Lilithia’s decision had been the right one.

No sooner had she hidden underground than someone entered her room.

Had Lilithia been there herself, she’d have recognized the man who’d confessed his love to her moments ago—now wild-eyed, intent on violence.

Invisible and potent, a special drug now filled the air. Without its antidote, it drained strength while stirring unnatural excitement.

Her first projection crumpled instantly. Just as the man lunged forward—

*Bang!*

Like a detonating bomb, the projection burst apart. Blood splattered the walls, the fireplace, the alchemy jars—

—and drenched the stranger Lilithia didn’t know.

Clutching a mangled, unrecognizable limb, the man’s pupils shrank. He collapsed, unconscious.

Ten minutes later, three figures entered the room:

Bernadette. Luna. And—Fiore.

According to Luna’s plan, Lilithia should’ve been entwined with that man by now. Instead—congealed crimson gore coated the floor. Shattered organs littered the scene.

And the unconscious man.

*Huh?*

Fiore’s mind went blank. This made no sense. His blood still flowed in Lilithia’s veins—if she were harmed, he’d feel it.

So whose blood was this?

The Sword Saint’s senses confirmed it: *Lilithia’s blood.*

A Blood Magic practitioner never wasted blood. To her, it was weapon and life. Why would she flood this room with it?

Then—

“Trap!”

Luna struck without warning. Lightning crackled from her golden-haired form, splitting the air toward a shadowed corner.

But—

Blood sprayed again.

From the hidden alcove emerged Lilithia—her left arm gone.

“What did you plan to do to me?” Her second projection spoke Lilithia’s scripted lines coldly. “I anticipated betrayal. Prepared contingencies. Were you going to silence me, Luna?”

Luna’s brow furrowed. “Your cover’s blown. Why hide anymore?”

“You’ll tell Fiore I’m a Demonfolk spy. You warned Bernadette about my ‘true identity’—yet she believed *you* when you claimed *I’m* the time-looping traitor hiding among humans. Convenient, isn’t it? Everyone trusts the Seer. Proven. Humans are so... shallow. Don’t you agree, Fiore?”

Before Fiore could speak, the projection shattered—just like the first. Blood rained over every face. (All could’ve dodged.)

A Magic Array flared to life. A third Lilithia materialized.

“A pity you came, Fiore. Though I don’t blame you.” Her voice echoed from the depths below. “Suspicion is reasonable. I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t questioned me. It means you’re thinking. Judging. And it proves my point.”

Though blind and deaf to the room above, she spoke as if standing among them: “You said you loved me. But it wasn’t true. So I could never return those feelings.”

Lilithia never lied to Fiore. Not about this.

When he’d confessed, her own heart had been uncertain. She hadn’t accepted him. Perhaps out of weakness. Or because she’d sensed it wasn’t real love.

It was loneliness. Fiore had never had a true friend—he mistook that ache for love.

She’d sensed it then. Faintly.

Only now, with danger closing in, had the truth crystallized.

“You can track me, Fiore. My veins hold your blood. So I’ll wait. We need an end. I need to see your truth.”

The projection vanished.

...

Lilithia breathed deeply. Calmed herself.

Just as planned: both projections shattered. The Magic Array activated.

Her words had been timed—the Array shattered right after.

No powerful mage could trace her now.

Only Fiore would find her.

Whether he brought others? His choice.

She sank to the floor, drained. *What is my purpose here?*

Without meeting Fiore, she might have turned dark. Sought power. Died fighting him as an enemy—

Or lived quietly. Her smithing skills could’ve bought comfort.

She’d chosen this hard path only to walk beside him.

He was the sun. Its light banished darkness. She understood why Luna’s “evidence” swayed him. A Saint *should* question shadows.

Objectively, it made sense.

But when *you’re* the shadow...

*Why couldn’t you trust me more?*

*You say you love me, yet suspect me. Am I just a toy?*

But underground, alone, she’d stilled the storm.

She owed no one proof. If Fiore believed her a traitor, let him kill her. If she must die in this world, she’d choose the sun’s light—like wings glued with honey, melting as they neared the blaze, falling while gazing at its radiance.

If he trusted her? No explanation needed.

She only wanted to see his eyes. To find his truth there.

Silent, she waited. Eyes closed.

Time crawled.

...

“He went alone.” Bernadette’s voice was tight. “You lied to me.”

“And yet you followed me.” Luna’s gaze was a northern gale—biting, hollow.

Bernadette looked down. Words failed her.

Both women—Luna and Lilithia—were beyond her reach.

...

When the floor trembled faintly, Lilithia opened her eyes. Her crimson gaze seemed fixed on some distant horizon, not the man before her.

“You came.”

She stood. Arms opened.

No more words were needed. That single phrase—*You came*—and the outstretched arms held her fate. No fear. Only waiting.

Then—Fiore embraced her.

She’d grown tall enough.

Still shorter than him, yet undeniably a woman now. He could hold her. Enfold her completely.

Her distant stare snapped back—to his face. Tears streaked Fiore’s cheeks.

“Why... are you crying?”

“I’m sorry for making you doubt me.” His voice cracked. “I never distrusted you. It’s just—” *Other burdens.* He’d trusted her implicitly; her blood in his veins had stayed calm, so he’d only ached for her.

But how to tell a girl who’d whispered: *“You said you loved me, but it wasn’t real love”*?

Excuses were worthless.

*How arrogant I was.* In his arms, she understood. She’d known Fiore was the protagonist—drowning in “side quests”—yet still let disappointment blind her.

So she hugged him back.

Her arms were too slender to fully encircle him, but they held warmth enough.

The sun’s light never wavered. Never had. Never would.

Lilithia knew this now.

A blush warmed her cheeks. Softly, she murmured: “I’m... sorry too. I was being childish earlier.”

She admitted it. The pettiness. The doubt.