Everything that needed fixing settled like dust after rain.

The Skeleton of the Undead mess faded like fog that never quite lifted.

That talk about building a training yard here was a scarecrow threat, all straw and shadow.

So Alicia and the others had no roots left to hold them here, like leaves ready to ride the wind.

“Alright. If you can’t wait, let’s head back.” Her voice was calm as lake glass after a storm.

Warmth first, then motion: Alicia looked down at Arthas, who clutched her hand and rested her head against Alicia’s chest like a fledgling under wing.

Arthas lit up like sunrise on ice, released Alicia, and ran in circles with hands held high, a child chasing fireflies.

Ling had already sorted her tangled feelings, like combing dew from long grass, and came to one conclusion.

The Lich King I fangirled over became an eye-candy “Meow King”—what’s not to like? She spread her hands like a gull catching wind.

So Ling had no reason to stop them from bringing Arthas up to the surface, like guiding a cat out of a warm cave.

Edmund, who’d been silent since they entered the room, had curled up and fallen asleep at some point, a hill of fur breathing like a bellows.

Maybe the last battle really drained him, like a riverbed gone thirsty.

With that in mind, Alicia and Ling shared a glance, tacit as moonlight on water, and agreed to give the big guy a vacation.

That would be for later, like a letter sealed in wax; for now, they still had to find the Dragonfolk, and this was no thing to drag out like old rope.

Then the big sleeper, soaking in a sweet dream like honeyed tea, got slapped awake by a very large hand.

In the heartbeat before waking, a portent bloomed like thunderheads: a gigantic Ling, larger than mountains, raised her left hand to swat.

So Edmund woke not just to Ling’s physical smack, but to a mental hammer blow, like a gong struck inside his skull.

Edmund roused, and without much protest—like a boulder nudged by three sparrows—he was made to carry three girls back to the place they’d first fallen.

Yes, they rode him back, like travelers on a shaggy cloud drifting home.

As for why Arthas sounded male with the helmet on, then female with it off…

Everyone chose to ignore it, like stepping around a puddle that reflects too much sky.

If you had to force an answer, maybe the helmet was like that cartoon kid detective’s red bowtie voice-changer, a trick pinned at the throat like a rose.

They reached the spot right below the pit’s mouth, the world above a coin of light pressed into stone.

“Hey, Arthas-chan, do you know how we get back up?” Alicia lifted her face toward the pale circle, like a sunflower following a stubborn sun.

That was the hole Jiu Jiu, the Dragon King maiden, had pointed out before, a gate of sky framed by teeth of rock.

They’d jumped without thinking, like swallows into summer; Jiu Jiu hadn’t said how to climb back, and Alicia hadn’t asked, like missing the last line of a poem.

“/ home.” The words fell from Arthas’s lips like code etched on frost.

Alicia turned, doubt bright in her eyes like twin lanterns, and let the question travel without speech.

“Backslash what? What’s that even mean?” Her tone was dry as sand.

“It was nothing. A neurotic misfire between language centers and phonation, causing random vocal tremors,” Arthas rattled, like a wind chime in a data storm.

“Plain language.” Alicia’s stare was a needle of ice.

“I made it up.” The confession fluttered like a moth.

“…,” and silence spread like ink in water.

Alicia didn’t press it. Arthas’s act said she had no clue, a shut‑in mole guessing at the sun.

Fair enough: a girl holed up down here for who knows how long wouldn’t know the door out, like a koi dreaming of sky.

They could only pin their hopes on luck, that skittish fox in the bamboo.

Frowning, Alicia kept staring up, her brows folding like paper fans.

Maybe it was just too deep, a well that swallowed echoes.

From above, the hole had seemed big enough for the Dragon King, like a whale gate; from below, it shrank to a sesame seed of light.

How deep had she sunk, like a stone that forgot the surface?

Alicia wasn’t a scientist; she wouldn’t wring depth from a pinprick of light, like counting stars with a thimble.

“Can I use magic?” The wish arrived first, the thought a spark in tinder.

She muttered to herself, and her mind flipped through books like a flock of geese skimming a lake.

Teleportation? The distance was too far; she couldn’t chain it, like bridges that don’t meet over a canyon.

Anti-gravity? She had no such “high-tech” spell, just wind and will, like a kite with one string.

Flight? Possible, but it would take more than a day, a winter of wings; that was the worst of last resorts.

“Can we reach Remi and the others?” Hope flared, a candle cupped in two hands.

She had a little maid who was a library, a tower of knowledge in an apron; with their brains—mostly Flan’s, really—maybe they had a way.

Beep—“The number you’ve dialed is currently out of service…” The voice was a cold river, smooth and merciless.

“No good, huh…” Alicia’s sigh fluttered like a fallen leaf.

Even a phone that could cross into the Underworld went mute underground, like a bell buried in clay.

Disappointment rolled back bigger, like a wave that returned to swallow its footprint.

If she couldn’t reach Remi and the others, then she really had to fly for a full day, dragging a certain big guy, and never resting, like a crane hauling the moon.

“Eh… fine. Hold tight, everyone. We’re heading out.” Resignation settled like snow, quiet but everywhere.

Her ribbon began to glow, and faint white letters spun around her wrist like minnows in a clear stream.

“Big sis! Wait!” Ling’s voice cut in like a bell through fog.

The white letters shattered like glass and fell, spiraling down like slow snow.

“What is it?” Alicia’s heart paused like a deer, then listened.

Ling didn’t answer right away. She raised a finger toward the light-hole, her nail a small blade of moon.

There, a tiny black dot was growing, like a hawk coming out of the sun.

Of course, only Alicia and Ling, with Yokai sight, could see it, like cats catching starlight; Edmund and Arthas still saw a sesame speck of sky.

“Ling, if I’m not wrong…” Her voice thinned like silk drawn through a ring.

“I don’t think you are, sis. It’s definitely that thing.” Ling’s certainty landed like a stone in a still pond.