“Master Merlin will prep a few things for you, sure, but it’s worth a look. You might spot something that sings to you,” Lilo said, voice light as a breeze carrying plum scent.

They stopped before a building that looked plain as uncut stone, a mask over a hidden garden. Lilo stepped up, brushed her storage ring like stroking a sleeping ember, and drew out a flame-bright crimson Mana Crystal card.

She passed it to the front-desk attendant. He checked it with the ease of a dealer shuffling cards, said something soft, then smiled like morning sun and gave Lilo a respectful inviting gesture.

Aphelia followed at an unhurried pace, thoughts flowing like a shaded stream. Seeing the man’s deference, she sighed inwardly: great houses moved through the world on green lights only, a road cleared like snow before a noble’s sleigh.

“Esteemed Deputy Commander of the Mage Corps, your private box is ready. Shall we guide you?” The young attendant smiled, then slid out two dark-gold Mana Crystal cards from beneath the counter, handing them to Lilo and Aphelia like passing warm coals into waiting palms.

Lilo nodded, satisfied, the gesture neat as a blade’s tap on a scabbard. “No need. Prepare the same list for my companion.”

“Of course. We’re professionals,” he said, pride glinting like lacquer, polished but not sharp, a charm that would hook many a noble lady like silk on a branch.

Aphelia let a small smile bloom, a petal opening in shade. Professional indeed. She held her tongue; these were Lilo’s threads of connection, and tugging them rashly might weave trouble.

“May you have a delightful night, ladies.” He bowed, a reed bending to wind.

They walked down a long corridor, quiet as a tunnel of bamboo. At the end, a teleportation circle waited, runes gleaming like fish scales under moonlight. Aphelia’s brow lifted, a ripple across still water.

“What, the main venue isn’t here? For a box, you don’t need a teleportation array,” she said, caution rising like a drawn curtain. She trusted Lilo, but plots could coil around Lilo like hidden vines; she sent out a whisper of intent, ready to unweave the array.

Lilo caught her hand at once, a gentle brake on a rolling cart, and smiled apologetically. “Sorry, Aphelia, I didn’t explain. Let’s go in first. I’ll lay it out in the box. You can relax.”

Aphelia sighed, a leaf dropping without a sound, let the argument go, and quietly gathered her power. Together they stepped into the array.

There was no stomach-drop, no cliff edge. Only a faint ripple of space, like a pebble kissing a pond, and the scene shifted. They stood in a refined circular box, a ring polished by thought.

The décor wasn’t ostentatious, yet every line felt balanced, like a garden composed by a sure hand; from any angle, the room invited ease, and movement felt spring-fed with energy.

Looking down, they saw the vast auction hall spread like a lake of light. On stage, an auctioneer in formal wear worked the crowd, serving “appetizers” to warm the air like a cook stoking coals.

Through towering panes of glass, more boxes ringed the hall like lanterns around a festival square, encircling the stage.

Lilo took an unlabeled bottle of red from a cabinet, a shadowed ruby in her palm. She poured Aphelia a small glass, then sat. The wine, dark as fresh blood, breathed a strange perfume that coiled upward like incense, urging a single long swallow—until Lilo stayed her hand.

“Wait a moment, Aphelia. This isn’t a first-sip kind of wine. In a bit, I’ll show you how to drink it,” Lilo said, voice playful as a cat’s flicking tail.

Curiosity rose in Aphelia like steam from hot stone, but another question resurfaced, a fish circling back. “Lilo, earlier—you said you hadn’t explained—”

“Your doubt’s simple,” Lilo said. Scarlet flame lit on her fingertip, a spark blooming like a chrysanthemum of fire, and she sketched a layered pattern in the air.

“The Imperial Capital isn’t a simple city.”

A top-down spiral unfolded, each tier a shrinking ring, every layer its own system—like cities stacked one upon another, a pagoda of worlds. Aphelia’s eyes widened, disbelief striking like a gong.

“How is that possible? Space overlap? Energy costs? The magitech—” The questions rushed out like birds flushed from reeds.

Floating cities, even stacked ones, had always been a thorn in the side of spatial mages, a knot that cut flesh. The reason was simple as iron: coordination of space was the hardest wall.

Different things meant different spatial natures; force them to overlap and you broke what couldn’t be mended, a landslide you couldn’t shovel back. So spatial magic wore destruction like a cloak and demanded a stronger mind-sea to steer it, a helm held by giants.

And yet this vision hammered Aphelia’s worldview like rain on clay.

“Aphelia… sorry. That part I can’t say,” Lilo said, shaking her head, a willow refusing to point. It was a secret ranked too high; even she had no leave to share it.

Aphelia cooled, the heat in her chest sinking like embers under ash. She let go of Lilo’s hands, cheeks warm, and bowed her words. “S-sorry, Senior Lilo. I got carried away.”

“It’s fine. It’s a lot to swallow,” Lilo said with a smile, calm as a lake at dawn. “We were in the top tier of the Upper City. This auction house spans three districts. The place we saw was just the Upper City’s reception. Any certified guest can pass through to the house.”

She hadn’t minded Aphelia’s slip; once, the same shock had cracked her composure like ice in spring. She shifted to lighter talk, smoothing the air like a fan.

“Of course the royal family’s shadow lies over this, though they’d never admit it. Without their backing, a cross-district auction house would be fat meat on too many plates.”

A chime rolled through the room, clear as a bell over water, and Lilo paused. “It’s starting. Let’s watch.”

She drew over a piece of arcanotech, touched it, and the stage bloomed on the window before them, magnified like a lens catching sunlight, every lot plain to see.

Aphelia nodded. The auction was their purpose; the rest could be lanterns for later.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the young auctioneer chimed, voice bright as a silver bell, “our annual Founding Auction is about to begin. Still got funds left to burn?”

Her playful tease rippled through the hall like wind through wheat; smiles answered, and a light whistle cut the air like a dart. Lilo sighed, a cloud passing over the moon, dimming for a breath, and said nothing.

The auctioneer snapped her fingers—snap—and spotlights fell like spears of light, their points set on the curtain behind her.

“As always, value for value. Please enjoy yourselves. Our first lot—Mana Crystals of extreme purity from the Hydra Plains.”

The heavy curtain drew back, slow as dawn, and a server rolled out a cart capped by a crystal hood, mystery draped like gauze. After a bow to the crowd, he lifted the cover.

In a breath, brilliance flooded the hall like a wave shattering on rock. The dense Arcane Power flashed and was gone, a lightning flick that hooked every eye.

“These top-grade Mana Crystals from the Hydra Plains are certified by Master Merlin. You can trust their authenticity. They contain the power of the gods—please consider them well,” the girl explained, while the server circled the stage, display smooth as a dancer’s turn.

Murmurs rose, a tide of voices lapping at the stage. The auctioneer watched with a quiet smile, a gardener pleased with sprouting seeds.

“Mana Crystals with the power of a True God—could it be…?” Lilo glanced at Aphelia, the fleeting presence familiar as an old scent.

Aphelia let out a bitter smile, a twist of winter fruit. Those “top-grade crystals” did bear a True God’s power, and that part held true; but the source was the clash between the Valkyrie and Uroboros, power sloughed off in battle and hardened into crystals, not some pure vein of treasure.

Seeing her smile, Lilo could only shake her head, a small helpless sway. She might already hold the strength to become a True God, yet anything steeped in a True God’s power still called to her like a drum across fog.