“Indeed, forgive my offense. The era I mean is older still—older than dawn before this age’s first epoch.”

His face set like stone under rain, the middle-aged man signaled the white-robed staff to fetch something.

“I know it sounds grand, but between those eras yawns a hundred million years, a desert between two oases.”

“Relics are few, pebbles in a vast riverbed; when the last era ended, civilization crumbled like a cliff.”

“That memory also spoke of collapse, a storm sweeping roofs. Tell me—what caused the second fall of civilization?”

Unease pricked like cold rain; Aphelia frowned.

They hadn’t conferred, yet his points mirrored the memory like twin moons on water.

But that wasn’t reason enough to trust him; caution coiled like a snake in her chest.

This memory didn’t enter her sea of consciousness by normal means; that meant they likely knew its contents by heart.

They were waiting to use it, waiting to net Aphelia and her companions like fish in dusk shallows.

As a pessimist, Aphelia always readied for the worst, a cloak kept close in winter wind.

“It was the Eldritch Gods.”

The middle-aged man let the word slip like ash, then pointed toward the notebook in Aphelia’s hand.

“There’s detailed record inside; you can comb it yourself, like sifting sand for gold.”

Memory stirred like tea steam as Aphelia cracked the book, foreign yet familiar script blooming in graceful strokes.

It felt like someone had held her hand, teaching those forms, snow tracing lines on dark earth.

“You see? I needn’t say much; you recall it on your own, like tides obeying the moon.”

He waited out her daze, then spoke, voice gentle as dusk.

“So long a span, yet you still found me?”

“More exactly—how did you judge I’m the one you seek?”

“This is simple. We don’t judge by face or strength; we use a sharper blade—genetic testing.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

Confusion rippled like wind through wheat in Violet’s eyes—and in Aphelia’s.

She grasped his words, yet the term itself rang empty, a bell with no shrine in her mind.

“Even pure-blooded humans can’t recall such things now, mist erasing carvings.”

He sighed long, shook his head, then swiped the screen; a double helix unfurled like a ladder of light.

“In short, this marks everyone’s original state, patterns countless as stars; no two combinations match in this world.”

“It’s an old view, but it isn’t wrong; a stray arrow that still finds the deer.”

He drew out a device shaped like Bracer Gauntlets, clasped it to his arm, then stepped back, breath steady as frost.

“Now, we prefer to call it…”

Gears clicked and whirred; a smile rose like dawn on his face.

Aphelia’s composure cracked; brown-gray power flared in his hand, and the words almost burst from her lips.

“…the Aether Source!”

“Yes—the brown-gray force in his palm was Aether, the strength Aphelia knew best, a mountain at her back.”

After waking, she’d confirmed more than once: these people lacked even basic Arcane Power, much less Aether.

That was why she hadn’t used force, choosing to sit and talk, like lowering a blade before tea.

No one negotiates while ringed by threats like wolves.

Yet this seemingly powerless man summoned Aether with a machine alone, like fire coaxed from wet tinder.

Her pure-white radiance stabbed toward the brown-gray Aether—whoosh—two currents met, confirming the thing like mirrored streams.

“In your eyes, I’m just an ordinary man, right?”

He crushed the brown cluster with a backhand snap, smiled, removed the Bracer Gauntlets, and sat again, calm as stone.

“Isn’t that true?”

Aphelia asked, doubt flickering like a moth round flame.

After becoming a True God, her sense for Aether was keen; no True God could hide its surge before her.

“Of course, I’m ordinary—Arcane Power’s a closed door to me; beyond good physique, I’m a dud.”

“But pure humans don’t fight by Arcane Power.”

“Take Violet here—outside the city she wielded Aether by stirring power hidden in her genes, like seeds sprouting.”

“So you’re saying Aether’s strength comes from what you call… genes?”

“Right. All things are woven from pure Aether, threads of mist and fire.”

“Humans most of all—favored primates of this world; our genes carry sequences that trigger Aether, sigils carved by heaven.”

He enlarged the double helix on the screen, pointing at faint segments like dust motes in sun.

“These are my gene fragments. When I activated that sequence, this stretch expanded—you can liken it to your Aether surge.”

As the segment shrank and faded like ember ash, Aphelia reeled.

She had never asked where Aether began; like Arcane Power, she drove it by instinct, rain answering cloud.

She caught on a line in his words and pressed it, a hook tugging the stream.

“What do you mean humans don’t rely on Arcane Power?”

“This world’s full of it—more than humans use it.”

“Arcane Power, Arcane Power—have you ever asked why it’s called arcane?”

The question cut sharp; Aphelia fell silent, her tongue a tethered hawk.

Everyone calls it that; any digging yields “it’s ancient tradition,” or the church’s charlatan smoke.

Even Violet paused, thinking, her brow clouding like a storm front.

Arcane, arcane—what does that “arcane” mean?

Elements? No. Demons? No.

Demonfolk? Yes—demonfolk.

Like lightning racing her veins, Aphelia jerked her head up, eyes sparking.

She recalled the history buried when she became a Titleholder, pages blacked out by hands of night.

“Arcane Power… could it have been given by the demonfolk?”

“Correct, Aphelia. Your wisdom stands like a bright lantern—unmatched.”

“Don’t butter me up. If humans use Aether by nature, your claim breaks—True Gods wave mountains and bend laws; how can Eldritch Gods stand?”

He sighed in regret, the sound a cold river. “That’s why someone like you is this world’s savior.”

He offered the Bracer Gauntlets to Aphelia, metal gleaming like dull jade.

“Please release a little Aether into the instrument; the screen will show your Aether’s echo.”

Doubt tightened like a belt; Aphelia threaded a little pure-white light into the device.

At once, the screen displayed the raw result, crisp as winter air.

Not a double helix, but three chainlike structures interlaced like crystals.

On those chains, every fragment belonged to Aether, beads of moonlight on dark cord.

Aphelia drew breath to speak, but he blocked her words with a raised hand, a gate barring wind.

“You’d say you’re no special case.”

“I’ll be clear: you’re a child favored by this world’s hand, and specially treated like steel tempered in flame.”

“Besides you and your companions, no one’s Aether fragments look this pure and strong.”

His voice held fast; his eyes met Aphelia’s, steady as mountain peaks.

“Then why did the last era still perish?”

Frustration burned like dry grass; Aphelia asked, urgent.

“Do you know how many years this instrument needed to be refined?”

“A whole era?”

Given our span, Aphelia guessed boldly, but he shook his head, voice low as thunder beyond hills.

“An era plus the hundred-million-year chasm.”

“Relying on relics you left, self-developing like vines, it was finally completed.”

“In our Second Epoch we unearthed it, modified it, and mounted it onto weapons, iron growing wings.”

“In that world torn to rags and shards, this was the limit; they couldn’t endure until the instrument appeared.”

“Even with foundations of prior research, they broke like reeds under snow.”

The answer fell heavy; both women sat in silence, frost over the brazier.

“This thing bore the hope of an entire era, yet only a hundred million years later did descendants find it.”

With past memories, Aphelia couldn’t help a sour ache rising, iron in her throat.

“Of course, that doesn’t mean they abandoned hope.”

“The rise of Arcane Power was one fruit of their labor, a tree grown from scorched earth.”