Somewhere between illusion and memory, Xi returned to the place she had once destroyed.
The painted landscape unfolded around her—mountains in the mist, still waters, a tranquil beauty that once calmed the soul. But now, it only made her smile.
She raised a pale hand toward the distant peaks. Fire spiraled up from her fingers like a coiling dragon of smoke and ash.
"Form."
A massive blade descended from the sky, crashing down like judgment. The mountains split apart beneath it, flame engulfing the land, rivers of molten stone pouring into newly opened fissures.
Wind howled. Fire shrieked. Earth cracked and screamed as everything gave way to destruction.
When it finally stilled, the world had changed.
The picturesque mountains were gone. In their place stood jagged cliffs and a monolithic sword driven into the ground, lava carving fiery paths across the scarred landscape.
A hellscape born from memory.
Xi—no, the creature wearing her name—stood in the center, smiling with satisfaction. The power she had stolen from Nian pulsed within her now, the authority of one of the twelve Proxies of the Year. With it, the twisted history within her grew more complete.
But before she could savor her triumph, chaos erupted.
The ink that clung to her body writhed and spasmed, like a storm before collapse. The shapes twisted madly, the balance of power suddenly breaking.
The ink tore away from her, lifting into the air and forming twelve portraits—shifting, ancient, painted in the traditional style of black and white ink. Most were clear, but one was burned—nearly obliterated. Only the faint image of a woman writing at her desk remained.
Xi fell to her knees. She was shaking.
"No... no... what is this...?"
Her fear was real. Raw.
From all around, a gentle, melodious voice echoed—not from one direction, but from every corner of the world. As if the heavens themselves were watching her.
"Oh dear. I didn't expect such a dramatic reaction," the voice mused lightly. "Stealing a Proxy's authority has thrown off the balance? That's unfortunate."
Xi's eyes narrowed.
"You again... You trying to use me to wake the old coffin up? Then go find that bootlicker. He'd be happy to serve you."
She looked up at the empty sky, pain and confusion clouding her face. She remembered what had just happened.
She'd taken Nian's power. She'd done it with her own hands.
They had fought for centuries, yes—but never like this. Never truly trying to hurt one another. But today, she had broken that rule.
Nian might already be dead.
The thought made Xi tremble.
She thought of her third sister. Of Xie. Of the eldest—who had given them all names.
She had died too. Returned to chaos. Returned to him.
And one day, Xi knew... the same would happen to her.
She would lose herself. Become something else. Something... wrong.
The fear in her heart twisted into something deeper. Her own body was no longer hers. Nian's stolen power had pushed her over the edge. The beast inside—what the world called the aberrant Face of the Year—had grown stronger.
But still, she gritted her teeth and lifted her chin.
She couldn't show weakness now. Not in front of the one who had made her into this.
"You misunderstand me," the voice said gently. "But no matter. That's not important."
The voice danced between the ink paintings, soft and serene, but with an unmistakable weight beneath it.
Xi didn't know who it belonged to—but if Amiya or Talulah had been here, they would have recognized it in an instant.
Theresia.
Or rather—Precise.
"I simply wanted to see what surprises you could offer me," the voice went on. "You're an incomplete beast, but still capable of shaping the remnants of the Proxies into something... almost like the old Year. And with your dear second brother's help, we now have you—our perfect creation."
As she spoke, the twelve floating portraits shivered. Each one was a painted memory of a Proxy of the Year.
Once, these had been Xi's private works—paintings of her siblings, crafted from grief and nostalgia. No one had ever seen them. Not even Nian knew where they were kept.
And now, they were being used to destroy her.
"You monster…"
Xi's eyes flicked around, searching for an opening. Her hand snapped upward—the crimson Han sword flaring in her grip. Ink exploded from the blade, coalescing into sharp daggers that raced toward the floating portraits.
But Precise was ready.
As the daggers neared, the paintings responded.
"Rivers fall with the autumn tide; breath calms like the settling dusk."
The voice rang like a bell. One of the portraits pulsed—ink surging from within—and shattered the daggers mid-air.
Xi's eyes widened.
"That voice—Big Brother?!"
Another dagger neared a second portrait, and this time, the painted woman's lips moved. The blade froze, suspended in place.
"Second Sister?!"
Each portrait came to life—each one invoking the power of its Proxy, driving back Xi's attacks. The memories she had preserved had now turned against her.
All except one.
The half-burned painting—the one of the gentle woman at her desk—remained still.
The blade tore through it, splitting the canvas and scattering the illusion. Books collapsed behind it. Silence followed.
"You really are a difficult girl," the voice sighed. "But it doesn't matter. We don't need your obedience. Just your body."
Chains burst from the twelve portraits—dozens of them—lancing toward Xi like fangs.
They pierced her wrists, ankles, throat, and waist. Ink flowed through the chains, flooding her body. And with every drop that entered, her face twisted in agony.
She screamed, helpless.
The ink gathered, encasing her in a sphere. Inside, her cries echoed—sharp, desperate, inhuman.
Then, with a thunderous crack, the sphere exploded.
The aberrant Face of the Year emerged once more.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Applause echoed from nowhere.
"Yes. That's it. That's the form I wanted," Precise murmured, materializing beside the beast. "Still a little rough... but enough to impress me."
She stared at the monster thoughtfully, remembering her recent visit to the Ashen Mountain.
"To use your own sister like that," she whispered, almost admiringly. "Cruel. Or maybe just... committed?"
The creature didn't answer.
It howled instead—black ink pouring from its limbs as it raised the crimson Han sword once more. This time, the ink drew tight around its body, forming a second skin. Flesh shifted. Color returned. Features softened.
Like something out of an old myth, the beast donned a human shell once more.
It became Xi again.
Beautiful. Fragile. Deceptive.
She opened her mouth and whispered a name.
"Shuo... Ling... Xian... Shu... Ji... Wang..."
Names. Her siblings' names. The only things still hers.
Far away, a gourd tipped.
Ling took a deep drink, savoring the taste. She was seated cross-legged on a crate outside Rhodes Island, watching the wind. In her arms, Nian—still plush, still miserable—had given up struggling and was now a defeated little ball.
"Cheers to me," Ling said, grinning. "Do you know how hard it was to get those paintings, little Nian? I had to pull strings all over the place."
From inside the lab, Doctor Fangzhou emerged, holding something new.
"If it weren't for Miss Ling delivering them just in time," he said, "we'd still be stuck trying to extract power from Nian's damaged transformation core. But with these... it's complete."
He lifted the object with care.
A new Drive Core.
The Drive Core of the Year.
It glimmered like molten gold, shaped like a beast's crown. Powerful. Ancient. Perfect.
Fangzhou passed it to Amiya, his voice turning solemn.
"Amiya—this Drive Core doesn't just hold the history of a people. It holds the history of a beast. One creature, one will, one memory—accumulated over millennia. It's not like any other. If you use it recklessly, it might consume you instead."
Amiya stared down at it, her expression serious.
Swallowed by history...
A beast's history...
She exhaled slowly. Her hands didn't tremble.
"I understand, Doctor. And I'll carry it. Because that's my duty as king. And because I'm not alone—I have Talulah, Officer Chen, the Doctor, and Kelsey. Everyone's with me."
Her voice was soft. Young. But filled with strength.
Enough to silence even the wind.
Stillness returned.