His pulse thinned to a thread, while the Abyssal Aura on him grew viscous as tar. Tangible black fog nudged Night Frost back, and that frail heartbeat finally fell silent.

Light drained from his eyes. Bone scraped bone inside his chest, a dry millstone turning. He stared, unblinking, a crooked smile nailed to his face. Refusal curdled with the Abyss, and the man warped into an undead monster.

Weariness first, then resolve. Night Frost lifted her Spear. The only mercy left was to send him on.

Crimson Gold Flame flashed through the room like a comet. For one breath it turned night into copper dawn. She swept the floor’s black ash away, then hurried to the next house without pause.

Cold rain finally fell. Icy drops mixed with dense Abyssal Aura and needled her skin. Hunger flared in her chest; her heart clawed for that aura, as if it would break her ribs to get it.

Annoyance at herself, then a rueful shrug. Lately the Abyssal Aura in her had thinned; Mana had taken the reins. She looked more the Magic Maiden by the day.

The rain threaded into her skin. Her heart gulped at the air like a fish at the surface. Discomfort pressed behind her ribs, because her heartbeat and her breathing kept two different rhythms.

As if it heard her, the heart steadied, the drumbeat easing. Yet each pull of Abyssal Aura stayed just as greedy, not a drop less.

Satisfaction rolled from her heart, heavy and full. She only felt swollen and tight. Still, a balance found her—Abyssal Aura and Mana leveled, two scales evened. She could reach for both at once.

She tried, then frowned. The grip was clumsy. One power at a time still fit her hand best.

She crossed the rain curtain and stepped into the old quarter. These houses had watched the Twelfth District for nearly a century, yet war had erased them in one night.

A shabby courtyard drew her eye. The house inside was more scars than skin; white paint molted off, windows filmed with grime, oil slicks smeared along the walls.

A heavy lock bit the gate. That never stopped Night Frost. Straw scarecrows and messy firewood slumped by the door. In the corner, a few withered old locust trees peeled yellow bark, long left to rot.

A light burned in the yard. The two students weren’t stupid; the door was barred tight. Undead gathered at the glow and living scent, clawing the wall. Nails shrieked on concrete, a harsh, gritted rasp.

Irritation spiked behind her eyes. One burst of fire silenced the noisemakers. She cleared the nearby undead as well and pocketed a few Magic Stone shards.

She tasted living breath inside the house. With three quick motions she scaled the wall, dropped into the yard, and, following the lamp’s trail, broke the room open.

Outside rotted; inside surprised. Fresh paint, clean tile, furniture and appliances all in place, a bright shell hiding a sick heart.

Then the wrongness hit—emptiness and the faint iron tang. Air held a thin blood-scent. If nothing went wrong, something already had.

The trail led to the deepest room. She pushed the aluminum door and stepped into the single. The blood-smell thickened, a wet coin pressed to her nose.

Three figures stood inside. Two were hunched, gnawing; one lay motionless on the bed.

A man soaked in Blood lay on a sagging mattress. His clothes were ruined into scarlet pulp, dark red still leaking from his head. The two bent shapes—once his parents—were eating what was left of him.

She wasn’t foolish enough to say “uncle” or “aunt.”

There was only the undead here. The irony cut cold—flesh that once fell from parent to child now returned from child to parent, only by a stranger path.

They chewed their own son and never noticed the human who’d broken in from the rain.

Night Frost fed them two Mana rounds. She burned the body on the bed to ash and stepped out.

Time still lay soft. She even circled the blocks twice, but felt no ripple in space. Looked like the spatial rift had no fate with her tonight.

A gray pale bled into the sky. Wan light sifted down like dust. Night Frost turned back toward the office tower.

Inside, people slept crooked against pillars and walls. Dawnlight dozed pale-faced by the wall, a Mana potion clenched in her hand. Her Magic Armor flickered, threads fraying.

A female teacher tended Dawnlight. She knew how much the girl had given for her and the students. When Night Frost arrived, the teacher stood straight, eyes bright with hope. Night Frost closed her eyes and said nothing.

“Mourn.”

The teacher understood. The two children Night Frost went to find hadn’t survived. A month isn’t long, yet feelings weigh heavy when the world breaks.

Night Frost guided Dawnlight downstairs. She told her what she’d seen and done. Fear rose in Dawnlight, cold as well-water, but a breath of relief followed.

Lucky she treated in time. Otherwise those classmates clutching their bellies would’ve joined the Abyss.

They only lacked news of Illusory Glass. Once Illusory Glass returned, they could rally and hunt the Abyssal Rift that shifted like a mirage.

Illusory Glass came back late, a girl in tow. The girl held her abdomen, face white as paper. She’d eaten what she shouldn’t have.

Mana ran low, so Dawnlight and Night Frost had dropped their Magic Armor. They had just finished eating when Illusory Glass ushered the student in.

“I only brought her back.”

One was still a mercy. Dawnlight changed, donned her Magic Armor, and set holy light over the girl’s belly. Strands of Abyssal Aura hissed and vanished, turning to black smoke that unraveled in midair.

Meanwhile, Night Frost gathered the Magic Maidens here. About a dozen, all at First Symphony. Their Mana control was solid; in pairs they could cut through these undead with ease.

Handlers were fewer than Magic Maidens. Night Frost set them in teams of four. Once daylight broke, they’d range out from the office as a hub and search for the Abyssal Rift.

She split the signal flares from her ring evenly. If you hit danger you can’t handle, pull the red cord. If you find the rift, pull the green cord. Pull yellow for casualties, then return to rest.

The teacher was First Symphony too, but Night Frost didn’t want her sweeping for the rift with the kids. She fished out pen and paper.

She had the teacher record cord colors and rough times. If yellow flared, send a few resting students to haul the wounded back.

She scanned the faces. No one matched Dawnlight’s gift. Most Magic Maidens here were built to strike; the support types all gravitated to the Mutual Aid Society.

“A whole Order Keeper, and not a single support Magic Maiden?”

Maybe that was the Order Keeper’s flaw.

With a sigh, Night Frost pulled a few Mana potions and hemostatic pills from the box. They were gold-eaters—hundreds of thousands a bottle, thousands a pill.

She rarely needed them. The injured students did. Otherwise, knowing herself, she’d rather sell them high.

“These are hemostatic pills and Mana potions. Use them if you must. But use as little as you can. You know they’re not cheap.”

Hearing the price, the teacher accepted them solemnly and tucked them carefully into a corner.

Night Frost left the rallying to the teacher. Dusk barely passed. The teacher gathered the students. They crowded together without fuss, dropping onto the concrete as if it were a tatami.

They hadn’t bathed in almost a week. Dirt on the floor meant nothing. They felt grubbier than the ground itself.

Night Frost, Dawnlight, and Illusory Glass sat at the teacher’s side, Mana flickering on them like stray stars. The teacher sat at the center. The scene felt like a televised sermon; to Night Frost it looked one whisper short of a pyramid pitch.

After introducing the three at Cantata Two, the teacher laid out Night Frost’s plan, a calm tide rolling out.

No one objected. Excitement lit their eyes. At last, a road out of this hell. Back to the true Twelfth District. A real hot shower and a long exhale.

No dissent met Night Frost’s proposal.

“Tomorrow morning I’ll wake you. I’ll hand out water, food, and flares. Then you can form your own pairs and search for the Abyssal Rift.”

With that settled, the students returned to their “beds.” They pressed against solid concrete, used their clothes as pillows, and slipped under.

The three went downstairs to grind through tomorrow’s plan, and how to face the Fallen One.

The Fallen One hadn’t shown since Night Frost maimed it, but it would when they tried to leave. Born from this Abyss, it wouldn’t let its prey walk out.

Its strength ran deep. Next time, Night Frost might not match it. Two at Cantata Two would likely be required to bring it down.

Dawnlight and Illusory Glass were both sharp blades. Together, they could have handled the last Fallen One without sweat.

Illusory Glass volunteered to team with Night Frost. Night Frost refused. Of the three, Illusory Glass’s ceiling was the hardest to read. Time mage, secretive, and she had a familiar.

Dawnlight’s nature was easy to grasp. Illusory Glass—better not. Who knew how many cycles she’d lived; the years behind those fox-eyes might outnumber Night Frost’s by far.

In the end, over Illusory Glass’s protests, Night Frost fixed the plan. She and Dawnlight wouldn’t stray far, so either could reach the other quickly.

Illusory Glass would move alone. If she ran into the Fallen One, delay it if possible. After Dawnlight and Night Frost linked up, they’d come to help, though that would take longer.

Finally, the three traded simple outlines of their strength, so that in a fight their moves would mesh cleanly.