After advancing to Cantata Two, the Magic Stone on Chen Xiaoyin’s wrist unfolded a Mana shield—called a shield, but it struck ordinary bugs like a ringing shockwave.

Against First Symphony or Cantata Two foes, though, that force was just rain on armor.

But Chen Xiaoyin wasn’t just turtling; her stance flashed like a drawn blade.

It wasn’t the Mutual Aid Society’s usual style of Magic Maiden at all; the Order Keeper was parched for hybrids who could guard and strike like her.

Shame her compass pointed to the Mutual Aid Society, not the Order Keeper.

From a heap of rubble, Night Frost panted, watching Chen Xiaoyin carve through the street like a comet through moths.

A heartbeat earlier, at death’s edge, the Magic Maiden in a red‑and‑black dress—the voice that lifted her like winter steel—had been Night Frost.

Night Frost had fought a Cantata Two at the school gate and lost; clutching four or five fresh First Symphony Magic Stones, she headed for Yunyang Orphanage like cupped embers.

Halfway, she found Chen Xiaoyin being eaten by a swarm—blood and ragged flesh that stabbed the eyes—so Night Frost scattered the bugs like ash on a gust.

She thought Chen’s life had run out; grief welled from Night Frost’s core like a black tide, a silent curse seeping from her body, ink to stain earth sky‑dark.

But the Eye Orb told her Chen could be saved; the Magic Stone in Chen’s hand could become her strength and push her to Cantata Two.

Once she crossed, her life would harden; in gamer terms, her max health would tick up, with a sliver of a second bar.

The blackness drew back into Night Frost like a receding tide; she felt nothing wrong, and dusky‑gold eyes caught a flit of light.

The Eye Orb said the Crimson Magic Stone had resonated with Chen, shoving her to Cantata Two’s threshold; only one last kick remained.

But her heart wasn’t whole—same as Night Frost’s—a mirror with a hairline crack.

Chen Xiaoyin had little time left; her leaking life thumped an alarm in Night Frost’s chest, drumbeat after drumbeat.

Night Frost’s words struck sparks in the dying girl, and together they pushed open Cantata Two’s door like dawn pushing cloud.

That was a miracle you don’t repeat, a lone bolt on a clear sea.

“Looks like she’s fine,” Night Frost breathed, like testing a taut bowstring.

She caught her breath, pushed herself up, and moved toward Yunyang Orphanage like a shadow crossing snow.

Overhead, a deep‑violet rift kept spreading, greedy as a maw, as if to swallow the entire Twelfth District.

At a certain reach, the purple crack branched like a tree; webbed fissures roofed the sky, and bug‑shaped Monsters stooped through, diving like hail.

Night Frost quickened her steps; the orphanage lay under those veins, close to the main tear, which meant stronger prey.

Truth be told, she didn’t expect much from Hao Wenqian; at best, a candle in wind—she only hoped they were hidden well.

Outside the orphanage, sure enough, a swarm scented living flesh and ringed the place like a black wreath.

They didn’t move yet, and that let Night Frost release a locked breath, like frost melting off glass.

Looks like Hao Wenqian’s unharmed, she thought, a stone sliding off her chest.

But in the swarm, two or three carried First Symphony strength; they could take Hao Wenqian, yet they only circled, never struck.

What were they wary of, like jackals eyeing a thorn?

At the yard’s edge, Night Frost learned why the swarm held back.

A long bamboo pole jutted from the house, its base weighed down; at the outer tip hung a bug’s corpse.

In life it had First Symphony strength; now it was a scarecrow, its Magic Stone gouged from beneath the skull, the body hung as a warning.

Near the carcass, Night Frost felt a thread of wind Mana; Hao Wenqian’s Magic Stone focused on body enhancement—this wasn’t her handiwork.

In Night Frost’s memory, only Qianchun wielded wind Mana and knew Yunyang Orphanage; only someone raised underground with back‑alley ties would hang a head to cow low‑wit Monsters.

I told her to stay put, Night Frost thought, but thank the stars she came—Hao Wenqian alone couldn’t have held this ring.

Flames, cold as judgment, devoured the Monsters at the gate; Night Frost’s Mana was almost spent.

She’d burned too much dodging Cantata Two assaults at the academy, then more shielding Chen Xiaoyin to reach Cantata Two.

Even with Magic Stones crushed to refill Mana, body and mind paid—the fatigue pooled like lead.

She skirted the dangling corpse and tapped the railing; the crisp clink drew Qianchun and Hao Wenqian, both catching their breath inside.

“You’re—the one from before!”

Propped in the doorway, Hao Wenqian recognized Night Frost: pale‑skinned, gray‑white hair, English tailoring—the Magic Maiden who’d helped her at the hospital.

Gratitude warmed her, but wariness pricked, and guilt wavered; after the hospital incident, she’d told the Order Keeper everything.

The leader, a girl codenamed Moon Owl, warned her to be careful; they called the girl before her a Fallen One.

Fallen Ones are Magic Maidens who chase power into the Abyss, or things birthed by the Abyss wearing a girl’s face and Mana.

They carry Abyssal Aura by nature; when it grows thick enough, rifts open like wounds.

No doubt—she was born the enemy of this world, a wolf under a veil.

Though Night Frost had saved Hao Wenqian, she wouldn’t forget her stance; as an Order Keeper trainee, she stood with humans and barred the Abyss.

Hao Wenqian hesitated, torn like paper between hands.

As she began to ask Night Frost why she’d come, Qianchun stepped out first and stood before her.

“Relax—she’s a friend,” Qianchun said, steady as stone. “She cleared the gate; she’s here to help us.”

Hao Wenqian knew Lingchen Yao, but not Night Frost; Qianchun knew Night Frost had saved her, and knew Hao Wenqian’s stance—Night Frost hadn’t hidden any of it.

Qianchun had far more combat miles than Hao Wenqian; she sensed Night Frost’s Mana ran low, Abyssal Aura outweighing it like smoke over a candle.

Night Frost was absorbing raw Magic Stones to suppress the Aura; that shakes the air and speeds the rift’s spread.

Drop the transformation and flush the Abyssal Aura—that was the urgent task, as pressing as stopping a bleed.

This was Qianchun’s time to speak and loosen Hao Wenqian’s knot.

She drew Hao Wenqian aside; after a bout of persuasion, Hao Wenqian nodded, half‑believing, and invited Night Frost to the back room to rest.

I can’t shake the feeling those two share an unspeakable secret, Hao Wenqian thought.

It’s like they’ve known each other forever—and that girl feels strangely familiar.

How could she be, she told herself; I only met her once. It must be a trick of the light.

She shook her head, leaned on the steel door, and watched the street, eyes like lanterns.

Qianchun found clothes Lingchen Yao had worn years ago and left here.

He’d grown in high school, yet the fit was uncanny; that saying about “high schoolers still growing” just didn’t stick to Lingchen Yao.

She passed the clothes to Night Frost and stood outside, back to the door, quiet as a pine.

Inside, Night Frost dismissed the Magic Armor; pale skin showed tiny punctures, bites left by the swarm outside the academy.

With his monstrous recovery, the wounds had already faded like dew.

Clothed, Lingchen Yao chose to stay and recover Mana and strength; he wouldn’t tell Hao Wenqian he was Night Frost, lest he shove her to the other side.

“Is that really right, keeping it from her?” Qianchun stepped in; Lingchen Yao shook his head.

“You’re right,” she said at last, “but I still think you should tell her soon; otherwise, you’ll be the one who hurts. She grew up with you, didn’t she? She’ll understand.”

Silence draped the air; Lingchen Yao absorbed Magic Stones set on the array and said nothing.

“Let him have a moment alone,” the Eye Orb hopped to Qianchun’s shoulder and said; “this is his own wall to climb.”

“Compared to Chen Xiaoyin’s resolve to protect, Lingchen Yao needs to face what’s real in his heart.”

“He always tries to bury everything—so unlike the self he becomes when transformed.”

“If he sees it through, he’ll advance to Cantata Two and become his true self.”

Qianchun caught a few words—“Cantata Two”—and froze, mid‑step.

“Cantata Two? How is that only First Symphony!”

“You know this,” the Eye Orb said. “Lingchen Yao’s transformation came from Aklatia’s experiments.”

“He’s not a Magic Maiden in the strict sense; the definition doesn’t fit him clean.”

“He’s First Symphony with the combat of a Cantata Two; once he advances to Cantata Two, he should match a weak Chapter Three without any unsealing.”

Qianchun knew about the experiment, but he’d never told her he was First Symphony.

“What’s wrong—regrets?” the Eye Orb teased.

Qianchun shook her head; she’d said it and would not regret it—once she decides, she doesn’t stray. That’s her line in the sand.

“He’s not ordinary, and he isn’t First Symphony on the surface, anyway.”

“If my boss were still alive, I think he’d love you—love your loyalty,” the Eye Orb quipped.

“I serve Lingchen Yao,” Qianchun said. “However great your boss was, he can’t poach me.”

“Fair enough.”

While the one and the orb traded words, the rift was yanked wide.

Two gigantic compound eyes, crimson as twin moons, hung over the tottering purple sky.