The words echoed across the white expanse, and for a brief moment the world stabilized around her, as if reality itself acknowledged her claim.

  The shifting ground slowed. The violet fields held their color.

  She took a step forward, Sryun trailing behind her like smoke.

  His eyes scanned her aura, noticing how it pulsed differently now — sharper, more defined, anchored by will instead of confusion.

  He exhaled slowly.

  “You look… different.”

  She smirked.

  “Better? Or worse?”

  “Stronger”, he admitted. “But also heavier. Like you’re carrying more than just yourself now.”

  Her expression softened for a fraction of a second before she masked it again.

  I am. All the memories… they’re mine now. Not his. Not Rhan’s. Not anyone else’s.

  Silence returned.

  He made a timeout sign with his hands, palms raised between them like a fragile barrier.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, voice tight with confusion. “Fill me in. I thought you were struggling…”

  “Of course you did,” she snapped back, bitterness flashing through her purple eyes before fading just as quickly.

  “Relax,” he said, softer now. “It’s me.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, something raw trembling behind her gaze. Then her shoulders dropped, and she exhaled sharply.

  “Sorry… it’s just—”

  She screamed.

  The sound tore through the white expanse, jagged and unrestrained.

  He jerked back on instinct. “What the hell! What’s going on?! Is the tournament over?!”

  She laughed instead, breathless, almost manic, clutching at herself as if testing whether she was still real. “I’m sorry… I’m just—” Another laugh escaped her. “He tried again. He tried to kill me again.”

  “Kill you? Who?”

  “Not kill me. Erase!” Her smile twisted. “He wanted to erase my existence!”

  His expression hardened instantly. “Who is he? Once I get back I’ll—”

  She stared at him.

  “What?” he asked, uneasy.

  “He’s you.”

  Silence collapsed between them.

  “What?” he repeated, quieter this time.

  She shook her head slowly, laughter spilling out again, hollow and sharp. “He’s you. You’re his Jujisn. It makes so much sense. So much sense. Hahaha—”

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, frustration breaking through. “Can you please get a hold of yourself? Do I gotta slap you?”

  She tilted her head, smirking faintly. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve done to me.”

  “Stop.”

  “Sorry… okay… okay.” She inhaled deeply, forcing herself still. “Goodness, it’s a lot.”

  He let go but didn’t step away. He just stared at her, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the one he knew. They had always felt like two halves of the same coin.

  Now they felt like entirely different currencies.

  He sat down slowly on the shifting ground and motioned for her to join him.

  She didn’t move.

  That alone unsettled him more than anything she’d said. She had never resisted like that before. Not control—never that—but there had always been an unspoken rhythm between them.

  Now she simply watched him.

  “Sit with me… please?” he added after a beat.

  Her expression softened a fraction. “Thanks for asking.”

  She sat down beside him.

  “Oh,” he muttered, half-amused despite everything. “That was a power move, huh? When did we start doing that?”

  Her smile faded.

  “There is no we.”

  The words landed heavier than any blow.

  He stared at her, stunned. Hurt flickered across his face before he could hide it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But it’s true. A lot has happened… and Rhan tried to kill me—”

  “What?!” He surged upright again. “Why?! Rhan loves—”

  “He loves you!” she cut in sharply.

  “He? Rhan doesn’t have a gender.”

  “Yes he does,” she replied, voice steady now. “He just chooses to be androgynous. I’m not sure why, but Rhanri—”

  “Who the hell is Rhanri—”

  The moment the name left his mouth, reality fractured.

  Memories slammed into him like a collapsing wall. Images, voices, laughter from a dark place, debates about Sryun, glances that lingered too long—things he had never known yet somehow remembered.

  He screamed, clutching his head as the white world warped around him.

  She watched, eyes wide but unwavering.

  He gasped, breath hitching, then grabbed her hand gently, desperate for grounding. “What the hell…?”

  “Rhan’s been lying to us,” she said.

  He searched her face.

  She didn’t look away.

  “Listen closely,” she continued, voice low and urgent. “Because I’m trying to get it all out at once.”

  “What’s going on?” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself, the purple Sryun flickering faintly around her.

  Then she sighed.

  She drew in a long breath, shoulders rising and falling as if the words themselves were heavy.

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  “The dungeon… the Whispering Tree… everything started there,” she said quietly. “Rhan’s avatars were guarding the core. Not just protecting it—preserving something. I had to fight through them to reach the center.”

  He didn’t interrupt. He just watched her.

  “When I finally got inside,” she continued, “I met someone. Not fully… more like a fragment. A memory maybe. Rhanri.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly at the name, but he stayed silent.

  She decided not to add what Rhanri had said. Or bring up that she was hiding.

  He leaned forward. “And then?”

  “Qui Tensigon,” she said.

  The words hung between them.

  He blinked. “You’re serious? How is she involved?”

  “I know how it sounds,” she said sharply, already anticipating disbelief. “But I saw the sigil. The Story mark. It was on the ship. The attack wasn’t random. It was written.”

  Her hands curled into fists.

  “And there was a woman,” she went on, voice lowering. “She used a Rituain incantation. Conceptual binding. She sealed me inside her dying essence. Too erase me alongside her.”

  He stared at her, expression unreadable.

  “I Unraveled in there… that abyss…,” she said. “Completely. Which means… my god-self probably went through it too. That’s why we synced up so quickly.”

  Her gaze drifted for a moment, remembering.

  “I saw a memory. Not mine. Not entirely. Rhanri, Hideton… Laos. The creation of Sryun. How she and Rhan created it.”

  He shook his head immediately upon hearing that. “That’s wrong. Rhan and Jafar—”

  “It wasn’t,” she cut in gently but firmly. “It was Rhan and Rhanri. Jafar probably mastered it later because that’s what he does—he adapts. But the origin… it was them.”

  Silence fell.

  She swallowed, eyes darkening.

  “And in that memory… Rhan tried to kill me.” The words came out flat. “Not attack. Not test. Kill. Conceptual erasure.”

  His breath caught.

  “But Jafar stopped him,” she added quickly. “I don’t know why. I don’t know what he saw or what he was protecting. I just know… if that hand had finished rising, I wouldn’t be here.”

  She finally met his eyes fully.

  “That’s everything since we last talked,” she said, voice quieter now, exhausted but resolute. “And I don’t think this tournament is just a game anymore.

  He shook his head, voice tight “Ok. First—why would Rhan want to kill you? And not, you know… kill you anytime before?”

  She shrugged. “It probably has to do with Rhanri.”

  “Second,” he continued, frowning, “why on earth would Jafar of all people save you? That doesn’t make sense. I doubt he even knows who we are… honestly.”

  She hesitated, thinking. “Well, he did. You think I’m lying?”

  “No. It’s just… wow.” He looked at her again, eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh. You got past that sword curse.”

  She blinked. “I guess I did. I must have burned it away with Sryun.” She studied his face. “But you knew that already.”

  “I figured,” he said. “Considering that we are Jujisn, Sryun should cancel out the divine effect. Or at least lessen it.”

  “I guess restoring and destructing your soul over and over again helps.”

  He leaned forward and hugged her, arms tight but careful. “Sorry you went through that. But I think talking to Rhan—”

  “Talk to Rhan?! That man wants to kill me! Did you not hear me?!

  “It’s a lot to take in,” he said quietly. “And I’m not sure what the—”

  “This is just like back on Earth,” she snapped. “You want to comply. To simply knee—”

  She stopped mid-sentence.

  The memory surfaced, sharp and sudden.

  Rhanri’s voice inside the Whispering Tree core.

  “Rhan kneeled.”

  Her breath hitched.

  “Oh my goodness.”

  “What?” he asked, confused.

  “Back on Earth… what do you remember?”

  He gave a scowl. “The usual. School. The bullying.” He started listing things off—the retail store they worked at, small moments, the username he eventually turned into his current name.

  She blinked slowly. “Just as I thought. This was never random,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “None of it was.”

  He watched her get up and pace, eyes narrowing, trying to keep up with the storm building behind her expression.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked carefully.

  She turned to him, purple eyes burning with realization.

  “Back on Earth… you only remember the lie. The school. The bullying. The job. The username. Us calling ourselves Tinsurnae!” Her voice hardened. “But that’s all fake!”

  He frowned. “I highly doubt that….”

  “You don’t remember. The covenant. Us being the Veilborne. The way we talked together in the dark for hours.”

  He stared at her like she’d spoken another language.

  “I don’t remember any of that,” he said quietly.

  Her chest tightened. That blank look again. The same emptiness she had seen when Rhan raised his hand to erase her.

  Of course.

  “You don’t remember because Rhan removed it,” she murmured. “The memories came back for me after we split.”

  He pushed himself to his feet, frustration leaking through his voice. “Okay, slow down. You’re saying Rhan lied to us? Manipulated us? For what reason?”

  She stared at him.

  “Hey…”

  “What…”

  “Why did you lose to Jonathan back then?”

  “What?”

  “You conceded,” she said quietly. “But you didn’t go all out. And you followed along with him immediately.”

  “I was just going with the flow. I don’t know….” He said defensively.

  Her eyes went wide. Rhanri’s words ringing again.

  “Don’t listen to Rhan. He’s a beast—nothing more than a dog!”

  He watched her carefully. “What’s the issue?”

  She stopped abruptly, realization crashing into place.

  “That was influence.” She whispered.

  Silence stretched between them.

  She remembered Jafar’s hand stopping Rhan. The way Laos had looked past Rhanri and into her. The way Rhan’s gaze had felt like judgment itself. Qui Tensigon influence on the ship.

  Pieces were sliding into place, and the picture they formed was terrifying.

  “He was trying to erase something that shouldn’t exist.” She said slowly.

  “And that is…?” he asked.

  She met his eyes.

  “Me,” she said. “Not the version of me tied to you. The version that exists on her own.”

  His expression flickered—confusion and disbelief.

  “So what are you saying?” he asked. “That we were… manufactured? Split? Used?”

  She hesitated, then nodded once.

  “I think Rhan needed us to be one thing,” she said. “A tool. A Jujisn that functioned as a single will. But I broke away when I Unraveled. I remembered things you lost. I saw Rhanri. I saw the truth behind Sryun.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now.

  “That still doesn’t explain why Jafar stopped him.”

  Her gaze softened slightly.

  “Maybe because my existence serves a purpose he needs,” she said. “Jafar doesn’t stop anything without a reason. If he protected me… then something about me disrupts whatever story Rhan is trying to enforce.”

  “And what of Qui Tensigon?”

  “I can’t even fathom what Qui Tensigon was doing attacking the ship…”

  He exhaled slowly, absorbing that.

  “This is—”

  ———

  Unbelievable.

  That was how Civen felt as the world around her collapsed.

  Her plans had failed. Almost every single one.

  Givena and Cale were dead. They had failed in their task. Cale… she never held much hope for him. The elf had been blinded by revenge, reckless where patience was required. Givena, though—that was different. Givena had been careful, precise. Her failure didn’t make sense.

  But even that wasn’t the worst part.

  The goddess who had been aiding her—Shess’va Hissaria, the Veiled Serpent of Silent Splendor—had gone silent. Caleus and Eirian’s goddess, Familiane, the Veiled Luminara, had also vanished into silence. Without their guidance, the Signal Towers stood useless. The civilians could not be moved.

  And without divine aid, the gap in power remained unbroken.

  She could not defeat Vari’s Jujisn.

  Civen exhaled slowly, forcing down the rising frustration.

  Another explosion tore through the air.

  The city was falling.

  Buildings fractured under waves of force, streets splitting open like wounds across the city. In the distance, the Land’s Herald rampaged—an unstoppable force barely being held back by the dwindling defenses of those still standing.

  Every second felt heavier than the last.

  Both Keryna and AAA-Ka-Nier were out, rallying what little remained of their dying army.

  The plan to use the mass exodus of civilians as fuel for her ritual was now impossible.

  Once again, she had done everything right… and still come up short.

  To beings that had forgotten she even existed.

  Civen clenched her fist, metal railing bending beneath her grip with a sharp groan. She needed this revenge. If she achieved it, whatever happened after the tournament wouldn’t matter. She would have left her mark.

  She would have slain a Jujisn.

  Her thoughts stopped as a figure approached.

  She hadn’t sensed their presence until they were almost upon her.

  Civen turned.

  A young boy stood there, wild black hair framing gold-blue eyes that shimmered with impossible depth. Bronze armor wrapped around him, fractured wings etched into the metal behind his shoulders. A halo hovered above his head, faintly cracked yet radiant.

  “Sup, catfish lady.”

  She blinked slowly. “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry,” he said with a grin. “That was rude. Hi. I’m Jack.”

  Blue Ryun gathered instantly in her palm, spiraling into a spear. This boy had chosen the worst possible moment to appear.

  He laughed.

  “Yeah… that wouldn’t hurt me. Even if you are a Ranker, you’re not that strong.” He chuckled again. “Anyway, I’m here to give you something.”

  She froze, still cautious.

  “Oh, right,” he added, snapping his fingers. “I’m Qui Tensigon’s Chosen. She’s been helping your goddess or whatever. I was gonna, you know, wipe all of you out with beams of destruction from above… but apparently that’s not in the script.”

  Behind him, a spiraling galaxy of energy opened in reality. He reached into it and rummaged around.

  “Aww, here it is.”

  He pulled out a small vial and tossed it toward her.

  Civen caught it without looking away from him.

  “That would’ve been awkward if you let it fall and break,” he snickered.

  She studied the liquid inside, then lifted her gaze back to him. “Why would a Supreme Family Head want to help me? What’s the catch?”

  “No catch,” Jack said simply. “Stuff got messed up. Plans changed. So… I’m here to help.”

  She considered his words carefully.

  She had already suspected her patron wasn’t acting alone. A Supreme had to be involved. But hearing that the Lord of Folklore stood behind it—and had sent her Chosen personally—was… interesting.

  Dangerous, but interesting.

  She closed her fingers around the vial.

  “What’s your role?” she asked. “Are you planning to help with the Land’s Herald?”

  Jack laughed again, leaning casually against the railing.

  “Nah. I’m gonna wait. That thing killed a certain girl. People will fight it on their own.” His smile widened, sharp with quiet amusement. “My job comes after.”

  “After?”

  “To end their stories,” he said lightly. Then he looked at her, eyes bright with unsettling certainty. “Your goal’s the same, right? Kill Vari’s Jujisn.”

  Civen said nothing.

  He gestured toward the vial in her hand.

  “That’ll even the playing field. The Jujisn’s had earned themselves some serious plot armor.” He tilted his head, halo flickering faintly. “So now… you do too.”