Stepping into the so-called cutting-edge lab, Aphelia finally saw the gulf between two eras, a canyon cleaving mountains from mountains.

In the past, she thought their magitech had reached its peak, a summit touching the clouds.

Tools could analyze Arcane Power, searching its threads linking force and flesh.

To her era, that was an advanced civilization, a spark meant to trigger an age’s upheaval.

With one push, it would spread like wildfire, racing across the continent, burning new paths into history.

"Wow—wait, Violet, what do you call this again, the… the—"

"It’s cells, Aphelia. You’re excited, huh? No memory back for this part?"

In one corner, word spread fast: the Elder who tore a Daemon Beast bare-handed had arrived.

They rushed to clear an electron microscope, even offered stained thin sections of the beast.

Strictly speaking, that’s wrong. Aphelia made those sections for them.

Before Aphelia reached the lab, most scientists were in heated debate, like storm winds clashing in a steel corridor.

Her Crimson Fire had charred the Daemon Beast to the core.

Its remains resisted ordinary tools; engineers couldn’t even pry loose the leftover limbs.

Some already weighed directional blasting with explosives, a thunderhead ready to split stone.

Even if blast worked, how could they do delicate slicing under bomb-grade destruction?

Luckily, the “culprit” herself arrived.

With Aether, a Daemon Beast’s corpse was trivial, ash on the breeze.

If it were an Eldritch God’s true body, she’d need to think twice.

"Remarkable—so these are the parts that make a body?"

"Yes. We Elders are the same."

Our cells, down to molecular units, are packed with high-concentration Aether, like vessels brimming with light.

Aphelia, in our era you were a prodigy.

The Aether density in your cells neared a hundred percent, a sun pressed into a drop.

Even we Valkyries float between seventy and ninety percent, like moons in different phases.

Violet nodded.

"Our combat arts and stored knowledge are strong because of Aether Tech from the ancient civilization."

"Aether Tech?"

Curiosity pricked her like needles; Aphelia straightened and asked.

"Yes, Aether Tech.

At our current level, we can’t fully restore it.

The ancients left intentional defects in our genetic records, like cracks in a mirror.

We grasp different degrees of Aether Tech, but we don’t understand its true Origin."

Violet sketched a puzzle with blood-red Aether, pieces locking together like scales.

When it finished, she caged it, leaving only a keyhole to glimpse the image inside.

"Right now we’re peeking at a leopard through a narrow tube, a beast we barely see.

Even revived, we’re only here through crude human tech, paper boats on rough water.

To truly return, we must reach the world’s Origin."

She smiled wryly, dissolved cage and puzzle, then pressed a lone key into Aphelia’s hand.

"So, to fully understand Aether Tech, wait for your complete recovery.

But unfortunately…"

"Unfortunately? Unfortunately what?"

Confusion chilled her like mist; Aphelia eyed the key, not catching Violet’s meaning.

Seeing her look, Violet’s gaze softened.

She reached out, ruffled Aphelia’s hair, and spoke with a smile like spring rain.

"You’re the first Elder humanity brought back.

Inborn flaws made many think you’d never recover.

Still—Brynhildr is Brynhildr.

Starting behind, she overtakes everyone, a falcon cutting past slow wings."

Aphelia could only scratch her head and grin, a little sheepish.

How could she explain she was a vessel Sigdrifa prepared in another era?

Her Crimson Fire wasn’t regular Aether, but a soul-like blaze.

If she said that, every Elder’s spear would point at her first.

"Anyway… let’s watch the cells.

Violet, this behavior—does it count as growth, or simply one splitting into two?"

She forced the topic back, returned to the microscope, mind like a bird fleeing arrows.

Violet nodded, feeling strangely sentimental, like dusk seeping into clear glass.

Maybe Brynhildr’s power in Aphelia was returning, making Violet’s emotions fuller.

She chuckled at herself, then explained.

"By memory, cell division belongs to metabolism.

Daemon Beasts aren’t in that list.

Aether senses more accurately than instruments, a fingertip to the pulse.

I’m sure a Daemon Beast can only keep splitting.

Otherwise, those unmutated normal cells couldn’t support such monstrous bodies."

Watching cells divide without end, Aphelia felt her worldview buckle, like ice cracking underfoot.

In her era, humans were built from five basic elements, pillars holding a body in place.

Because of that, humans could survive this world of mixed elements and Arcane Power.

Some scholars said all growth was the world’s cycle, a wheel turning through us.

That view isn’t provably wrong, but in this era it isn’t provably right either.

In Aphelia’s time, people could strip elements from the body, proof shown by using Arcane Power.

Today, humans don’t speak of elements or Aether.

They speak of cells and genes, ideas etched deep.

With a single drop of blood, you can prove the story.

Different roads, yet many views align.

The world keeps turning; life keeps evolving.

As if different paths lead to the same summit, both the magic era and the tech era agree.

Nature selects; the fit survive.

Two worldviews far apart, each self-consistent, neither able to disprove the other.

Yet there’s common ground, like bridges touching at midstream.

Left road reaches; right road reaches—so which side do you trust?

If it were someone else, they’d reject modern tech, call it heresy without blinking.

But Aphelia is different.

Her soul, her whole being, has lived more than one life, tides of knowledge washing her mind.

Whether she wants it or not, it’s been carved into her.

In that, Aphelia becomes the best bridge between both civilizations.

"Wait… what’s that?

Violet, tell the researchers to stop, now!"

Under the lens, a flicker of black vapor slithered.

Cold climbed her spine like frost.

She shouted, emotion first, reason chasing.

Violet didn’t hesitate; if Aphelia ordered, she moved.

She found the lead, ready to halt the teams.

But the chance to study was rare.

Those ravenous researchers wouldn’t let go, hunger gleaming like knives.

They ignored Aphelia and focused on the Daemon Beast’s cells.

Aphelia clenched her teeth, silver-white.

Crimson Fire surged up, whooshing into whip-like lashes.

She cracked them across the instruments, slammed them aside.

The specimen before her burned to ash in a rush of heat.

The impact sent researchers stumbling, feet skidding like pebbles in surf.

Wartime-precious instruments flew, shattered, died with clatters.

The hard-made slices were gone.

The researchers jolted, then anger flooded their eyes like stormcloud ink.

Even if Aphelia was the hero who killed a Daemon Beast, this felt lawless.

They drew breath to curse her, but her sharp shout froze them.

"What the hell? Do you know how precious these instruments are—"

"Shut up!

Look closely at what’s inside those slices!"

From the broken shards, a sound ticked, tiny yet sharp.

Everyone stiffened, then turned.

Among the glass splinters, a pitch-black meatball had appeared, quivering like a heart.

"What is… that thing?"

The lead’s voice shook.

"What else could it be? A Daemon Beast."

Aphelia’s face darkened, a storm behind the eyes.

Crimson Fire rose into a barrier, enclosing the researchers like a red shell.

She drew her longbow of Crimson Flame and took aim.

The arrow left the string in a flare and pinned the meatball to the floor.

It stopped cold, unable to move.