They climbed into the high sky, cold as glass, and Lucimia unfurled a magic flying carpet for Rexi. His nerves settled like dust after wind.

Panic fluttered like caged sparrows; he drew deep breaths and patted his chest. “So urgent?”

“Mm.” Her nod was a pebble dropped in a still pond.

They flew fast, an arrow cutting blue cloth. Guided by memories she’d read, Lucimia hunted for Anliena’s office.

Once sure, she grabbed Rexi and rose again like a bubble. She stowed the carpet and shot for the tower office like a hawk.

“Hey, Lucimia, what are you doing! At this speed we’ll die, or hurt like hitting stone!” His voice skittered like rain on slate.

“Won’t happen.” Her reply was a blade of air.

Her body met the wall like a wave, then turned to black shadow and melted into stone. She took Rexi with her, both slipping through like ink through paper.

On the far side, they spilled out like water.

Landing, Lucimia set her soles on red carpet, a flow of wine. She lifted her head and met Anliena’s bewildered eyes.

Clinging to Lucimia, Rexi peeked out like a wary mouse. Seeing no danger, he hopped down like a spring.

“That scared me to death,” he said, heart thumping like a drum.

“You two almost killed me of fright.” Anliena’s complaint rose like steam. She sighed and looked up, eyes calm as frost. “So, you came to cooperate?”

“You start with how.” Lucimia’s tone was cool as river stone. She strode up, dragged two chairs like moving logs, set them facing Anliena, and sat with Rexi.

“Alright.” Anliena drew a deep breath, clouds gathering before rain. She paused, shaped her words like threading a needle, then spoke slowly.

“Where do I begin… Fine, straight to it: I want to save my father. He researched Storage Rings with me.”

“Hold on.” Lucimia’s interruption fell like a clap. “You said you want to save your father.”

“Mm? Yes, what’s wrong?”

Lucimia eyed her white hair streaked with pink, like frost and blossom, and thought of Auril’s. She hesitated, then asked, “Is your father… Auril?”

Anliena froze like a statue, then shook her head, leaves in wind. “No. But my father is royal too, so the same hair is normal.”

“Fine. Keep going.” Lucimia’s words were short as a knife.

“My father died five years ago.” Her voice wavered like a candle in draft. “I want to use Reversion to bring him back.”

“If you can save him, I’ll give you Time Halt unconditionally.” Her promise was an iron seal. “Don’t worry; I won’t go back on it.”

“I have Time Halt, so I can keep my own memory.” Her certainty sat like a stone. “If you still worry, we can bind it with a Duel.”

“No.” Lucimia’s answer was clean as a cut.

“Huh? Why?” Anliena’s confusion fluttered like moths.

“First, my Reversion can’t reach five years back.” Lucimia’s voice was flat as iron. “My Reversion can only return to the moment I obtained it.”

“From that moment to now is three months.” Three stones set on a short path.

Truth be told, her words weren’t exact. The point she can Revert to is when Yuna obtained Reversion. But it’s not far—at most another week or a month, a short candle.

“That’s impossible…” Anliena sprang to her feet; the chair banged like a drum. “You’re not lying to me?” Her eyes were sharp as needles.

“No.” Lucimia shook her head, a branch in wind. She said coldly, “Even if I could go back five years, I wouldn’t.”

“Why?” Her voice was thin as a thread.

“Because after Reversion, everything I’ve done gets washed away like a sand castle in rain.”

Anliena sank back into her seat, soul drifting like ash.

Neither spoke for a time; silence pooled like winter water.

If Lucimia was telling the truth, only one path remained, stark as a mountain road. They must obtain full Temporal Authority. Only then could they Revert to five years ago, and return right after the Reversion.

“If you trust me, give me Time Halt, then bring me the other Time Ability Users.” Lucimia’s proposal slid out like a blade from its sheath. “While you hunted Reversion, you must’ve found other Time Ability Users, right?”

Anliena held her tongue, a stone under water, then shook her head like falling leaves. “I don’t quite trust you…” Her doubt hung like mist.

“Then sign with a Duel.” Lucimia’s words were calm as dusk. “It’s only saving a person; I don’t plan to cheat.”

“No.” Anliena’s refusal was firm as a lock. “You have Authority Power. You can flip the table. A Duel restrains you less than me.”

Lucimia heard the subtext, a fishbone in the throat. It meant: hand over Reversion so Anliena gains Temporal Authority, then bind it with a Duel. For example, later when Lucimia needs Temporal Authority, Anliena would help or return the Authority Power.

But Lucimia didn’t trust her either; under smiles, she sensed blades. Temporal Authority has too much leeway, an ocean with hidden currents. She didn’t understand it well; who knew its tricks? She feared Anliena might use some special method to wriggle free like a snake.

Lucimia isn’t the kind to hand over the reins; she keeps the key to the gate in her own palm.

They fell silent again, two islands in fog. Strangers don’t grow trust easily, let alone with stakes this heavy. It was clear as a cold moon: cooperation was slipping away.

Rexi caught the chill too; tension pricked like thorns. He guessed they’d settle it with a Duel.

After a long hush, neither spoke the final word. Each was likely weighing other paths. Or waiting for the other to propose the Duel. So they could seize the right to set its terms.

At last, Lucimia sighed, a reed bending to wind. She said absently, “Duel, Anliena. I challenge you to a Duel.”

As her words fell, the sigils on their hands lit up like stars. Each light sent out a thread of energy; the threads converged like rivers. Auril appeared in the office.

Anliena was slightly stunned, as if a bird flew indoors.

“I’ll be the judge.” Auril’s words rang like iron. They carried a trace of authority that allowed no refusal.

Lucimia didn’t even look at him; she closed her eyes, still as ink in a bowl. “Whatever. You set the Duel content, Anliena.”

Anliena glanced at Auril, then at Lucimia, who seemed indifferent to the Duel, like snow that doesn’t melt. Her feelings knotted like vines. Auril, however, seemed to weigh this Duel like a mountain.

“You’re not going to pull tricks, find loopholes, and tilt the rules your way?” Her question flickered like a wary flame.

“No need.” Lucimia waved a hand, willow-light, and opened her eyes. “I believe no matter what you set, I won’t lose.”

“Heh…” Anliena’s sneer was thin as ice. “Then let’s see.”

Lucimia nodded, a pebble tapping stone. Rexi sat aside, lips sealed, nerves tight like bowstrings. Anliena drew breath to announce her prepared Duel terms, but Auril cut in—

“This Duel will be set by me.” Auril’s low voice rolled through the office like thunder over hills, lined with a hint of command that brooked no refusal.