The petite girl lifted off by a hand’s breadth, her lips singing an ethereal hymn.
The emerald forest exhaled a lush breath of life.
Aphelia thought of Lena, thought of the Elven Forest that once was.
Vines in a hundred shades of green uncoiled from the earth, weaving a pavilion at just the right size.
It roofed them in leaf-light, and they sat one by one.
A soft, natural aura curled around them, easing the grit of travel.
Lilo, sleepless till now, felt cool relief wash her bones, and a drowsy haze nibble at her edges.
Startled, she flicked a look at Freya.
Freya only met her with a small, proud gleam, making Lilo awkward and, despite herself, admit the petite girl’s strength.
For nature’s breath to reach even her, the girl had to be at least Demigod.
Lilo wondered how much terrifying force still hid inside Merlin’s Mage Tower.
And that Demon King—what’s his tie to Master Merlin, that he lets him plant such power at the heart of the capital?
Any ruler, eventually, doubts his own heroes.
With Master Merlin, the Demon King’s trust felt almost excessive.
Aphelia shared the question, yet let it drift.
The Demon World would churn as it would, beyond her worry, beyond her reach.
Better to anchor in the now.
The pavilion’s green scent soothed her too, brushing away thin, buried fatigue.
But unlike Lilo, the aura did not lull her toward sleep; it only settled her, like rain on warm stone.
Yet something in it felt familiar—near, yet far.
After a moment’s thought, she blamed it on Sister Lena’s deep imprint, and let the thought fade.
Freya clapped softly.
Green silhouettes glided out of the trees—fine-featured, willow-slim.
They carried trays with jade teapots and pastries, and came toward them.
“Since Merlin put in the word, I’ll let you taste the real thing.”
Pride brimmed in Freya’s eyes, unhidden and somehow cute to everyone else.
Lilo’s hand behind her back twitched, eager as a cat before cream.
Merlin only gave a wry nod and stepped aside.
The girls served tea and sweets, arranging them before the group.
Light fragrance reached Aphelia’s nose; her fingers itched.
The honeyed scent lifted her spirits like dawn wind.
Freya raised her cup and sipped without a care.
A rosy blush bloomed, and a small, satisfied sound slipped free.
They followed suit, lifting cups and taking a gentle sip.
It was fine tea.
The silk-smooth entry made you doubt it was even tea at all.
Bitterness rose only at the throat, answering the precise sweetness, leaving one wanting.
They finally got why the petite girl reacted like that.
Even they drifted, half-immersed in the tea’s teasing rush of senses.
Aphelia let herself drink a little more.
When she set the cup down and caught Freya’s half-smile, heat rose to her cheeks; she couldn’t meet that gaze.
“Then, let’s talk about your problem.”
Merlin drained his tea in one go, all rough edge, drawing an eye-roll from Freya.
He chuckled, a touch rueful.
“My master said you could guide me on the path to True God…”
Strength pulled her focus taut; Aphelia straightened and spoke in earnest.
“Right, the True God path. Aphelia, do you remember your title?”
Merlin turned slightly, letting a girl refill his cup, murmured thanks, then looked to Aphelia and waited.
“I remember. My title is the Immortal. The ability is…”
Her mind stalled like a gear catching.
She chased memories of using it and found fog.
She’d always folded it into her Ancient Martial Flow, never lived it as its own hand.
Merlin watched her fluster and smiled.
“See? Your problem’s plain. Even with True God power, inside you’re still a hollow room.”
He tapped a finger over her heart, lifted his cup, and drank.
Aphelia wanted to argue, but helplessly found he was right.
As a Demigod, her title should have blossomed into a heart-image world.
It never came—so there was no God Domain to build on.
Aphelia sighed, resignation in it.
“You’re right, Master Merlin.”
Seeing her accept it, Merlin set down his cup and picked a pastry from the delicate plate.
Aphelia’s vision blurred—then a knife-wind scraped past her cheek.
No time for shock; her body moved on instinct.
In that instant, the world seemed to stall.
In the corner of her eye, a tiny black speck flickered.
A pastry popped beside her ear, then dropped onto the table and shattered.
Aphelia gulped air as a thread of cold sweat traced her brow.
Disbelief and doubt flickered in her gaze toward Merlin.
He sipped, serene, as if nothing had happened.
Around them, the others seemed not to notice, tasting tea and sweets.
“What… was that?”
Her throat went dry; what had just happened pushed past what she knew.
“Surprised? That’s part of your own power. I only gave it a nudge.”
Silver radiance welled over Merlin’s hands, as if words weren’t enough.
Freya cut in at once.
“Don’t overdo it. If my children get hurt, I won’t let you off.”
For a beat, the petite girl flared with a fearsome aura.
It snapped out, and she was all smiles again.
Lilo and Aphelia traded a look—no mistake.
Freya was no less a power than Merlin.
Merlin, unconcerned, nodded.
His hands sketched the air, and silver arcs sprang from his sides, weaving tracks in midair, coming to rest beside Aphelia.
“These are the paths that pastry traveled.
You stopped it by instinct.”
“How’s that possible! They’re just multiple starting points…”
Aphelia shook her head.
To her, those marks were straight lines from many starts to the end by her ear; without turning back, how could it trace so many routes?
Merlin only smiled.
He set another pastry on the silver glow.
It drifted forward, and as it neared her ear, it vanished into the air.
She reached for a ripple in space; before she could catch it, the pastry reappeared on a different track, picking up speed.
She called her Titleholder power again; it halted and crumbled to powder, falling like pale ash.
The second use left Aphelia breathing light, and doubt rose.
She had True God power—so why did two draws on her title tire her like this?
“Because you haven’t mastered your title’s power.
The Titleholder is your foundation to become a True God, the Babel you climb toward taboo.
If you haven’t built that ladder to the sky, will bare True God power make you a True God?”
Merlin finished and sat back, smiling at Aphelia, saying no more.
Sometimes, a touch is enough; the rest must be hers to seek.
It’s her primal power; only she can know what it truly is.
Merlin’s second toss drew out Aphelia’s strength step by step, letting her feel what the Immortal truly holds.
Feeling the lingering echo at her fingertips, Aphelia quietly curled her fists and closed her eyes.
She called that force up again inside.
The vast True God power in her paused, as if opening a path.
