Night Frost twisted the bracelet; heat surged like a geyser of Mana and wrapped her whole body. Crimson Gold Flame coiled at her waist and spilled into a black skirt trimmed with CrimsonGoldFlame patterns.

Cuffs settled over her pale hands; silver-lit strands fell like a waterfall from the air. A bow woven from Mana pulled her silver hair into a ponytail that draped her back like silk.

Gold filigree pinned a black vest; her crimson-gold eyes glimmered, bright beacons in the dark compartment. White stockings and brown high boots hugged her legs; flame at her soles left lotus prints with every step.

Pain still pricked along her frame, but moving was fine. Mana worked like glue, hauling her fractured bones into place. Her heart beat strong, and she felt that dragon heart tied to her with a quiet thread.

She lifted her palm; the Crimson Gold Flame held an extra stroke of gold now—her will etched into fire, a mark that belonged only to her.

A lilting murmur rose from the flames and woke her spirit; what else they could do, Night Frost would have to dig out herself.

She pushed the door open. The module was small; there were hands at the exit, but none could net her. She stepped onto a gravel path and slipped into the night like a shadow.

One problem gnawed at her: she didn’t know where Chen Xiaoyin was. She’d lain here for who knew how long; the state outside was a blank. A single person to ask would be a lantern in this dark.

The land sat empty; wasteland wind held no guideposts. Thinking it through, she felt like turning back, yet the tightness in her chest refused to loosen.

Fine—search nearby. If nothing turned up, she’d crawl back and lie down again.

Her core still balked at being a girl, yet whenever the outfit settled, that aversion melted away. It felt seamless, as if Night Frost were meant to be a girl from the start.

She pressed a palm over that pounding heart. The Eye Orb had said that, once dressed, her thoughts leaned toward the dragon. So… was the dragon a she? The voice was rough; gender hid behind gravel.

Close enough, she thought.

Maybe it was dust swirled through space, or anomalies birthed by the Abyssal Rift. Day had burned like a kiln, yet night brushed Cantata Two Night Frost with thin threads of cold.

She found a rubble hill and munched stolen crumbs of a shattered biscuit. On the highest slab, she scanned the barren spread like a hawk on a branch.

Cool moonlight spilled down. A truck bumped over distant ruins and limped closer—finally, a human face in this empty sea.

She flicked away the paper bag, skimmed over broken stones, and reached the slow, struggling truck as easily as a leaf riding wind.

“Hey—do you know the way to the Order Keeper?”

The driver jolted at the girl from nowhere and slammed the brake. The truck nosed down, then settled on the gravel like a beast crouching.

Her question landed word for word. In the headlamps, he took in her attire. He worked in the Order Keeper branch’s Aftermath team, the boots that cleaned up messes.

He hadn’t seen many secrets, but in recent days he’d seen all the Magic Maidens in the Twelfth District. He’d never seen this one.

Blade had told them: if an unknown Magic Maiden appears, guide her south. People there would check who she was.

The Twelfth District hadn’t needed such steps. After disaster, enemies pressed from every direction; this was necessity, not choice.

He thought for a breath, then pointed south, a compass needle under a human hand.

“I’m not sure, but lots of Magic Maidens have gone that way lately.”

Night Frost nodded. Flame boosted underfoot, and her thanks trailed like smoke in the air. He turned the Key, lit the engine, and rolled on toward the hospital.

Her body still felt off; pain slid between bones with each motion. She could bear it; grit was a shield.

After ascending to Cantata Two, her speed had climbed; crossing the Twelfth District took a bit over an hour. The spot he’d indicated was close; after half an hour’s run, she found it.

The buildings here still stood, survivors of a missile sweep. Magic Maidens had claimed them like birds taking over old eaves. Military tents ringed the walls; refugees had rested here, though tonight it felt wind-empty.

“Ahh, the Twelfth turned into this because of those idiots!”

A few patrolling Magic Maidens walked by, muttering about the missiles that fell days ago and turned their homes into scars.

She wanted to know where those missiles came from, but that wasn’t her burden to carry. Less trouble, less mess—she let the stone drop.

Chen Xiaoyin, though—that she could ask about.

She strode up to two girls and tapped their backs with a finger, light as rain. They flinched, yanked Arcane Firearms from waist pockets, and aimed at her head.

“Easy, easy. I’m asking for directions. Do you know where Chen Xiaoyin is?”

One glance told them she was Cantata Two; resistance drained like water from cupped hands. They stowed their guns—Cantata Two wasn’t a fight they could win, even if she were an enemy.

And the boss had said it clear: in a special period like this, don’t force battles you’ll lose.

“Chen Xiaoyin—you mean the new Cantata Two? I haven’t seen her lately. They say she’s busy, busy with… something.”

Night Frost nodded, and a gust lifted behind her, wobbling her footing like grass in a sudden draft. A hand patted her shoulder; a cold, familiar voice brushed her ear.

“If you’re searching, you can tell me, Miss Night Frost.”

She turned her head. A black rift in space knit itself shut behind her, and the Moon Owl in a dark coat stood like a crow at her back.

“Uh—I just remembered I left my laundry out!”

She tried to leave; space locked down like frost on water. No struggle split that cage.

Crimson Gold Flame clung to her skin like petals. If escape failed, she’d face Moon Owl—Cantata Three, unsealed. Crushing Night Frost would be easy, a heel on a spark.

She’d watched Moon Owl duel that sky-crawling bug for half a day. Night Frost had no wish to pick a fight she couldn’t win; she let the fire fold away.

“I was fishing for a catch. Didn’t expect you… Come in and talk?”

Night Frost knew there was no refusing; Moon Owl’s eyes were iron doors. Moon Owl waved the two girls off, and Night Frost followed, quiet as a cat.

“Someone behind us.”

“Don’t worry.”

Moon Owl dialed a satellite phone; at the branch, Blade caught the message and sprung up, gathering the scattered papers like leaves.

“It’s safe here.”

They walked ten-odd minutes into an underground dead end. Moon Owl laid a palm on the wall and bled in her Mana. Stone and Mana fused, and, to Night Frost’s shock, the wall melted away like salt in water.

She recognized a kind of Formation—she’d seen it in her cheap old master’s books. This kind wasn’t cheap to carve.

Beyond the fading wall stretched a narrow, bottomless corridor, twin in spirit to black market tunnels.

“This is it.”

They took the passage, rode a vertical lift down, cleared gate after gate, and reached a small underground council chamber, a cave of quiet echoes.

Yes, a council chamber—and Night Frost had walked nearly thirty minutes to reach this hidden throat.

She was about to gripe when Moon Owl produced a slender bracelet and slid it onto her wrist. The moment it clasped, most of her Mana drained away, leaving just enough to hold her body and Magic Armor like thread through fabric.

Moon Owl left, and from the other side came a mature woman with crimson hair. Her sway was honey-thick, nearly pulling Night Frost’s eyes like moths to a lantern.

Who doesn’t love a big, curvy woman!!

Blade, weighted by heavy dark circles, ignored the stare. She nearly dozed on sitting, then dragged herself back to wakefulness like a swimmer to shore.

“I’m Blade, acting lead of the Twelfth District. You were slated to die. You saved Moon Owl, so we argued it through and let you live. We still can’t let you go—because you’re dangerous, too dangerous.”

Blade pulled two canned coffees from a drawer; Night Frost waved it off. She propped her cheek on her hand and felt the hollow in her core. Once, she could bloom a brilliant flame; now, only a fingertip ember flickered.

Blade cracked one can, took a sip, and spoke slow, words like stones set in a path.

“For reasons unknown, tests show your Abyssal Aura has thinned. It’s just a shade heavier than a normal Magic Maiden’s—about the acceptable local line.”

That was good. Lingchen Yao’s identity was dead weight; Night Frost’s was recognized now. No more ducking every shadow; Magic Maidens of the Twelfth District had no reason to hunt her. Yet joy didn’t land; it hovered like a bird that wouldn’t perch.

“So, I hired a Formation master to craft this bracelet. It seals your combat Mana, leaves a portion for free motion. That’s how we sleep at night.”

Night Frost smelled a sour note on the metal; even her toes knew her cheap old master had made it. So he’d been enlisted by the Twelfth’s Magic Maidens—after cursing them to her face…

Breaking it soon was a dream; her formation-carving craft was clumsy, blunt as a dull knife.

She toyed with the two bracelets on her wrist and looked at Blade, puzzled. If it was just this, why drag her through half the underworld and drown her in empty words?

Blade read her annoyance and cut the fog.

“I like talking to sharp minds. I brought you here for two things. First, to clean up those tails we can’t seem to shake.”