Strolling beside Lena through an elfwood copied leaf for leaf from her memories, Aphelia felt nostalgia rise like warm smoke from a winter brazier.

Orphaned and nameless, she had been taken in by Lena, raised under these emerald eaves; against the long road where she later battled demons, those years gleamed like the brightest bead on her life’s thread.

After she felled the Demon King, she hadn’t refused the forest’s call; truth was, she longed to return and live out her days like a mortal, watching her life unfold like a plain river.

But the Demon King’s last flare tore out her heart and pressed in his own, his blood like a dark ember; she became a being who wielded the dark element like a demon born.

So she hid in a small church as a nun, a candle behind stained glass, and the hiding ran on for five winters.

Now Jasmine had used some means and set her down in this loveliest of places; in some crooked way, maybe it even deserved thanks.

Aphelia smiled, then shook her head; the world rang hollow, a lacquered mask, because from the very start she’d been a woman, and Lena’s way of addressing her matched the name she took later.

If it’s an illusion, then let’s see what game they’re playing; rummaging through another’s memories is a funny vice, like flipping a diary with dirty fingers.

“We’re here, Ophelia. Go on by yourself—I’ll be watching~”

The face before her was Lena’s twin, and heat flared in Aphelia’s chest; the sun was fake, yet it warmed like the real one—infuriating.

She didn’t lash out; she only nodded and walked toward the lake ahead, clear as polished glass, a sky fallen to earth.

This small body was a mirror of her past; no strange power, only a sensitivity to light, like dew to dawn.

They even restored it to this degree?

Aphelia let a cold smile cut across her face; the body regressed, but the craft of Arcane Power and the control of elements were carved into her mind like chisel marks, and so was the Ancient Martial Flow.

As long as memory stood, she held a killing blade in her hand; even if a dragon burst from the reeds, she felt sure she could fell it like a pine under snow—though this little body might pay for it.

“Since it’s back to the past… then…”

At the lip of the water, she tested a thought; she tried to gather light to her palm, like cupping sunlight—only to fail.

“As expected… rigid.”

In memory she had never tried to condense light before stepping into this lake; here, the route was locked like a gate with one key; what’s the point of such a stiff illusion?

And besides… if this world copies my memories, why not begin at my birth; is it because there’s nothing there; then why start at this moment of childhood, why is everything threaded with contradictions—and what about the memories that can’t bear the light?

She settled on a choice, a pebble dropped in a still pond; then, with a let’s-try-it shrug, Aphelia walked into the lake.

Icy water climbed past her collarbones like winter vines, yet her doubts only grew, moss in the shade.

Back then, she’d blacked out soon after entering—but now, her mind stayed clear; was it a gap in memory, or…

Pain struck her skull like a smith’s hammer; without Arcane defenses she went under, and at the last, her lips arced in a thin crescent.

“Aphelia… wake up…”

The familiar call tolled in her ear, a bell in fog, and her pain-blurred mind sharpened by a breath.

She pushed the pain aside and opened her eyes.

Blood and fire wove the battlefield before her; she was retreating within a ring of Rune heavy infantry, their plate like moving walls, the wind howling past with a sting, the iron stink of blood heavy as rain.

Clarity snapped into place; there was only one battle where the continent’s finest craft—Rune heavy infantry—had screened her like a shield wall.

It was the worst wound she’d ever taken; she’d carved through demon corpses until she dropped unconscious atop the heap, until Violet burned coin she didn’t have to drag a handful of elites to rip her free.

Ahead, a red-armored figure met the pursuing demons; her stamina was melting like snow, and flaws flickered in her form like frayed threads.

That was Violet; even a mirage, she was one of the dearest stars in Aphelia’s sky; the demons swarming her were familiar too—two bodyguards of the Demon King—whose deaths later still etched scars on Aphelia’s heart.

The sight nailed down her guess like a pin.

“It only restores memories that cut deep, and aren’t bound… then maybe that move will answer me too?”

Aphelia shrugged off the soldiers’ hands like old cobwebs and drew a long, steady breath; the gashes across her body tightened, and she set a few simple healing spells on herself like clean bandages.

“Then watch closely, you voyeurs crouching in the dark, peeking at other people’s lives.”

Her fingers brushed her necklace; the Holy Sword burst into her right hand, light like dawn on steel, and her body slid into a stance worn into her bones.

As if she had never lost an arm, she rose to her peak; Arcane Power surged like a river in flood, scouring every channel and pooling into both hands.

“Ancient Martial Flow!”

“Heaven and Earth—One Instant!!”

As the blade fell, her mind was struck by thunder; some inner world flared white, and though she couldn’t see or grasp it, her body moved by pure instinct.

Then everything reduced to black and white lines in her eyes; her sword became a wild brush that churned the strokes, painting the world into one seamless night.

“Impossible…”

Inside the clock shop, Jasmine’s eyes flew wide; she clapped a hand over her mouth, composure slipping for the first time since she’d met Aphelia, and the old man and Nero saw her hands tremble.

“She actually has that kind of power… that’s almost at that big figure’s level.”

Nero was stunned too; he’d thought Aphelia was just a competent powerhouse who knew the human world’s intel.

He had to redraw her map; it was the worst misread of his life.

The old man sighed and drew a delicate pocket watch from his vest; he checked it, helplessness like dust on his voice.

“If we don’t pull her out, that side’s going to collapse.”

“Let her out. We won’t see more anyway; she’s clearly figured out what we want.”

Nero waved a hand, and the old man moved to release her; that world she’d entered had been their arrangement from the start.

“Told you not to keep using this ability to test people…”

The old man muttered as he flipped open a cover of crystal thin as a cicada’s wing; he wound the hour hand back one full turn, and Aphelia’s eyes snapped open.

She gulped air like a swimmer breaking the surface and tried to rise from the lounge chair; her strength slipped the leash, and the chair shattered beneath her like dry twigs.

The old man covered his eyes, pretended he hadn’t seen a thing, and shuffled out muttering “my chair” under his breath; how he didn’t trip while covering his face was its own little miracle.

“Calm down, just a little!”

Jasmine rushed in and pinned Aphelia; Aphelia’s power bucked wild, but with one arm, she could still be held by someone near her level.

“Jasmine, what happened—why did she lose control all of a sudden?”

Nero pulled a vial from his storage ring—a plain little glass bottle, no wider than two fingers pressed together.

He winced as he brought it out, but with Jasmine’s help he got the draught down Aphelia’s throat.

“That’s the Ancient Martial Flow’s… mm… you could call it an ultimate; only the legendary Valkyrie has ever used it. Unless someone who’s mastered it strikes you with it, you can’t pick it up…”

Jasmine’s voice shook; a heaven-rending technique, caught by this slim woman who looked about her age?

Nero’s face darkened; his mind raced like storm clouds, tallying what they’d gain and what they’d risk if they recruited Aphelia.