“Go change your clothes. Your second brother will be back soon, and tonight we’ll celebrate.” Mother stroked Lucimia’s head like a warm spring breeze.

“Eh? Celebrate…?” Her heart fluttered like a startled sparrow before the words slipped out.

“What ‘eh’? You forgot? Today’s the day your second brother passed the eighth‑rank Swordmaster exam.” Mother’s smile glowed like lamp light at dusk.

“He should be home any moment. Go change. Dinner will be full of your favorites, like a table of moonlit sweets.”

“Oh… oh!” Lucimia nodded hard, like a little drum thumping. “Okay!”

Mother’s reminder rang clear, like a bell in a quiet temple. Five years ago, it was also the day he became an eighth‑rank Swordmaster.

So it was the same day Anliena’s father set out, like two threads knotted in time.

“Go on.” Mother’s push was soft, like wind moving a willow branch.

Lucimia stepped out and, at the threshold, turned back. Her parents smiled like lanterns in fog; she returned the smile, like a small candle answering.

Back in her room, she opened the wardrobe. Memory rose like mist, trying to find the dress she wore then.

“…Hmm, what did I wear five years ago?” Her mind skimmed like a swallow over water. “Forget it. Anything should be fine.”

She picked an elegant piece, delicate as frost on jade. Just as she reached to change, a knock fell on the door.

Knock, knock, knock. The sound landed like pebbles on a pond.

Kaeli’s voice followed, gentle as tea steam. “Miss, do you need me to help you change?”

“Uh, no thanks!”

“Understood.” Kaeli left, footsteps fading like rain down a corridor.

Lucimia dressed and stepped out. Her parents had already changed, like blossoms opened for evening.

Father called, voice steady as a hearth. “Come on, let’s go meet your second brother.”

“Mm.” Lucimia nodded, like a reed bending to breeze.

Outside, they waited a breath. A carriage rolled up, slow as a moon crossing clouds. A young figure stepped from the cabin.

He wore a smile like clear spring water. A long sword hung at his waist, gleaming like a sliver of dawn.

“Heh, looking at you, the exam was no problem. Congratulations.” Father stepped up, his hand landing on Xiu’s shoulder like a firm mountain.

“Father taught me well.” Xiu performed a standard Holy Knight salute, crisp as a blade cutting paper.

“Hey, no need to be so formal. We’re family.” Father’s laugh was warm as bread from the oven.

“Haha, true.” Xiu’s chuckle lifted like sparrows.

His eyes turned toward Lucimia, small and half hiding behind Mother, her height barely to Mother’s waist, like a sapling by a cedar.

A gentle smile softened his face, like sunlight through leaves. He reached into his pocket, fingers fishing for something like a pearl from a stream.

He crouched and held out his hand before her eyes, palm closed like a shell.

“Guess what this is?” Xiu’s voice was soft, like evening rain.

“Mm… something tasty…” Her heart echoed a memory like bells from five years ago.

“Haha.” Xiu’s laughter was light, like wind over rice. He opened his palm.

In his hand lay a Storage Ring set with a white gemstone, bright as a winter star.

It was Lucimia’s first Storage Ring, a gift from her second brother Xiu. The second would be from Father, set with a dark‑purple gem like midnight grapes.

“This is a Storage Ring.” Xiu’s words were calm as a still lake. “You can put anything inside you want hidden from sight.”

He paused, letting quiet settle like snow. “Is it pretty?”

“Pretty.” Lucimia’s answer fell like a petal.

“Do you like it?”

“I like it.” Her smile peeked out like dawn.

Xiu’s lips curved, a crescent moon over water.

“But it needs magic input to use.” His tone stayed gentle, like hands warming tea. “Interested in learning magic?”

Everyone treated her with gentle care, like silk wrapping jade. She loved that warmth, like embers in winter.

At this time, she was still that unstudious child, a kite drifting free while other kids went to school.

Xiu used this gentle way, like rain soaking earth, to get Lucimia to agree to learn magic, even if only at home.

“Okay, I’ll learn.” Her voice settled like a promise carved in wood.

“Good, very good.” Xiu’s joy rose like a red lantern.

Father smiled too, a steady lighthouse. Mother looked less pleased, like a cloud shading the sun, but she didn’t object.

Mother never wanted Lucimia to touch dangerous things, especially the Dark Deity, like thorns beyond the hedge. But learning a bit of magic was fine, like trimming roses.

Xiu placed the Storage Ring in Lucimia’s palm, cool as moonlit metal.

“Thank you…” Lucimia took the ring and thanked him, voice soft as a whisper on silk.

“No need to thank me.” His words drifted like incense.

Mother finally spoke, her tone brisk as a broom. “Alright, alright, why talk outside and let the wind nip you? Let’s go in and warm up.”

“Okay.” Their steps turned back, like birds homing at dusk.

Inside, the chef and the butler were setting dinner on the table, dishes steaming like clouds over fields.

They were all her old favorites, the ones she missed most, like flavors kept in a memory chest.

She hurried to the chair and sat, eager as a kitten at milk.

“Lucimia, wash your hands first!” Mother’s reminder rang like a chime.

“Ah—oh, right, almost forgot…” She hopped down, like a pebble skipping, ran to wash, then rushed back, hands clean as new snow.

Dinner began, faces bright as lanterns, voices crossing like lines of silk.

Mother saved the best for her and Xiu, like plum blossoms reserved in spring. Father worried she couldn’t handle crab, so he picked the meat for her, careful as a craftsman.

Everything was peaceful, like a pond under moonlight. In this moment, Lucimia didn’t have to think of the Dark Deity.

She didn’t have to fear Vosh’s pursuit, like a wolf at the dark edge. She didn’t have to worry about Yuna and Desty.

She didn’t have to guess how the enemy would trap her, or plan how to trap them, like chess pieces locked in frost.

She only needed to empty her mind and bask in this gentleness, like lying in sun‑warmed grass.

She loved all of it, like a heart cupping a flame. She wished time could stop here, like a dragonfly frozen over water.

Only…

The Teleportation Array on her right hand stirred, like a spark under paper. Lucimia knew this brief good time would end.

She lowered her knife and fork, quiet as falling snow. Her eyes lingered on the still‑full dishes, reluctant as a tide turning.

She blinked and looked around, her gaze brushing family one by one, like lantern light touching faces.

She paused and swallowed, throat tight like a knot. Then she said, “Um, I have something to say.”

Her parents and second brother turned their eyes to her, steady as stars.

“What is it?”

“Hmm?”

Lucimia scratched her cheek, heat rising like peach blush. She felt shy, like a mouse peeking from straw.

She took a deep breath, calm collecting like rain in a bowl. She looked at her family and smiled, gentle as spring.

“Mm… well, I hope we can always be like this,” she said, “sitting together and eating.”

They froze for a heartbeat, like lake ice, then laughed. “What are you saying? Don’t we do this every day?”

“Yeah. We’ll be like this forever.”

“Mm.” The agreement settled like a quilt.

Lucimia nodded and smiled, a small light. She paused and said, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

She hopped down and ran out, feet quick as swallows. At the corner, she turned back.

She looked at her family, silence folding over her like dusk, then stepped into the bend and into the bathroom.

She locked the door, the click neat as a bead. She sat on a small stool, not accepting Anliena’s teleport request yet, still quiet as a stone in moss.

A thought rose like mist: if she looped this span forever, wouldn’t these days last, like a painted spring that never fades?

The thought stayed only seconds, like dew on a leaf, then she scattered it.

“That would make it meaningless…” Her whisper fell like ash.

Lucimia drew a deep breath. Magic flowed in, like water entering a canal, and she accepted Anliena’s teleport request.

A beam of magic lit before her, like lightning wrapped in silk. Anliena’s figure appeared, bright as a newly risen sun.

Five years ago, Anliena also looked much younger, like a fresh leaf.

She saw Lucimia and rushed in, hugging her tight, like a child clinging to warmth. “Lucimia! My father agreed I won’t go to the Kingdom of Sipan.”

“I think if I go back now, I can still see him.” Her joy burst like fireworks. “Thank you so much!”

“Uh, is—Is that so? That’s great.” Lucimia patted her back, touch gentle as rain.

“Mm!” Anliena’s nod was quick, like a sparrow bobbing.

It seemed Anliena’s father hadn’t been killed by Authority Power, like a candle not snuffed. So Reversion could save him easily, like rewinding silk on a spool.