He should’ve ruled the blaze, a child born of flame, yet the phoenix in Phoenix’s body was rejected by this pure fire like a spring that spurns poison.

A true phoenix bloodline would rise even from a single shard. Toss it into a fire this pure and it would be reborn in a heartbeat.

Let alone the phoenix’s original body dwelling in Phoenix.

But none of it fit the order of things. Phoenix, who should’ve found nirvana in fire, looked drained to the bone. He even had to spend strength to ward off the pure flames, as if they were venom.

“Phoenix… no. You’ve already lost what makes a phoenix. What should’ve nourished you now makes you weaker. What did you use to stain its source? Let’s see…”

Merlin drifted forward. His staff tapped Phoenix’s brow. Silver light thinned to needles and plunged into his mind-sea. A shrill phoenix cry shook the whole space.

Crimson fire burst from Phoenix’s brow and erased the warped flames around him in a breath. It spun into a vast whirlpool, drinking the pure fire from every corner.

A phoenix’s shape rose within that blaze, feather by ember. Phoenix, the host, choked on pain. Teeth clenched, eyes rolling white, body twitching. Blood seeped out through skin.

Merlin didn’t flinch. He watched the phoenix take form while Phoenix’s body withered like a frost-bitten leaf. It didn’t last long. As Phoenix waned, a pitch-black shadow bolted for escape.

The silver light hidden in the space snapped tight, becoming a close-laced cage. It sealed every path. Before the shadow could fight back, countless silver lances pinned it through.

Merlin’s smile went cold. He raised his staff. A silver array etched itself in a single breath. Twelve golden phantoms formed behind him. The boundless starry sky unfurled and pressed down.

The black shadow roared, voice like sand. It twisted into a savage human shape and braced both arms beneath the falling array. From its body, black tendrils split like a nest of spears, probing the cage for weakness.

“Pitiful monster. But it’s grown a flicker of mind…”

The staff’s tip snapped out a blade. Merlin whispered. Under the blessing of twelve golden phantoms and the endless stars, his robe became silver armor. The soft-spoken mage turned war.

His aura vanished, bare as calm water. He lifted the Mageblade. His eyes held a ruthless kill.

“…Then die.”

Phoenix, racked by pain, felt it first. He forced his eyes open. A white figure cleaved the space like a comet and cut that black shadow in one stroke.

The blade’s domain flashed like a swallowed sky. In that instant, a pure, towering majesty bared itself.

The silver array slammed down like ten thousand mountains. It sealed the shadow whole. The twelve phantoms followed, melting into golden Runes. Each mark pressed a chain of lines onto the array.

Layer on layer, until they fused as one. The final, snarling brand burned onto Merlin’s Mageblade.

“Just as I thought…”

Merlin let out a long breath. The brand crawled like something alive. It was twisted, beyond words. To call it a creature was a lie. A god’s cruel joke. Pure malice condensed.

It looked built from the limbs of countless things, a heap given motion.

His hands clenched without meaning to. A bright phoenix cry cut across, and drew his gaze.

Crimson flame had left Phoenix’s body. The newborn phoenix finished its nirvana. The fire-sea answered its call, gathering like tides at the moon. It sat as emperor over all.

Merlin smiled. The Mageblade slid back into the staff. The silver armor dissolved to light and vanished, leaving the white robe.

A silver flash. A restrained, luminous branch lay in his hand. A twig that should’ve feared flame now glowed brighter, and pushed a tender green bud.

The crimson phoenix felt the branch. It hesitated. Merlin bared a hint of silver light. The phoenix dove, and perched steady on the glowing twig.

As its weight settled, Merlin’s heart-stone dropped. Relief breathed out of him. His glance toward Phoenix turned sharper, edged with scorn.

“Didn’t expect the phoenix of this generation to pick a host this much of a dud.”

With the crimson phoenix’s acceptance, Merlin didn’t hesitate. He dropped and ground the silver staff onto the back of Phoenix’s hand. Pain ripped a scream from him.

He lifted a face of skin and bone, and glared hate enough to cut. He looked ready to tear Merlin to pieces.

“A dud? If I’m a dud, how did I earn that lord’s—”

Before he finished, Merlin’s staff cracked across his face. It sent him skidding.

“That lord? You still call that thing a lord?!”

Merlin almost laughed from anger. He walked forward, slow as falling frost. The Mageblade sprang free and bared the twisted brand to Phoenix’s eyes.

Phoenix screamed the instant he saw it. He flipped backward. Blood welled from his eyes. He was a candle in wind. One more push and he’d gutter out.

“A phoenix’s host, begging help from those things? If I hadn’t cut it free in time, even the idea of phoenix would’ve been erased. You pitiful fool. How dare you call it ‘lord’?”

Phoenix forced himself upright. He gave a cold smile. The scorching heat numbed his skin, but hatred burned colder in his eyes.

It was the kind of hate that doesn’t die. Twisted black fire rose around him, stubborn and hungry, its malice spiking straight at Merlin. The black shadow looked ready to be born again.

“Pitiful? It’s you. That lord is about to—”

Every word scraped out from his teeth, soaked in strain. Merlin didn’t have to move. The black fire lost control.

It surged back into Phoenix’s body and sprouted a forest of spikes. They drove outward from within and tore his last breath to ribbons.

The phoenix on the branch cried first. A tide of fire swung in and engulfed the twisted corpse. It burned the leftover shadow to ash.

Merlin could only sigh. In that state, Phoenix had nothing left to say. He glanced at the phoenix on the twig, shook his head, and let it be.

“Miss Aphelia, are you awake?”

A gentle voice brushed Aphelia’s ear. The ache in her mind soothed, like a palm over water.

She opened her eyes. The Tower-spirit kept quiet watch beside her. She spoke softly.

“Where’s Violet? How is she?”

Before the last word fell, a figure collapsed into her arms and held tight. She buried her face against Aphelia’s chest.

No words. Only a grip that wouldn’t loosen, as if afraid Aphelia might drift away.

A faint, trembled sob seeped out. The familiar sound brought a small smile to Aphelia’s lips. She cradled the clinging figure and stroked that wine-red hair.

“Sorry, Violet. I’m back.”

The Tower-spirit read the room. It slipped away, leaving the little space to the long-separated pair.

Violet didn’t answer. Her sobs swelled, then turned to open, ugly crying. She never lifted her head, only wept into Aphelia’s chest.

So many words, none of them fit.

Outside, Lilo froze. The speech she’d rehearsed died in her throat. Her hand slipped trembling off the knob.

She leaned on the door, as if her strength had been drained with a sigh, and slid to the floor.