In the Void of Aphelia’s era, Lena and her companions finally slipped the noose. Hunted into this ink-black sea by rebel knights, she’d won a single day to breathe—cool as dawn dew. Then a hand blocked her path.

“Lena, use the Aether Summoning Array. We might trace Lady Sigdrifa.”

“You kidding me? If you want it, you do it. You’re the homunculus who matches her best, Kainzbeln. We barely tucked ourselves into the Void—who knows if those rebels won’t hound us here?”

Frustration flared first, sharp as a thorn; Lena’s words followed. Kainzbeln only took her hands, serious as winter sky. Her tone sounded flat, but her face pleaded.

“Then let me do it, Lena.”

That earnest gaze pressed like a weight. Lena lost the fight with her own sigh. She turned, voice steady as oars on dark water, and had the crew aboard the warship ready the Aether Summoning Array.

Soon, Kainzbeln slipped off her white dress. In close-fitting undergarments, she stepped into the circle’s heart.

That array’s terms were cruel, flint on the tongue.

First, the user had to be intimately attuned to the Aether sought—no gap, no veil.

Second, the user had to be a pure virgin, male or female—snow without a footprint.

Third, the user had to have once received the summoned Will’s call without any outside aid.

Fourth, the user had to know the prayer.

Take away the last two, and this continent could still produce such talent. The third alone struck two-thirds from the board. No aid meant no baptism at birth, and no awakening by Sigdrifa’s rite before adulthood.

Those who met the first two were the ones Sigdrifa groomed with both hands. How could they skip baptism, skip awakening?

Homunculi were “cheap” only on paper. Miss the best age for Aether baptism and awakening, and a homunculus’s path broke like wet clay. Without Sigdrifa as lord to guide them, her creations had no edge in the world.

As for the prayer, no book or grimoire recorded it. Memory kept it—loyalists like Lena did—or Sigdrifa gifted it to the chosen. To this day, she’d passed no legacy beyond Lena.

Kainzbeln, of course, was that odd star flickering out of pattern.

“O merciful Holy Mother, O almighty Summoned Will, the humble child of man feels Your grace, and accepts Your radiance here.”

Kainzbeln went down on one knee, palms lifted to a sky that didn’t exist. In the Void, direction was a rumor.

On the warship’s deck, she bathed in the Void’s cold light. Pure-white Aether flowed off her like snowfall, and her clear features took on a saint’s hush.

“I’ve felt it for a while… Is Kainzbeln Lady Sigdrifa’s reincarnation? In battle she’s so alike. When she baptizes newborn homunculi… gods, it’s beautiful.”

The red-haired elf beside Lena stared, spellbound. Her whisper fluttered like a moth.

“Sorry. Even if I knew, I couldn’t say.”

Lena nudged her aside. The image of Kainzbeln, once held in Sigdrifa’s hand like a fragile pearl, still burned behind her eyes.

“The child of man begs here—bind the Summoned Will tight.”

As Kainzbeln rose on that last line, color bled from the world like ink in rain. All light drew down into her. From the Void’s depths, a Will answered in a sudden, ringing chord.

Lena blinked, then her brow knotted.

No way. Is this really Lady Sigdrifa’s Will?

“You who bask in my blessing, child of man—why do you call me?”

Kainzbeln floated, eyes sealed. Her lips didn’t move. The voice fell straight into their hearts like a bell-drop.

“O Summoned Will, Lena of the Purifier clan seeks Your answer.”

“The Purifier clan… so a thread of that blood remains?”

“Yes.”

The admission stuck in her throat like ice. Terror followed like a shadow. Purifier was what Sigdrifa called all homunculi. If this Will needed to ask, then—what was it?

“May I ask where You are now, Lady Sigdrifa? We desperately need Your salvation. Your children have raised the vilest rebellion.”

Silence pooled. Only Lena heard this exchange, and no one else dared breathe too loud, like fish under frost.

“What a foolish question. If you crave my presence so badly, then offer up your body. Let my great Will descend.”

Kainzbeln’s shoulders loosened; relief slid off her like warm rain. Lena’s hackles rose, a storm ready to break, but she didn’t dare sever the link. If that thing noticed her—

What in the abyss are you?

“Then, Lady Sigdrifa, is Kainzbeln truly your reincarnation? She found you because of your bond, didn’t she?”

The red-haired elf had slipped a link into the array while Lena was focused elsewhere. Hearing that Sigdrifa’s Will could descend lit her up like a torch. Her question hit, and the Summoned Will went silent at once.

“Lady Sigdrifa?”

She probed, careful as a fox. She’d only toyed with simple Will-array links before, not the deep, full rites Lena knew. The sudden hush finally set her nerves bristling.

“Lena, what’s wrong with that question?”

She backed up, a red glow threading her palm like ember-smoke.

The foreign Will cut off—clean. A powerful intent began to descend onto Kainzbeln’s body. Through the breath of that intent, one thing was clear as cold water. It wasn’t Sigdrifa.

No one here was a fool. Steel whispered free.

Lena’s face went pale. Even a failed call should pull a fragment of Sigdrifa’s shadow, or her Will. Unless something strong enough drowned out Sigdrifa’s Aether, smothering her summons.

That Summoned Will could seize a body without cost—but how would they call Kainzbeln’s soul back?

The array severs flesh from spirit first, so a Will can wear the body for a heartbeat. When the rite ends, it takes that severing with it, and the user wakes.

But now, the Will had vanished between one breath and the next, without even an answer. Just how deadly was the thing it met?

Worse, the severing force remained. No one could dispel it. Not even a body closest to Sigdrifa.

The red-haired elf flashed a signal. They spread, forming a ring around Kainzbeln.

“Gah!”

Kainzbeln, still aloft, twisted with pain carved into her face. Blood leapt from her lips, and she slammed to the deck.

“Kainzbeln!”

“Kainzbeln!”

Lena and the others cried out and rushed to lift her. The circle under her feet drank her blood and vanished, gone like breath on glass.

“Damn it, what is this? Is there a Will stronger than Lady Sigdrifa?”

The red-haired elf didn’t charge. Her face went dark as stormcloud. Her greatshield broke apart in her hands, piece by piece, into a pure-white cube. She snapped it together and pitched it skyward.

The cube burst midair. A net of dark-red threads lashed out to every side like spider silk, then winked from sight.

“Hey! That was the last one!”

Kroc grabbed her by the collar and roared.

“What if this is a Will stronger than Lady Sigdrifa?”

“And did you think about Kainzbeln’s condition?!”

“Tch…”

She had no words for his bite. Kainzbeln mattered, yes—but the flock came first—she told herself—yet…

“Red-hair! Calm down. Kainzbeln’s not in mortal danger. Haimer did the right thing.”

Seeing the clash spark, Lena shoved between them like a wedge and forced Kroc back.

“She saved my life while we fled. I owe her a life.”

Kroc brushed Lena aside, voice cold as iron.

“I know. I get it. But Kainzbeln only hit a snag, and her mind may still return. If there’s someone out there stronger than Lady Sigdrifa, then burning the Aether-blood to summon Sigdrifa’s Will keeps us alive. It buys time to bring Kainzbeln back.”

She patted Kroc’s shoulder, coaxing the heat down. Kainzbeln’s sacrifice would never leave their bones. Same for Kroc. But if a power existed above Sigdrifa, then spending the perfect catalyst for her descent—the Aether-blood—was the only sane choice.

Aether-blood was forged in the Brynhildr-era war, where a Summoned Will mingled with Sigdrifa’s own blood. Calling it blood was wrong; it had lost every trait of blood. It was a bomb in liquid skin. Only a divine tool could suppress and remake it, turning it into a twin-edged Aether relic: it could shatter the Summoned Will and force down Sigdrifa’s power, or let Sigdrifa’s Will replace the vessel’s will, bringing a near-perfect “Sigdrifa” into the world.

Everyone knew how lethal it was. No one dared name it outright.

Such a thing shouldn’t rest in homunculus hands. Only because Lena’s status was different had Sigdrifa entrusted the Aether-blood to her before leaving—in case the road reached the cliff’s edge.

“Watch out!”

Lena’s scream cracked the air. Heads snapped up on instinct.

A storm of pure-white thorned lances hung overhead, all aimed at Kainzbeln on the deck.

They quivered like caged beasts, then plunged with a shrill whoosh, spearing for Kainzbeln.

“Damn it!”

The red-haired elf moved first. Her greatshield broke into a river of quicksilver, wrapping Kainzbeln tight.

“Not enough!”

White-thorn lances slammed the silver shell. The impact crushed bone; the elf’s arm shattered like dry twig, and she shouted for help.

“Holy Sanctuary!”

Lena drew an ancient staff from the Void. With its arrival, the elements flared like a lit prairie, ripples so fierce even the ungifted could see them with naked eyes.

Lena didn’t even glance; she unleashed the defense spell etched into her staff, its power skimming the realm of a True God.

A pure-white wall of light rose like a glacier and cocooned them. The red-haired elf seized the moment, pulled back her shield, and set to repairing it at speed.

“Krok, Redhair—where are the divine artifacts Lady Sigdrifa gave you?!”

“On it!”

“Give me a moment.”

From nowhere, the red-haired elf hauled out a massive blood-red coffin and braced it beneath the light wall, a scarlet altar under a pale moon.

Krok gripped the long blade at her waist, clutching a sleeping thunderbolt. She took a draw stance, a bowstring pulled taut. The steel trembled with her breath, a pulse beating in metal.

“Codex of Slaughter—Detonation Mode!”

“Death Bloom!”

Redhair flung open the other blood-red coffin. Spear after spear surged out in a frenzy. They flew like moths to flame, tangling with the pure-white spears. The ash-haired youth had finished charging too, muscles tight as wire.

“Draw-cut!”

A heartbeat ago the blade was dull. As it cleared the sheath, it flashed. Killing intent heaved like a storm tide, crashing toward the white spears that were savaging the shield. Krok rode the wave and unleashed her strongest draw-cut.

The world held its breath. The pure-white spears battering the dome went still. The light along Krok’s blade snuffed out like a dying star.

Glass-shatter rang out. Every pure-white thorn striking the shield broke, porcelain smashed to dust, fragments raining like ice.

“Hah…”

Exhaustion hit first, heavy as wet sand. Krok panted hard. That cut had drained her dry. She’d forged it long ago to assassinate Brynhildr’s personal Valkyrie guards. She never thought she’d call on it again—after so many years, and here of all places.