They both saw it—the flicker like a torn shadow—Chen Xiaoyin caught the remnant, but Night Frost saw clearer, like moonlight cutting mist, the Monster aimed at Chen.

The Monster was sly, a fox in thorns, and knew while Chen stood, its desire would stay caged; its strength lagged behind the last monster tide’s Cantata Two.

It measured Chen Xiaoyin and Night Frost with predator’s eyes, like a cold wind tasting snow.

In its gaze, the girl in a silver-white short skirt traced with pale blue was Chen Xiaoyin, a shield-weaver like a pearl shell.

Her aura said she’d just stepped into Cantata Two, yet her shields were mountains, far heavier than her current hands could lift.

Without doubt, she was a prodigy, a spring well under stone.

The other girl, Night Frost, gray-white hair flowing like ash smoke, red-black dress, dark-gold eyes like dusk coins.

Her base strength scraped the threshold of Cantata Two, yet her fire and body were iron, crafting the power of veteran Cantata Two.

That Black Flame, source unknown, was a night river through a monster tide, and even the fox-thing flinched like grass in fire.

Together, in a dead-end, they would erupt like a volcano under ice, as the old Magic Maidens had in storm-lit years.

History since the birth of Magic Maidens was a tide of miracles, last-minute lights that crushed darkness like frost on blade.

Sometimes a whole team fell, like candles in rain, yet their enemies were sealed or slain, like stones dropped into a well.

The Earthrealm, in sum, was weaker, a plain under a sky of iron.

It had wide soil the Abyss lacked, fields to grow mid-tier tech like winter wheat, yet few true titans, and its reach forced strength to scatter like birds.

Every monster army’s charge was broken by a scant dozen, sparks against a flood; high ranks were scarce, mid ranks thin.

And still, miracles rose like dawns; that power drove Monsters out like receding tide, and cities breathed peace like sleeping lakes.

It was a Beast of the Abyss, a prior wave’s invader, driven out by a Magic Maiden, nursing hatred like a thorn.

After healing, it pushed further, and with Chapter Three descending like a black moon, it enslaved Monsters to vent bile.

Black fur matted with dark-red blood, it licked its claws like knives, fox ears twitching, scarlet eyes pinned Night Frost as if nailed.

“Human Cantata Two Blood is delicious,” it purred, like silk over bone, “and sorrow and fear are exquisite, like wine in winter.”

Shock choked Night Frost; grief and fury flooded her sight like a red sea; Monsters swarmed like ants, tearing flesh, biting her throat.

Her necklace snapped like brittle wire; the Key vanished into the tide, a pebble swallowed by a river.

Her dark-gold pupils lost focus, like lanterns blown out; the buried black curse seeped outward, oil in water, lighting spilled blood.

Black Flame raced like night grass fire; by Night Frost’s side, even First Symphony could not halt that blaze.

They could only die howling, voices like cracked bells, charcoal beneath clinging black fire.

The smart Monsters skulked tens of meters away, watching flames glue bodies to ash, like tar on driftwood.

“So it’s the heart?” the fox crooned, eyes like needles. “Such a beautiful heart, drawing me like a moth.”

Through Black Flame and white bone like a cage, the fox saw Night Frost’s heart bare, beating heavy with the scent of Myth.

If it ate that heart, it would step into Myth like a stone onto a bridge, and attain Chapter Three like a crown.

A rare treasure, a comet crossing fields; if its guess was right, it was the Myth Black Dragon’s heart, eleven years by Earthrealm reckoning.

That heart in a girl below Cantata Two was a bargain pulled from storm; it only had to wait for that pesky Black Flame to gutter.

At the orphanage, Qianchun and Hao Wenqian watched the outer chaos thin like fog and knew Chen Xiaoyin had fallen into trouble.

Black Flame speared the near sky like a pillar, promising to burn everything to bone; clearly, disaster had torn their road.

They wanted to help, feet like arrows, but Monsters snagged them like brambles; behind them stood Director Hao and dozens of children.

Qianchun pressed her hand to her heart, a sparrow in a cage; she prayed Night Frost would return, and dread whispered otherwise.

That fight seemed done, yet more Monsters reached the orphanage like a second tide; Hao Wenqian and Qianchun staggered like spent swimmers.

Each slam against the barrier rang like a drum; the Magic Stones holding it neared their limit like candles dripping.

Night Frost, wounds like cracked glass, slumped to the ground; her sight was red and black braided like smoke and wine.

Chen Xiaoyin’s body lay not far, a fallen petal, black blood blooming and seeping into the dark ground like ink.

Two clear tears slid from those unfocused dark-gold eyes, stars falling; the Black Flame kissed them and they vanished as steam.

She raised a hand of white bone like winter branches, inching toward Chen Xiaoyin’s body, fingers trembling like leaves.

“Ah… ha…” Her breath rasped like bellows, fighting for air and hope.

She set her palm on Chen’s cooling body, a stone in a stream, and with the other hand, lifted her gently like porcelain.

At that instant, red and black split like a curtain; a door wrapped in rusty chains floated in that world like a dead star.

The whole world then flipped like a bowl, colors around Night Frost melting together, and black pooled like ink on paper.

Chen Xiaoyin’s body unraveled fast in that space, black ash like burned charcoal, folding into endless dark like snow in water.

“No… no!” The cry tore free like cloth, raw and bright.

Her throat forced out a heart-rending howl, a blade through silk, sharp enough to draw Blood.

Chen Xiaoyin was the closest in eleven years, a hearth in winter, dearer than the director granny, though no blood bound them.

She was gentle, a sister like spring rain; sometimes she nagged, not fitting her young beauty, but her care was a lantern.

Even after leaving the orphanage, paths split like forks, she still watched Night Frost like a hawk over a nest.

Night Frost hadn’t told Chen her identity, hadn’t thanked her with a warm light; now she was gone, a flame snuffed to shield her.

Night Frost hammered the ground weakly, fists like hail; she hated her lack of progress, hated the hollow where strength should stand.

In hindsight, she had been arrogant, a reed pretending to be oak.

With Magic Maiden power, she thought she could do anything, each reversal a sweet drug dulling her nerves like snow.

Before, she would have watched the one behind her like a shepherd; she wouldn’t have let the Monster’s trick hit bone.

She finally understood the Eye Orb’s warning, but the cost was Chen Xiaoyin’s death, a toll like iron.

She looked at the near door, almost one with black, a shadow of iron, and guessed it was the path to Cantata Two.

Push it, and she’d claim Cantata Two, brush Chapter Three’s strength like frost, kill the fox and cleanse the tide like wind.

“And after that?” The question fell like a pebble, ripples in tar.

A cold hiss rose from the dark, a rasp like chains, echoing until her ears ached and bled like thin lines.

“After?” Night Frost braced a hand on the ground, hair black and white hanging like torn silk; she refused the thought like bitter tea.

“I’ll tell you, poor thing; here’s the answer,” the voice crooned, a knife wrapped in velvet.

Light stood in the black like a pillar; it unfolded outward, flooding those dark-gold eyes, driving darkness like geese in autumn.

Sparks of light drifted from Night Frost’s eyes like fireflies; she stood high over a ruined city, seeing the Twelfth District laid bare.

The violet Rift was an arm’s length away, a wound in the sky; reach, and you’d touch cold glass.

“There is your school, and opposite is where you grew up; watch,” the voice murmured, a teacher with iron.

In the air, an insect body rolled like a log; Moon Owl tore space and landed atop that hulking form like a falcon.

The cold Blade sliced space like ice, skipped past hard shell, and stabbed the bug’s skin like a needle into leather.

Space particles composing the cold Blade detonated like stars, blasting flesh within like clay pots shattering.

The white knight with one remaining arm slammed in, a comet, knocking the bug away like a barrel.

Ink-green saliva oozed like swamp water; the white knight misstepped, her left leg corroded fast like iron in acid.

She raised her lone hand, hammered the ground like a gong; she hung midair, then fell like a stone.

The insect Monster lifted its head and charged her like a train, jaws singing.

Moon Owl finished the incantation etched on the Magic Stone, words like frost, and unlocked again like chains falling.

The Abyssal Rift in the sky tugged as if by her power, and a spatial tear opened along the carapace like a split seam.

A section of the Monster’s surface ripped free like bark, yet its giant pincers crushed the white knight like porcelain.

Yuan Dai’s body shattered, more than half broken, half her form driven into the ground like a stake, blood rain mixing with dust.

Moon Owl had given everything; her Magic Armor scattered like feathers, leaving her bare to knives.

The insect Monster pivoted and tore her skin like paper, ground bone like grain, and swallowed her like thunder.

The black sky took a layer of bloodstain, a greasy sheen; scarlet rain pattered, then poured, mourning two of Chapter Three.

The Twelfth District seemed cut off, an island under storm; even as Chapter Three fell, the outside stayed blind like closed eyes.

Golden holy light, ice-blue crystals, black-and-white wings kept fighting in blood rain like birds in hail.

Hordes of Monsters, led by Chapter Three like wolves, trampled the soil of the Twelfth District like drums.

They roared till holy light was swallowed by darkness like night tide; ice crystals shattered like glass; stained wings fell onto ruins.

The barrier floated upward like crumbs, a broken veil; children’s cries were buried by rain like seeds under mud.

Wind stopped flowing, a held breath; the playground of childhood was rubble, bones of a house.

“Do you see? This is the end,” the voice said, a bell at midnight. “After, Monsters crush your home; you die; everyone dies.”

“Open that door, step into Cantata Two, and what changes?” it hissed. “Besides, I can bring her back,” it tempted like honey.

The voice paused, and the void opened deep dark-gold eyes, wells under iron; chains snapped and hummed like metal snakes.

“You can bring her back? The price?” Night Frost asked, her words flint.

“Your body and soul,” it said, silk over poison, “I guarantee,” like a contract burning.

“Take them all,” Night Frost said, a blade drawn. “I want them to pay, I want her back, I want to shield what I love.”

“Hold what I failed to hold,” she vowed, a knot tied in storm.

As her words fell, darkness scattered into breaking chains, iron splitting like brittle ice.

“Hahahahaha— I grant it!” the voice boomed, thunder in a cavern.