Aphelia watched with winter-glass eyes, her calm like ice over deep water. If this really was Uncle Yi’s memory, why thrust it at her like a blade through fog?
Shilwen lifted her head, the motion smooth as a crane’s rise. Her gaze cut toward the empty space of the stone chamber, where Aphelia hung like a shadow behind glass.
Blood-smeared lips trembled, a red petal in a cold wind. Confusion pooled in Aphelia’s chest like dark ink.
Shilwen’s words were simple, a pearl dropped on still water. “Nice to meet you, Aphelia.”
By the forest where Aphelia had left her Crystal Blossoms, a black-haired woman in heavy iron armor and a deep-violet silhouette held a tenuous link, like silk thread across a ravine.
Aether coiled between them and rippled, rings upon a moonlit pond. The violet figure chuckled, light as chimes, and the armored woman’s brow tightened like iron hinges.
“How’s the situation?” Her voice was steady, a rock in rain.
“All good. Trust me,” the violet shape murmured, a whisper in a cave. “Don’t cut your Aether. This reverse link is brittle as frost; one slip and it shatters. If we redo it, it might burden her.”
The violet silhouette hid in darkness, a wisp ready to fade like smoke at dawn. Yet the Aether tied to the Crystal Blossoms held taut, a green string that didn’t quiver.
The armored woman sat where she stood, earth-calm. Emerald Aether flowed from her fingertips like moss spreading over wet stone.
She said nothing, but the output swelled, a river after snowmelt, and the ground around her answered like thirsty soil drinking dew.
Barren earth woke, sprouting faint life like pale shoots under spring rain. Her focus didn’t waver; she kept the Aether steady, then closed her eyes like shutters at dusk.
“I’ll leave the rest to you,” she breathed, a vow in the dark. “Open the neural circuits. Make that lady trust you.”
The green Aether thickened, mist becoming rain, almost solid, a veil that draped over both figures and the coral glow of the Crystal Blossoms.
The violet figure laughed again, a spark in a cavern, and stepped out of her hiding. Her body shimmered beneath the emerald sheath like a fish under jade water.
“Lady Aphelia, please keep watching.” Her tone was soft, rain on bamboo.
Everything in the stone room froze, a painting mid-stroke. Shilwen released Yi’s wrists, and walked toward Aphelia like a dancer crossing quiet sand.
Once or twice could be illusion, a mirage on hot stone. Here, intention rang clear as bronze. Aphelia refused to call it a trick.
Shilwen drew close, unhurried as drifting clouds, smiling at the empty corner like greeting a ghost. “I think this is our first meeting, Lady Aphelia?”
Aphelia kept silence, a hunter in tall grass, waiting for the terms to show like tracks in dust.
“You’re cautious as a cat at night,” Shilwen said, and sat, warmth like a brazier in winter. A crisp snap rang, a twig breaking—Aphelia felt a body form, ink filling a brushstroke.
“I don’t think we have a grudge,” she went on, voice a steady flame. “If the memory you showed me is true, you’re Yi’s old acquaintance. We shouldn’t clash.”
“Of course. I showed you this to earn trust,” she added, with a small shake of the head, a bird settling. “Without trust, our words crumble like sand.”
“How do you know this memory will make me trust you?” Aphelia’s cold smile flashed, steel under moon. “I know nothing of Yi’s past.”
“You’ll believe soon,” Shilwen said, formal as temple bells. It drew Aphelia’s soft laugh, frost on iron.
“Even if I can confirm it, you dragged me in without asking. To earn trust—for what?” Her tone bit like wind over a ridge.
“Two important things.” The reply was clean, a blade washed in a stream.
Aphelia went quiet, thoughts circling like crows. An enemy acting this way was either a fool, or a monster who could pluck heartstrings like a guqin.
If it’s truth, fine; if lies, then this poise was an actor’s pinnacle, lacquer smooth and bright.
“Go on,” she said, voice flat as stone. “I’ll decide after.”
“First,” Shilwen said, blunt as a hammer, “I hope you won’t go straight to the World Will—at least not now.”
Aphelia’s gaze sharpened, a drawn blade catching light. Suspicion bloomed inside her like nightshade.
“What if I insist?” Her words dropped like a pebble in a well.
Wryness creased Shilwen’s face, a tired smile under rain. She raised her hands, palms open like a peace flag. “I can’t stop you. But whose will would you be serving?”
“With magitech in hand, you and your companions are only days from the Abyss garrison,” she added, calm as a ledger.
“Then wait a few days,” she urged, gentle as a friend by a campfire. “Rest from the road. It won’t harm you.”
Aphelia’s answer cut, a knife tapping stone. “If I refuse, will you trap me here till I die? To pull me in so quietly, you’re not weak.”
“Absolutely not,” Shilwen said, smile steady as lantern light. “Once I say two things, I let you go. Believe or not, that’s yours.”
Her mildness was a soft cloak, which only made Aphelia’s doubt harden like clay in sun.
“What a neat coincidence,” Shilwen continued, tone sweet as tea. “You leave the Demon World’s imperial capital, and a group with no clear origin fawns over you.”
“With Lady Aphelia’s True God level, small fry wouldn’t dare run games,” she said, warmth like a teasing breeze. “Right, Lady Aphelia?”
“They prepared magitech for you, and that Koko, the one uncannily like you,” she added, a finger tapping air. “Thoughtful to a fault.”
The words struck home, pebbles drumming a skin. Doubt flared in Aphelia like embers under ash.
She’d never fully trusted Raz’s people. Their strange method of luring her into the lab was mist over a pit. No explanation cleared it.
Koko hid secrets; her careless grin felt painted on. Violet claimed Koko could thrash a Fallen Demon, a boast like thunder over hills.
It wasn’t that Aphelia loved suspicion; storms had carved it into her, lines in old wood. In this world, a True God isn’t the peak. Eldritch Gods loom like black tides beyond cliffs.
To claim certainty over all things is air spun into gold.
Yet that notebook felt genuine, the hand steady as a monk’s breath.
Shilwen didn’t press. Her silence was soil—she let the seeds take, rather than flood them with words like rain too hard.
“By your logic, their appearance is abnormal,” Aphelia said at last, voice cool as lake light. “Have you considered your sudden entrance is abnormal too?”
“Of course,” Shilwen replied, quick as a sparrow. “I’m an anomaly as well. Winning your full trust now isn’t realistic.”
“But your doubts have rooted,” she coaxed, a smile like a mischievous fox. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have listened this far. Lend me a little trust; it won’t hurt.”
Shilwen looked like a small devil whose plan had clicked, dimples like crescent moons. Aphelia could only sigh, breath a ribbon of mist.
“Then tell me how you pulled me in,” she said, tired as evening. “Trade it for trust. That’s a bargain.”
“This is simple,” Shilwen answered, laughter behind her hand, spring water over stones. “Remember that forest you passed, where you left Aether-shaped Crystal Blossoms? I used that.”
“So, you’re in that forest?” Aphelia’s eyes narrowed, dawn light on a ridge. She recalled Koko’s warning: that forest lay under the shadow of the Eldritch Gods.
