Night Frost sat primly on the bed, her sky-blue silk dress quiet as a lake at dawn. The air between Chen Xiaoyin and Qianchun felt starched with awkwardness. Words snagged in her throat; a small misunderstanding misted the room.

“Are you Yao’s girlfriend?”

Chen Xiaoyin’s gaze cut like frost-edged glass. Night Frost’s spine chilled; her Mana faltered, and she almost slumped like a candle losing heat.

Qianchun shook her head. She wasn’t, though the wish tugged like a secret thread. It was a long shot, and as a subordinate, it felt improper as thunder in a shrine.

Chen’s eyes softened, then snapped to Night Frost like a hawk to motion. Trouble thudded in Night Frost’s chest. She tilted her head away, but Chen caught her clean, mask peeled.

“Kids grow up and hide everything from their sister, huh? Always slacking off—look at you now! I told you to protect yourself out there. And look at the state you’re in…”

Being scolded in public—once at her brother, now at her “sister”—seared like a blush under noon sun. Night Frost kept her head down; Qianchun was definitely swallowing a grin.

“Let me explain!”

Her plea rang like a pebble breaking a still pond. Chen’s stream of nagging paused, breath held.

“I’m listening.”

Chen sat Qianchun beside her and picked up the alloy bracer from the floor, fastening it to her forearm with metallic certainty. Night Frost shivered; the gesture sounded like a blade being tested.

She was going to tell Chen the truth, but for the sake of her ears, she salted it with melodrama and told the whole story anyway.

Aklatia’s last survivor found her; she inherited the Calamity Dragon’s heart and became a Magic Maiden. Then came a tragic play, ink-dark and rain-sweet.

Qianchun, knowing the facts, thought Night Frost’s crying was staged, a drizzle pulled from a bucket. Chen believed it—whether out of kindness or conviction, hard to say.

“That’s the gist of it.”

Chen, hearing Night Frost’s misfortune, offered sympathy like a hand in winter, and she bristled with sharp displeasure at the Eye Orb for laying this sin on her shoulders.

Let’s hope the Eye Orb doesn’t get chased by Chen Xiaoyin’s Blade when it returns.

Reconstruction was still a skeleton of scaffolds, but after talking, and learning Night Frost was Lingchen Yao, Chen wanted to push her chair and take her out for a walk. Night Frost didn’t refuse; a breeze was welcome.

Qianchun gave them time, leaving a paper report tucked under a fruit basket for Night Frost to read, ink smelling faintly of rain.

By day, the ruins stretched farther, like a field after harvest. At night they were corpse-still, a world erased. Daylight, though, showed sprouts of life breaking soil, green flickers in gray ash.

Night Frost rode the wheelchair; Chen pushed, footsteps soft as felt. Jiuqiong University’s modular cabin was broad as a ferry. Inside were several thousand people. Some, bored and barely injured, set up stalls nearby. The Order Keeper allowed it, asking only a ten percent tax each day like a tithe to stability.

Their wandering drew stares like moths to lanterns. Both were striking, Magic Maidens cut from starlight. Night Frost’s sickly-pale, fine face with that pure sky-blue dress made her easy to love, like porcelain kept on a windowsill.

Chen bought her snacks. Without her gear, eating was tricky; Chen fed her herself, one careful bite like a sip of warm tea.

Being this old and still fed by your sister—embarrassment bubbled like steam.

Orange glazed the sun; a round moon perched on treetops, pouring cool, clear light. They went back to the cabin under its silver spill.

Night Frost’s constitution was iron under silk, stronger than most Magic Maidens. The dragon heart plus the vast Mana of Cantata Two worked like twin furnaces. Wounds that should have been fatal faded by half in a week. With a few more quiet weeks, she’d be healed.

“When you’re better, remember to go to class.”

Chen didn’t forget to nudge her, voice warm and firm as a kettle lid.

Night Frost started to nod, then froze like a deer in frost.

Class?

She was already on the payroll. Why class? They’d made her a new student ID. The contract even said she couldn’t abuse power. Under Chen’s pressure, this semester was unavoidable, like rain that knows your roof.

She picked up Qianchun’s report under the fruit basket. Qianchun had been working with the Order Keeper lately, gathering neat stacks of Magic Stones.

She was also quietly recruiting for Aklatia. The roster had grown to several dozen. Some were left behind by larger groups during evacuation; Qianchun had poached them with patient taps, brick by brick.

Her finances and pitch had sharpened since they first met, like a blade honed on river stone. This line suited her.

Ever since Chen Xiaoyin learned Night Frost’s true identity, Night Frost’s hanging heart settled, a kite reeled in.

On the bed, she thought. The embarrassing thing now was enrolling.

According to what Chen said during their half-day stroll, the Order Keeper had opened classrooms in intact residential buildings nearby. The setup was nearly done. Students and teachers could return to “school” for theory.

These classes targeted Magic Maidens and agents from various schools. The Twelfth District needed talent like rain needs channels. Anyone willing could join for crash training in theory and fieldwork.

Order Keeper members would teach themselves.

Night Frost was Cantata Two, but her magic control was poor, like writing with numb fingers. In a normal Magic Maiden exam, she’d bomb theory and ace combat. Her original path was agent work, so the courses would mesh.

Blade placed her in the agent class. She could catch magic theory, but wouldn’t be strapped to combat drills. Night Frost had heavier duties waiting.

Thinking of school, she wondered how those idiot roommates were doing, whether they were safe, whether they still joked like sparrows.

Without noticing, a small anticipation bloomed, pale as plum blossoms.

Moon Owl finished most tasks and returned to the staff quarters under the branch. Illusory Glass had idled here almost a week, waiting for Caris to bring news, day after day like a cat at a door.

Moon Owl’s grandmother kept her routine—out early, back late—dependable as sunrise. Caris had tailed her once; the old woman only wandered, a cloud light as linen.

That day, Caris didn’t come back. Moon Owl did. Seeing her, Illusory Glass leaped into her arms, soaking in Moon Owl’s warmth like sun on a winter floor.

Moon Owl lightly tousled Illusory Glass’s sleek hair. In that touch, she felt a massed Mana, heavy and almost congealed like honey.

She couldn’t pin the hidden hand that pushed events. Without Illusory Glass and Night Frost, she would’ve died in the jaws of Chapter Three Monsters.

She had asked every Cantata Two. The underground groups had withdrawn the day before the war; they had no reason to help the Twelfth District’s Order Keeper.

Thinking it through, only Illusory Glass had said strange things. With the Mana coiled in her, Moon Owl began to understand.

The hand that saved her from the deathscape belonged to her little sister.

“You’ve worked hard. I thought you were the one who needed protecting.”

Moon Owl’s Mana flowed into Illusory Glass, a warm river through stone. Illusory Glass knew she couldn’t hide from someone who had entered Chapter Three.

She confessed part of it boldly. She had contracted Caris, saved all the Cantata Two, blocked a full strike from Chapter Three, and asked Blade to station a team to guard the border.

Her most precious secret followed: her power touched time, half a prophecy, like reading ripples before the stone hits.

The news hit harder than learning Lingchen Yao was Night Frost, a thunderclap under clear sky.

Moon Owl set her papers on the table. Tonight, she needed to stay close to Illusory Glass, like a lamp kept lit.

Just then, Caris returned. Her blood mist gathered into a one-foot-tall Blood Clan form. She flicked silver hair carved from the same mold as Illusory Glass and struck a pose—glittering entrance, stage lights in her mind.

“I’m back—wink, wink—”

She blinked, then stared at Moon Owl and Illusory Glass holding each other. Both looked at her with flat faces, eyes straight as spears.

“Uh—carry on. I’m just passing through.”

Illusory Glass folded away her annoyance and smiled at Moon Owl, bright as a paper lantern.

“This is Caris, my contracted beast. As you can see, she’s a somewhat foolish Blood Clan.”

Moon Owl nodded; she agreed with that read like a judge with a bell.

But Moon Owl hated the Blood Clan. They unrolled a grief she couldn’t fold back—her friend, Illusory Glass’s sister, killed by Blood Clan hands.

The killer wore the same silver hair as the one before her. Remembering those arrogant crimson eyes, Moon Owl wanted to cut down every Blood Clan to quench the fire.

Yet the Blood Clan had thirteen public Chapter Three, and more in shadow. Even if humans all moved as one, a tie wasn’t certain, like wrestling a storm.

Hate burned in Moon Owl’s gaze. Caris felt it and stepped back into empty air, avoiding the pressure of Moon Owl’s Chapter Three aura like ducking a falling cliff.

Use her as a warning? No. She was Illusory Glass’s contracted beast. Breaking the bond would whip back and harm Illusory Glass.

“Just don’t let her show up in front of me.”

Hearing that, Illusory Glass shooed Caris away. The room’s warmth scattered like dust after a door slam.

“Right! Since Xiaoli is Cantata Two now, do you want to go to school? Then you can go out with a proper excuse.”

It was exactly what Illusory Glass needed. She praised Moon Owl, relief rising like fresh air after mold.

“I’ll talk to Blade. I’ll be back soon.”

Moon Owl slipped through a spatial rift, the world parting like silk, and stood before Blade.

“I want to pull Blood Clan files, and enroll Xiaoli as a transfer into the newly opened Magic Maiden class.”