Why has such a vast fear risen, like a black tide that drowns the shore?

It was obvious something was wrong. They knew Cerqin, and Cerqin knew them, like mirrors across a narrow stream, though they'd met not long.

Given their temper, even facing death, they wouldn't drown in a fear this huge. Even if the world shattered in the next heartbeat, like glass under a hammer.

Stranger still, a skewed shadow lay beneath it.

Spring Tide and Silver Luan seemed not to notice, like travelers walking past a cliff in fog.

When Cerqin finished speaking, both froze, like birds startled mid-flight.

Spring Tide knit her brows, then closed her eyes. Her Cangshen stirred open, time stilled like a frozen lake, and her outline turned ghostlike.

Inside the seam of time, Spring Tide sensed the wrongness in a blink, like a splinter under skin. But the drain on mana and strength hit like winter wind. Before she could move, she slipped out of the state like a lamp snuffed.

Time control was powerful, but its cost was a bottomless well.

On the other side, Silver Luan moved even faster. The Dragon Deity embodies urge and growth. Its feel for emotion and soul was keener, so she sensed the skew. She roused her power to resist, like a blade raised against a storm.

A pale white glow rose across her skin like frost, then melted away.

This is... a curse on the soul, stirring fear from its feral depths, like wolves roused in a dark cave?

Was it when we went to that Divine Officer's home?

They met each other's gaze, surprise flickering like sparks.

Neither had caught when the foe laid a hand, the deed done like a needle slipped through silk.

Those Nuns must have been crushed by the same curse. Fear pressed them to the limit like a heavy lid, until the self was suppressed.

Spring Tide spoke the deduction, cool and quick, like a blade stripped of rust.

The soul hasn't vanished. The self fell asleep under overwhelming fear, like a winter-lulled bear, so they move like puppets, like living dead.

But why do this at all, like planting night in broad daylight?

A curse rooted in the soul; its unbinding is unknown. If it lingers too long, they'll become like the Nuns in the Sanctuary, faces emptied like masks.

Cerqin listened, understanding that Spring Tide and Silver Luan had been caught by the foe's trick. The air felt bleak, like clouds piling before rain.

Um... what’s really going on?

...

...

Both pairs of eyes swung back to her like arrows. Cerqin flinched without thinking, like a leaf in wind.

W-what’s wrong?

The air tightened like a drum. Spring Tide was about to explain. Aileaf, done with a sale, slipped out from the back door behind the counter. Curiosity hung in her eyes like dust motes, and she asked softly.

Cerqin?

Uh, let me introduce her. This is Aileaf, a Littlefolk alchemist, my lifesaver, okay?

Cerqin quickly recounted the kidnapping before, words spilling like pebbles. Spring Tide and Silver Luan's gazes softened at once, apology rippling there like warm water.

So that happened... Miss Aileaf, welcome aboard.

Huh? ×3

But first, business. This might be urgent, and this place isn't ideal. Let's find somewhere quiet, like an inlet out of wind.

If others overhear and panic, it’ll spread like fire in dry grass.

Then go to my lab? It's close, like the next street over.

Aileaf tugged Cerqin’s hem and offered, like a small bird pulling a sleeve. She didn't know what had happened. The two before her clearly had a tangled tie with Cerqin—on paper, rivals?

But she minded little, wishing for peace like calm water. Littlefolk think differently from humans; in pursuing the same person, they honor individual strength.

The harmony between Spring Tide and Silver Luan let Aileaf breathe out, like steam in winter. If two aura-strong ones crossed blades, living together would grow thorny.

The four returned to Aileaf's home. Along the way, they traded words about the fear-curse, like stones passed hand to hand.

They failed to pin it down. Ability or spell, the line blurred like mist over water.

Aileaf, an alchemical researcher, proposed a deeper check. For Cerqin’s sake, Spring Tide and Silver Luan agreed, trust steady like a lantern flame.

Alchemy touches many fields—body and soul included. In every sense, Aileaf was an expert, like a weaver with many threads.

While Aileaf fussed with bottles and checked texts, Spring Tide and Silver Luan tried again to suppress it. They pushed with power like damming a restless river.

Again they failed, as stamina and mana drained fast, like sand through fingers.

It helped a little, not much. This time we clearly felt the wrongness that fear brings, like grit in gears.

Cerqin sorted their words on the side. Now that the curse was named, discord rose like silt in stirred water.

Their enemy may not plan to blast Eastwind City into the sky. The vast array to blow it up looks like a decoy, like a scarecrow in a field.

At least before some goal is met, they won't do it, holding back like hunters before the spring.

That goal likely ties to what befell the Holy Maiden and the Half Dragonkin girl, threads knotted like vines.

That curse that rouses fear, cold as night water.

Aileaf finished a soul-state reagent. Dripped into blood, it would show a soul’s condition by its reaction, like salt testing purity.

After tests, Aileaf's face turned puzzled, brows folding like rippled paper.

Why...

What is it?

If my soul-reaction brew holds no flaw, this reaction means extreme excitation, like fire on oil.

Aileaf held the black vial, bubbles boiling like a spring.

The soul-echo in blood is weak, so accuracy is limited. Yet this violence points to something, like bells ringing at a quake.

If fear is emanating from the soul, and by human limits, your self-awareness shouldn't stay awake. It should drown like a candle in rain.

...

They didn’t fully get it—none of the three were trained here. But they heard the abnormality, like a note off-key.

So what does it mean, really...

Cerqin showed worry, like a shadow under the eyes.

It means your consciousness and soul sit on different tiers. Hmm—what are your abilities?

Naming a power is taboo; it lets foes find weak seams. But the two met eyes and chose not to hide, like gamblers turning cards.

Mine is called Cangshen. I control time.

I’m the Dragon Deity. My ability mostly strengthens myself.

Powers named for gods, I see, like banners raised under old skies.

Aileaf brightened with understanding, then glanced at Cerqin without a ripple. Counting the Love God, there were four god-powered in this room, like stars clustered in one slice of night.

Recalling certain texts, Aileaf felt fate's mockery, like laughter behind a screen.

If I’m not wrong, you’re safe not because the curse delays. Your powers are special, partly severing the link between consciousness and soul, like a veil between two rooms.

As bearers of god-powers, your souls differ from common folk. Emotion from the depths comes heavier, like iron instead of reed.

So the enemy’s target may be emotion itself, bottled like storm-wind.

So we two survived by accident, like driftwood after a flood...

Spring Tide stopped mid-sentence, freezing like a bird that sees the hawk. She realized at once—it wasn’t an accident.

The foe clearly knew this; the left-behind letter proves it. They knew she wouldn’t fall unconscious fast under the curse, like a tree that won't topple at first wind.

Then is there another possibility, like a path behind the trees?

Her arriving in Eastwind City days early was in their plan. They want her to play a role, like a piece placed on a board.

The Holy Maiden’s entire route is known only to the Archbishop. Even the first stop is disclosed to few after the procession begins, secrecy tight like sealed jade.

Then that Nun reporting the Divine Officer was likely an accident, like a pebble that starts an avalanche.

If so, why didn’t they start the plan before she arrived, like a drum before the march?

Spring Tide felt she’d caught something, insight circling like birds over water.

Tying Aileaf’s words about god-powers to earlier intel. The Holy Dragon Empire’s little princess also bears such a power, a bud bright like morning dew.

Spring Tide had seen the princess’s basic file and drew a quick inference, like a line snapped tight.

Their goal is likely to use those with god-powers for something, harnessing them like rivers to a mill.

The fog still hangs thick, like smoke in pines, but at least there’s a thread to follow.