The gray-haired girl tucked the demon core away, then cut Linyue Yao a glance, cold as a shard of frost.

“So, there’s another one here... Sorry. This action has to stay secret, so... you’ll have to die.” Her voice drifted like winter wind through bare branches.

She swung her long flute toward Linyue Yao; the flute flashed, a slender rapier of breath and steel.

“That was close... I almost died.” Linyue Yao watched fine strands of hair float beneath her, silk drifting in a windless room.

Irritation pricked first, like grit between teeth. Space again... Back when they tested me for space affinity, those old geezers called me a once-in-a-century prodigy. So why does space-jumping feel common as street dust now?

She clenched her jaw, the taste of iron rising. Running was all she had. If she could one-shot the Demon Bear King, she could swat me like a fly. I’m weaker than that bear.

“Trying to run?” The gray-haired girl tilted her head; a moonlit face without a ripple. “No. I can’t let anyone who saw me strike live.”

Gray spread like spilled ash, washing over the world. Besides Linyue Yao and that unfamiliar girl, everything drowned in monochrome.

Fear hit first, cold as deep water. For the first time, someone who stood atop the pyramid felt small. If she wished, I’d be an ant under a thumb in the next heartbeat.

Am I dying? Probably... I can’t feel anything but thought, floating like a lone lantern in fog.

Hopeless gray seeped into her limbs, frost creeping under skin. She felt her body dim, life peeling away like old paint.

Sensing that ash of despair, the gray-haired girl softened, voice warm as a hearth. “You don’t have to fear. Death is just another beginning... Besides, you won’t really die. When the Gate opens, everyone will be reborn. So treat it like sleep.”

She even smiled—honey-sweet against the cold.

Is that so... Just rest? That’s fine, I could...

No. If I sleep, who takes care of the children? The thought hit first, heavy as a bell. I... can’t die.

“So that’s it, you worry about them...” The gray-haired girl’s tone was smooth as silk. “Rest easy. The kids at your orphanage are outsiders to this. I won’t harm them. After this, I can send people to help.”

Is that so... Then I could—

Are you really going to give up like this? The whisper cut through like a thin blade. Me.

Give up... Little One. Right—my promise to that sword. I still want to watch Little One grow. I still... can’t die!

Color rushed back into Linyue Yao’s eyes, sunrise after a storm. She clenched her right hand, knuckles white.

“Sorry, Bishop of the Flower of the Other Shore—I've still got reasons not to ‘rest’!”

She laughed, wild as a cliff wind. Her right-hand nail bit her wrist—skin parted, blood welled. It flowed and hung, crimson thread in the gray. It wasn’t gray at all.

Blood as blade—an old trick she learned while wandering the continent, a lesson cut from mistakes and steel.

If she willed it, anything on her could become a weapon, even the river in her veins.

With a greatsword of blood and a twist of space, she tore through the gray-haired girl’s seal. Under the girl’s momentary surprise, Linyue Yao swung, a scarlet arc splitting the ash.

“Good presence. Too bad you still can’t do anything to me.” Calm returned like snow settling. The gray-haired girl caught the full strike with one hand, bare palm like iron. Her left traced quick sigils, strokes like flying geese.

“Not done yet!” Linyue Yao’s teeth ground. Fresh cuts opened; blood surged, painting the gray red like poppies in winter. She released her grip; the blood-sword shivered, shifted, and gathered to her hand—a knife now, sharp as new ice.

“Enough.” The gray-haired girl slapped toward her, a falling mountain of a palm. Linyue Yao blasted back, a leaf torn by gale.

“Why keep struggling? You’re the only one hurting here...” Her voice rose, quiet as mist.

“Cough... So it’s still not enough...” Linyue Yao’s gaze dimmed, embers fading. Her aura bled away like warmth from stone.

“If you’re tired, sleep well...”

“Shut up, okay? I’m not sleeping to never wake.”

“...”

“When the sun rises, you’ll wake. So sleep today.” Her words drifted like lullaby, promising dawn under slate skies.

“Hey...” Linyue Yao felt fingers brush her hair, soft as feathers. Her eyelids turned to iron; sleep dragged like tide.

“Sleep. One good sleep and it’ll be fine.” A girl with a white side ponytail stood by her without a sound, three parts similar to Little One—enough that people would call them mother and daughter without doubt.

She wore a thin, opaque white dress, a single stroke of snow in this gray world, bright as winter moonlight.

“...Who are you? I can’t feel the breath of the living on you... Are you my kind?” The gray-haired girl’s brow knit, curiosity like a pin.

“Yes... same kind.” The side-ponytail girl—Frostwhisper—smiled lightly, frost on petals. “I came for one purpose—to protect her and the kids at the orphanage. Do you mean to make me your enemy?”

“...” For the first time, the gray-haired girl hesitated. Power rolled off the other like a cold sea, equal to her own. A hard clash would cost too much.

“I thought it through. No good. Let’s just fight, Lady Divine Sword.”

“...So you recognized me?” Frostwhisper’s tone rang, clean as steel on ice.

The gray-haired girl, having chosen battle, spared Linyue Yao no more words. She raised the flute and played; notes cut the air like thrown knives. The opponent was her equal, so she had to go all out.

Frostwhisper let the lazy air fall from her shoulders. She had descended in a manifested form; a wound here would still be grave, ink on silk.

In this end-time where the world’s essence runs dry, only her Master can feed her divine power.

She called her true body from nothing, a blade of winter condensing in her hand. She tested it with two casual sweeps, white arcs biting the gray, then dashed at the gray-haired girl like a streak of sleet.

“I may not even count as a Divine Artifact right now... but poking holes in a little brat like you is more than doable.”

After several exchanges, the gray-haired girl wore cuts like red plum blossoms on pale skin, while Frostwhisper looked untouched, calm as still water.

“Damn... I can’t dispel the frost marks on these wounds...” Her breath steamed, panic thin as breath in cold air.

“Still want to continue?” Frostwhisper’s gaze was winter-clear.

A vicious glint flared, then went out in the gray-haired girl’s eyes. Now wasn’t worth it. Not here.

“...You win.” She lowered the flute, turned, and vanished. Color rushed back, a world waking from ash.

“...Finally gone. Any longer and I’d be near my limit.” Frostwhisper sighed, helpless as a cat with wet paws. “And I still have to carry this deadweight home. I’ll probably sleep for days again. What a hassle...”

“You’d better take good care of my little master. I didn’t save you for free.” Frostwhisper spoke toward the fallen Linyue Yao, voice soft and firm, like snow that never melts.