“So what?”

Aphelia sighed, shook her head, and lay on broken slabs, staring at a sky stained red by dusk, her eyes a quiet well of loss.

“So crisp a no—I’ll be heartbroken, like a porcelain heart cracking.”

The woman in white smiled helplessly and settled beside Aphelia, gazing up with her at a sky brushed crimson like wet ink.

“What else—should I prostrate and worship you, then chase power like a starving wolf?”

Aphelia shot her a sideways glare and sighed, breath falling like a wilted petal.

“At least look like you care. You’re so relaxed—aren’t you afraid I’ll... take your body, like a cat claiming warm prey?”

The woman in white lifted her hands on purpose, a wicked grin, miming a beast about to pounce.

She rushed Aphelia while she wasn’t looking and sprawled over her, pressing the breath into coughs.

Aphelia tried to push her off, but those slim, pale arms locked tight, pinning her like ivy.

A prickle of Aether needled her skin; that familiar smile curled like a blade, and the nightmare felt ready to bloom again.

Her pulse stayed steady as rock. Aphelia just held her gaze, said nothing, and let the woman in white do as she pleased.

“Tch—so dull. Can’t you ripple at least a little, not sit there like a still pond?”

Seeing Aphelia unmoved, the woman in white stood in one quick motion.

She waved both hands in the air, like scolding the ruins themselves.

Yet rubble stayed rubble; nothing changed for her.

“You’ve asked so many. It’s my turn to ask, right?”

“Ask. You came here to get answers, didn’t you?”

The woman in white said it cleanly and stopped fussing with her hands.

She found a comfortable pose and pillowed her head on Aphelia’s belly.

Eyes closed, she sank into it, ignoring any protest, like a cat curling into warmth.

“Will you really leave nothing unsaid?”

“Nothing unsaid.”

Unease pooled in Aphelia at that lazy posture. After the promise, she thought it through, then spoke, slow as a turning millstone.

“Who are you?”

“I am the World Will, the incarnation of the primeval goddess. I am the world; the world is me. Well? Satisfied?”

She teased the suspicious Aphelia, but only got a retort sharp as sparks.

“If the world looks like you, those mages would see their temples collapse. If their long-sought Origin is this joke, they’d almost all jump.”

“That’s really rude!”

The woman in white sprang up, cheeks puffed like a sulky child, glaring at Aphelia.

“I’m just speaking truth. What can you do? If I were a priest and saw my goddess like this, I’d doubt the creed—hey, what are you doing!”

As Aphelia readied another jab, the woman’s hands cupped her chest.

Pure white Aether blossomed into many tendrils, sliding under her collar like pale vines.

“Wait, wait, wait! I was wrong, Lady Goddess! Please give me a chance to apologize!”

Aphelia shouted, urgent. The goddess in white had peach-blossom eyes and drool at her lips; any longer and things would turn R-rated.

But she acted deaf. Aether tendrils peeled off Aphelia’s suit jacket and went for her belt.

The next step aimed for the unspeakable, like pale serpents nosing at forbidden doors.

Though Aphelia had slowly accepted her female body, it didn’t mean she wanted an unspeakable affair with Aether—especially led by a World Will goddess, a world-class lech.

Aphelia’s voice was loud, yet the goddess seemed bewitched. That smug fox-glint said it plainly: this rascal was playing dumb.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Before the tendrils went further, Aphelia yanked the pistol from her belt and fired three rounds into the sky.

The thunder of gunshots and thick cordite cut the mood clean, like rain slicing heat.

The woman in white stopped and looked at Aphelia, eyes drenched in grievance.

If not for living through it, Aphelia would’ve been fooled by that rain-slick puppy look.

“What even is this?! How can someone who paws at others still look so wronged?”

“I only wanted to try being both the attacker and the one who suffers—top and bottom, all me.”

She slowly withdrew the Aether tendrils hovering a hair from sensitive places, whimpering, even miming tears like a stage mask.

For some reason, that line made a strange phrase drift through Aphelia’s mind—fnndp. She didn’t know what it meant, but it fit the scene.

“Can you stop stalling? You dragged me here, which means you’re willing to tell me everything, right?”

Watching her fake whimper-whimper, Aphelia sighed, straightened her collar, and looked at her, helpless as wind through reeds.

“...Not everything.”

She let her ‘wipe-tears’ hands fall and sat kneeling, legs crossed. The theatrics drained away, leaving moonlight softness as she faced Aphelia.

“If you want everything, you’ll have to let me do whatever I want.”

That pose lasted barely minutes. The woman in white bared her fangs again, reaching as if to strip Aphelia, like spring thaw undone.

“Fine. Tell me everything, and this body is yours to handle.”

Aphelia showed no fear. She even undid a few buttons, pale curves ghosting into view, yet her face stayed solemn, a blade-calm stillness.

After a careful look, a strange smile crept over the woman in white. She leaned close and whispered at Aphelia’s ear, breath warm as mist.

“You think I’d give up for some noble reason? Joke’s on you. I’m the world—its most unpredictable thing.”

Even as she spoke, she didn’t stop. She gently bit Aphelia’s earlobe; a lilac tongue flicked fast across it.

Her hands slid into the white shirt, a strange smile blooming, and began to knead those full curves.

Thin fingertips wandered deftly, jolting Aphelia now and then with electric shivers.

She shut her eyes and bit her tongue, facing it head-on, a rock in rain.

Cheeks flushed, she didn’t flinch; she even squared her chest and let the woman do as she pleased.

“Pfft~”

That tingling didn’t last long. Seeing her like that, the woman in white laughed softly, drew back her hands, and buttoned Aphelia up like closing a book.

“Alright, alright. I’m not that depraved—doing that to my own child. Open your eyes.”

Like a loving mother, she gathered Aphelia into her arms and gently stroked her long hair.

Soft Aether flowed from her palms into Aphelia’s body, washing away that strange edge like a warm river.

Aether was a warm current, running top to toe through her, slowly soothing her, calming waves the moment had stirred.

Under that warmth, Aphelia slowly opened her eyes, lifted her head, and met the gaze of the woman in white, a lake meeting the moon.

Black-gem eyes held nothing but extreme gentleness; nothing else.

That only made Aphelia less certain what this “World Will” in white was thinking, a veiled lake hiding its depth.

Wild one moment, tender as water the next.

If a woman’s charm needs a shape, it’s this—ever-shifting, yet full of feeling, like water holding a hidden fire.

“But you should still show enough respect to your mother.”

She tapped Aphelia’s smooth forehead, pouting, knuckles knocking jade.

“Ha... yes, yes, Mother. I have ten thousand measures of respect for you. So, may I ask now?”

“Ask.”

She nodded with a wry smile, and gestured for Aphelia to go on.

“Then, first question: who, exactly, am I?”

When the words fell, the woman in white sighed softly.

She glanced at Aphelia; those pure eyes filled with complex currents, then drifted shut.

She spoke, slow as drifting clouds. “You—you’re Aphelia.”

“Aren’t you answering everything?”

“Don’t rush to interrupt your mother.”

She gave Aphelia’s pert rear a gentle pat, flushing her cheeks, then continued.

“In this life, you are Aphelia. Maybe say: the gentle side of the past goddess Brynhildr slowly unfolded into you—Aphelia.”

“But you aren’t the old Brynhildr. At best, you’re a similar blossom.”

“Yet you can’t deny the link. You were born from her past self; you share the same Origin.”

“What was shaped later isn’t another Brynhildr—it's Aphelia. Do you get it?”

She seemed to recall the past and sighed, full of feeling. She looked at Aphelia in her arms, black eyes awash with a thousand tides.

“But... if I was that goddess, Brynhildr, then who are you, and why is this twin goddess statue here?”