The entire theater fell deathly silent.

Everyone except Yihan witnessed it too. They watched helplessly as flame-shaped patterns surfaced and sharpened across Lia’s skin. Panic seized every face.

"Witch—She’s a Witch—"

A shrill voice screamed the title synonymous with terror and ruin. The grand theater exploded into chaos. Heads whipped around. People stampeded backward like madmen.

Only Witches bore these markings when using their powers. It was their unmistakable brand.

In moments, the crowd vanished like receding tide. Only Yihan remained onstage, his breaths growing heavier.

His mind churned. Thoughts collided violently—questions he couldn’t untangle.

Weren’t Witches only real-world threats? Why were they in his dreams?

What *were* these dreams anyway? Truly his ability’s creation?

Lia was a fire-controlling Witch. The Crimson Flame Witch shared that power. What linked them?

And Soul Valley Town—wasn’t it in the frigid north? Where the Crimson Flame Witch emerged?

Too many pieces aligned.

Yihan’s body trembled. An indescribable shadow coiled in his mind. He wanted to flee—but couldn’t abandon Lia.

The girl crawled weakly on the floor, sobbing. She’d lost control.

The earlier attack had reignited the heat she’d barely suppressed. Her injuries awakened primal instincts. Scorching flames threatened to engulf the entire theater.

Seeing Yihan’s pale, rigid face, regret flooded Lia’s heart. She shouldn’t have hidden the truth. She should’ve told him sooner. Now he was trapped.

She couldn’t control this power. If it erupted, Yihan would die first. *She* was the killer.

"Run—Just run—" Her tears evaporated instantly. She wept uncontrollably. Her snow-white body glowed beneath the elegant gown. Complete patterns now covered her arms and legs, forming a dark crimson mark across her back.

Yihan gritted his teeth and reached for her. Scorching air forced him back. Too hot. He couldn’t get close. Couldn’t drag her away.

"Move aside."

A cool, clear voice cut through the heat above the stage. Yihan looked up. A fluttering cloak. A lithe figure. Carola soared like a spreading-winged bird. Azure currents spiraled around her arms. Before he could react, a storm of ice spears rained down—aimed squarely at Lia.

*No!* Yihan threw his arms up instinctively, squeezing his eyes shut. No piercing pain came. Only biting cold against his skin. He peeked. Half-meter ice spears pinned the ground around him—perfectly avoiding him. They formed an iron cage around Lia. Broken spears littered her side, melting then vanishing in the heat.

The dazed girl stared blankly. That attack had shattered her last restraint.

Carola landed lightly. Yihan glared at her.

"What are you doing?!"

"Banishing this Witch." Carola’s voice stayed calm. Her hood hid her face, but her gaze lifted toward him.

Her palm flipped. An ice-forged longsword materialized. She twirled it smoothly, pointing at the kneeling Lia. "Step aside."

"You’re insane! Has she hurt anyone? Go after the real troublemakers!"

"Not my concern. My duty is to banish every Witch I see. Guilty or innocent—they all leave this world." Her eyes stayed clear, icy.

Yihan choked on fury. *Stupid to bring her here.*

Wait—*Witch Hunter?* Only they hated Witches this much.

A familiar face flashed in his mind. His throat tightened. "Your... name. Tell me your name."

"Unnecessary. We’re strangers."

"Are... you... Carola?" His heart hammered. A desperate guess.

She stood impassive as coastal rock.

His hope sank. Had he mistaken her? But he’d seen Carola conjure ice too. Same power. Or just coincidence?

No time. Lia’s safety came first. He glanced at her. The glow had dimmed slightly after the attack, but heat still radiated. Just standing near her was agony.

Lia’s eyes were hollow, lifeless. She stared past Carola, unresponsive. Exposed. Defenseless.

After Yihan blocked her again, Carola lost patience. She stamped the floor. Her body blurred forward. The ice blade thrust toward the motionless girl, trailing lethal frost. To stop Yihan interfering, she flicked her sleeve. A miniature blizzard trapped him, cutting off his path.

Up close, Carola saw Lia’s face. Same age. But their identities decided everything. No mercy.

Her hometown had been razed by Witches. Compassion was impossible.

Carola’s eyes flashed. The ice blade slashed downward. A four-meter azure crescent cleaved the air—intent on splitting the stage and the flaming girl. Frost instantly glazed the floor.

Lia knelt, oblivious. But her flames surged wildly. Dozens of fiery serpents lunged, clashing with the ice crescent. Explosion. Heat and cold blasted outward, shattering seats.

Carola flipped backward with the shockwave, landing gracefully. She twirled her sword, dispelling the force.

The trapped boy had broken free—hair and collar frosted, face bruised blue, teeth chattering. Still, he charged to Lia. He hoisted her over his shoulder and bolted like a thief.

Thankfully, the clash had dampened her heat. She was warm, but bearable.

But where could he run?