Night Frost bore Dawnlight on her back into the underground shelter, the earth closing over them like a stone womb.

If these dead were truly the Twelfth District’s, the shelter was safest; belowground, few had died, some corridors untouched by blood.

Fear first, then motion—Dawnlight’s condition looked bleak. She’d sensed the girl’s attack in time, yet a lead seed still lodged near her heart.

She’d flung holy light with all she had, and the bullet drove deeper, an iron thorn pressing the vessels by her heart like a cruel nail.

When the ghost-girl burned to ash under holy light, the bullet vanished. But the wound kept weeping, and a cold Abyssal Aura from that bullet threaded into her heartline.

Her Mana near the heart crashed against that frost-smoke of the Abyss. It hissed and melted, turning her Mana into a tangled storm.

Dawnlight panted hard, breath like a broken bellows. Her chest rose and fell. Blood kept blooming from the back wound like dark flowers.

Her eyes went glassy. Holy light veiled her back like dawn on frost, yet the Abyssal Aura kept the flesh from knitting.

Blood loss dragged her toward mirages, pale fish swimming at the edge of her sight.

Worried first, then calm—Night Frost struck a flame, rifled the little black kit, and found a Mana potion. She capped it again. Mana now would only salt the wound.

She needed something gentler, something a [First Symphony] could stomach without burning. She remembered palming some coagulants from the Order Keeper on the way out.

They’d hold for a while, but unless she purged the Abyssal Aura inside Dawnlight, any scab would shatter like thin ice.

The shelter lay very still, a cave of quiet. Night Frost swept the dark with her gaze; shadow pooled like ink, and no footsteps crossed it.

Tunnels split every which way, safe exits like burrows in a hill—an ideal place to hole up.

She dusted herbs over bandages and wrapped Dawnlight, round and round, like winding a winter scarf. Dawnlight gritted her teeth and didn’t resist.

The bleeding steadied. But purging the Aura near the heartline would take time; one hard push might nick the heart and end everything.

Tired, then stubborn—Night Frost sat by Dawnlight and drew her Mana back in. Her Magic Armor still clung to her like a second skin, but her Mana ran thin.

Even with a Magic Stone, Mana recovered slower in this space than outside, like a stream thick with silt.

One night’s stillness brought her back to half. Dawnlight’s wound eased too, yet that Abyssal Aura still clung close to her heart like winter shadow.

After a quick bite, Night Frost climbed the stairs and slipped outside. Dusk still held like smoke in a jar, and more undead drifted the streets.

The shelter felt safe for now. Most undead here were dull as moths, not counting the ghost-girl from last night.

Uneasy first, then resolve—Night Frost would scout alone. Time flowed oddly here; they didn’t know how long the outside had spun. First priority: find a way out.

She vaulted to the roof with quick hands and feet. She tossed down balls of fire, their glow like falling lanterns, drawing the nearby undead like moths to a brazier.

Same plan as the mall—kite the swarm to the gas station and net them in one blaze.

Fire hit the tanks. Spark and flame leapt together. The boom punched the clouds; smoke rose like a black pillar into the dim.

In a single night, she and Dawnlight had cut down nearly a thousand undead. If there were merit after death, hers would spill over the bowl.

She pushed past the gas station. Beyond lay the edge where city met field in the Twelfth District. Farther still, hills—broken hills, earth missing chunks, some shards hanging in the air like cracked teeth.

Few undead wandered here. She felt no pulse of an Abyssal Rift. She marked an X on the map, ink cutting the paper like a quiet verdict.

She pivoted toward downtown and the border. In her mind, the thicker the Abyssal Aura, the easier an Abyssal Rift could tear open.

No doubt, it’d be worse there.

Downtown held many Magic Maidens. The border likely crawled with augmented undead, men turned machine turned ghost.

Three [First Symphony] Magic Maidens had already bloodied them last night. Who knew how many unknown knives this space still kept sheathed.

They traveled most of the night. The sky paled fish-belly white. Night Frost saw her first “sunrise” here, a strange jewel—no grand eastward climb, just a sun appearing in the west.

With it, the dead rose again like a gray tide flooding the streets.

There were so many undead, especially in the commercial district.

When the Twelfth District fell, towers in the business core folded like cards. Ten thousand died here; even some Magic Maidens who came to save them never returned.

The moment Night Frost stepped into that bright carcass of neon and glass, pain pricked her mind, a thousand needles stitching ice into her skull.

Someone watched her. She felt the gaze like a cold finger on her nape, but the owner hid like mist behind glass.

She’d climbed to [Cantata Two]. Her Mana had grown; her senses rose a clearing higher. Yet last night’s ghost-girl had reached past her feelers like a hand through water.

Whoever watched wasn’t weak. If it was a local undead, boosted like that girl, she could maybe take it one-on-one.

Relief first, then dread—thank the sky no [Cantata Two] had died here. If a [Cantata Two] got Abyss-boosted, she’d be fighting at a tier just shy of an unshackled [Chapter Three].

The watcher didn’t move. The gaze slipped away like dew. Night Frost’s heart sank as she stepped deeper into the district.

She remembered these towers. Back then, the Azureblood Octopus hauled her across half the Twelfth District to this place.

Here she’d first met Dawnlight. Here she’d faced the Order Keeper head-on for the first time.

The world turns strange—now she wore the Order Keeper’s badge too, though only under the Twelfth District’s ledger.

The mall loomed larger than the one she’d burned. Shelves held stock on only a few aisles; the rest were bare as bones, yet “staff” still moved, restocking air with empty hands.

The last mall was the same. A few aisles had goods. It felt off, but in the Abyss it almost counted as normal. Missing hills felt stranger than empty stores.

Night Frost figured a sweep was worth it. Those students and teachers went hunting and wouldn’t carry much water or food. She and Dawnlight had eaten twice since entering.

Starting today, the students and teachers would be broke for meals.

She found a pharmacy near the mall. Inside, pills lay jumbled, glass cracked, footprints in dust fresh as dew. Someone had been here in the last few days.

Labels hung over the shelves—X-brand painkillers, X-brand cold meds, bandages.

No doubt, someone had come through.

Other than her and Dawnlight, that left the teachers, the students, and the nameless owner of that gaze.

Can you even take these meds? And the food… She glanced at the box in her hand.

Rather than swallow pills, she’d test snacks. A lick of her flame over pills and chips drew out Abyssal Aura like smoke from damp wood.

Her resolve hardened. Don’t eat the Abyss. Still, lifting two bags for the road wouldn’t kill anyone.

She still had the old map in her pocket. It was worn, riddled with wrong turns, some paths marked “Monsters,” and whole patches smeared black—but it worked.

Wait… these things give off Abyssal Aura?

She didn’t know much, but she knew this: anything steeped in Abyssal Aura wasn’t something regular people should touch.

The Twelfth District’s air held a haze of it, sure. But the thicker it got, the worse it was for humans, and it chewed at the body like rust.

One scorch drew out so much Aura. What happens if a normal person swallows a pill made of the stuff? Even if the drug “works,” the Aura could carve deeper harm.

Anxious first, then speed—Night Frost quickened her pace. Dawn was fresh. The students and teachers had heard last night’s explosions and roars. Even fools know not to roam at night.

They’d move at first light. If they lacked food, they’d come back to the mall and fight the locals for it.

She didn’t want to babysit them, but she was on the rolls now. If students died, she’d have to answer for graves.

She spread her senses, a silk net over this floor of the mall. She “saw” a few men loaded with bags, trailing two leading girls, slipping toward the underground garage.

From their hurry, they’d grabbed what they could and planned to find a car that still ran, then vanish like smoke.

Night Frost’s stride ate distance. She shadowed them to the garage.

They’d just smashed a car window. One boy hunched in the driver’s seat, trying to spark the ignition. Bad luck dogged him; he’d been at it a minute or two.

She stayed in the dark. She wanted to see what they could do without a hand on their backs.

Their two lead Magic Maidens ranked well within [First Symphony]. Two others felt like their handlers, each with a different specialty.

“Damn. Another one won’t start.”

Not the first failure. The boy booted the chassis hard. He’d tried four or five cars, and none had turned over.

A girl beside him gave him a look sharp as a knife, disgust bright in her eyes.

Night Frost sighed. It wasn’t his skill. Cars here were shaved short—missing modules, key parts gone. No wonder nothing would catch.

If the Abyss has plenty of anything, it’s short-measure goods.

“Careful!”

A man in the back seat shouted. An undead with a solid body hurled itself into the car, all claws and hunger, as if winter itself had leapt.