“It’s fine. Say it. It can’t get worse than this anyway.”

Cradling the red-haired little girl, Aphelia wore a sorrowful look, like rain gathering on a windowpane.

Most people wouldn’t argue with a child, much less one who could barely speak, like a fledgling still in its shell. Yet this kid was tied to Lilo like shadow to flame, and that left Aphelia adrift, like a boat in fog.

Worse, she glanced at her own state and felt her heart twist, like a knot in wet rope.

Once, she’d been a man with a steady stride, a blade at his hip, a sun in his chest.

Once, she’d sketched a future on clear water, ripples spreading toward a bright shore.

Scenes like this—soft light, a gentle noon, a wife and child framed by peace—should’ve come after she retired with honors, after the dust settled and tea steam curled. So why—

Why had it fallen on her head now, like a stray star?

The thought made her bristle with helpless anger, like heat trapped under armor.

She let out a long sigh, heavy as dusk. The redheaded girl felt that storm, and tears misted in her ruby eyes, like dew on pomegranate seeds. She hugged Aphelia’s chest and began to whimper, a cloud about to burst.

“Uu… u-uu…”

“Hey, hey, easy… don’t cry…”

Aphelia panicked, like a cat on thin ice. She soothed and patted, her mind spinning like a millwheel, yet nothing calmed the child’s tide.

The baseless crying made her temples throb, like drums in a cave. She softened her voice, a warm lamp in winter, lifted the girl to eye level, and met those crimson eyes.

“What do you want from me…?”

The girl seemed to understand. She raised a tiny pink hand, soft as new petals, tapped Aphelia’s cheek, lifted the corners of her lips, and lilted.

“Ma–ma… smile, smile~”

The words struck Aphelia dumb, like a bell rung under water. She stared at the girl, then at the others, eyes asking if she’d heard wrong, like a sparrow testing wind.

They all nodded in sync, like reeds in the same breeze. The kid’s words were mushy, but every move sprang from Aphelia’s worried face, which stunned them all.

“I’m really not your mother…”

The child kept tugging at her cheeks with stubborn little fingers, like a kitten kneading. Aphelia could only give a wry smile.

To the onlookers—especially Violet—Aphelia looked like a famed Madonna in paint and light, only this saint wore black hair and a white dress, a moon over quiet water.

“Uu-uu…”

“All right, all right, I am, I am. Don’t cry…”

So it went, back and forth, like waves tapping a pier. At last, humming a lullaby soft as night rain, Aphelia rocked the redheaded girl to sleep in her arms, and the room exhaled. Only then did she turn back to Raz for answers.

She didn’t notice Violet beside her. Violet smiled like spring, but her fingers carved groove after groove into the wood beneath the table, like claws on bark.

“Raz, say it again. What’s going on? Why isn’t it Lilo who appeared, but this little one?”

A faint scraping brushed her ear, like sand on glass. Aphelia glanced at Violet’s kindly smile and let it pass like a leaf in current, then looked to Raz.

Raz cut a look at Violet, then sighed, breath sinking like a stone in a well.

“Usually, this happens for two reasons. One good, one bad. Which do you want first?”

“The bad. I’m a pessimist anyway.”

She braced to shrug, then froze. The slow, even breath in her arms was a warm tide on her skin. She eased her body, like snow melting by a brazier.

“Then the bad. Lilo’s body is already dead.”

“What do you mean?”

Aphelia frowned, a crease like a drawn bow. Raz had stressed “the flesh is dead.” He held something back. He didn’t mean Lilo truly died. And to a Demigod, flesh was a changeable shell, like a snake’s old skin.

“Lilo was a Demigod. A Demigod doesn’t vanish so easily, like stone weathered in a single rain. And she broke through the True God threshold, upgrading her power and existence in full.”

“By that logic, it should lean good, shouldn’t it?”

Raz nodded, then shook his head, like a reed debating the wind.

“Don’t forget what you met before you blacked out.”

He meant that world-smothering black mist—an alien will twisted past naming, a pall that crawled like plague. Aphelia and Lilo had birthed new power to fight it, like fire struck in a storm.

Yet under the Fallen Demon’s interference, they failed. At the final beat, Aphelia had seen Lilo sink first into that black sea.

Seeing Aphelia’s distant gaze, Raz nodded.

“Yes. That black mist is what you think.”

“That’s what descends with the Eldritch Gods and their servants. It’s like a vicious plague; below True God, it spares almost none, like winter on a bare field. We tried our best to rescue her, but Lilo’s body took too much corrosion. Only by shedding the old shell could she seek new life.”

“But casting off the flesh and using True God force to build a new body isn’t a good path. One misstep, and control slips like sand. Losing memories is the light outcome. Worse, your mind drowns in the grand flow of Aether, and you’re left a beast of pure instinct. It’s a grief.”

Aphelia shook her head and pointed at the sleeping child, a small ember in her arms.

“That doesn’t track. She mistakes me for her mother, sure, but she’s not mindless. She moved Aether by her own will, didn’t she?”

She recalled the girl’s earlier choices, clear as brushstrokes. That wasn’t instinct alone. Warmth pooled where the girl slept. A faint smile uncurled on Aphelia’s lips, a crescent moon behind cloud.

Raz didn’t mind the interruption. He nodded, voice level as a steady drum.

“I think so too. If you’re sure, I trust that.”

“What’s the good scenario then?”

The child stirred, a small rustle like a bird in a nest, and everyone fell silent. She didn’t wake. She simply rolled, pressed her face to Aphelia’s chest, and settled again, sleep sweet as ripe fruit.

Relief moved through them like a breeze. Especially Aphelia—lulling this Aether-touched “bear cub” back down had taken all her calm; if the kid woke cranky, the damage wouldn’t be “twice as much.” It’d be thunder in a teacup.

“The good scenario is very good. Based on what you did just now, our instrument readouts point that way.”

Raz gestured at a crystal screen. Numbers and curves glimmered like fish under ice. Aphelia couldn’t read them.

“In the good case, Lilo has returned—body and soul—to her race’s origin. The primal shape life took when this world first rose from chaos.”

“Return to origin—like how you store everything in Aether and then manifest it?”

Aphelia remembered his hall-side lecture and tilted her head, like a crane listening to wind.

Raz blinked, then bowed his tone, respectful as hands joined.

“As expected of you, Lady Aphelia. Your insight cuts like a bright blade.”

“Yes. Something like that. Lilo’s genes already carried those Aether fragments of her race. And per Master Merlin, she once gained a power that completed those fragments. Once activated now, they woke fully, like seeds after first rain.”

“Aether is the world’s root. In the dawn-chaos, its state was densest, like mist before sun. In that state, a being is at its strongest. Gaining the origin by riding a True God ascent—we call that Return to the Source.”

Aphelia looked at herself, curious as a child by a spring. She pulled Aether from the air and formed a crystalline white flower, pure as frost, and set it before Raz.

“Is this my source form, then?”

“Of course not. You’re… special. Even Return to the Source can’t be mapped onto you.”

Raz waved quickly and glanced aside, hands saying he could not speak further. He asked her forgiveness with a small bow.

Aphelia let it go with a nod, used to walls and locked doors. She gestured for him to continue, like a host pouring tea.

“Forgive me. Back to the point.”

“Return to the Source remakes you to the roots. Every inch of the body, every hidden part within, reshaped by the Aether fragments in your genes.”

“That change isn’t just power. Memory and mind shift in the silent tide as well. This little-girl shape likely means she’s back to the Crimson Dragon’s hatchling form. See? Even her dragon horns can’t hide cleanly.”

“But that doesn’t mean the memories are erased. If Lilo held fast during ascent, those memories remain. When the time is ripe, they’ll rise from the sea of consciousness, like a sun through fog.”

Hearing this, Aphelia finally exhaled, a taut string easing. If the person wasn’t wiped clean, there was still a road.

“Still, you must brace for no awakening. This isn’t a joke. Those Aether-laced fragments lie deep, like pearls under silt. Whether they surface depends on fate. If they don’t, you’d better be ready to raise a ‘daughter.’”