Alicia stared, baffled, as Aer slipped away. She didn’t catch the last words; she only saw Aer’s lips tremble like a candle-flame, and then—

Thud! A dull club strike echoed through Alicia’s skull, like a drum in a cave. Why a club? Well... did you see the very real stick above her head?

—Back to reality! (physical)

Pain surged like a black wave; Alicia clutched her head. Only when it ebbed did she open her eyes, slow as sunrise over mist.

“Alicia, what happened?” Lian’s call brushed her ear like a soft breeze over reeds.

The voice tugged her back to herself, like a thread from a dream. She realized she’d returned from that strange space, lake-cold and far.

“Hey, you okay?” Concern gathered in Lian’s tone like dark clouds before rain.

Alicia tasted dread, then pressed it down like a lid. “I’m fine. Just got a brain wobble a moment ago.” She kept the earlier scene tucked away.

“Really? If you’re fine, good.” Doubt hung like mist, but Lian let it thin. She had more urgent business now.

Lian reached toward the odd statue. Her fingers brushed stone like leaves skimming old bark. Nothing happened; no space opened, just dead weight.

Click... A hidden catch answered. Gears inside rasped like cicadas in dry grass. The base slid open, revealing a rectangular slot like an empty frame.

“Chief, what’s this?” Alicia pointed at the hollow, her finger a taut string.

The elder swallowed his surprise, then set his face like granite. He stared at the slot as if reading fate-lines in wood.

“I’m not sure. If the prophecy’s right, it ties to the Magus. It may even summon the Magus back.”

Summon... Aer?! Hope flared in Lian like a lantern in dusk. Even a sliver, she refused to drop any path toward Aer.

The news lit her up; Lian’s hand shot high like a schoolkid promised a field trip. Joy jumped like a sparrow.

“Me! I know! I know what it is!”

“You do?”

Suspicion hung in the air like dust motes. Lian answered with proof, pulling out the Script, its cover dark as night ink.

Under their puzzled gazes, she shoved the Script into the slot. It slid in perfectly, like a key finding its lock without a scrape.

Seconds crawled by. The statue stayed still, patience thinning like sand through a narrow glass. Was that fit just a coincidence?

Reality loves to tease: hand you hope, snatch it, then toss it back, playful as a cat batting string.

The statue stirred at last. The book in the slot began to blaze white, bright as fresh snow on a mountain ridge.

Everyone shielded their eyes, palms like shutters. Only Lian didn’t. Light meant Aer drawing closer, thread by thread across the loom.

Just as she sensed, the doll’s eyes lit red, sharp as blades under a winter sun. The gaze screamed hostility.

“Intruder... leave this place in three seconds!”

The voice carried Aer’s timbre, yet it rang metallic and cold, iron filings in silk, stripped of Aer’s gentle warmth.

“Aer! Where are you?!”

Lian’s focus cut clean as a knife. A lump of stone didn’t interest her. She wanted Aer, not a watchman.

The statue ignored her, watching her pupils like a scanner. Green strings flickered inside, code-vines crawling over emerald glass.

“Analyzing... Name... Rain-Fan X. Sex... female. Identity rating... S-class. Fully friendly. Hostility chance 0%.”

Frustration prickled like nettles. “Quit the gibberish. Just say it. Where’s Aer?”

“Parsing query... answer search... 404... no answer. Retrying... no. Contacting hidden space... search complete... one match. Final answer—”

The statue moved, joints rasping like old doors in wind. Its arm lifted high with a crackle, magic threading in like milk-white silk.

Power pooled in its palm, white as moonmilk, secretive as fog in bamboo. The floor bled mana upward like wells feeding a river.

In a breath, white magic sheeted over the statue, a frosted cocoon. Without seeing the shift, you’d never know it was clumsy stone.

“Final answer—Equivalency Teleport!”

The white orb burst with a soft boom. Smoke rolled out like low clouds over fields, hiding the world’s edges.

Lian’s heart rushed first, then her hands. She whipped up wind magic and drove the smoke aside with a sharp whoosh, like a hawk’s wing.

The haze peeled back like a curtain. A silhouette gathered into shape, a figure rising from the pale like a moon from fog.

“Hey. Long time no see. Miss me?”

The wind carried the line straight and clear, a bell through mist. Tears sprang, warm as spring rain after drought.

She had waited for that line, for so long, guarding a lamp through night winds, stubborn as a pine.

And there she stood—silver hair catching the breeze like river light, a girl unshaken, poised, cool as the moon over water.