The pure-white figure rose slowly, moonlight lifting from snow. Her gaze swept the whole chamber like a cold tide, then anchored on the observation deck—on Merlin. Everyone felt the focus settle, a needle of light fixed on him.

Kneeling, Merlin trembled with joy. He tried to speak, but the words jammed like ice in his throat. His hands shook; helplessness flooded his eyes before any sound escaped.

He ached for it—for that white figure to step before the deck and let him clasp her hands once more.

The tower spirit felt the same ache. She knelt with reverent calm, as if the pure-white figure were a god descending through frost.

But the white figure seemed to read Merlin’s heart. She only shook her head, drew her battle standard, and turned it into a surge of pure light. That light branded Aphelia’s arm like a moon-seal set in crystal.

When it was done, the radiance dimmed. The legion shielding her thinned and dissolved, sand towers weathered by wind, returning to a silent plain.

It wasn’t silence, though—it was a field brimming with life. Countless crystal blossoms rose out of blood and fire, breathing a faint glow, circling the white figure like a hushed call. She smiled, watching her own form loosen into mist.

Ah—before vanishing, there was still someone to see…

As she dispersed, she caught a distant breath. An apologetic smile touched her lips. A ray tore the air open and streaked toward the depths of the imperial capital.

Merlin sensed it leave. He guessed the destination at once. He fumbled at the magitech apparatus, hands clumsy with urgency, trying to chase the ray’s trail.

At the city’s heart, inside a lavish great hall, an armored Demon King listened to ministers scheme like crows. She said nothing. Her silence carried killing intent, a winter wind that made them falter mid-argument and bow for pardon.

“So we should strike into the Abyss while it’s bleeding—”

“The budget, then? The Mana Crystals? Where do they come from? Show some decorum before Her Majesty!”

Their bickering scraped her nerves. Even without feelings, she remembered to wear boredom, or show a hint of disgust—masks for a court that demanded them.

These meetings were routine as rain. Those who fancied themselves insiders had picked sides long ago and clawed at each other’s factions. She usually let them howl. Whatever their noise, the decision was hers to make.

At least let them taste “participation,” feel “presence.” Slude didn’t understand that craving. Not after watching for epochs from behind steel and silence.

She closed her eyes to let the armor keep watch while she feigned rest. Then a tremor etched into instinct stung her awake. Her heavy armor gave a low, angry growl. All voices died at once.

“You all… leave.”

Her voice scraped like stone. A minister leapt to plead.

“Your Majesty, this is urgent—”

“I said, leave!!”

Deep-blue arcs cracked the air. Thunder snarled inside the chamber, the final warning before a storm. Tongues snapped shut. Bows lined the floor. In a quick rustle of robes and fear, they fled. The hall settled into the hush of a lone king.

Thunder braided from Slude’s hand and veined the room. Every breath of Arcane Power got replaced by her Aether, bright and merciless. A few micro listening arrays popped like gnats in flame.

She didn’t care. She wove a barrier, thin as ice and hard as iron. When she was sure no eye was left watching, she carved a complex Rune through the air and pressed it onto the black armor.

The heavy plates spat out a few cylindrical couplings. Steam hissed like winter snakes. As the armor unlocked, her tall, slender figure stepped into the pale light. She knelt and whispered a litany to the empty air.

The black Runes stirred and woke. Pain ripped through her in fresh waves. She didn’t flinch. She kept chanting. In eyes that should reflect no feeling, an ember of expectation flickered.

“Slude, I’m sorry. I still need you to pull me through like this…”

Pure-white light split the space. A perfect figure took shape before Slude, like dawn resolved into a body. She spoke with a soft apology, caressed Slude’s cheek, and sighed at the writhing black Runes.

Slude didn’t care about the Runes. She reached for the light, voice shaking.

“Is it you…”

She tried to speak the name. Warmth brushed her lips and closed the word like a finger.

“I’m already a dead woman, Slude. The dead should keep to the dead.”

Sorrow shaded the voice, but sunlight cut through it. Contradiction rang in her chest. For the first time in ages, Slude’s eyes gathered tears.

“I can give you this body—”

She didn’t notice her feelings returning. Urgency colored her tone. The white shadow only shook her head, bent down, and held Slude tight.

“You’re one of the last fruits left on the branch. My showing up already drew those things’ attention. This meeting might be our last.”

“We have a chance. Don’t worry. Merlin and I have forged a legion no weaker than before—”

“Slude. Slude…”

The pure-white figure cut her off with a gentle laugh.

“I died back then.”

“Now I’m only a shadow. You know it. Merlin knows it. Everyone who survived knows it. The only chance isn’t with me. It’s with her.”

“Stop chasing a phantom.”

She touched the black Rune. A scream filled the room, harsh and wild. She flicked her hand. Silence sliced it clean, like a throat pinched shut.

Warmth flowed from her fingertip into Slude. The curse that had strangled her for epochs loosened. Old scars knitted. Broken places remembered how to be whole.

Slude stared at her, nose stinging, tears surging. Shackled feelings burst their chains. The iron-blooded Demon King who steadied the Demon World sobbed in that embrace like a child lost in snow.

“Forgive me, Slude. I want to say more, but my presence already bends the tracks of fate. If I stay, the future will turn darker and meaner…”

Slude jerked forward, grasping at the light. But how do you hold a beam?

“I’m sorry. Farewell.”

The white figure broke into a storm of motes. They drifted apart like fireflies dissolving in dawn. Slude snatched at them, but her hands met only air. The light thinned and vanished. Only a crystal blossom remained, resting on the floor like a small, cold star.

She cradled it, shaking. She knelt and wept, the sound hollowing the hall.

Across the Demon World, the pure-white figure appeared again and again. In deep mountains, a girl in iron wept. The thorns that bound her withered to dust. Freed, she knelt and chanted a eulogy toward the fading light.

In the pitch-black Abyss, a woman whose every motion spelled temptation flushed at the eyes. She drove away her snarling underlings. She raised a bottle and poured it down her throat. Wine soaked her clothes; she didn’t care.

In the human Church, beneath a cathedral of gold and jade, a chained figure screamed. The chains that pierced her blazed with power to crush her. A crystal blossom shattered them, and the suppressed form slid free like a spear from stone.

Priests felt the ground heave. Fear folded their hands tight over their Bibles. Prayer rose like smoke. Cardinals who knew the truth bolted for the depths to pin her down.

But lances of golden light speared the floor. Their Aether burned the cardinals to ash. A valiant shape erupted through broken stone. Thunder roared with wrath, and the proud, gilded cathedral folded into ruin under her cry.

Sensing a certain presence, the golden figure leapt skyward, trailing a brilliant wake through the air.