Several days drifted by like leaves on a quiet stream.

As Lucimia absorbed the last Time Ability User’s gift, a spark crossed her mind like lightning over midnight—Space-Time.

Temporal Authority settled into her, strange as moonlight on water; everything around her felt like misty lanterns, past-present-future rippling together.

The sensation was uncanny, like standing at a crossroads in fog.

She fixed her gaze on Rexi, and a shadow from the future leaned in, curiosity bright as a firefly.

She blinked, and the image evaporated like dew at dawn.

A heartbeat later, Rexi truly leaned close, curiosity fluttering like a sparrow. “Well? Well? How does it feel?”

“Uh… it’s strange, beyond words, like wind skimming a still lake.”

“Alright,” he said, shrugging like a bird settling its feathers.

“Ahem.” Anliena’s soft cough fluttered like a moth. “Lucimia, please, save my father.”

“Mm… let’s try Reversion on Worldline A first, like testing a bridge across a river.”

Lucimia etched a Magic Array on the back of her hand, lines curling like creeping vines. “I’ll carve a Teleportation Array on your hand too.”

“I’ll revert to five years before your father set out, keeping our Authority Power, memories—everything—like knots tied to a kite string.”

“You try to stop him; if you can’t, feed magic into the array and teleport to me, and we return to now, like snapping back a bowstring.”

“Okay.” Anliena nodded, a reed bowing in wind.

Lucimia turned to Rexi, concern rising like storm tide. “After Worldline Reversion, your personality might change.”

“I’ll use Devouring Authority to shield your current self, and keep my powers, Elyssus in the Fuzzy Orb’s belly, and everything else.”

“It might burn a lot of energy, maybe send me out of control, like a wildfire in dry grass.”

“I’ll carve two arrays on your hand. If the left-hand Sensing Array stays dark, it means I’ve lost control.”

“Then feed magic to the right-hand Teleportation Array, jump to me, and reset my personality, like hitting a cold reset.”

“Got it!” Rexi nodded hard, like a drumbeat.

“Mm.” Lucimia smiled, soft as rain. “Use Memory Power to alter my cognitive memory and thought.”

“When you reset me, make me forget using Devouring on you, so my feral self won’t resist—like plucking thorns from a rose.”

“Okay.”

She laid out every small detail, steady as weaving threads; once sure, she breathed out. “I’m going to revert. Ready?”

“Ready,” Rexi said, eyes clear as glass.

“Me too.” Anliena nodded, firm as a stone.

“Alright, then… Reversion.”

White light flooded their sight like snowfall swallowing the sky, mind emptied like a lake in winter, then returned with a spring-breath.

—

—

—

Lucimia opened her eyes, the world crisp as frost.

She blinked and lifted her hands—smaller, softer, like new leaves—childish knuckles pale as porcelain.

She was sitting on the toilet, the porcelain throne cold as the moon. “So… I was using the bathroom at this moment…”

Even her voice rang younger, like a tiny bell.

She had reverted to five years ago; Authority Power-grade Reversion and traversal knew no ceiling, like a river without banks.

Back then, she was ten or eleven; aside from her eldest brother still gone, everything felt bright as dawn.

Her father, mother, second brother, friends, kin, neighbors—all in the Town of Tranquility, life peaceful as a garden.

She didn’t linger. She reached inward, sensing her Authority Power, steady as a heartbeat drum.

Still there, like embers under ash.

Elyssus’s state was unchanged, calm as a sleeping cat.

Aside from a dizzy haze like drifting mist, she was fine.

“Good… Now light the signal, let Rexi know I’m safe,” she murmured, like lighting a lantern in fog.

She fed magic into the array on her left hand; the lines pulsed like a cluster of fireflies.

“Next is Anliena, but…” Her thoughts fanned out like pages on a breeze.

If Anliena’s father had died to the Purification Deity, his existence scrubbed clean, the ‘father’ might be swapped, names rewritten on wet sand.

Or perhaps he’d died long ago; the world would correct history, a loom reweaving torn threads.

But not necessarily, like clouds that refuse to rain.

Ron and that spiky-headed guy still remembered his help, memories carved like initials on a tree.

That suggested he hadn’t died to Vosh—maybe something else, a different blade of fate.

Either way, Lucimia only needed to wait for Anliena to teleport to her, like a bird finding its roost; for now, she’d see her family.

She hurried out of the bathroom, familiar walls sliding past like a wind-blown scroll, heart beating like hooves.

She pushed the bedroom door open and sprinted into the corridor, then stopped short like a cart at the crest of a hill.

A tall woman with a generous bust in a maid uniform, broom in hand, swept the corridor, steady as a crane among reeds.

She was Lucimia’s personal maid, Kaeli, a willow at the gate.

“Hmm? What’s wrong, my lady? So rushed—did something happen?” Kaeli’s smile shone warm as lamplight.

Lucimia froze, emotions surging like a tide, old memories rustling like leaves; she looked at Kaeli, full of quiet longing.

“What’s wrong?” Kaeli set down the broom, footsteps soft as silk, and stopped before her.

“Uh… no… it’s nothing…” Lucimia answered by habit, words fluttering like startled birds; then she caught herself. “No, there is.”

“Where are my father and mother?”

“Oh, the head of the household and the lady should be in their rooms,” Kaeli said, voice gentle as tea steam.

“Alright. Thank you, Kaeli.” The name left Lucimia’s lips like a familiar melody, and she ran, feet light as dandelion seeds.

Kaeli watched her go, puzzled as a cat at a mirror. “Huh? Has the young lady always spoken like that?”

“She even called my name directly, and she feels… mature, yet a bit polite,” she murmured, brows like strokes of ink.

Lucimia raced toward her parents’ rooms, the familiar corridor stirring a thousand feelings like a returning tide.

At their door, she didn’t knock; she pushed straight in, the wood yielding with a bang like a drum.

The door swung wide, and her father, seated at his desk with a book like a quiet lake, jolted, eyes blinking like lanterns.

Seeing his daughter, he smiled, kind as spring sun. “What’s wrong? So urgent—are you planning to learn magic at school? Haha~”

Lucimia stared at him—still gentle, still warm, a man who joked like breeze through bamboo—and her heart trembled like a plucked string.

“What happened? Such a loud sound,” her mother called, stepping out of the bedroom, presence calm as moonlight.

She approached, her hand resting on Lucimia’s head, stroking softly, touch warm as bread fresh from the oven. “What’s wrong?”

Lucimia felt that warmth seep in, and her eyes grew damp like dew; she held the tears back, steady as a tied knot.

“I… I don’t know…” she said, scratching her cheek like a kitten, adorably lost, more like Desty and Rexi than her pre-Reversion poise.

She hadn’t planned what to say—she’d only run here to see her long-missed parents, heart homing like a swallow.

“Pfft.” Her mother chuckled, laughter bubbling like a spring; she reached out, arms opening like wings to lift Lucimia as in childhood.

She barely raised her a little before setting her down, smile rueful as rain. “You’ve grown. I can’t lift you anymore.”

Lucimia answered with a smile, soft as a sigh. “Mm.”