Aphelia’s heart skittered like a sparrow; she tried to step back. Lilo held both her hands; any tug tightened the warm clasp, and heat bloomed in her cheeks.
"So, will you let me take this responsibility, Aphelia? Love isn’t something you can force; I know that."
A veil of sorrow drifted through Lilo’s eyes, like an old memory surfacing; even her voice sank like dusk.
"If you can accept me, then trust me—my feeling for you will never waver. But if you meet the one you love someday, I... I won’t stand in your way. I’ll bless you."
Before Lilo could finish, Aphelia bent forward and hugged her tight, like shelter from rain; she wouldn’t let Lilo speak another word.
"Lilo... no more."
Lilo spoke for Aphelia’s sake; what happened yesterday left ripples beneath their calm. Aphelia wasn’t someone who lost reason to love, yet she wasn’t someone who could drop love like a stone.
Lilo was the same, even more so; in matters of the heart, her feeling ran mountain-deep. Two souls, earnest and fierce—how could they leap the barrier in their chests?
For Aphelia, the knot lay in a mind not fully shifted. She had been male; guilt gnawed at the grace she’d received, fearing she would betray it.
So her heart tried to flee like a startled deer, not daring to face it. Now Lilo’s words left her with nowhere to run, like a lantern lit in a closed room.
Feeling the warmth at her side, Lilo trembled too; to make this choice she’d steeled herself like iron. Aphelia’s understanding felt like redemption, and tears misted her eyes.
"Lilo... you’re too gentle; that kind of gentleness is cruel to yourself."
Aphelia buried her face in Lilo’s crimson hair, whispering by her ear; the heat of the moment soaked her, and her eyes turned wet as well. Faced with Lilo’s earnest heart, her own had decided.
They’d come to this by a twist of fate, yet that didn’t dull Aphelia’s liking for Lilo. And Lilo’s words had touched the softest place in her heart, like wind on spring water.
So wasn’t the answer already clear?
"Lilo, my reply is simple. Just two words."
In that moment, the world held only two people moved by feeling; everything else fell away like dust.
Meanwhile, inside Merlin’s Mage Tower, the lush forest shuddered wildly, as if a dread weight pressed down; trunks cracked, and boughs snapped under strain.
Seeing her forest ravaged, Freya, who had hidden deep in the green, couldn’t quell her fury; vast nature qi surged from every quarter, pushing back that crushing power and knitting the broken trees.
"Merlin, don’t go too far."
Her rebuke barely formed when a white figure flashed before her and slapped her down; silvery radiance poured from the sky, scattering the natural breath and binding Freya where she fell.
The white figure wore a mage’s robe—Merlin himself, star-power roaring off him like a storm at sea; twelve golden phantoms floated overhead, and with a thought he could unfurl a blazing star river to erase the whole forest.
If you wanted a comparison, you’d name Senro. But Merlin’s power stood above Senro; the deep-blue Star Eyes were proof enough.
Seeing Merlin get serious, Freya stopped fighting; emerald pupils shaded with doubt as she looked at him, like leaves puzzled by wind.
"Don’t play dumb. You know what you did."
Merlin had none of the gentleness he’d shown Aphelia; his handsome face twisted by heat. He flicked his hand, and a pillar of silvery light speared upward, leveling a swath of trees in a heartbeat.
Bound, Freya thrashed, nature surged like a rising tide; she roared, trying to tear the bonds and halt whatever Merlin would do.
The twelve golden phantoms boomed like temple bells, smashing the rebelling nature force to dust; under that weight, even struggling Freya buckled as if bearing a thousand catties and dropped to her knees.
An ink-black starry void spread, swallowing the borders of this space; the scent of ruin wrung laments from what life remained, yet the void kept swelling like night eating day.
Merlin watched Freya kneeling, cold as winter; silvery glow ringed him, and his deep-blue Star Eyes seemed to read her marrow. That chill gaze made Freya shiver.
"Well? Will you admit your mistake?"
Pressed by a ton of invisible stone, Freya forced words through her throat.
"I... know... I... was wrong."
At her last syllable, the black starry void stopped expanding; the crushing weight vanished, and Freya collapsed, gulping air like a drowning swimmer.
"Did you forget what you are?"
Fresh from the brink, she looked at Merlin with fear, a sliver of venom hidden like a thorn. She didn’t dare show it; one more move and he’d strike.
She knew this man wouldn’t pull his punches.
"Cough... cough. You can’t put it all on me. It’s a natural effect—the Crimson Dragon Clan gets swayed by nature breath."
No sooner did the words leave her lips than silvery light lanced through Freya’s collarbone and lifted her up; blood spattered the grass, and pain cracked a scream from her.
Merlin shook his head and walked over. Seeing the wound calmed him, like fire settling to embers; he spoke softly.
"You still won’t tell the truth. I didn’t expect you’d dare to meddle right under my nose. Seems long years made you bold."
He patted Freya’s delicate cheek; the silvery radiance sank deeper, and she cried out. Even as a True God, the pierced wound refused to heal under that light.
Faced with Merlin’s iron resolve, Freya’s expression turned bright, then broke into laughter, defiant as a crow on a gallows.
"Yes, I meddled. It’s done—what can you do? Her fate is bound to be touched. And you, Merlin, you will in the next epoch—"
Her words cut off as silvery light fell again, spearing her arm joints and stringing her up like a puppet; Merlin dipped a finger in her blood and began tracing a sigil on her body.
"Cough... cough. You think... torturing me will fix it?"
Freya coughed more blood, watching Merlin draw on her skin; her smile bent into mockery.
"You’ve misread her, and me, to a certain degree."
Merlin lost all the earlier theatrics, as if the storm had been staged; the black starry void spread again, chewing at the forest’s edge like frost.
Freya’s face tightened; she whistled sharply and stared into the deep woods, clearly waiting for something.
But nothing stirred in the far green; only the stroke of Merlin’s sigil broke the hush. Five minutes stretched like decades—pure torment for Freya.
At last a figure stepped out of the forest; joy flashed across Freya’s face, then froze to stone as she saw clearly.
From the deep came the silver-white maiden from Aphelia’s sea of consciousness. Her right hand held a long sword; her left dangled a beautiful girl’s severed head. The Silvery Armor on her body was streaked with blood—hers or her enemy’s, hard to tell.
Merlin lifted his head and spoke softly, a chill through mist.
"What are you still hoping for?"
That simple line shattered Freya’s defenses like glass. The silver-white maiden tossed the head to the grass and crushed it under her boot.
"You... you... how is that possible..."
Freya went ashen, pupils wide with disbelief; she searched the maiden’s form for flaws, anything to prove a fake. The silver-white maiden only walked forward, raising her blade.
Merlin stopped tracing and stepped between them.
"Don’t kill her. She’s still useful."
At that, the silver-white maiden paused, as if peering through her visor at Merlin. After a taut moment, she lowered her sword and stood aside, silent as moonlight, offering no word.
"As you see, Freya—long ago, you already played the traitor. Did you think I wouldn’t keep a guard up?"
