The two girls walked down the street, their steps ticking on cobbles like soft rain.

Lucimia spoke to Rexi, her voice a steady lantern in the dusk, explaining why a trail might still gleam under the silt.

“When I use my Authority Power and Devouring wipes someone’s existence, it sets off a butterfly effect and a historical correction, like wind stirring old leaves.”

“Forget the butterfly effect; it doesn’t touch this alley tonight. The weight sits on historical correction, like a tide pulling nets.”

“Usually, say A was stabbed to death. I use Reversion to save her, like rewinding a clock’s hand.”

“But with no other power, I can only keep her from touching the blade, like moving her a step aside.”

“Then historical correction finds another path to the grave, like water forcing a new channel.”

“But my power is too strong. With Authority Power, I change A’s death by force, like painting over ink.”

“Then historical correction swaps someone else into her place, like a shadow changing bodies.”

“In short, the name I should search might not be hers anymore. It could be someone else’s, like a mask traded at dawn.”

“The reporter might stay the same. If the reporter had two kids, and the first child’s existence gets erased, her abduction vanishes like mist.”

“But the event itself still stands, like a tree without its first fruit. So it might turn into the second child being abducted.”

“Oh, I see.” Rexi nodded, thoughts rippling like a pond under moonlight. “I kind of get it.”

“Mm.” Lucimia’s breath settled, a quiet bell in her chest.

As she’d said, even if the name “Yuna” couldn’t be found, Lucimia could hunt for faces that mirrored Yuna’s features, like matching brushstrokes.

It still wasn’t certain; history might correct toward someone else entirely, a branch bending away from Yuna’s parents.

Anyway, it was worth a try, like casting a line before sunrise.

So this trip wasn’t for nothing; honestly, she would’ve come to check regardless, like a compass refusing to drift.

“…Huh? Wait, there’s a problem.” Lucimia caught a snarl in the thread, like a knot under the cloth.

She suddenly saw that, whether she forgot Yuna or not, she’d still come investigate, like a river returning to its course.

Which meant her guess that Auril altered her memory felt redundant, like a stroke added to a finished character.

Suppose she hadn’t forgotten Yuna even after Devouring erased that existence; she’d jump straight to historical correction, and bring Rexi to the files, like following tracks in fresh snow.

Got it? The conclusion rang like iron: forgetful or not, she would inevitably investigate, so Auril guiding her didn’t hold water.

Looking at the whole weave, the one thread she’d gained was clear: her memory had been altered for some reason, like a page scraped thin.

What did that mean? Suspicion pricked like needles. Did Rexi do it? Why lay a hand on that jar?

Lucimia thought for two beats, a sparrow’s pause, then glanced at Rexi ahead and strode up, gripping her arm like a hook catching cloth.

“What are you doing!” Rexi flinched, eyes bright as startled fish.

“I’ll ask again. Did you change my memory?” Lucimia’s tone dropped like a stone in a well.

“No, I didn’t—really, I swear!” Rexi shook her head fast, like a bell with no clapper.

Lucimia frowned, distrust coiling like smoke, then used Devouring to read Rexi’s memories, like dipping a ladle into a clear spring—and found nothing.

“…How strange.” The word hung like a moth around a lamp.

“What’s wrong…” Rexi looked a little wronged, like a cat in the rain. “I don’t even know who you’re after; how could I change it?”

“But you’ve read my memory,” Lucimia said, voice a steel string.

“Only the part you let me read,” Rexi murmured, hands tight like folded fans.

“Maybe you deduced it from scraps,” Lucimia pressed, eyes like flint.

“I’m not that clever!” Rexi protested, cheeks puffing like a steamed bun.

“Who knows,” Lucimia said, cold as winter shadow.

She kept questioning, her words tapping like beads, while Rexi wore innocence and grievance like twin masks.

At last Rexi said, “You’re just too suspicious. Maybe you really forgot. From that whole kingdom till now, your mind hasn’t stopped—like a wheel grinding grain.”

“It’s easy to burn out. You need proper rest,” she added, soft as a quilt.

Lucimia didn’t buy it. “Rest? You want me to stop thinking? Then what?” Her voice cut like a reed flute.

“…Seriously?” For the first time, Rexi fell silent, her mouth a closed petal.

She spoke again, slow as snow. “Your paranoia’s really bad.”

Then she flipped in a blink, tears welling like dew. “I trust you so much—during the Duel too—and you don’t trust me. Wuu, wuu.”

Lucimia said nothing, her gaze a still pond. She knew Rexi’s trust was solid; in the Duel, a loss would’ve been a cliff.

Back when the Empire faced the Purification Deity, Rexi even ran up to Vosh as a distraction, trusting Lucimia to resolve it—if not, she’d be in danger herself, like a moth near flame.

She’d given full trust; keeping suspicion felt like sour wine stuck on the tongue.

And Rexi was right about one thing: she truly didn’t know these specifics; how could she alter what she couldn’t name?

“Still… something feels off,” Lucimia whispered, the words like a shadow under the lantern.

Her intuition said Rexi’s story had gaps, like stitches skipping—but she couldn’t catch them yet.

Her gut also said Rexi carried no malice, maybe even kindness, like warm tea in cold hands.

She couldn’t solve it now; she tucked it away, a note pinned under the lid.

They rode a carriage back to the inn, wheels humming like bees under twilight.

Lucimia sat and spread two case files on the table, paper rustling like autumn leaves, ready for a first pass.

Rexi sulked on the bed, arms crossed like closed gates, wearing a look of big grievance.

Lucimia glanced over. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was a soft brushstroke.

“Ah!” Rexi let out a sigh, like steam escaping a pot, saying nothing while saying everything.

Lucimia echoed her, “Sigh,” the sound a faint reed on water.

It wasn’t malice; Rexi’s suspicion weight was heavy, like a stone in the basket.

“I’m mad. I want compensation,” Rexi declared, straight as a spear.

“…What do you want?” Lucimia asked, tone even as ink.

“Put your Fuzzy Orb effect on me,” Rexi said, eyes bright like stars. “I’ll grab some wine.”

“That fruit wine tastes great, like ripe pears. You read here; I’ll drink downstairs and wait. Call me if you need me.”

“You’ll end up a drunk,” Lucimia muttered, a pale smile like thin frost. Still, to make amends, she set the Devouring effect on Rexi, a quiet veil like down.

Grievance vanished. Rexi beamed, spring returning like sun on ice. “Nice! I’m off. Call me if anything!”

“Hold up!”

Rexi halted at the door, heel poised like a bird on a twig. “What now?”

“While you’re at it, read Luwens’s memory about the kidnapping and missing cases.” Lucimia’s words clicked like beads.

“What does ‘too deep’ mean in his notes? You should be fine, right?”

“You know his name and face; you can do it remotely, like casting a net from shore.”

“No problem!” Rexi shot a gesture and winked, a spark like flint, then zipped out of the room.

“This girl…” Lucimia shook her head, a rueful arc like wind curling a curtain.

Rexi’s moods came fast and went faster, her expressions flipping like pages in a breeze.

Lucimia let it go and opened the national files, her eyes skimming like swallows over fields.

Auril’s kidnapping case—whether to help, that could wait like a sealed letter.

First, hunt for any lead on Yuna, find the key of historical correction, like a hidden hinge under paint.

If nothing turned up, she’d check the port for a library or bookshop, and try to locate Kalan Village, like tracing a map by starlight.