“You… you’re from that era?”

‘Violet’ asked, confusion pricking like a cold needle, and her hand rose toward his iron faceplate like a moth to an iron lamp.

But in the sea of consciousness, the real Violet surged up like a wave against a reef.

“Hey, hey—this is my body, don’t mess with it!” Her protest rang like a bell under water, warped but sharp.

To Violet, the demon squatting in her flesh looked lovestruck, like spring pollen on the wind, suddenly reckless and shameless.

“It’s not something I can explain in a breath,” ‘Violet’ sighed, her tone flat as a mirror. “Do I look like the type to fool around?”

“But—” The real Violet’s doubt fluttered like a torn banner in a gale.

“Don’t you want to know why they brewed this whole mess?” The question dropped like a stone into still water, sending rings through the mind.

Violet fell silent, lips sealed like a drawn bowstring, and the ripples died.

“You two… done talking?” The Rune soldier wrenched free of ‘Violet’s’ grip, stepped back like a wolf out of snare, and spoke into the stale air.

“Eh?” The shock burst from both mouth and mind at once, like twin sparks leaping off the same flint.

They stared at the Rune soldier hanging in midair with magitech gear, his silhouette hard as a whetstone against the haze.

Mind-to-mind speech shouldn’t leak, like ink held tight in a sealed jar, especially when it’s Violet’s own sea of consciousness.

Yet the Rune soldier before them, calm as a winter lake, showed no shift in Arcane Power or Aether, and still named their hidden talk.

“What do you mean ‘you two’? Who else is here…” ‘Violet’ snapped, mask and muscles held steady like a painted face.

Her first thought was a feint, a fox’s trick in deep snow, and she braced her stance like a spear set against a charge.

“The true owner of that body,” the Rune soldier said, tone open as empty sky. “I can’t hear you, and I don’t intend to.”

“But the swing in your spirit is obvious, like a torch flaring then dimming… Ah, and I’ll handle the leftover blood before it rots into trouble.”

He waved, all innocent palms like white flags, then flicked several Runes down into the ruined city like meteors into a dark sea.

Violet’s base was short of True God level, so to her eyes those Runes were plain as stones tossed off a cart.

But to ‘Violet’, Aether coiled on them like sunfire, bright enough to sting the eyes like snow glare at noon.

The brighter they burned, the tighter her guard drew, like a bow bent to the ear; she cut the mind-link clean as a blade.

“If that’s the case, then let’s go.” Her voice fell cool as frost on steel, eyes never leaving the soldier.

“Of course. Give me a moment to treat the town,” he said, and Aether rose from him like mist off a river at dawn.

Before their eyes, walls knit like flesh under a healer’s hand, and streets re-threaded like loomwork under steady fingers.

“Watch your dosage, and keep both sides in sync!” A stern man in white barked, his words cracking like a whip in a stable.

“This is the first run, and it must be finished in one breath!” He strode the floor like a drillmaster, stopping to correct like a sculptor tapping stone.

The room bristled with precision instruments out of place for this age, a forest of steel and glass, yet some still drank Arcane Power like old roots drink rain.

Runes sat socketed in the devices like stars set in iron constellations, with handlers feeding them energy like stoking a banked hearth.

Metal groaned—clank, hiss—and the great door slid open like a lid on an ancient chest, and a Rune soldier led in two mismatched figures.

“This is the place you called the… laboratory?!” ‘Violet’ asked, eyes sweeping like a hawk over a new valley.

The white-robed workers ignored the visitors like stones ignore rain, hands fixed to their stations like rivets to a girder.

The stern middle-aged man glanced over like a blade’s glint, then spoke cold as a winter river. “Koko, did you bring it back?”

“Of course. Perfectly,” the Rune soldier said, lifting a black magitech apparatus like a casket of night. “Thanks to this… um, how should I address you?”

“Violet.” Her name fell like a stamp pressed into wax, plain and final.

“I don’t care,” the man cut in, voice flat as slate. “Our priority is Lady Aphelia’s problem. You take charge of her. Don’t get in our way.”

He swept past them like a stormfront, not a word spared, and bent over the black device, overseeing the link to the Rune-lined machine like a mason laying the keystone.

Several white robes with delicate tools approached the Rune soldier, hands steady as surgeons, faces cool as chalk.

“Miss Violet, please look around,” the soldier said, half-turned, a polite fence raised like a garden hedge. “Just look, don’t touch.”

“Especially Arcane Power,” he added, fingers raised like a warning lantern. “Use Aether if you must, but absolutely no Arcane Power.”

“Do I look like that kind of person?” ‘Violet’ shot him a sideways glare, sharp as a thrown knife, and walked off on her own.

He scratched his cheek with a sheepish smile, a cloud passing the sun, then moved aside with the white robes like drift amid a current.

By his word, no one came to bother ‘Violet’; or perhaps they were lost in work like bees in clover, deaf to all but the hum.

Their cold shoulders didn’t bother her; with the noise stripped away like chaff on wind, she watched the lab with a hunter’s stillness.

She reopened the mind-link like a shutter cracked to moonlight, and the true Violet’s presence returned like tide to shore.

“We’re in, then? This is the place they meant?”

“Yeah. My worries were extra,” ‘Violet’ sneered, mouth a thin blade. “Seems only that guy can sense ripples in the sea of consciousness.”

“These people care only for the tools in their hands,” she said, watching the white robes move like clockwork figures wound too tight.

A giant cultivation tank loomed, wrapped in precise structures like ivy of steel, full of pale green solution that glowed like river jade.

Below it, timers ticked with cruel accuracy, like a row of hearts keeping rival time, and every white robe glanced to them as to a sun.

The central tank’s liquid ran a darker shade, like deeper water where cold lives.

“By the way, where’s Aphelia?” ‘Violet’ asked, casual as a cat, eyes sliding back to the Rune soldier now out of armor.

“You keep calling her Lady Aphelia, but I haven’t even seen her shadow,” she added, words soft as silk pulled tight.

“Oh, Lady Aphelia? She’s right in there.” The Rune soldier stepped out from the side like a door opening onto light.

The voice behind the helmet had been a different wind; now a tall, strong young woman stood there, hair pure white like frost on pine.

Her build was harmonious, muscle laid smooth as braided rope, neither blunt nor gaudy, a bowstring at easy rest.

Her skin bore scars like a map of storms, especially her arms, where pale lines covered nearly every span like frost cracks on glass.

She seemed unbothered by showing them, and her smile was easy as a hearth, steady and warm.

What stunned most was her face, a mirror held up to fate. ‘Violet’ stiffened like steel plunged in snow.

“Aphelia?!” The name burst from the sea of consciousness like steam from a sealed pot.

“No,” ‘Violet’ said at once, cool as a judge’s gavel. “The face is the same, but she’s not your Aphelia, and she’s no ordinary person.”

“Why are you staring at me?” Koko chuckled, pointing like a spear tip. “Lady Aphelia’s there.”

“Miss this window and the solution’s dosage will deepen like dusk, and the naked eye won’t catch it,” she added, voice brisk as a metronome.

‘Violet’ followed her finger, and saw Aphelia clear as a moon caught in a well, right in the central tank.

Aphelia floated curled like a sleeping fawn, wrapped in machinery like thorns, pale green light brushing her skin like river light.

Injector spines kissed her spine like cold fangs, and the sight made the real Violet’s blood boil like a kettle on coals.

“Hey, calm down!” Koko stepped in fast, a hand clamping ‘Violet’s’ shoulder blades like iron tongs from behind.

The stern man turned, gaze cold as hoarfrost, waiting like a drawn bow for the next move.

Blood-red flashed in ‘Violet’s’ eyes, a comet across night, but it fell away, leaving wine-red calm like dusk after storm.

“Fine,” she said, voice low as a winter drum. “I won’t make a move. But you’re going to explain.”

“Of course,” Koko soothed, palms up like empty sky. “Just don’t get worked up… and I told you, don’t use Arcane Power—”

The tank shuddered—thrum—like a whale turning in deep water, and every gaze snapped there like iron to a magnet.

“No way…” Koko breathed, eyes widening like doors thrown open, fingers loosening from ‘Violet’ without meaning to.

The middle-aged man moved first, a falcon stooping, and his hands flew over controls like rain on drumskin.

“Increase the dose!” he barked, voice a lash of lightning. “Inject more Aether solution!”

“Cut the Fallen Demon element feed!” he snapped, words striking sparks. “Don’t let Lady Aphelia lose connection to the other side!”

“Damn it, we just tuned it back, and another failure hits like a rockslide!” he cursed, teeth hard as pebbles.

White robes blurred into motion, their fingers dancing like spiders, and Rune-set instruments spat pale arcs like summer lightning.

Aphelia’s face pinched with pain, a flower struck by frost, and her body trembled in the green like a string pulled too tight.

“What are you doing to her!” ‘Violet’ roared, fury rising like black smoke, and she grabbed Koko’s vest and slammed her to the wall like a shield to stone.