The Far North.

Snow and sky blurred into one white sheet, a world dressed in silver, pure as a blank page.

Flakes drifted like shed feathers, settling over the land and painting everything white.

Trees wore heavy coats of snow, each branch hung with bead-bright ice like strings of glass.

A thin wind brushed like a cold hand, lifting the flakes and setting them to whirl like startled birds.

Lucimia and Rexi huddled in thick layers, a translucent shield like a glass dome before them to blunt the knife-edge wind.

How long since they’d left the Lowegar Kingdom? The thought blew through Lucimia like a draft.

As she devoured more and more Authority Powers, her mind tangled like a knotted skein, and she often leaned on Rexi’s [Memory] Power like a lantern in fog.

“Rexi… what day is it now?” Her voice came soft, like breath on frosted glass.

“Mm, Year 307, December 2.” Rexi’s reply was steady as a metronome in the snow hush.

“That’s almost two years.” The words fell like slow flakes.

“Yeah.” Rexi tilted her head, then asked, “Oh right, what’s our target this time?”

“An Authority called [Frost]. [Scan] says it’s hiding here, like a fox under drifted snow.”

“Oh, right. Why insist on this [Frost]? We’ve chased it four months, and it’s slippery as ice—when it’s about to lose, it runs and hard-freezes the field.”

Lucimia lifted her face like a compass needle, studied the pale world, shifted course, and led Rexi on across the white plain.

Only after that did she answer, her tone calm as packed snow: “[Frost] can hinder [Purification] to a degree. I need its freezing to lock down Vosh’s waters. If the water’s frozen by an Authority Power, controlling it will cost her dearly.”

“I see… By the way, Nirael looks like she’s failing, like a dam about to crack. Vosh launched war against the Empire, and the dead feed her like a river of fuel. It feels like she’ll break the seal again soon.”

“Mm… Once we catch [Frost], we’ll deal with it,” Lucimia said, her gaze steady as winter stars.

Year 308, February.

On the Empire–Kingdom border, war bloomed like fire in snow, with spells and sword-arts bursting like comets over a frozen field.

Bodies littered the earth like fallen leaves after a storm.

Because of Nirael, empire soldiers on the brink of death were pulled back like fish from the net; the Kingdom answered with [Purification], arresting the slide into death like ice stopping a stream.

Energy poured into Vosh like a tide, while Nirael edged toward the cliff of loss of control.

By the time Lucimia and Rexi arrived, Nirael’s whole form had twisted like a tree warped by lightning, her mind a fog, and she’d turned hunter on her own—beyond saving, a shadow in daylight.

“Rexi, can your Memory Power bring Nirael back?” Lucimia asked from a high branch, their bodies tucked into the needles like two night birds watching the battle-field.

“Huh? I mean, I can… but I don’t know who Nirael was; I can only restore a version of her, not the original Nirael, like tracing over a faded painting,” Rexi said, worry fluttering like a moth. “And with her berserk now, I can’t copy her persona—her old self is long gone.”

“Mm… then restore another her,” Lucimia decided, voice like a blade sliding back into its sheath.

She grabbed Rexi, blinked through space to hover above Nirael, and opened her small hand; a flood of shadow surged like ink over snow, and devoured Nirael’s Authority Powers.

Rexi moved with her, resetting Nirael’s persona like smoothing a wrinkled page.

Year 308, March.

Vosh drew in enough power and broke through half her seal again, like a cracked dam spilling black water.

But this time, Lucimia was waiting like a hunter at a frozen stream.

To face Vosh, she’d gone out and devoured counters like a fisher stocking different lures.

With Vosh’s waters frozen solid by [Frost], panic shivered through her current, and half-sealed, she faltered like a river meeting a cliff, crushed by Lucimia’s woven Authority Power combos.

When Lucimia slipped toward frenzy using a certain Authority Power, Rexi stood by like a hand on the reins and reset her persona mid-storm.

Vosh couldn’t even wage a war of attrition; she was cornered, and Lucimia’s Devouring took her Authority Power and her life like a tide pulling the last ember into the deep.

The Vosh who’d been Olivya’s headache fell, a thorn finally plucked from skin.

Year 309.

Lucimia’s name crossed the continent like wind over grass; everyone knew of a black-haired girl who roamed and devoured Authority Powers, a Usurper whispered from hearth to market.

Who spread “Usurper”? Most likely the Dark Deity’s rumor on the wind; and in villages where Dark Deities were altars not monsters, the word took root like seed in loam.

Year 310.

Far in the west lay a strange country, its people bowing to a Dark Deity named Alis, like a crescent etched in the night sky.

Lucimia dug and learned that Alis was the enemy that tangled her most—the Authority [Replication], a mirror with teeth.

The stronger Lucimia grew, the stronger [Replication] reflected her, a shadow that thickened with the light, and that was hard to fight.

That May, Lucimia avoided frontal clash like a fox skirting a snare, set her nets in secret, and aimed to strike Alis in one stroke and devour her Authority Power.

She failed.

After hearing the Usurper’s tales, Alis went mad with copying, packing herself with Authorities like armor plates, all for safety.

From that, Lucimia learned Alis wasn’t some berserk Dark Deity; she was herself, sharp as a winter moon.

Stymied, Lucimia chose [Reversion], letting time ripple back like a stone-lifted ring in a pond.

Thankfully, [Reversion] didn’t get copied.

She tried again and again, using every trick—disguises like layered masks, deceit like smoke, a Duel under clear rules—and every card she played got copied, a mirror laid over a mirror, until her temples ached like ice behind the eyes.

Alis even went on the attack, trying to copy Lucimia’s Devouring and then devour every ability she owned, like a snake swallowing a snake.

Hunter and prey switched in a heartbeat, and it was Lucimia who ran, a dark streak over pale ground.

But Lucimia wouldn’t fail so easily; she chose a fierce method—suicide by design, a phoenix plan in winter ash.

She held herself on the edge of frenzy like a blade on a hair, forbid Rexi from resetting her persona, and smeared a special negative state—[Pollution]—over every Authority Power like oil over water.

Then she had Rexi make her mindless, a candle snuffed to a smoking wick.

Copy is still only copy, and Alis took the bait like a fish to a glittering hook.

When Alis copied Lucimia, she copied the negative states and the debuffs along with the gold, swallowing the thorn with the rose.

Selective copying? No chance—Lucimia’s Devouring jammed the gears like sand, forcing all-or-nothing [Replication] instead of a clean pick-and-choose.

Alis went mindless, a puppet with cut strings, while Lucimia, by Rexi’s hand, returned to herself like a thaw.

She devoured [Replication], then asked Rexi to restore Alis to as she was, a closed circle in frost and smoke.

She didn’t know what year it was anymore.

With [Scan] as her divining rod, Lucimia hunted down countless Authority Powers, and time flowed like water while Rexi grew, her figure willow-slender and bright as spring sun.

Lucimia felt unchanged, only a centimeter taller, like a stone marking the river’s rise.

They were outdoors, wind combing the trees; Rexi sat on a branch, bored eyes on the view like a cat on a wall, while Lucimia searched with [Scan] like a hawk’s gaze.

“Rexi,” Lucimia said, the word a breath among leaves.

“What’s up?” Rexi asked, swinging her legs like bells.

“It looks… empty. No more left. Only you…” Lucimia lifted her eyes to Rexi like a question.

“Uh.”

Rexi blinked, then curved a smile like sunlight through cloud. “Ah, world tour over?”

“…Maybe.”

Rexi hopped down from the tree and brushed off dust like crumbs. “Then go on. Devour my Authority Power.”

“Mm…”

Lucimia set her hand on Rexi’s shoulder, and invoked the Devouring Authority.

Shadow seeped from Lucimia like ink from a well; this time it moved slow, not rushing to cover Rexi, like tide feeling its way over sand.

“Rexi, thank you,” Lucimia said, the words warm as a flame cupped in hands.

“No need.” Rexi waved it off, casual as a breeze.

“If it works, you’d better introduce me to those two, too!” She grinned like a fox.

“Mm, no problem.”

When it finished, a thought rang in Lucimia’s mind like a bell—[Memory].

“And then the last… Devouring…”

A clot of shadow gathered in her palm, dense as a black pearl; if she drove it into herself, she’d become a Concept Deity.

She hesitated, the moment holding like breath, and looked up at Rexi.

Rexi blinked, at ease as a sunlit pond. “Go on, go. Quick.”

“Uh… mm. Thank you.”

“Told you, don’t thank me.”

Lucimia smiled, then lowered her gaze to the shadow, took a long breath, and thrust it into her chest like a blade into its sheath.

In an instant, a ringing filled her ears like cicadas, and the world shifted to chaos and void, a sea of gray without shore.

Before Lucimia, a figure shaped like her surfaced from the mist like a reflection rising off dark water.

“Olivya,” Lucimia whispered, the name soft as falling ash.

“Mm.” Olivya smiled and dipped a formal bow, a courtly ripple in the void. “Thank you for helping me complete the plan.”

“…”

Lucimia said nothing; words felt like snow on the tongue.

“Lucimia,” Olivya went on, voice calm as a winter stream, “to become a Concept Deity, there’s one last Devouring—and that last Devouring must devour its life.”

“Two roads lie before you,” she said, like a fork in a mountain path. “First, I devour you. You die, and I’ll try to save Desty and Yuna.”

“What about me?” Lucimia asked, heart tight as a fist.

“I can use conceptual power to bring you back,” Olivya replied, sure as a seal on wax. “I’ll arrange everything so you live with Desty, Yuna, and Rexi.”

“Will the resurrected me still be me?” The question fell like a stone into still water.

“The resurrected you won’t be you,” Olivya said, frank as ice. “But the Memory Power holds a copy of your persona. Maybe I can slot it in like a gem.”

“Oh…” Lucimia thought a while, her gaze lowered like a shutter. “And the second road?”

“The second is you devour me, and you become the Concept Dark Deity,” Olivya said, pausing like a held breath, then adding, “Lucimia, know this: becoming a Concept Deity isn’t an end—it’s a beginning.”

“The true Dark Deities remain, and as a Concept Dark Deity, you’ll face their assault like a lone cliff against waves.”

“Mm…” Lucimia bowed her head, thoughts circling like ravens.

After a time, she asked Olivya, “Which do you prefer?”

“Me?” Olivya blinked, surprised like a candle flicker, then steadied and answered, “I prefer… the second road.”

“Eh…” That caught Lucimia off guard, like a bird startled from a branch; she’d thought Olivya craved the throne like a starving wolf.

Seeing her doubt, Olivya explained, voice clear as frost: “You misunderstood, Lucimia. I never wanted the god-seat. I only want Dark Deities gone from our world.”

“Neither of us has become a god yet; no one knows if a Concept Deity can save Yuna and Desty. If it can’t, then I can’t keep my promise, and words turn to smoke. I think you should do this yourself.”

“Also, you—now—are sharper and stronger than me, seasoned by battles like a sword by the quench and the whetstone. You’ve played more matches on the board. You, as Concept Dark Deity, fit better to face the true Dark Deities.”

"Of course. If you truly don’t want this, I can carry the mantle, like winter taking the last leaf from a tired branch.

You’ve said I kept you bound, dragged you through tasks like a boat through reeds.

If you’re weary and want rest, then let me become the conceptual Dark Deity and face the true Dark Deity, like steel meeting storm.

You just go live the life you want, like a lamp kept warm behind paper windows."

Olivya laid it all out, like two roads opening at dawn.

She spoke the gains and losses, the reasons and risks, like scales balancing sand and stone.

Which path to take, that was Lucimia’s alone, like a blade choosing its own edge.

"…"

Lucimia stayed silent a long while, like snow holding back its fall.

Olivya didn’t press her, waiting like a shoreline waiting the tide.

After an age, Lucimia raised her head, like a lily lifting from mist, and looked at Olivya.

Olivya met her gaze and smiled, like sunlight across still water.

"I choose…" Lucimia’s voice was cool as frost on glass.

"…the second path."

Olivya’s expression hitched, then joy burst out like bells in spring rain.

"Hahaha, thank you, Lucimia. You made a choice worth bowing to, like a mountain that doesn’t move."

Lucimia stepped forward, and black mist howled from her hand like a storm front.

It lashed toward Olivya, a tide of Devouring curling its claws.

Olivya kept smiling and didn’t lift a hand, like a candle steady in wind.

"Olivya, do you know why I chose the second?"

"First, I want to see with my own eyes if Yuna and Desty can be saved, like pulling two stars back from dusk."

"Second…"

"Hm?" Olivya’s doubt flickered, like a moth by a lantern.

"Second, I hate you, and I want to punch you, like thunder wanting to find a drum."

Olivya blinked, then laughed, like chimes in a night breeze.

"Yeah. I know."

As the last word fell, Lucimia’s black mist surged and swallowed Olivya, like an eclipse closing its mouth.

The scene around them flipped and twisted, like a scroll turned upside down.

Space buckled like hot air above dunes, then stilled; only after a long hush did Lucimia open her eyes, like a diver breaking the surface.

Gray fog ringed her, a sea without shore, like ash drifting under a mute sky.

Beneath it, there was only chaos and void, like deep water without a bottom.

In that gray, stars flickered, bead by bead, like prayer beads strung across night.

Maybe it was her other sight, like a fingertip feeling silk.

Those stars held no visible life, yet she felt them crouched there, unspeakable horrors like lizards under cold stones.

When they noticed her, their gazes pinned her, greedy and hateful and judging, like hooks thrown from darkness.

Lucimia understood at once, like a bell struck clear.

She glanced back on instinct, like a swallow checking its nest.

Behind her, a star glowed pale violet, like heather at twilight.

She felt it tied to her tight as breath, like a pulse under skin.

She dipped her mind into it, like a ladle into a well, and saw it whole—home.

"So that’s how it is…"

Understanding bloomed, like ink in water.

Dark Deities perched on stars and ruled those worlds, like spiders on their webs.

That pale-violet star was hers, like a seal stamped on paper.

She ignored their hungry stares, like a traveler letting rain slide off a cloak.

She tugged her mind’s thread and began to weave, like a loom humming in dawn light.

First, no Dark Deities, like clearing thorns from a path.

Then magic, monsters, landscapes and cities, like brushstrokes filling a scroll.

Should she add villains, like cracks in fine porcelain?

Demons, maybe?

If none, would people turn on themselves, like knives without sheaths?

Fine, add a set—just not too strong, like wolves kept beyond the fence.

She rebuilt the world like playing a game, piece by piece, like stones placed on a board.

The Dark Deities watching her didn’t stop her, like predators bound by old laws.

They seemed to be honoring rules written in winter iron, like oaths carved in bone.

Last of all came the ones who mattered most, like names etched on the heart.

Yuna and Desty.

Lucimia made it happen; everyone returned, like swallows back to eaves.

She even created a second self, like a mirror breathing.

That self slept soundly in the Lancelot Family, like a cat in a sun patch.

"Heh. Interesting."

She watched Lucimia, Yuna, and Desty become friends, like streams meeting in one lake.

She watched Rexi sprint from afar toward the Kingdom of Sipan, like a messenger hawk knifing the wind.

"It’s not me living it, but it’s not bad," she murmured, like tea cooling in quiet.

"At least I kept my promise, like a knot pulled tight."

Work done, Lucimia let out a long breath, like mist leaving a mirror.

She smiled, mind steady as a lantern in rain, like stone warmed by sun.

Under those ravenous stares, she was neither humble nor haughty, like a pine standing in snow.

She swept her gaze around, then raised her hand, like a queen lifting a fan.

A chair formed before her, a throne shaped after mortal kings, like ice cast from silver.

She changed clothes, a long dress of pitch black, like night poured into silk.

Barefoot, she walked to the throne, like moonlight on water, and sat slow, like dusk settling on hills.

She crossed one leg over the other, propped her cheek with one hand, and stared ahead at the Dark Deities, like a hunter watching a clearing.

A giant Fuzzy Orb slid from behind her, like a cloud rolling from a cliff.

It crawled above the throne, fangs bared now, cute gone to feral, like a smile turned into a knife.

A second giant Fuzzy Orb appeared by her leg, lying beside the throne, solemn as a sentry, like granite by a gate.

Lucimia flicked her small hand, and a flock of tiny Fuzzy Orbs popped into being, like dandelion seeds catching light.

Her eyes glimmered; her lips curved, a quiet smile like a crescent moon.

"Come," she said to the countless Dark Deities in the gray fog, voice calm as still water.

"Who’ll match wits with me across the board?"

Shadows rippled in the fog, like fish under ice, and whispers hissed, like reeds in a night wind.

But none of the gods stepped forward, like wolves keeping to the tree line.

"No one?" Lucimia sounded a touch disappointed, like rain that never arrives.

She set her gaze on a blue star, bright as a bead of glacier, like a drop of sky.

A Dark Deity crouched above it, bodiless, like a living spring.

Lucimia smiled a little.

"You, then. Come, play me."

The gray-blue figure flickered madly, like lightning trapped in glass—anger or fear, who could tell, like thunder without an echo.

—The End.