“Pushed to Demigod?” Violet asked, curiosity flickering like a candle in wind.

“Yeah. Before I knew it, I stepped into the Demigod realm.” Aphelia’s voice was calm, but the memory felt like ice under the skin. “It wasn’t free. My body was a crumbling cliff, and it had everything to do with that power lodged inside me. She kept trying to take me over.”

Aphelia smiled and shook her head, sunlight on still water. She didn’t notice Violet go rigid, nor the ripple in the mindsea where another awareness stirred. The two of them wore matching awkward looks, like a pair caught by a sudden gust.

Unaware, Aphelia simply teased the little girl curled in her arms, then went on. “She’s asleep now. I’ve tried to wake her, many times. No luck. She’s in the same tier as my master, after all.”

To others, that might mean nothing. To Violet, the words hit like cold iron. She knew the Valkyrie’s strength too well. On the northern line, that flesh-grinder of a front, the Valkyrie had faced a million-strong host and struck like a storm tearing open the sky.

Someone on par with the Valkyrie—how terrifying would that be?

“After that, I ran into Lilo. Under my master’s guidance, I went to the Demon World’s imperial city.” Aphelia’s tone carried heat and dust, roads stretching into haze. “A lot happened. I met Master Merlin, got pointers, and my realm leapt like a spark into dry grass. After that… we get to you.”

“What shocked me most was Phoenix.”

She let out a long breath, like winter smoke. Phoenix had been a comrade, then a knife at the most crucial moment. Her feelings were a tangled forest—dense, wordless.

“As for his state, don’t even start. If not for you, he’d have broken through to True God right then. I wouldn’t be alive.”

Violet sighed, gaze soft as dusk, propping her cheek as she leaned into the cushion behind her. “You do collect miracles. Back among mortals, you kept walking the blade’s edge and breaking through in the clutch. No wonder the Church ordained you their Hero.”

“Ha. That title? I don’t want it.” Aphelia waved it off with a rueful smile, like tossing a pebble into a pond.

“Hero? That label doesn’t deserve Lady Aphelia. My lady is—”

Driving up front, Coco laughed, bright as bells. Her words cut clean off. She clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes wide.

“Oh? Is what? Coco, finish it.”

Aphelia caught the thread, quick as a cat. But Coco only pressed her lips tight and shook her head, shadowed and silent. The sentence lay half-built, and she refused to place the last brick.

Seeing that, Aphelia didn’t press. Like with Raz back then, there were things they insisted they could not say, taboos like thorns under silk.

“Another thing you can’t speak? When will you tell me? Or do I have to ask the Will of the World?”

“Please don’t force me, my lady. This one truly can’t be spoken. No matter who asks.” Coco’s smile turned bitter as old tea. She halted the arcane carriage, rolled up her sleeve, and extended her arm toward Aphelia.

Aphelia’s breath hitched. That arm was already a map of scars, no patch of clean skin left. Now a new, savage tear had appeared—skin split like dry bark. Yet no blood welled at all.

Pure white Aether flowed from Aphelia’s palm, instinct like rain answering dust. It reached for the wound, to veil it. Coco yanked her arm back, stopping her, and forced a wry grin.

“My lady, please don’t use Aether on me. This isn’t a normal injury. It’s a restraint from some power. Speak of it, and the wound appears. It only fades if you leave it be. Medicine or Aether will only make it worse. I’m like this; Lord Raz is the same.”

Coco brushed her storage ring. A black armguard shimmered out, and she strapped it over the gash without a flinch, like pain were a rumor. Aphelia and the others traded looks, uneasy as birds before rain.

Seeing the lattice of scars, Aphelia’s eyes dimmed, a lantern cupped in wind. “Sorry, Coco. Should we make camp here? Your injuries need time…”

“It’s fine, my lady. I’m used to it.” Coco laughed, a sunbeam through clouds, and waved, as if her arm were light as straw. But Violet caught her wrist, and heat rose under Coco’s skin, a blush of summer on snow.

“Miss Violet, please don’t use Aether…”

Coco looked to Aphelia, caught between thorn and bloom. Aphelia only shook her head. She trusted Violet; Violet wouldn’t take advantage.

Soon Violet let go, voice cool as steel. “Look for yourself.”

Coco sighed from the depths, the way a miner breathes under rock. She hated new scars—who wouldn’t, especially a woman? She unclasped the armguard. Surprise parted her lips. The brutal tear was now covered by a thin, sealing glaze of blood, like a red thread stitching the split. The pain had already stepped back, a tide pulling from shore.

“Miss… Miss Violet, I’m sorry. I offended you.” Coco scratched her head, sheepish. The motion, the half-grin—it was like she and Aphelia had been pressed from one mold. Violet only snorted, the sound dismissive as a flicked sleeve.

Aphelia watched the whole exchange, and her smile settled warm as firelight. “Then, Violet, it’s your turn. After I left, what happened in the mortal world?”

“What happened…” Violet’s eyes narrowed, and she let out a long breath that tasted of iron. “After you left, the Church’s warships came in waves, relentless as surf. They pushed us to the brink. With no choice, Sister Lena gathered the elven mages. Under their cover, she cast a teleport and threw us random into the Void.”

“I got tossed to the edge of the Northlands—luckier than most. Once I entered the Northlands, my identity got flagged. Before the Church’s kill squads could reach me, I was back on family territory.”

“Lena wasn’t so lucky. She was sent to the underground world. She clawed through a thousand hardships to gain the dark elves’ aid. But that path was riddled with traps. The Martial Queen of the Northern Elves vanished for no reason. Hidden nails in the tribes got ripped out one by one. The Church and the Southern Empire joined hands and severed the link between the two.”

Violet breathed out, ash swirling in winter wind. “Luckily, Lena rushed back first. She led our people in counterattack and hid under the World Tree’s ward. We stole a single breath. That let the dark elves surface from the underground and strike back.”

Aphelia remembered Lena’s message from then—elf tribes butchered, the Southern Empire standing with the Church, the knife lifted without shame. The memory tasted of cold stone.

“As for Augustus, Uncle Yi, and that cardinal’s little protégé who covered your escape… their luck ran dry.”

“They were sent to the Southern Empire’s Plains of Harvest. Within days, the Church’s hounds found them and brought tens of thousands to encircle them. That cardinal burned herself out in that grind, heart and light spent, dying on the field.”

“Augustus and Uncle Yi couldn’t match the Church’s archangels. They fell, were dragged to the Church’s Scorched-Earth Prison. To this day, no word of life or death.”

The more Aphelia listened, the hotter her anger burned, a forge without water. Her fists clenched and loosened, then clenched again. She exhaled, smoke and storm. “And you?”

“Me…” Violet’s voice dropped, sea-dark. “After I returned to the Northlands, the orcs from the Exile Lands surged south again. It should’ve been a sure win. But the Church grew shameless. They sent several Cardinals to the front. Their holy light fell on the orc legions like gilded armor. The beasts’ ferocity climbed another rung.”

“That wasn’t all. Because the Southern Empire teamed with the Church, the Northern Empire yielded the Northlands. The little kingdoms stabbed us from behind. Not a mortal wound, but right on the soft spot.”

“Already locked in a bitter fight, our legions lost supply. You can’t hold a wall with empty hands. One hundred thousand of the Winter Legions vanished in the snow.”

She spoke through gritted teeth, frost over fire. The hatred was a red river. “My father fought on the other flank. Hit from front and back, he died on the ice. And me… I led a wing of cavalry through the encirclement, living like grass under boot. In that heap of bones, I advanced to Titleholder.”

Violet straightened, and Arcane Power poured off her like blood mist, cold and coppery. She laughed, sharp as a blade drawn from snow. “Thanks to this power, I could hide among corpses and strike blind. Those so-called Cardinals—I killed almost half. The petty kings? They had no resistance. If they hadn’t spawned a monster, I’d have finished the lot of those bastards.”