Fenrir edged into the room like a shadow sliding under moonlight, Aether phasing cloaking her from notice in this stitched memory. She rushed to Aphelia’s side, eyes sweeping the “protagonist” who kept appearing in her mind.

Aphelia looked locked in a bitter fight, raw power colliding through her body like storms crashing in a narrow gorge. To Fenrir’s eye, two mighty wills had turned Aphelia’s flesh into their battlefield.

This is too much… almost Brynhildr-level. Why can this sister called Aphelia bear it? Her body’s just at Valkyrie tier. How—

Panic flickered in Fenrir’s gaze. The force seeping from Aphelia felt near Brynhildr’s threshold, and there weren’t just one but two currents. They pressed needle to awn, dueling nonstop inside her, vying over a body like a candle trembling in wind.

Fenrir lifted a foot to step closer, hand reaching to touch Aphelia, when a will leveled its aim at her vitals with hawk-eyed focus. She froze, breath snagging, cold sweat needling down her back like winter rain. Isn’t this a memory? Why is an unknown will locking onto me?

Regret hit first, then a prickle of dread. Why didn’t I stay careful? I threw my sisters’ warnings to the wind and blundered into someone’s perimeter. I don’t even know the foe, and they’ve already sighted my core. Dead as dead can get. If this were routine, Brynhildr and the sisters would drag me out for a scolding. Now one misstep could be the last.

She gritted her teeth, mind racing for a way to break the lock, but the will had already found her like lightning finding a tree.

…Strange. I kept feeling someone tinkering with my time. Turns out it’s you, little troublemaker.

A soft voice drifted up behind her like warm mist. Familiar tugged at Fenrir’s heart; then caution snapped tight. It sounded like Brynhildr, yet something in the timbre was worlds apart. Fenrir, attuned to Brynhildr’s cadence, reacted instantly. She bolted forward, but her collar snagged; she was hoisted clean off the ground like a cat lifted by the scruff.

The woman hadn’t expected a girl like Fenrir to show up here; surprise flickered across her face. She swung Fenrir around to face her. In the next heartbeat, a surge of Aether burst from Fenrir’s body, shaking loose that grip, and a phantom unfurled before Fenrir’s eyes.

The phantom was Brynhildr, stance sharp as a drawn blade, yet her drifting steps and uncertain hands betrayed the maker behind the veil.

Heh… still fond of cheap tricks? Drop the cover. The source behind this projection must be strong, but you don’t have the knack. Your hands and feet scream fledgling. Go home and polish your glamours.

She snapped her fingers. Aether vaporized around Fenrir like fog under sun. The illusion, scaffolded on that Aether, collapsed in a breath, and the comical Brynhildr winked out.

When the Aether vanished, fear flashed in Fenrir’s eyes like a bird striking glass. She hadn’t expected this kind of strength. Her projection had borrowed a strand of Brynhildr’s Aether to take shape; without it, she couldn’t have formed something so whole.

She edged back on instinct, but a force barrier sealed her retreat like iron gates dropping. The figure drifted closer, calm as tide at dusk. Despair rose; Fenrir hugged her head and curled into the corner, small as a pebble under rain.

Pfft—

Just when Fenrir thought she’d be struck down, the figure couldn’t hold back a laugh. Seeing Fenrir huddled against the wall, she chuckled, stepped out of that radiant glow, scooped the trembling girl up, and gently moved her hands from her eyes.

Looking at you, you must be close with the me of this world, right?

Fenrir’s eyes snapped open. It was Brynhildr—yet as she tried to speak, the differences flooded in like starlight.

Golden hair fell to her heels like a comet’s tail, held aloft by an unseen pull so it never brushed the floor. Azure eyes held star-swirls that faded with a blink and reformed the next breath, like constellations breathing.

And most of all, the power coursing through this golden-haired “Brynhildr” felt vast as a sky at noon.

Right. I’m not the Brynhildr you mean. But she and I are the same person, across different times and worlds. Looks like… you’re my daughter in this world? Your blood runs pure, and you carry her power. Mm, you’ll blaze bright.

The golden-haired “Brynhildr” rubbed Fenrir’s head, gentle as apricot wind in spring. Across worlds, Brynhildr kept the habit of ruffling a junior’s hair—no malice, just quiet fondness.

Then how should I—

Mm… you could call me mother if you like—kidding. Call me Aphelia. The memory you’re watching is what I once lived, and I bear the name Aphelia.

Aphelia smiled. As she arrived, the world had already gone still, like a lake frozen midnight-blue. Cradling Fenrir like a daughter, she walked to the Aphelia lying upon the bed and sighed, equal parts helpless and wistful.

The me of your world likely hasn’t reached my realm, or I would have sensed her. Your mother sent you here, so she’s one step short. I don’t know what binds her feet. Since she sent you, it’s to nudge the future in place…

She looked at the Aphelia on the bed, pain carved into her face like frost fixed on glass. Golden-haired Aphelia lifted her head, recalling something distant as winter stars. She set Fenrir down, and a lance of gold split from her palm like dawn breaking.

Then go do it, child. Tell the me of the future: a hollow world with only one soul is no place to endure. Time’s up. Your name… Fenrir, right? In the name of the Stellar Goddess, I bless you. May you be undefeated in this life.

The odd blessing rang in Fenrir’s ears like a silver bell. Golden-haired Aphelia vanished in a blink, and time resumed its flow like a river un-dammed. Fenrir stood alone, feeling a golden sigil bloom warm on her brow, lost for a heartbeat.

Stellar Goddess… Aphelia?

Warmth pulsed from the sigil like sun through leaves. Fenrir seemed to grasp something, then lose it like smoke in wind. She turned, dazed yet resolute, and stepped back into the “memory.”

The manor’s upheaval couldn’t hide from Lilo’s father. He walked to her side, patted her shoulder like a steadying hand on a helm, and spoke low.

I’ve got the gist, Lilo. Take our honored guest to that lord. He can fix this.

Max’s words left Lilo puzzled, an eddy in a calm stream. But knowing it matched the instructions from the lord Aphelia sought, her taut heart slackened halfway. She nodded and moved for the door.

Max slid a hand out, blocking her with easy gravity.

Use the side gate.

He left it at that, then went on as if nothing had happened, leaving Lilo blinking in mild shock. He pushed the door open, let the authority of a house head roll out like thunder, pinned the chaos, gave brief orders to Fen and Shi outside, then told Bete to rally the estate guards for a sweep.

Lilo didn’t chase the oddness. She switched into a warrior’s robe like a wave changing color, grabbed a blanket, lifted Aphelia, and blinked straight to the manor’s side gate.

Mist veiled the imperial city in a pale shawl. Mana Crystal lamps on both sides glowed dimmer, like embers at midnight. Night ran deep; no one noticed the flash of her teleport.

Soon, servants eased a carriage from the estate like a boat slipping a quay. The two threw on gray cloaks, faces hidden under dusk-colored folds. Lilo didn’t fuss; she climbed aboard without a second thought.

Meanwhile, within Aphelia’s mindsea, two vast fields unfurled—one black, one white—like twin chessboards stretching to the horizon. A brutal war was carving itself across them.