Aphelia still steadied herself. The pitch‑black Aether and the Crimson Fire sank back into her body like tides at dusk. The moss‑green carapace sloughed away, revealing bare skin. Her eyes held a tangle of storms; after a long beat, she let out a heavy sigh.

“Let’s go, Uroboros.”

Seeing that weather in Aphelia’s gaze, Uroboros could only sigh softly, like wind slipping through reeds, and keep quiet. Both of them knew the truth: if Aphelia and Sigdrifa met, flint would strike steel and someone might bleed; no bystander could pry that knot. Only when they stood on the same ridge could they sit and talk.

Still… Aphelia felt like a heavier blade than Sigdrifa.

Thinking that, the two became twin streaks, comets cutting for Earth. At the same time, Aphelia flung an Aether avatar to Heron, a messenger hawk of light. It carried the battle report and a request to watch that dark‑gold ring. Heron agreed with a smile like sunlight on water. With the Aphelia of now, she was eager to be a branch Aphelia could lean on.

“Aphelia, you’re finally back!”

Aphelia and Uroboros pierced the cloudbank and dropped to her side like rain returning to soil. Tears flooded Violet’s eyes; emotion surged like a tide. She forgot her words and grabbed Aphelia into a fierce embrace, her voice trembling on the edge of a sob.

Aphelia hurried to draw in her Aether and the chitin on her skin, like dousing embers. Then she carefully wrapped her arms around Violet. Looking at Violet’s face, her own mood twisted into knots; she tried to smile, yet tears slipped free like spring melt.

This kind of parting and return cuts like a cold blade; it wears a heart thin.

Uroboros saw and stuck out her tongue, a quick flicker like a lizard under sun, then circled away to leave them space. Following the Aether traces like a riverbed, she reached the mecha’s cockpit and found Sigdrifa asleep within.

Is that Sigdrifa? Why is her Aether so calm now? She used to ride the edge like a storm to death. This breadth that holds the field feels different. Is it Aphelia’s influence… no, something else blessed her. She must have had a strange encounter to be willing to shield Earth; that fits.

With a light probe, Uroboros felt the odd grain of Sigdrifa now. The stolen body still held most of its shape; if Aphelia reclaimed it, her power would climb another step. Nothing fits a soul better than its own bones and flesh. But…

She turned and watched Aphelia crying, that blade‑softened look, and couldn’t help a quiet sigh. With Aphelia’s temper, she worried that at the knife’s moment, Aphelia’s hand would freeze midair.

Uroboros and Sigdrifa, in a sense, were the same breed—extreme egoists—only Uroboros chose to accept Aphelia as a companion. Most days she still watched Aphelia’s face, like a sailor reading the sky; living in someone’s soul meant you owed them and moved gently.

Right now Uroboros wouldn’t stir the waters; she’d wait for Aphelia’s feelings to settle, then touch the matter. She banked her power, left without ruffling the cockpit air, careful not to jar the sleeping Sigdrifa. Of course, Uroboros still left a few “little gifts,” seeds tucked under the soil.

“Uroboros, how is it? That one over there…”

“The body’s functions are preserved, but overall it’s not in good shape. You know that frame was originally yours; even after Aether’s remaking, it has limits. Today she took hold of the Earth Vein, stood in for Earth, and absorbed Origin’s backlash. The price was heavy, like thorns pressing into flesh.”

Uroboros spoke plainly. There was no need to gild Sigdrifa or smear her; that would only grate on Aphelia. She wasn’t the flattery type, and Aphelia didn’t need “praise.” As for Sigdrifa, she was Aphelia’s old knot to untie. How to cut it would be Aphelia’s decision.

Aphelia listened, drew a deep breath like filling lungs with cold mountain air, and steadied herself. She loosened her hold on Violet, stepped aside, and, after a small gesture that said don’t worry, asked in a whisper.

Her feelings around Sigdrifa were a thornbush. By the past, the two were absolute foes, blades drawn to the death. And yet Sigdrifa’s move today threw her own life onto the altar. The woman who once wished Aphelia dead—why this now?

Aphelia wasn’t naive enough to think it was charm; that’s a third‑rate tale. Enemies usually fight until the red blade stops moving. Sigdrifa’s presence here had to knot with interests.

But how did she crawl out of that maelstrom of space and time? By the Fates’ saying, once trapped, even power equal to Aphelia’s then couldn’t escape. Unless Sigdrifa rose to Aphelia’s current height. If she could already shatter Origin, she wouldn’t be lying here wrecked and unconscious.

“I can’t tell. So first, we take care of her. Friend or foe, she saved Earth once; for that, I can set old grudges down for now. We still need strength, and I feel Origin won’t fade so easily.”

Aphelia shook her head. A gentle Aether unfurled from her like warm mist, wrapping the cockpit. From the ground’s cracks, she drew out green branches, fresh as spring bamboo, to bind the cockpit tight—both cradle and cage.

Uroboros nodded. It seemed Aphelia had taken her words in; she wasn’t charging this wall. When it came to Sigdrifa, shelving it was best for now.

“By the way, Violet, you said Hrok ran into trouble. What happened—did she… fall heroically?”

Even saying it, Aphelia’s chest weighed like stone. From that mountain rescue to this ruined Earth, Hrok had stood with her. Seasoned and raw, both, she offered trust with deeds, a silent pledge. Even if that feeling had been manufactured once, Hrok still chose sincerity; that alone earned Aphelia’s own truth. If Hrok truly died, and Aphelia couldn’t bring life back, she’d still choose her a quiet resting place far from the dust. A valley of peace, wind and shade.

“No, no. She dove into the Earth Vein to help Sigdrifa. Her flesh has dispersed; only her soul and Aether remain inside. She can’t last long. Aphelia… can you try to save her?”

At the end, Violet bit her lip. She knew it was near impossible, but after seeing Aphelia step beyond Origin, she still spoke. That yawning gap made her bow her head like grass in wind.

Seeing Violet like that pinched Aphelia’s heart, a fist of thorns. She worried for Hrok too. But to enter the Earth Vein, the girl had erased her body…

Aphelia turned, looked at Uroboros, then at her own hands, pale and steady. She tugged Uroboros aside and whispered.

“If I remember right, Miss Heron said in my previous life I even created Root Executors, yes? I supplied mind and will—basically puppets under me, right?”

At Aphelia’s sneaky look, Uroboros blinked, then answered on reflex. “Right. You can create Root Executors. But you aren’t Origin, so you can’t grant a soul; you’d have to inject a different one.”

Then Uroboros snapped awake, eyes wide like lanterns, voice pressed low and fast. “You plan to make a body?! Don’t tell me you’re insane!”

“I’m not. I only need to make the flesh.”

A smile lit Aphelia’s face like a new moon. Chitin, the mark of the Insectoids, sheathed her palms. Crimson Fire and pitch‑black Aether rose like twin serpents and pooled in her hands.

“That’s impossible. Do you know how a human body is born? You’re touching Origin’s rules. This isn’t cramming formulas like a schoolkid and mixing elements. Simulating a body is easy—you could mass‑grow broiler chickens and I wouldn’t blink—but a vessel that can hold a soul?!”

Uroboros hooked an arm around Aphelia’s neck and talked herself hoarse, words scattering like sparrows, laying out every risk she could. Aphelia kept that carefree grin, watching the power dance in her hands, itching to try, as if risk were fog she refused to see.

“We’re doomed. I finally found a big tree to lean on, and it’s another rule‑breaking maniac—wait, why again?”