Once the familiar frame was forged, Aphelia saw the hairline cracks in her work. The figure was clearly Hrok, yet taller, sleeker, hair pouring to her waist like a dark river.
“Aphelia, this… this is Hrok, right?” Violet’s voice wavered, a leaf in a crosswind. She stared at the sudden bombshell of a bombshell—an elder-sister Hrok who out-measured even her. If not for the matching bone-lines, Violet wouldn’t dare believe.
In truth, Aphelia had messed up. Memory rose like old ink through paper—she didn’t hold the present girl-Hrok most clearly, but the one from her other world, the mature Hrok with storm-bright eyes and a queen’s stride. She tried to recall the Hrok of now, but that future silhouette burned like a seal, and the clay set to that shape.
She’d meant to give Hrok a body again, a vessel strong enough to anchor a soul, yet her hands sailed by habit. Without noticing, she’d poured the future into the present and sculpted a body far beyond today’s Hrok. The Aether already hummed inside, like bees swarming a hive, eager to welcome the soul home.
What now? Reforge another body? The thought tasted of iron. Aphelia let out a long, stale breath. Her limbs felt heavy, but her soul was leaden, like rain-soaked earth. This power wasn’t something she could spam. Back when she was the Zerg Queen, how had she cast it so often? It couldn’t have been brute soul alone.
The answer was a lantern in fog. Let Hrok return to this body first. It’s not weaker—if anything, stronger—and after she adapts, adjustments can follow like a sculptor’s second pass. In short—sorry.
Saying sorry with a straight back—was that really okay? A wry smile cut across her lips. Aphelia shook her head, seized the “Hrok” beside her, and Crimson Fire coiled around them like a dragon. Black Aether sank with them, eating the cracked ground into a yawning pit.
The pitch-dark Aether kept dissolving downward, boring like acid rain, until it struck the Earth Vein. Riding the Aether torrent tugged by Sigdrifa, Aphelia spent almost no time to find Hrok. There she was in the current, almost fully sheathed in Aether crystal, a statue caught mid-breath.
Uroboros, borrowing Aphelia’s sight, saw it too. Most of Hrok’s body was under glassy bloom, yet the Runes carved around her glowed like a ring of candles, holding the crystal creep at bay, grain by grain.
“She’s good,” Uroboros breathed, a thread of praise. “She even masked her soul’s flavor to stall the tide. Looks like she’s got a lot of faith in you, Aphelia.”
Hrok had used what she had, like a smith turning tongs into a lever. Her craft sense had crossed the river into soulwork, slowing the invasion. She already carried the seed to step into the strong.
What Uroboros prized more was her trust. To stop the Earth Vein’s rampage, those Runes were almost redundant. If she wanted a sure, swift halt, she could’ve thrown in her whole soul. At a Valkyrie’s level, one soul could press down an Origin motherworld’s Earth Vein riot.
But at the edge of surrender, she still set her last insurance. Even with Aphelia silent and gone, she chose to believe Aphelia would return to Earth and extend a hand. Aphelia understood at a glance; those “insurance” Runes on Hrok’s skin told the whole story.
“Mm. Leave it to me.” Her voice steadied like a blade settling in its sheath. Aether surged out of Aphelia, a river breaking dam, and dove through the vast pit toward the Earth Vein. It split into countless fine branches, a forest of filaments wrapping the planet’s core arteries, her Aether reaching in to stir the flood within.
A pebble tossed into sea makes no ripple. But what about a meteor? Aether bombs bloomed along those branches, hammering the Earth Vein. Right now, the Vein’s Aether kept converting Hrok because it couldn’t find anything to cycle into. As the Origin motherworld, Earth should’ve drunk deep of Aether, refashioned its bones, and waited for its next molt.
But ages passed like wind through ruins. Origin had stolen Earth’s source in some unguarded hour, and the Earth Vein lost its compass. Earth, being a motherworld, held vast root-power; Origin had to siphon in batches. Each draw birthed a planet-scale calamity that twisted ecosystems, and as the sips grew weaker, the echoes dwindled to those “unexplainable explosions” in the news.
If the Vein can’t find an outlet, then stall it. Buy time. Aphelia’s Aether bombs did just that, seeding her Aether to dilute the Vein’s high concentration. Two currents collided like tide against tide, and Hrok gained heartbeats to spare.
“Violet, watch Sigdrifa with Uroboros. I’ll be right back. Reach every Valkyrie you can, trainees included. We need hands now. Fast. Uroboros, if needed, you bring them.”
After making sure this body had nothing indecent on display, Aphelia gave her orders quick and clean, then leapt with the body into the corroded abyss.
“Miss Violet, start pinging your comrades,” Uroboros said, tapping her approval like a gavel. “I don’t think those trainees are near standard. But if Aphelia wants them, we call them.”
“I’ll try, but a lot of Aether links won’t reach me…” Violet’s worry fluttered like a flag.
“Watch me.” Uroboros laid a hand on her shoulder. A colossal surge rushed into Violet’s Aether network, a storm at her back. Before it hit the mesh, it split into a thousand rivulets and slammed down the lines toward every connected heart.
This wasn’t a conversation. This was a command.
Usually, Violet had to handshake both ends to talk—every person a port, Violet the host, fanning her packets out. Ports held the host’s address, but they had to accept the link to receive. She’d met people who refused on purpose, and she’d made them regret it.
When someone refused, Violet could focus Aether like a battering ram and break through. But then she couldn’t keep wide-area links alive. What was Uroboros doing now? She’d put a megaphone to every ear and shouted, all at once, like thunder rolling across a valley.
“All surviving Valkyries, Valkyrie trainees, and anyone who can hear this network—proceed at once to coordinates… If you’re unable to move or have wounded, reply now. You’ll receive full support within five minutes. Repeating. All surviving Valkyries, Valkyrie trainees, and anyone who can hear this network—proceed at once to coordinates… If you’re unable to move or have wounded, reply now. You’ll receive full support within five minutes. Over.”
“U—Uroboros, your Aether control—” Violet’s eyes widened, stars struck on black water.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry. Oh—replies are in. Step aside, Violet, that flood might knock you flat~” Uroboros teased shamelessly, a cat batting yarn. Her computation and control came on Aphelia’s loan, but she didn’t say it, choosing instead to ruffle the girl tied close to Aphelia.
Watching Violet swallow her pride, Uroboros couldn’t help a curve at the corner of her mouth. Her gaze drifted like a kite string toward Violet. Even so, she didn’t dare overdo it; if Aphelia heard, a scolding would land like a ruler on knuckles.
Not long after the “forced broadcast” began, Violet saw it—information torrents rushing from every horizon, fast and thick as monsoon rain. Uroboros sliced the flood into clean channels, each stream neat as a blade’s edge, and a virtual globe rose before them like a blue lantern. Every message turned into a pin, sticking to its place on the world.
So fast. That was Violet’s first thought, a spark in dry tinder. Before most of the data even arrived, Uroboros had sorted it to the last thread. As it landed, she’d read it all and fed it back into the glowing earth.
