“Where’s Aphelia?! What did you do to her!!”

Before Hrok could get a word out, Lilo shouted, her voice cracking like ice under a boot.

Panic flooded her like cold tidewater. She still hadn’t seen Aphelia’s shadow, and even the Valkyrie who always stood guard behind her was silent as a grave. The thought of the worst bloomed in her chest like poison.

“Her?” Brynhildr didn’t flinch at Lilo’s breach of manners. She pointed toward the densest pool of pure-white Aether, her laugh soft as falling snow.

“Go look and you’ll know.”

She stepped aside, opening a path like parting mist, even sweeping the white Aether away as if it were drifting fog. Her deep-blue eyes hid all feeling, a sea without a shore, and that stillness made Lilo’s feet heavy.

“Go. Leave this to me.”

While Lilo hesitated, Hrok drew her blade. She planted herself before Brynhildr, eyes like twin knives catching starlight. The weapon in her hand was no longer steel, but a ribbon of white light, taut as a bowstring.

Seeing them square off, Lilo stopped talking. Crimson Aether rose in her like wildfire, and she shot toward that alabaster tide. Brynhildr didn’t stoop to strike from behind, her pride and sanctity cold as moonlight.

“Hrok, are you truly going to fight me? I was just resurrected. I don’t feel like getting blood on my hands.”

“I don’t want to, either. But if you keep pushing, I’ll stake my life and keep you honest.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not much weaker than before. This body’s former owner was diligent, see—trained to True God. The fusion’s clean as silk.”

“Then we fight.”

Hrok stood ramrod straight. Brynhildr smiled and pointed at that white light, feigning a hint of fear like a cat with its ears back.

She looked like she wanted to avoid battle, but Hrok didn’t relax. Her edge only sharpened, wind hissing along an unseen blade. She and the sword felt like one streaking comet, and one more step from Brynhildr would meet that dreadful cut.

“Sigh. Fine. Let’s talk terms—terms that won’t leave us both bleeding in the dust.”

The standoff stretched like a drawn bowstring. Hrok’s pressure climbed like a rising storm. Brynhildr still wore the softness of a willow, yet several silver-white Runes hid in her palm like coiled serpents.

Only then did Brynhildr truly yield, letting those pale Runes unravel like frost under sun. She stepped back and stood amid the ruins like a white lotus, her sigh helpless as rain.

“Give me Mist Bloom and Aphelia. That’s all.”

Hrok withdrew that streaming white light, yet kept her aura bright as a naked blade. She yielded no inch, her presence hot as noon steel.

“No can do. The one named Aphelia, take her. She hasn’t got many days left. But Mist Bloom… no. She’s my lover. I don’t hand my weakness to anyone.”

Brynhildr shook her head. Silver-white Runes gathered in her palm again, beads of frost congealing. For the first time, her deep-blue eyes showed feeling, like a ripple on a still lake.

“Don’t overreach, Hrok. I said I don’t like blood, but killing a few now and then—I don’t mind.”

Her tone cooled like a north wind. The Runes breathed pure-white Aether, turning almost solid like hoarfrost. The pulse of power shivered the world’s skin, and even Hrok felt the ground slip, a step out of joint.

Blinding white flared like a sword leaping from its scabbard. One more inch, and it would pierce Brynhildr’s chest. Hrok stopped at her breastbone, because Brynhildr’s Runes had vanished like sparks in water.

“So, that’s my only condition.”

Brynhildr placed a fingertip to the blade, pushing it aside as gently as drifting petals. She tilted her head at Hrok, soft and boneless again.

“...Fine.”

Seeing Brynhildr press down her sword so easily, Hrok didn’t waste breath. After a beat of hesitation, she agreed, her voice flat as iron.

“That one named Aphelia is doomed anyway. Do what you want with her. As for you… I still hope to see the old banners gather again.”

Brynhildr spoke with clear sincerity, a bell in the fog. She received only Hrok’s silence, and a sword mark gouged across the ground between them, a canyon cut by a single will.

Hrok lifted two fingers like a blade and traced a bright trench, meaning plain as daylight. Her stance was firm, her face bare of doubt.

“So be it… farewell, Hrok. May we meet again on the battlefield.”

Brynhildr smiled with a touch of regret. She moved past Hrok and gathered the Valkyrie into her arms. As she walked on, the pure-white Aether unraveled across the mountains like melting snow, into countless crystalline shards that seeped into the range like spring water.

In that broken world, Brynhildr and the Valkyrie vanished into endless white, leaving Hrok alone with her sword, her gaze roaming the slopes where Crystal Blossoms bloomed like frozen stars.

“Aphelia, Aphelia! Wake up!”

Lilo stared at Aphelia lying on a crystal slab, and the ruin of that body burned her eyes like salt. She could only watch the breath thin from Aphelia’s lips, each inhalation a dying ember.

She could not fathom hatred this deep. To open a person belly to back, to gouge heart and lungs, to pull bone from sinew—it was storm and butcher’s block. If not for that thread of pure-white Aether cradling Aphelia’s life, she would’ve died on the spot like a candle in a gale.

If it were Aphelia’s own pure-white Aether, soft and embracing, it could knit wounds like silk. But Lilo’s crimson Aether was a flamestorm made flesh, an edge that only burns, no matter how she wove it.

Then, from the peak, a black shape slammed down with a thunderous boom, smashing into a grove of crystal like a meteor. The shockwave rolled out like a hot wind, and Lilo flared crimson Aether to shield Aphelia’s brittle breath.

“Who’s there?!”

Her crimson Aether coiled into a roaring dragon, its body a storm around her. If that falling shape twitched wrong, she would shred it to cinders and claw a gap through the ring.

When the dust peeled back like old paint, Lilo saw the thing that had fallen.

A dark-skinned giant stood there, broad as a cliff face. He held a sharpened bone blade, wore cloth with a strange, slick grain, and watched them like a hunting cat. What spiked Lilo’s nerves most was his arm.

From twisted muscle, several small tendrils sprouted like extra hands, winding around the bone blade like pale vines.

Before she could speak again, more vast shadows dropped from the sky like falling monoliths. They spread across the Abyssal range, shattering fading crystals, tightening a noose of killing intent.

The giant didn’t answer Lilo’s question. His eyes were washed white, dead as ash. He hefted the bone blade and trudged forward, each step heavy as a drumbeat. Along the ridgelines, black hulks rose like stormclouds, blotting the sky and weighing on the lungs.

“Heh… here to kill me?”

Lilo laughed, the sound sharp as flint. Her anger needed an altar. Scales swept over her forearms like living armor, and the red dragon roared to split the heavens, eager to tear an exit from the ring.

A massive array flowered underfoot like a burning sigil. With one thought, she could turn these mountains—and the army beneath—into scorched earth. With no equal pressing her down, her Aether could make this view a living hell in a snap.

But the figure that stepped before her smashed that impulse like a hand on a match.

“Stand down, Lilo. They’re not here as our enemies.”

Hrok blocked her path, the bargain with Brynhildr done and buried. She carried a pitch-black giant coffin one-handed, panting like she’d just waded through a war, her roughspun torn like bark.

“But Aphelia…”

Pain stabbed Lilo like a thorn. Aphelia’s breaths were feathers in a storm. Whatever these giants wanted, her first duty was to shield Aphelia.

“I’ve arranged that…”

“What do you mean?”

Cold bled into Lilo’s gaze like nightfall. She locked on Hrok, waiting for the rest.

“I can’t tell you much about that. Right now—are you coming or not? Even if you don’t, I’m taking Aphelia.”

Hrok had no interest in explanations. She shook her head, calm as stone. Refuse, and she’d pry Aphelia away like a sword from a scabbard.

Lilo fought herself, heart grinding like two stones. Watching Aphelia flicker, she bit down hard.

“Fine. I’ll go. Lead the way.”

“Good… for now, put Aphelia inside.”

Hrok nodded, set the pitch-black coffin beside Aphelia, and tapped both sides. The upper half sprang open with a hiss, revealing intricate mechanisms like clockwork roots and several blood-stained chains.

“Wait—what is that thing?”

“You can’t expect Aphelia, in this state, to carry it up the mountain, right? You’d only tear her wounds wider.”

Hrok ignored Lilo’s protest. She lifted Aphelia from the crystal slab and laid her into the black coffin, motions smooth as practiced ritual. Lilo winced at every shift like a cut, but she didn’t dare scold; Hrok was a hard edge to handle.

As Aphelia settled into the dark, viridian fluid welled from hidden reservoirs like spring in stone. It sheeted over her body, serving as borrowed flesh, patching the missing pieces, and color crept back into her face like dawn.

“Next, we enter the Abyss. Don’t act rashly. If you do, even I won’t be able to save you.”