Aphelia now wore Aether armor like a second skin, a keratin sheen over her flesh. Yet her proud form still rose like a mountain ridge. Hrok crashed into her like a charging ram. Aphelia barely budged; Hrok thumped against her with a dull, drum-like sound.

"It looks painful, and it sounds worse... Hrok, Hrok, are you okay?"

Aphelia winced with a shy smile, warmth rising like a shy sunrise. She hurried to steady Hrok, fingers pouring gentle Aether like warm rain. With armor and that keratin veil, a headbutt couldn’t touch her tender places. It only turned Hrok’s world into spinning stars.

She hadn’t expected such a surge after soul and flesh rejoined. Hrok just launched herself like a wave against a cliff. Thank the armor and that shell; they were shields of moonlight and bark. Even through them, Aphelia felt the iron firmness of Hrok’s body. If that hit had landed true, her chest would’ve rung like a crushed bell for a while.

The force, blunted by Aether plate, was anything but gentle—like a hammer wrapped in silk. Even Aphelia would weigh such a blow. Purely physical impact barely touched her, rain on stone. But she reined in her defenses to spare Hrok, holding back the storm. Otherwise, Crimson Fire and that midnight Aether would’ve lashed out. The first riposte might’ve knocked Hrok’s soul loose again, like a seed blown from its pod.

"I'm fine, I— Aphelia, is that really you, Aphelia! How did you get here? Weren’t you taken by the Eldritch Gods? How did you get into the Earth Vein? It's too dangerous. You have to leave now!"

Fresh from recovery, Hrok’s eyes tightened like storm clouds. She feared the Aether flood would gnaw at Aphelia. She didn’t even check her own body. She moved to shove Aphelia out of the Earth Vein, urgent as a rising tide. She never noticed she wasn’t a wandering soul anymore.

Her fingers closed on Aphelia’s arm. Familiar warmth leapt up her palm like fire under frost. Realization struck like dawn. She jerked her hands back, staring at arms solid as carved wood. She lifted her head, eyes wide with mingled shock and joy, and looked to Aphelia.

"Aphelia, you brought my body back!"

Elation flooded Hrok’s head like sweet wine. She stared at her own solidity, at the simple miracle of touch. That joy almost unmoored her. Existing as a soul in the Earth Vein was torture to any creature born to flesh, like a fish stranded on dry sand.

To feel nothing from head to toe, to hover between being and emptiness, was a cold abyss. For a human, it cut deeper. No matter how strong Hrok was, her core was mortal flesh. Torn from her body and thrown into the Aether torrent, she should’ve been erased like ink in rain. Only iron will kept her soul from dissolving in the Earth Vein, long enough to meet Aphelia’s rescue.

Worse, inside the Earth Vein, Aether pooled like thick fog, smearing time itself. Two or three hours felt like years grinding by, a glacier creeping over stone. The torrent nearly broke Hrok’s will like driftwood. Aether crystallization slowed the collapse, ice forming on a river. She couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse.

"It's a little different, but it's your body indeed. This isn’t a place to chat. How about we head out first?"

Once Hrok’s flesh fully fused, Aphelia drew back the Crimson Fire, embers folding like wings. The Aether flood outside seemed to ease, a storm thinning to rain. It was a good chance to slip out of the Earth Vein. She only worried whether Hrok, freshly merged, could endure the passage.

"Wait, Aphelia. Let me try my Aether. My body just came back; I’m not used to it. We’re still in the Earth Vein, right? I need to cast Aether too..."

As she spoke, Hrok tried to grasp the Aether flowing inside her, like catching a river in her hands. She sought to guide it outward. Aphelia didn’t stop her. After that hard-won body, cut off by the flood, Hrok needed to reclaim her tide of Aether.

Not trying would’ve spared her. At the first attempt, Hrok’s face darkened like a cloud shading the sun.

"Aphelia, I... I think I can't use Aether."

Hrok looked to Aphelia, a storm-gray shadow in her eyes, helpless as a guttered lamp. She knew too well what it meant to lose Aether now. Against strong foes and harsh terrain, even with friends willing to carry you, you turn into their weight, a stone tied to their ankles.

War has no room for burdens.

Hrok understood that bone-deep. When war climbs into Aether war and beyond, those without Aether become dead weight. With each rise in intensity, the laggards turn into stepping stones, gravel under the strong.

Right now, it was worse. Aphelia must’ve spent herself to reach here; how much Aether remained in her well? Hrok hadn’t forgotten the Aether storms at the entry, whirlwinds that clawed at souls. The Rune shielding her spirit had frayed like old cloth. Leaving again would cost more, and they were two grains in the current...

"If you're worried about my Aether reserves..."

Hrok’s eyes flickered like a sky between rain and sun, thoughts written in light. Aphelia met her gaze with a calm smile. She spread her hands. Crimson Fire unfurled into vast wings of flame, a phoenix burst. Midnight Aether pressed the Earth Vein apart like roots splitting stone, carving a broad hollow for them.

"I could blow this Earth Vein to pieces right now."

Hrok’s eyes went wide like lanterns. She reached out, trembling, to touch Aphelia again, afraid this blaze was a deathbed mirage. Afraid she was already toeing the cliff of death.

Above ground, Sigdrifa finally drifted awake like a leaf returning to the surface.

Pain. Raw as fire.

Pain coiled through her limbs and bones like constricting vines, and Sigdrifa sucked in a cold breath. She hadn’t expected pain to stay so sharp even after healing sleep. The last time her body felt like it was splitting into shards was her final bout with Brynhildr...

She hadn’t thought shielding a Origin mother star from Origin’s backlash would cut this deep. Back then, she’d watched Brynhildr smile and bear it all, thought it wasn’t this bad. Now that she held that power, there was nothing light about it, just weight like mountains.

At that thought, Sigdrifa let out a rare sigh, a wind slipping from a cave mouth.

"Awake?"

As Sigdrifa pushed open the cockpit hatch, a familiar voice chimed at her ear like a bell. She focused and saw Uroboros. Uroboros toyed with a strange cube, fingers turning colors like a lazy wind. At the same time, she directed the Valkyries with crisp gestures, weaving order through the camp.

"Mm, awake. Brynhil— Where's Aphelia?"

Sigdrifa almost spoke Brynhildr’s full name by reflex. The bustle before her felt like stepping back in time, to when humanity had just risen. To the age under two goddesses, where busy hands and urgent voices looked just like this.

Sigdrifa caught herself and changed the name. She scanned the horizon like a hawk, but Aphelia’s figure was nowhere.

"Her? She’ll be back soon. She dove into the Earth Vein again, hot-blooded like a river in flood, to pull someone out. We can’t contact her, sure. But she’s fine. With her strength, she could break a Origin mother star like Earth like glass. You, though— the problems in your body are serious."

Uroboros shot her a glance, sharp as a blade. She saw the tiny wounds scattered across Sigdrifa’s frame, and the Aether chaos fringing each cut like frayed silk. With Violet’s earlier report, it wasn’t hard to tell. Sigdrifa had taken a single backlash and shattered it into a thousand small injuries, scattering pain like seeds across her body.

This time, the damage ran deep, roots gripping soil. Even after dispersal, the wounds lingered in her body, refusing to knit. They had even stirred pockets of Aether disorder, little whirlpools in a lake.

"Mind your own, Serpent. I know my body like my own shadow. You, though— riding with Aphelia suits you. Your power’s thicker; you’ve even forged a full domain. Wait— why do I smell that bitter aura in you too?"

Sigdrifa frowned, a line carving her brow. In Uroboros, she felt a hint of Origin’s breath, sour and old. Yet it wasn’t the same. Origin reeked of devouring, a mouth that eats the world. Uroboros felt like a cycle, a river that turns back on itself, not a hunger without end.

"You saw that thing in outer space, right? Aphelia broke it apart earlier. I still don’t know what Origin’s true body is. The universe hasn’t changed much. That likely means Origin hasn’t fallen. Or the tide has started rolling, and we’re too small to feel the waves yet."

As Uroboros spoke, she kept worrying the cube in her hands, turning colors like seasons. Sigdrifa looked closer and realized it wasn’t mystical at all— just a faded Rubik’s Cube. Uroboros played with the little toy like a cat with yarn, yet it never slowed her command over the Valkyries.

"Fair enough. Did you rally the Valkyries from this region? Why is there a whole flock here building and guarding..."

Nearly a thousand figures stretched before her, putting up rough shelters like tents sprouting after rain. Some Valkyries used Aether to raise a sturdy fortress, blocks clicking like stone under birds. Others set traps and barriers around the perimeter, thorns for any prowling beast. Sigdrifa couldn’t help the ache. This region had only this many left. Origin’s plunder was terrifying, a scythe through fields.

"These are the last Valkyries left worldwide, Sigdrifa. How can you still sound like spring with only winter leaves left?"

Uroboros sighed too, a low wind in a shell. She’d marked plenty of Valkyries on that virtual Earth model, but many of those pings came from women on the brink. In their final moments, they sent messages, asking Uroboros to lend a hand to weaker sisters, to shelter saplings from the storm.