“These behemoths—once riled and finding no target—always write it off as a mirage. Next time, they won’t stay wary. I pricked them with Aether just now, and they didn’t notice us… So, are you ready, Aphelia?”

Odin watched her with a gentle smile, pushing her toward the lip of the rock grotto as cold wind knifed past like invisible blades.

Even Aphelia, fearless as she was, felt her stomach drop at the height, like the earth yawning beneath a cliff.

“Of course… we dive.”

“Nooooo!!!”

After a very “stimulating” flight, the three passed the behemoth-ridden zone without incident—yeah, right.

“I swear…”

Aphelia was currently caught in a giant rock beast’s jaws, mood tangled like stormy seaweed.

How did it happen? Blame Uroboros, the eternal outlier.

When Odin and Aphelia flew overhead, the herd didn’t react, and Aphelia let out a breath like a cool tide. Then Uroboros cut past above them in a sudden glide, swift as a hawk shadow.

Her pass alone jolted the herd like a shock of ice water. They rioted, and in a stray heartbeat one lunged up, clamped Aphelia, and yanked her out of the sky.

“Gods damn Uroboros…”

Even Aphelia swore, teeth clenched around the absurdity.

The thing couldn’t actually hurt her, but that bizarre bite force locked her fast; even she couldn’t pry it open at once. Inside its maw—nothing like the placid slab of its face—tentacles writhed like sea anemones in a red reef.

“Why does its mouth have tentacles?!”

Her cheeks flushed with fury. Odin winced, awkward as a lone tree in a gale, yet she didn’t dare throw Thunder at these beasts.

Ugly or not, they were the three fairies’ pets, the guardians of enchanted gold in Niflheim. Kill them, and with those three’s petty tempers… never mind that Odin was once lord of the divine realm—the grudge would stick like pitch.

Aphelia wasn’t about to sit and wait. Odin hesitated; Uroboros floated above with the gaze of a theatergoer; tentacles kept “harassing.” Heat surged; patience snapped.

“Enough!!!”

Crimson flame blossomed, a sunrise breaking loose. The ever-reliable Crimson Fire didn’t disappoint—her blaze devoured the beast’s head in a breath. Its shriek tore through the herd, and Aphelia slipped free like a fish from a net.

She couldn’t fly, so she hit the ground in a spray of gravel. The herd saw a fallen companion and charged, a thunder of hooves and stone.

Seeing the surge, Odin steeled herself. Azure Aether gathered in her palm like stormlight pooling, ready to unfurl into savage Thunder and scour the plain.

The press of beasts was a living tide; if she didn’t thin them, she couldn’t drop to haul Aphelia back into the air.

“Odin, which way?!”

Crimson flames braided around Aphelia’s hands, and her stance sharpened. If the monsters wouldn’t quit, she’d carve a path through.

After that Demon King mess, her heart was a broiling sea; she needed to vent the fire or drown in it.

Odin sighed, resigned as an old mountain. She pointed at the right-hand rock gorge and shouted over the wind, “East! We’ll wait for you there!”

“Got it!!!”

Almost before the words left her, the crimson blaze surged into a vast sea. Aphelia shaped it into bracer gauntlets and burst forward, fists like meteors, into the charging herd.

She’d never used Crimson Fire so freely. Anger became clarity, and her power poured smooth as molten glass.

The fire in her chest turned into strikes, each punch a rushing wave against stone.

She couldn’t fly, but her body sang with strength. A light jump carried her to eye level with a towering head; her right fist, wreathed in crimson, drove straight in—slender arm, mountain-cracking impact—and the rock behemoth slammed to the dirt.

“Ora, ora, ora!!!”

Her fists flew on instinct, quick as drumbeats. Skin tough as cliff-face split under her barrage; black blood geysered from shattered plates, only to be steamed away by licking crimson flames before it ever kissed the ground.

The herd howled, wildness sharpening like shards of glass. Blinding beams lanced out, a scatter of light cannons ripping the air. Aphelia planted on a sagging behemoth, springing up as the bolts tore beneath her like a river of stars.

Explosions boomed across their front, shockwaves breaking their encirclement like wind shredding fog. Space opened; she breathed.

If only she still had the Ghostface Vambrace…

The thought slipped in, uncanny as a whisper. Something deep within her stirred—an emerald thrum from the core.

An emerald gem—the heart of the Primordial Soil—rose from within her, separating like a seed from husk, and settled above her forearms.

“What is…”

She felt the gems drinking her Crimson Fire like thirsty roots. Mind flashing, she let the limiter go, opening the floodgates.

For an instant, the sky blushed red as a sunset, then smoothed into startling calm, a lake after wind.

Only Aphelia knew what that strange breath of a moment held. The instant she released the cap, her whole self felt like it crossed layered rooms of reality; the prismatic warp tugged at thought, nearly pulling her under.

Her Crimson Fire, unbound, was a breached dam—ready to drown the heavens in flame. But the Primordial Soil’s core woke with a deeper pull, swallowing the blaze with tranquil hunger.

Her power skittered near the brink. The title-bound ability she’d gained before losing her strength stirred, like a bear rousing in winter. Driven by Crimson Fire, it surged to the edge—no wonder time felt misaligned, a heartbeat out of sync.

And the surprise didn’t end there.

“Crimson… Sakura?!”

Crimson armor now sheathed her arms. She thought of the Valkyrie’s Ghostface Vambrace, but looking closer, she shook off the idea.

An emerald gem sat where the grotesque face should’ve leered, and beneath the stone glowed a kaleidoscopic light, colors changing like a turning prism.

“Heh. Can’t call this Crimson Sakura anymore…”

A behemoth barreled at her from the side, a boulder rolling with murder. Aphelia didn’t even look; she simply reached out into its path.

Boom!!!

It hit as if a mountain grew from air. The thud was dull and final; the beast flipped back, crushed by nothing—except a handprint stamped deep into its skull.

Crimson flames climbed that imprint like ivy and blossomed into a crown, burning the head to ash almost instantly—hotter and cleaner than her raw Crimson Fire alone.

Aphelia herself blinked, stunned—then her bracer gauntlets kept feeding power, steady as spring water. She eyed the herd, curiosity spreading like sunrise in her gaze.

“So, Miss Odin, do you think Aphelia’s going to get stuck out there because of those beasts?”

They stood before a kaleidoscopic barrier, colors flowing like oil on water. Uroboros, bored as a cat, flicked the question at Odin.

“What, no faith in your own partner?”

Odin laughed softly, not biting at the bait. She tossed the question back with a smile that made Uroboros feel like she’d just swallowed a pebble.

“She’s only just regained her strength. You honestly think she can handle that herd?”

Uroboros wasn’t one to take a loss. She leaned on the excuse and waited for Odin to flinch.

Odin kept unhurried, wiping her spear, head shaking with quiet amusement. “Those beasts are middling at best. Hurting Aphelia? Not happening. And you sound a little too eager for trouble. She’s your teammate—don’t you have any normal thoughts?”

“Tch. I’m worried, okay~ Though if she dies, I won’t lose sleep.”

A teasing voice rose behind her like a breeze carrying bells. “Oh? You won’t mind if I die? Then I’ll go die right now.”

Somehow Aphelia was already at Uroboros’s shoulder, patting it lightly, eyes warm and smiling.