Morning broke, quiet and sharp. She tried not to think about what Milo said. Tried not to feel it. Her reality was shaking.

At least I know why he sought me, she thought wryly, pushing aside a thorny branch. Not because I’m brave. Not because I’m special. Because nothing says “irresistible” like unprocessed trauma and a violent moral awakening.

She rolled her eyes at herself and grabbed a fistful of berries. Breakfast of champions.

“Eat,” she said, tossing a fistful of berries and edible roots into Karl’s lap. He groaned awake, limbs stiff, hair wild—like the night had bruised him more than sleep could heal.

“Then go to the river. Clean up.” She didn’t wait for a response, popping a few berries into her mouth like fuel, not food.

Karl squinted at her. “You’re not the boss of me.” He wrinkled his nose at the berries. “Also, I’m not hungry.”

She leaned forward. Slowly. Her voice low enough to cut glass. “Just… eat.” She didn’t mean to sound like Milo. But it slipped out anyway.

His glare was instant. But he rolled his eyes—too dramatically. “I’m not doing this because you told me to,” he muttered. But he did as she asked. Aurora exhaled through her nose. She pressed her hand to the ground and pulsed—energy slipping beneath the soil like a second heartbeat. She felt Milo by a riverside.

Then she swept the pulse toward Karl. His signature spiked. He threw the berries to the ground. He was going to go and do something stupid, just like when he charged Milo, the beast. There was a storm in his eyes as his feet pointed toward the Fire Kingdom.

“Karl—”

She reached out.

Second mistake.

The moment her fingers brushed his shoulder, the world convulsed. Their stomachs lurched into their throats—freefall. Like before. Like with Milo. Darkness swallowed everything. The air thinned. The ground vanished. The bastard must have given me this power!

A dream. No—an invasion. As they spiraled down, she caught a glimpse of Karl’s eyes. He hadn’t flinched when she yelled. But betrayal was stark in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid, but furious.

Aurora’s breath hitched as the vision took hold and they separated. This wasn’t a camp. It was a graveyard still pretending to be alive. The air itself mourned. She saw their light skin and bright blue eyes. The Tribe of Light.

Karl’s family.

They were being hunted. They were feared. Again. Their iridescent skin, their luminous eyes—once revered—now marked them for slaughter. The men were to be executed. The women dragged away. The children? Erased. Except for the daughters. Their wombs prized for potential sons with amplified magic abilities.

A child clung to his mother’s side. His light skin and bright eyes were just like –

Karl.

The guards’ voices cracked the air. The boy flinched hard enough to stumble. Aurora’s heart lurched forward with him.

And then—everything shattered.

A new scene emerged. Blood. So much blood. Women in the dirt, eyes open to nothing. Slit throats, calm faces. Not murder. The men and women had done it themselves. The moment the gates fell, the moment they knew what came next—they chose control.

Except two.

Karl and his mom!

She couldn’t do it. Or wouldn’t. Her hands trembled as she stood among the dead, the child beside her still breathing. A blessing. A curse. A reason to keep going—or to never stop being punished.

The Infernos closed in. Saw the boy’s lack of power. Spared him. Karl’s mother did not scream as she was dragged away.

Then came nightfall. The guards beat him, laughed like wolves, and Karl ran. Barefoot. Empty-handed. They caught him. A whip cracked. They dragged him back. And his mother? Silent, unbound, watching, obedient.

That was the true lesson.

Then — black lightning. Swift and terrifying. The Infernos died on the spot. At least, the ones in the immediate vicinity. There would be reinforcements coming soon.

And there he was —

Milo.

Younger. Smiling like a storm. Hand outstretched. A promise offered in the aftermath of ruin.

Aurora gasped as she fell back into the dirt. Karl staggered like she’d burned him. He reeled, breath ragged, eyes wild and unfocused—like someone yanked from drowning.

“You—witch!”

Aurora stared at her hands, unable to look away. In her mind, Milo winked. Then a freezing wave struck her like a fist, hurling her into a tree. A second tidal swell loomed, trembling under Karl’s control.

She groaned, her head and body on fire. “I didn’t mean to,” she said quickly, quietly. “I—I didn’t know that would happen.”

Water rose behind him—huge, unstable, shaking like his hands. Ice formed into blades midair, edges glinting. She swallowed. He didn’t respond. Just glared—too stunned or too furious to speak. “I saw things I wasn’t supposed to. I’m sorry.”

Still nothing.

Her voice dropped, steadier. “You can hate me if you need to. But don’t let them win by turning you into them like you’re their final masterpiece—rage, hatred, just splash water in.”

The wave wavered. Her eyes stayed calm, even with death inches away. Because this time she saw him—knew him. Then she steadied, then stood, brushing herself off. “You think I’m afraid to die?” She locked eyes with him. “I’m not afraid of you, Karl.”

The water held—then dropped all at once, soaking the ground. He turned away. The wrong direction. She stood, then chased him. “What’s your real goal, Karl? To kill a few?”

The pause was heavy. She dared not touch him again. She shook her head. “What are you going to do alone when you get there? Go out like an ember?” She blocked his way. “You want to make it matter? Then wait, think. We’ll strategize, grow teeth. We’ll burn the whole system down, not just kill a few and die.”

The wind slowed. The air shimmered—gentler now. He slowed, no longer volatile. “No more flares. No more chaos.” She didn’t blink. “If we’re going to do this—if you want it to last—we do it right.”

She reached out, breathed out, hoping not to spiral out of control. She caught his shoulder. Nothing happened this time. “I promise. It’ll be more satisfying.”

Karl’s mouth twitched. His hands trembled. She half expected him to kill her. But then his shoulders slumped. He nodded. Just once.

“I’ll try,” he said softly.

Aurora exhaled—but only through her nose, not loud enough for him to hear the extent of her relief. “Okay.”

The dying embers flickered against the tension still curled in their shadows. But something had shifted. Something permanent. Crystal had shattered. Blade had turned to ash. Selus was dead.

And still—it felt like nothing had changed.

The world was still shit.

But this time, she would do something about it. So Fire would fall next. Not to Milo. Not to Selus. To them.

“They made us obedient,” she said, flashes of their pasts burning through her. “Let’s return the favor.”

He didn’t smile, but he agreed.

This wasn’t just strategy. It was proof. That inversion worked. That obedience could be reversed. They wouldn’t just get revenge. They would engineer meaning.

Aurora and Karl found Milo crouched by the riverbank, one hand trailing lazily through the current. The water rippled around his fingers like he could hear its secrets. He didn’t turn as they approached. Just watched the water, calm as ever. Unbothered. As if they weren’t about to upend yet another kingdom’s balance.

Karl slowed first, his eyes locked on Milo’s hands. Aurora stopped beside him. Her stomach twisted. Something was wrong.

“Milo,” she called. “We’re ready.”

He turned at last. Slowly. His eyes catching the light, amused, and in his fingers, the vials shimmered like secrets waiting for a verdict.

Aurora’s pulse faltered.

“What?” she asked. “What is it?” Please, not another one of Milo’s tricks.

Milo’s smile unfurled—quiet, mischievous, terrible. Like a god too fond of chaos. Like the villain who’s never lost anything yet. “Why do you think I’m using this?” he asked, voice light. Almost curious.

Aurora frowned. “Because you never barge in and burn it down,” she said, irritation rising at the memory. She shoved down a sarcastic retort. “Even though you can.”

She wanted to yell at him, curse at him. The abandonment from the last mission was still fresh in her memory. Her gaze dropped to the vials in his hand. Rusty red, cloudy.

“Where did you get them?” she asked. It wasn’t meant to be an accusation, but her tone was low, dangerous.

Milo turned them slowly, like puzzle pieces. Or like he already knew she’d ask. “Essence Inversion,” he said. “Stone Kingdom tech.”

Aurora blinked. “But the Stone Kingdom outlawed magic.”

“Exactly,” he whispered as if his thoughts lay elsewhere. Aurora felt something shift in her chest. He lifted the vials again, more deliberate now. “These don’t create magic. But they do experiment with it.”

“So… why do I get the sense you’re going to abandon us – again?” Her brown energy flared.

He didn’t flinch. “I didn’t abandon you,” he said calmly. “I made room for you to grow.” He cocked his head. “And you did.”

“You made room?” Aurora closed the gap. “Bullshit. You left me drowning and called it a test. But sure, let’s call it character development.” Aurora watched as Milo stayed amused. She took a step back and shook her head, incredulous. She took a deep breath. “Okay, fine. Why us?” she spat. “We don’t stand a chance.”

Milo didn’t answer quickly, just enjoyed the morning breeze. “Because I told you, we were here for you. I’m not interested in this kingdom, or in revenge. If I do it,” he said eventually, “it’ll be too easy. There would be no struggle. Then, it will have no meaning. They’ll call it prophecy. The new citizens will worship me.” He turned the vials in his hand, slowly. “But if you do it—and survive—it becomes a more deserved story.”

Aurora’s nose flared. He paused. The air around them stilled. Then he added—softer, like something slipped, “and partly because, last night you told me not to watch you…and yet,” he murmured, “I can’t turn away.” His gaze held hers—steady, quiet, undeniable. He looked away. Just slightly. Like the admission cost something. “That’s why it has to be you.”

She didn’t answer. Because she saw it now. The pattern. The predictability. He could’ve ended the Fire Kingdom. Could’ve unraveled it with a whisper. Handed her a kingdom already scorched clean. But he didn’t. Because that would be too easy. Too neat. Too meaningless. He wanted her to earn it, to suffer for it, to become something real through it. And if she didn’t — she didn’t rewrite her own ending.

She turned her face to the clouds, a cruel laugh. He’s a bastard, but so am I. The memory of her suffering resurfaced. The helplessness she had once felt. Even after they had successfully ran away in their previous life, she had her ending cut short. She realized then: I only act when things are personal. Never for the greater good.

She wanted to get even. Again. She looked at Karl, knowing he felt the same. What a good example I’m setting, she thought bitterly.

Her teeth were clenched. “Come on, Karl,” she snarled. Karl hesitated for just a second. Then followed, quiet jaw tight. Like the world had just tilted, and she was the only thing still holding shape. They reached the edge of the trees. And then Aurora turned.

Milo stood exactly where they’d left him, staring after them.

She flipped him off.