Sigdrifa stood before the silver-white apparatus, her expression a thunderhead. Her gaze raked the silver figure, cold as frost, her disdain laid bare. She spoke, blunt as a blade.

Under Sigdrifa’s storming presence, the Star Remnants guarding the silver figure struggled for breath. Her pressure fell like a mountain; they had no strength to lift a hand.

The silver figure only offered an apologetic smile, soft as autumn light, and said,

“Miss Sigdrifa, please don’t be angry yet. The fact you’re here means we can still talk, doesn’t it?”

“Heh...”

Sigdrifa stepped in, sudden as a striking hawk. Gorgeous Crystal Blossoms bloomed and covered the two fallen Star Remnants. Pure-white Aether poured through the room like snowfall, cocooning the silver figure tight.

“Even if I erase you here, your people won’t save you,” she said, a cold curve on her lips, testing whether the figure held true confidence or only the twitch of a dying struggle.

“Of course. But you’d lose a higher chance, wouldn’t you?” the silver figure replied, calm as still water. She wore the threat like a cloak, treating this as a negotiation—a contest for the reins.

“I can reach that plane alone. Do you really think your tech has a knife to my throat?”

“Not at all, revered goddess. But time won’t let you climb slowly. Since Lady Brynhildr fell asleep, you’ve felt it—a malice tightening around this world.”

She smiled like a plan unfolding. Her hand brushed the silver-white pod, and she drew out a strange cylinder that glinted like cold moonwater. She held it out to Sigdrifa.

“With this, you’ll step further, my goddess.”

The whisper was devil-sweet, but it didn’t sway Sigdrifa. Amusement lit her eyes; she didn’t take the silver cylinder. Just as she drew breath to speak, she jerked her head around. Her gaze locked onto Aphelia—who shouldn’t be there—and the scene dissolved like smoke.

“What’s happening?”

That single glance drove Aphelia back, heart spiking. Under that overwhelming will, she felt it clear as day—Sigdrifa had noticed them.

She turned. The woman in the white dress stood behind her, gasping as if spent. On her pale face, two lines of blood tears traced downward like red silk.

“Are you alright?”

Aphelia moved to steady her, but the woman lifted a hand and barred her.

“Cough... It’s her from that time. Even peeking at her trace through a seam in time will alert the true body.”

The woman coughed, wiped her blood tears, and smiled, a little embarrassed.

“What do you mean? Weren’t we watching recorded footage?”

Aphelia asked, helpless. Under Sigdrifa’s glance, she’d felt like she’d fallen out of the world.

“Of course not. We went back, slipped into the seams, and peered at the past.”

She ignored Aphelia’s shock and continued, voice steady.

“As a special hinge in history, with you, Aphelia, as the anchor, I can take you to a point where goddesses coexisted. So—did she scare you at first sight?”

She teased, seeing Aphelia’s bloodless face and deciding to prod.

“Huh? You’ve got the nerve to joke? I almost thought Sigdrifa was going to kill me...”

Relief crept into Aphelia’s chest. The first heart-hammer faded, the crushing pressure eased, and annoyance sparked at the white-dress woman.

“She can’t kill you.”

“Eh?”

Aphelia stared at the woman’s wan face, doubting her claim.

“She can’t strike across time. That’s the power she dreams of. Not that she can’t meddle with time—but she never won that talent. Even now, if she stole your body, it wouldn’t conjure the ability from thin air. So at most, she can glare.”

The woman spoke like she’d expected it all, yet hadn’t warned Aphelia, letting a now-powerless mortal face the Sigdrifa of that age.

Aphelia surprised even herself. Under that glance—weak as any mortal—she’d endured before a goddess beyond True Gods, alive and untouched. That alone felt like a miracle.

“So, Aphelia, you’ve realized it, haven’t you? It’s not that she couldn’t hit you—their gaze isn’t something mortals survive. A god looks, and you’re dust. That’s no joke.”

The words pressed Aphelia into silence. She sidestepped the truth and looked at the white-dress woman instead.

“Then... what comes next?”

“Next?”

She gave a light laugh and waved, veiling the past from view. Exhaustion showed through like shadow under ice.

“Next, as the legends say: greater calamity descends; the Star Remnants rebel; two goddesses join hands and restore the Brynhildr of old. With boundless divinity, she restarts the war against the Eldritch Gods. Civilization collapses again, until it becomes the world you see now.”

“The Valkyrie legion, once under Brynhildr’s banner, was scarred by war. Without her lead, they sank into the world’s dark corners, nursing strength and waiting for her return.”

“I, the will of the world, accepted her power. I sheltered the humans who survived and took several Valkyries under my wing so they could grow.”

“And this Abyss is truly Brynhildr’s last bulwark for humankind. It was never a monster’s den—cough, cough...”

She tried to go on, but a rough cough tore through her. Aphelia moved to help, and was pushed away.

“Aphelia... forgive my selfishness...”

Something in that bitter smile rang with resolve, and Aphelia felt it—steel beneath silk.

In a blink, their world became a boundless sea of fire. Wherever they looked, there was no shore.

Scorching flames rose around them like banners, but they didn’t burn Aphelia. Mortal as she was, her Aether-sighted eyes reeled at the vision.

“This... what is this? Why is my body... so hot—aaah!”

Aphelia screamed. The heat surged from within, ready to turn her to ash.

The flames around her left her skin untouched, yet deep within, her shell roared. She knew that roar—the pain matched the moment the Crimson Fire reshaped her body.

Through those eyes, she saw not mere flame, but countless threads shaped like Aether and unlike it. Every inch of space brimmed with that force. When she startled back to herself, even her body was becoming that fire.

She’d lived through bones bent and sinews torn. So she didn’t break this time. But watching your body peel away—no soul calls that mercy.

“Aphelia, don’t panic—cough... I won’t take your body. But you must stabilize it yourself. If you can’t, forget reclaiming your power.”

The woman seemed at ease in the blaze’s very heart. Her body burned and broke into tiny fragments, feeding the sea of fire. She felt nothing, wearing a look like release.

“Think back. How did it feel when you first touched power?”

Her words carried a spell, guiding Aphelia through the burn. A memory surfaced—childhood... no, older—a piece set deep within her mind.

The fire stopped being pure agony. In her hollowed flesh, something formed—a force strong yet steady, fierce yet fair.

“Yes... that’s it—cough, cough! Follow your memory, Aphelia. The rest is yours...”

Under her gentle push, Aphelia slipped free of frenzy. She caught a thread, sat cross-legged, quiet as sleep, wrapped by the flaming sea.

“Ah... I never thought my day would come...”

Inside the endless blaze, the woman smiled weakly, wry and spent. Watching her body crumble, light dimmed in her eyes.

She looked at Aphelia, steady as an old monk, and her face loosened in relief. She braced her breaking form and walked toward her.

Each step shattered her further. Crimson Flame climbed her like ivy. She didn’t flinch. Calm and serene, she reached Aphelia and pulled her into an embrace.

“From here on, this world is yours, Aphelia...”

With the Crimson Flame, she held her and turned into a single tongue of fire, a flicker that lingered on Aphelia’s hair tips, burning in quiet.