a knife.

The first task would be easier with local law enforcement, but they might eye an outsider like closed shutters.

If she searched alone, she’d need to locate Kalan Village, a pin dropped in a forest.

She could buy a map from merchants, ask locals, or visit libraries and bookshops, studying Lowegar Kingdom’s geography and history, pages like leaves and roads like veins.

As for the second… hesitation curled like smoke.

Lucimia didn’t want to cooperate yet; she wanted Anliena left waiting, ice held on the tongue.

She didn’t trust Anliena much; it could be a play, smiles like painted masks.

Whatever she said, Lucimia would treat as lies, words tossed like feathers in wind.

She didn’t buy that an academy professor who could craft Storage Rings, with at least two followers and solid magic, lacked cunning, mind like a fox in snow.

Roen even had the spine to surrender and play dumb during the Duel, rather than let Anliena face a later disadvantage, pride folded like a flag.

Better to be cautious; she’d paid for recklessness, scars thin as white lines.

Settled—start with the first. Law enforcement might refuse, but if Rexi used Authority Power to edit their recognition and memory, doors would sway like reeds in wind.

Learn if there’ve been abduction or trafficking cases; if yes, check for anyone reporting Yuna, names flickering like fireflies.

At the same time, ask who knows where Kalan Village is; the path should be smooth, packed earth after rain.

Lucimia leaned back, toes tapping, the chair rocking gently, wood humming like a cicada.

Then, a knock tapped the door, raps like light rain.

“Rexi’s back? Doesn’t she have a key?” Surprise tilted like a cup.

While she wondered, a voice came from outside: “Hello, are you in 403? I’m a tavern server,” words muffled like through cotton.

“What is it?” Lucimia asked, opening the door, hinges sighing like old reeds.

The server scratched his head, awkward, his smile crumpled like paper. “Well, the lady with you, she…”

“What about her?” The question pricked like a pin.

“She’s drunk,” the verdict thumped like a gourd.