“Thank you, thank you!” Anliena beamed, joy flowering like spring after frost, and she hugged Lucimia while her thanks tumbled out.

“Uh-huh… mm.” Lucimia answered on autopilot, her mind drifting like a leaf in a high wind.

Anliena’s father was saved, a lantern relit in a dark house. But what about her own? Yuna, Desty, her family—five years skipped like a stone, and those lights were still gone.

After the thanks, Anliena stepped back. Her hands settled on Lucimia’s shoulders, and she blinked, startled.

“Uh… why are you so tiny?”

Lucimia rolled her eyes, a pebble skimming a quiet pond. “Five years ago. You tell me.”

“Right…”

Lucimia sighed, a small reed bending to the breeze. “Let’s go back now.”

“Mm!”

She stirred her will to rouse the Temporal Authority, a hand reaching for a hidden door, then froze.

Should she go see her family first, just one glance, one meal finished warm as steam?

She turned the thought over, like a stone in the hand, then let it drop. Sinking helped no one; the road ahead still called like a distant bell.

She steeled herself and loosed the Temporal Authority, a blade clean through doubt.

White light flooded their sight like winter sun on snow, until their awareness fell away like a tide.

The next moment it surged back, wave after wave, and they opened their eyes to the Lowegar Kingdom, in Anliena’s office.

The three girls met each other’s gaze, like mirrors catching the same dawn, and they knew they were back.

“Back?” Rexi rubbed her head, clouds clearing. “How’d it go?”

“Mm! It should be fine!” Anliena’s voice trembled like a plucked string. She clenched her fist, eager as a bird at daybreak. “I’ll run home and check!”

“Okay.” Lucimia nodded, calm as still water.

But before Anliena touched the handle, the door swung in. A man stepped through, hair the same shade as hers, age-lines like dry riverbeds at the eyes.

He entered, gave Rexi and Lucimia a puzzled glance, then let his gaze settle on Anliena like a compass finding north.

“Hm? Anliena, why are you still here? Don’t you have classes? You’re a professor now, but that doesn’t mean you can slack.”

“Ah…” Anliena’s eyes widened, dew gathering at the corners, her voice trembling like a thin branch in wind.

Lucimia and Rexi traded a look, a quiet bell struck once—their guess was obvious.

They slipped out in silence. The man turned to ask, but Anliena rushed him and held on, like a child finding shore.

The door closed with a soft click, and a muffled sob bloomed behind it like rain in spring.

“Let’s not disturb them,” Lucimia said, voice soft as dusk.

“Mm. What do we do next?” Rexi folded her arms, a guard at her post.

“Back to the tavern. Then I’ll try to bring my friend back,” Lucimia said, steady as a mountain path.

“Okay.”

Lucimia used Teleportation Magic, and the world folded like paper around them as they returned to the tavern.

The instant they landed, Lucimia dragged a chair over and sat, as if anchoring a drifting boat.

“Let’s try worldline A’s Reversion. If I don’t ping you with Sensing Magic after, you teleport to me. Help me handle any loss of control.”

“No problem~” Rexi flashed a sign, bright as a spark.

“Mm.” Lucimia answered with a small smile, a lamp in fog.

She triggered Reversion and chose the day before Yuna was Devoured, a finger pointing back along the river.

White light rose again, as familiar as breath. When it faded, she opened her eyes.

She stood outside the bedroom door, threshold quiet as snow.

The day before Yuna was Devoured, she’d had the Fuzzy Orb devour the bed. She’d looked in and found nothing, then asked Yuna where the bed had gone, a joke swallowed by silence.

By the old history, Yuna should be inside now. She only had to push the door to meet her.

But that was only the old history, a trail washed out by rain.

Could the Temporal Authority counter Devouring, stone against whirlpool?

Lucimia set her hand on the knob, nerves fluttering like moth wings.

She drew a deep breath, cool as night air.

Once she opened, she’d know whether time and space could shield what Devouring swallowed.

“Push it…” she whispered, a reed to the wind.

She pressed down. The latch creaked, a cricket at dusk.

She pictured Yuna waiting, a warm light in the room, and herself stepping in with a smile like sunrise.

She shoved the door open.

A slow breeze brushed her face. The curtains danced and fell still, and under their hem lay only clean, polished redwood floor, quiet as a temple hall.

No bed. No quilt on the floor. And no trace of that pink, playful silhouette.

Lucimia froze, heart a bitter-sweet brew steeped too long.

The next heartbeat, she let it go, a ripple smoothing on a pond. A small smile dawned.

“Yuna, I’ll find you. It’s a promise,” she said, words tying a red thread to the future.

She closed the door, gentle as closing a story.

White light filled her sight, and her awareness unraveled like silk, returning to the present time.

She blinked in the tavern’s familiar warmth. “How was it?” Rexi asked at once, a hawk’s eye sharp.

Lucimia looked back at her curiosity and shook her head with a soft smile, a cloud drifting past the sun.

“Uh… okay. Don’t lose heart. We can try again,” Rexi said, her voice a steady hand. “Like crossing to different worldlines. If that fails, we try the Concept.”

She feared Lucimia would sink again, like a boat in sudden rain.

“Don’t worry. I won’t spiral,” Lucimia said, firm as stone. “We’ll walk whatever path opens. Let’s try crossing.”

“Uh… okay.”

Lucimia caught Rexi’s wrist and crossed, the world tilting like a ship in heavy sea.

Compared to Reversion, crossing felt awful. Her head spun, up and down traded places, left and right tangled, and nausea rose like a dark tide.

It lasted a while, then eased, a storm blowing past. They opened their eyes and knew they’d made it.

They had crossed to worldline B—the day before Yuna was Devoured, the same dusk under a different sky.

They stood in Lucimia’s hallway, the air familiar as a worn sleeve.

Rexi looked around, curiosity flickering. “This your place? It’s huge.”

“Mm…”

“Eh? Someone’s coming?”

Lucimia turned. A black-haired girl approached, worry pooling in her eyes as she moved toward the bedroom, a cloud seeking shelter.

The girl was Lucimia herself.

“Whoa, that’s… you from three months ago? You look less steady than now,” Rexi whispered, a grin like a curl of smoke.

“Mm…” Lucimia didn’t argue. She lowered her gaze, thought for a breath, then called out, voice clean as a bell, “Hey, can you hear me?”

The girl didn’t react. She walked on, unchanged as a dream.

She passed straight through Lucimia and Rexi like mist through branches, opened the door, and went in. The truth settled—the people of worldline B couldn’t see them, nor could they touch that river.

What Olivya had said was right, a compass pointing true.

“What now?” Rexi asked, hands ready, eyes bright.

“Check the bedroom,” Lucimia said, and took Rexi’s hand. They slipped through the wall like shadows through rain.

Inside, the black-haired girl stared at the spot where the bed had been, shock bright as lightning.

“Weird… where’s my bed?”

“Did Miss Kaeli replace it? She’d tell me if she did.”

“So annoying… how do I stop Bazeroth? This Elyssus octopus is such a headache…”

Lucimia watched her other self mutter, reflections on a river she’d crossed before—the doubts, the plans, the knots around Elyssus.

“Let’s go,” she said suddenly, a blade cutting clean.

“Eh? We’re not trying anything else?”

“No. No need.” She shook her head, calm as a settled lake. “Crossing won’t work either.”

“Uh… then…” Rexi’s voice trailed, a line in fog.

“Yeah. Let’s head back,” Lucimia said. “We’ll take the last road. Whether it works or not, it’s the only path left.”

“Like you said—at least I’ll do something for them,” she went on, a vow like iron. “I’ll give it everything. Even if I fail. Even if the Concept won’t answer in the end. I won’t have failed them.”