“Clues? I’ve got none. You poked me, and memories pricked up—I’ve seen a fool pull this stunt before. I don’t recall who. Want to hear how that fool ended?”

Uroboros pressed her palm to her brow, a headache blooming like iron thorns. Truth was, pain flared on every front. These familiar-looking glyphs stabbed at her mind like ice shards. Buried images rose like bubbles from a black lake. That “fool” felt like someone she’d known well.

As for the fool’s end, no need to spell it out. Someone strong enough to beat Origin hasn’t shown in ages. Either they died on a rash move like this, or sealed themselves away for long eras. Either way, the cause circles back to the dark-gold ring before them.

“Uh… can I say I don’t want to know?”

Aphelia gave an abashed smile and drew her hand from the ring like from a hot stove. She didn’t even know why—at the sight of those letters, she’d wanted to write them out with Aether, pure reflex.

Uroboros’s tone made it plain the “fool” came to a bad end. Aphelia chose not to invite that omen.

Another thorn was Aphelia’s rash streak. Back when she wasn’t even a Demigod, she was wary like a fledgling in cold rain. After rising above True Gods, she turned reckless, as if nothing could cut her. She hasn’t mastered the rules that stand equal to Origin; one light step could draw the blaze onto herself.

If Uroboros hadn’t stopped her, no one knew what writing those letters would bring. Maybe they’d invert Aphelia’s power till it killed her. Or blow the ring and let storm-fire chew up the surroundings. No one knew. It’s a piece shed off Origin; heaven knows what sleeps inside.

“Could Origin have stashed its power in the ring? Uroboros, watch the perimeter. I’ll probe it.”

Aphelia shifted the topic like turning a sail into a new wind. Her suspicion wasn’t baseless. Origin might’ve dropped its tail like a gecko, hiding its last strength in this dark-gold ring, waiting for the tide’s return. She’d seen foes like that—some tried corpse-borrowed revival. She gives them no second chance.

Uroboros thought for a breath, then agreed. Black mist unfurled beside Aphelia like a storm shield, warding off any strike that might roll in. Whether Origin is dead, alive, or beyond life and death needs deeper sounding.

Thinking that, Aphelia leaned forward. A transparent biocarapace clasped her palm like glass scales. Black Aether braided with Crimson Flame, splitting into countless fine threads that reached for the dark-gold ring like roots seeking water. At first she was cautious. With few threads, the ring did nothing. Only then did she add more lines of Aether, strand by strand.

Power flowed in, the mind-link sank deeper, yet the ring stayed mute, a stone in still air. If it weren’t hanging there defying physics, Aphelia and Uroboros would’ve written it off as dead metal.

“Something feels off. This ring’s just pure metal—no breath of life, no power of Origin. And it’s parking over Earth, calm as a cold moon. I don’t really get their ‘physics,’ the human way to explain rules. But this thing’s plainly breaking the rules.”

After a stretch of probing, Aphelia drew her Aether back like a tide. The ring didn’t twitch. Even when Ophelius prodded it in a sharper way, it refused to resist, like it wouldn’t care if you erased it.

Compared to Origin itself, that’s bizarre. Origin wants to strip all life—an extreme egoist if you put it in human terms. No way it lets others paw at it without a reaction. Aphelia even tried outright damage.

Either Origin can endure like stone, or it simply can’t affect this thing anymore. Thinking back on the battle, the guess isn’t groundless. But both Aphelia and Uroboros had no solid foothold. If all this is just Origin’s mask, then what? No one here has beaten Origin. Even Aphelia’s first race fell for Origin’s deceit, trapped on a barren world for epochs.

“Forget it. We’ll seal the ring for now. Earth still needs us. Right before you woke, I felt a great force drape over the planet, buying you precious minutes. Whoever it is, we should go.”

Uroboros shook her head, vexation buzzing like a hive. She flung out a broad wash of black mist, wrapping the dark-gold ring like night fog. She moved with care, yet the ring gave nothing back, making her feel she’d been overly cautious.

But Uroboros doesn’t trust feelings. She clawed her way to this height by caution. If it needs over-caution, so be it; she won’t care if she looks foolish.

“About that strong force… I know it well. She stood up for Earth? Let’s go take a look. Be careful of the Aether Tree. Her Aether bites.”

Aphelia nodded, gaze drifting to bands of silver-white over Earth like frost fields. From orbit, the planet lay under argent sheets. Without her other sight, she wouldn’t have recognized the mass as a single giant tree.

And that wasn’t all. The power streaming from that Aether Giant Tree was all too familiar. It belonged only to Sigdrifa—the one who took Aphelia’s body. A blade-sharp edge married to a sea-wide surge, two extremes kneaded together, yet dwelling in Sigdrifa as one.

The tearing pain of that separation still chilled Aphelia’s spine when she recalled it. Beyond pain, she held deep hatred for Sigdrifa. In Aphelia’s world, Violet died by Sigdrifa’s hand.

At that thought, black Aether curled up Aphelia like night serpents. Her carapace shifted from clear to ink-green. It hugged her form and traced perfect lines like leaf veins. Yet it hid deadly backward barbs. A brush would rip off flesh by the handful.

She forced herself calm. Black Aether and Crimson Fire sank back into her body. The ink-green armor broke and fell away like shed bark, bare skin returning. Her eyes swam with tangled feelings; a heavy sigh slipped out.

“Let’s go, Uroboros.”

Seeing Aphelia’s complicated look, Uroboros could only breathe softly, saying nothing. Both knew it well: if Aphelia and Sigdrifa met, blades would cross to the death. No outsider could talk that away. Only when they stand on equal ground might there be a chance to sit and speak.

And now… Aphelia might already be stronger than Sigdrifa.

Thinking so, they became two streaks of light, diving toward Earth like meteors. At the same time, Aphelia tossed an Aether avatar to carry word to Heron. She reported the battle. She asked them to watch the dark-gold ring. Heron accepted at once. With the Aphelia of today, she wished Aphelia would lean on her more.

“Aphelia, you finally came back!”

Aphelia and Uroboros cut through the clouds and landed by her. Violet’s tears welled like rain. Complicated feelings surged like a spring. She didn’t bother with words—she wrapped Aphelia tight, her faint sobbing clear as a bell.

Aphelia hurried to bank her Aether and fold away her carapace. She reached out carefully and held Violet. Seeing her, Aphelia’s own heart tangled. She tried to smile; tears crept out on their own like dew.

Partings and returns—this ache grinds the soul.

Uroboros saw it, stuck out her tongue like a playful cat, and circled away, leaving them a pocket of quiet. She followed the Aether trail to the mech’s cockpit and found Sigdrifa asleep within.

“That’s Sigdrifa? Her Aether’s grown so calm. She used to skate the sword’s edge to death. Now she holds the whole field like a river’s course. Influenced by Aphelia…? No, something else. She must’ve had a strange chance that made her willing to shield Earth. Yes—that tracks.”

With a light touch, Uroboros probed and felt the oddities now woven through Sigdrifa’s power.