Even with a new shell, Night Frost knew him. The Doctor’s azure Eye Orb, a shard of winter sky, was a mark he could never conceal.

“These past days, meeting you again lit a small flame in the frost. When you clasped cold shackles on me, I wondered if you had reasons you couldn’t say. In my mind, everything you do has purpose.”

Confusion deepened in Night Frost’s eyes, mist thickening over a lake. Though the Doctor was a researcher, his steps always had weight. She continued, voice steady as snowfall:

“Until today, I think the one named Lin spoke truth. Today, we need to lay it bare, like silk pulled from a cocoon—what do you really intend?”

Night Frost and the Doctor had worked together for over two months. Trials by death and fire forged a bond, bruised but real. She was grateful he’d given her power, the right to fight. In exchange, she chose to help him revive Aklatia.

Now the Doctor seemed to want to take that power back. The thought snagged like thorns. She couldn’t see why; during his absence, something in him had changed.

He slowly closed the door, wood whispering like a tide on stone. He wasn’t surprised by her questions; his answers sat prepared, laid out like blades on velvet.

“I still want to revive Aklatia. Only Aklatia is my home forever; that has never changed, like a root sunk in rock.”

Their earlier efforts had set a thin foundation for Aklatia’s revival, a thread strung over a chasm.

“But I regret it.”

The Doctor spoke slowly, pain and resignation pooling in his gaze like rainwater. Memories flickered like moths at a lamp: with Night Frost beside him, which mission hadn’t ended in blood? She almost never came back to her rental unscathed.

“You’re a miracle, yet I don’t believe you’re meant for battle. You were once an ordinary person. My arrival rewrote your life, ink spilling across your page, sending you to chase your past through ceaseless fights and wounds.”

“You kept fighting, while the Calamity Dragon gnawed at your mind like rust. I saw you hanging in the sky, turning into the Black Dragon, lunging at that Magic Maiden. Because of me, you’re no longer you.”

The Eye Orb wasn’t wrong: his coming granted Night Frost a miracle, and drew the Order Keeper’s pursuit. Since her First Symphony, she faced foes of Cantata Two and even Chapter Three. Each time, she scraped past death like a skiff in a storm.

“I deeply regret it. You should’ve had your own life. You wouldn’t turn into the Black Dragon. You wouldn’t be wounded. You wouldn’t fight to help me revive Aklatia, or chase dangerous memories.”

Night Frost had attended Jiuqiong University, one of the Twelfth District’s top academies. With her effort, her path should have blazed bright—good work, good life, sunlight on blossoms. She shouldn’t be tangled up with the Doctor.

And the Doctor, a researcher stamped “genius,” knew that even with Night Frost’s power, the two of them were two candles against a storm. To revive Aklatia that way was far too distant.

“Sometimes, to revive Aklatia, one of me is enough. I’m hard to kill; you aren’t.”

Night Frost’s chest ached, then flared like a brazier. “I don’t regret it! I chase my past for myself. Reviving Aklatia is my decision. You know me—once I decide, I don’t turn back!”

She tried to push on, but the Doctor cut her off, a blade of the wind.

“Of course, it’s more than that.”

“I walked the districts and listened. I know you and Qianchun have labored for Aklatia’s revival. You’re already a hundred-strong, seedlings breaking soil.”

Night Frost hadn’t even known Aklatia had grown so fast. She’d left everything to Qianchun while she ran through other districts. So capable? She’d have to reward her, a ribbon of warmth amid the cold.

“At first, I felt relieved. But do you know how tangled I became when I heard New Aklatia leaned on the Twelfth District’s Order Keeper?”

His gaze finally changed; the mechanical Eye Orb brimmed with hate, dark ink Night Frost had never seen.

“Aklatia stood within the Twelfth District. It was destroyed under the Twelfth District’s Order Keeper and their headquarters. My most respected boss died by the Order Keeper’s hand.”

Night Frost’s head rang like a struck bell, pain pounding. Before this, she’d simply believed the Eye Orb wanted to revive Aklatia by his own strength. Taking back the Black Dragon’s power would even protect her.

But hearing that, she understood the Doctor’s core. He hadn’t changed. This was the truth of him, the motive etched in bone.

Earlier, the Doctor lacked the strength for revenge; he was only an Eye Orb, forced to rely on Night Frost’s power. Now it was different. He had a remade body, Rouge Rabbit’s support, and Aklatia’s revival had stepped onto the road.

After they split, they chose similar paths to the same mountain. One relied on Rouge Rabbit; one leaned on the Twelfth District’s Order Keeper branch.

With the Order Keeper branch’s help, New Aklatia was thriving, steam rising from the pot. With Rouge Rabbit behind him, the Doctor was reaping much as well. Yet because of their different choices, they now stood on different banks.

Old Aklatia was destroyed with the Twelfth District branch’s hand in it. And Night Frost now relied on that very branch’s power to revive Aklatia. If you bow to the enemy who once crushed you, is the Aklatia you rebuild still Aklatia?

After Aklatia’s revival, the Eye Orb’s next step was clear as a drawn blade: revenge. Revenge on the Twelfth District branch. Revenge on the Order Keeper. Revenge for the one who died protecting him, the one he honored.

“If I go to war with the Twelfth District, which side will you stand on? Which side will Qianchun choose? And Chen Xiaoyin?”

While living alongside the Twelfth District’s Order Keeper, Night Frost had gathered threads of feeling with the branch. To strike them down—her hand would freeze. She wasn’t a cold blade without heart.

Qianchun likely had deep cooperation with the branch. It would be hard for her to pull everyone in Aklatia out from that net. Night Frost might talk her into neutrality, but the others—she couldn’t move them all.

Chen Xiaoyin was herself an Order Keeper of the Twelfth District. She wouldn’t watch the district fall and do nothing. Night Frost couldn’t sway Chen Xiaoyin.

The Doctor was tied to Night Frost; the branch was tied to her too. If those two forces clashed, neutrality would split like thin ice under boots.

Seeing Night Frost torn, the Doctor believed his choice was utterly correct.

“You’re the unstable factor. You might stand with me, or you might stand against me. You absolutely cannot stay neutral.”

Night Frost nodded, the motion small, like a leaf in wind. He wasn’t wrong. In this, neutrality would be a lie; she’d have to choose.

“If you stand opposite me, I’ll face danger. If you stand with me, your hesitation will only hasten your death.”

The Doctor rinsed the stemware, crystal ringing like faint rain. He set them square on the rack, glanced at his watch, then walked to the bedroom door and turned the handle.

“So, after deep thought, I’ve decided to destroy the miracle I forged. You will return to before—become an ordinary male—and step back into your daily life.”

“This way, you won’t face the pain of choosing. Next, you’ll only need to persuade Qianchun and Chen Xiaoyin, and the others you treasure, to stay by your side. Then wait quietly for me to finish—my revenge.”

He closed the bedroom door. From inside came the Doctor’s dull voice, like thunder caught behind hills.

“In short, there are two months left. In two months, I’ll take out your heart. Then the Calamity Dragon won’t disturb your mind. You won’t be torn by stance. You’ll become an ordinary person with a good life.”

“Let me bear all the pain.”

Night Frost stood silent a long while, the room cold as moonlight. The Doctor had indeed considered much for her. His logic wasn’t beyond her. Removing the dragon heart could indeed prevent many storms.

“Thank you.”

She offered thanks through the door, breath calm as falling snow. But she wasn’t willing to give up this power. She didn’t intend to accept the Doctor’s “kindness.”

Because of this power, she could chase the past that burned in her chest. Because of it, she met Qianchun, lived what she hadn’t lived, guarded who she wanted to guard.

Even if, on that path, fear bit, wounds came, and terror breathed down her neck, her will carried her through walls of thorns. Thus she became Cantata Two.

Now, the people Night Frost wanted to protect stood on different sides. The clash sat on the edge, blade-light ready to fall.

At root, this was Night Frost’s lack of strength. Cantata Two was far from enough to halt a war born of hate.

She had two months. In those two months, she had to break the bracelet that shackled her wrists, reclaim her power, and climb until she could stop both sides.

This was only a last resort. Even overwhelming strength can’t smother the Doctor’s hatred, a coal deep in ash.

She had to get a comm device, reach Qianchun, and ask whether the Twelfth District branch had truly joined Aklatia’s siege. She needed the full story. If they could untie that knot, all the better.

If she stayed blindfolded, with power, she’d be nothing more than a gun someone could fire at will.

Suddenly, time felt too thin, a rope fraying in her hands.

It wasn’t all bad. Pressure and goals breed drive, like wind in a sail. Still, Night Frost would rather not need this kind of wind.