The snow globe in Bronya's hands reflected the storm inside her.
She'd already braced herself earlier, so her body didn't react dramatically—but the emotional tidal wave rolling through her chest poured cleanly through the invisible link between them and hit Seele head-on.
Heavy. Bitter. Ripping pain—guilt sharp enough to crush a person.
A long time passed before Bronya finally looked up.
Her gaze no longer clung to the snow globe. Instead, it pierced the shattered window and drifted toward the Underworld's gray, artificial "ceiling."
Her voice sank low as she began recounting the past that had twisted her fate.
"Every ten or so years, the Architects run a screening. They secretly check every eligible child in the city's orphanages and poor families… then pick exactly one to train as the Great Guardian's successor."
"I was chosen."
She paused, and you couldn't tell whether it was fortune or tragedy in her tone.
"I left this place… went to the Overworld. Received the so-called elite education. Governance. Military. Command."
"Every day, I watched the Guards fall fighting the Fragmentum and the eternal freeze…"
For the first time, Bronya's voice cracked.
Pain and self-reproach—floodwater breaking a dam—swallowed her whole.
"I suffered inside… but I didn't dare defy Mother's decision."
Her shoulders trembled.
"How ironic is that? The blood in my body is from the Underworld. I breathed this air…"
"And when the Overworld's blockade came down—when it severed their future and their lives—I…"
Her words cut off, as if she'd run out of strength.
Her head bowed again, and the thick, strained sound in her breathing was painfully clear in the silence.
"I chose silence. For the 'greater good.' To live up to Mother's expectations…"
"I…" She couldn't finish.
She bit her lip hard, trying to stop whatever was rising in her throat, but her shoulders shook anyway.
The person standing there was no longer the calm, steel-willed Acting Great Guardian.
Just a girl torn apart by identity and guilt—fragile to the point of breaking.
Seele didn't scold her. Didn't call her stubborn. Didn't throw cheap accusations.
She stepped forward and placed her rough—but warm—hand over Bronya's trembling fingers, then squeezed.
Bronya jolted, instinctively trying to pull away—only for Seele to grip tighter.
And in that instant, outside of battle, Bronya chose to reach back through their link for the first time.
Warmth flooded her.
Not empty comfort—more like a vow branded directly into the mind:
I'm here. Don't be afraid. We're in this together.
That simple, steady presence didn't erase Bronya's guilt—but it stopped the suffocation. It split the weight. It gave her somewhere to stand.
She inhaled slowly… and exhaled.
Her chest stopped heaving.
Her eyes focused again.
The hollow fog burned away, replaced by a hard, newly forged resolve—like a star tempered in fire.
"Thank you, Seele."
Her voice was clear now. She turned her hand and gripped Seele's back—passing strength back in kind.
"The past can't be changed. But the future… has to be different."
"I'll change this. I'll change Belobog's reality. For the Overworld, for the Underworld… for every forgotten corner, and every sacrificed voice."
She raised her head, eyes bright, her oath landing like a hammer in the dim room.
"I will become a Great Guardian worthy of the title. A Great Guardian I can face without shame."
Seele looked at her—and finally, her mouth curved despite herself.
Their eyes met.
Something wordless plucked at the strings of the heart.
The storage room remained dark, only a thin beam through broken glass outlining their silhouettes.
Distance vanished without either of them noticing.
They stood close enough to see themselves reflected in each other's pupils.
Silence magnified everything—their breathing, the rhythm of their hearts, the soft drift of dust in the light.
The link between them had never felt so vivid, like countless unseen threads winding tighter and tighter.
Then—
They both snapped back a full step as if struck.
Too immersed in what the link carried, they hadn't noticed someone approaching.
Bronya's cheeks flared red. She hurriedly shoved the snow globe into her coat pocket.
Seele's breath hitched.
The air was thick and hot—
Right at the critical edge—
A small, timid voice shattered it.
"Um… are you… Wildfire's big sister Seele?"
In the doorway's sliver of light stood a small figure with clear, curious eyes—nervous but earnest.
Beside her stood a silent mechanical unit, one of Belobog's steel guardians, its lights blinking in orderly cycles.
Seele recognized her at once.
"You're… the kid with Svarog. Clara?"
Her tone was still annoyed—mostly because she'd been interrupted.
Clara hugged her limp canvas bag tighter, voice low with unease.
"Clara… came to find medicine."
"The vagrants' camp and the miners got into a fight. A lot of people are hurt. There was so much blood…"
"I want to help. Even bandages… anything…"
Seele's brows knitted, a surge of anger rising—sharp and directionless.
"Tch. Those idiots. Fighting each other until they're wrecked, then letting a kid crawl into a cursed, abandoned place to scavenge supplies? They can go—"
"Seele-sis!" Clara flinched, waving her hands in panic.
"No! It's not like that! I… I wanted to come. Everyone just wants to survive… I want to help too…"
Her gaze dropped to the medical supplies Seele had already sorted. Her eyes filled with pleading.
"Could… could you spare a little? They're really hurt."
Seele stared at those clean eyes… then at the supplies—valuable to Natasha's clinic, yes, but not something she could hoard while people bled.
She raked a hand through her purple hair, exhaled hard, and gave in with exaggerated irritation.
"Fine. Wait."
She bent down, fast and efficient, and packed roughly half the bandages, disinfectant, and dressing materials into Clara's empty bag.
"Take it. And get out. This place isn't safe. Tell Svarog to keep an eye on you—stop running around."
She sounded fierce, but her hands didn't hesitate.
Clara's face lit up like a lamp.
"Thank you, Seele-sis! Thank you!"
She bowed deeply, then turned and called softly to the machine beside her.
"Come on, Pascal. Let's go back."
Clara and the automaton vanished into the Underworld gloom beyond the orphanage door.
The room fell silent again.
The interruption left behind something sharper than before—an awkwardness with nowhere to go.
Seele's eyes flicked toward Bronya.
Almost at the same time, Bronya looked back.
Their gazes brushed—then both darted away as if shocked.
But the link between their minds didn't disconnect.
It carried everything they were trying to pretend wasn't there: the uneven heartbeat, the leftover embarrassment, the lingering pull—plus a thread of worry for Clara.
They began packing the remaining supplies.
Their movements were stiff, deliberately avoiding eye contact.
Now and then their fingertips brushed.
Both would recoil—too fast, too obvious.
Yet the link only sank deeper, letting them taste every micro-shift of thought and emotion with nowhere to hide.
They carried the supplies out through the broken doorway and headed back toward Natasha's clinic.
As they walked, the cold air cooled overheated faces.
The forced avoidance softened.
Their occasional glances stopped fleeing.
A shoulder bump no longer made them jump.
They still didn't speak, but the link flowed steadily with quiet concern and a growing closeness—and a note of urgency from Seele.
The moment they pushed open the clinic door, a wave of heat and smell hit them: blood, disinfectant, bitter herbs.
The cramped room was packed.
Low groans rose and fell.
Miners lay on makeshift stretchers and floor bedding, injured bodies stacked into every corner.
Natasha was bent over a patient, hands moving quickly—cleaning, stitching—hair damp with sweat, her expression focused and exhausted.
When she saw Bronya and Seele—especially the boxes of supplies in their arms—relief flashed across her face.
"You went to the orphanage?"
"Yeah." Seele nodded once, eyes already scanning the room.
Natasha's voice carried both relief and lingering fear.
"This is perfect timing. I was just thinking I'd have to send someone to risk going there for the stored supplies."
She frowned, worried.
"That area's Fragmentum activity is heavy. Without you, Seele… I wouldn't have known who I could safely send."
Seele added casually, "Ran into Clara—Svarog's kid. She was looking for meds too. Said the vagrants' camp has wounded. I gave her half of what we found."
Natasha's hands didn't pause, but her mouth lifted in approval.
"Good work, Seele. That was the right call."
"Miners or vagrants—hurt is hurt. Lives are lives."
No more small talk. Bronya and Seele set the supplies down, rolled their sleeves up, and jumped into triage.
Bronya's Overworld training showed—steady hands, clean bandaging, careful disinfection.
Seele moved like a purple gust—passing tools, pressing bleeding points, calming panicked patients—fast, practical, relentless.
While stitching a miner's deep arm wound, Natasha leaned close to Seele and asked softly, without looking up:
"You pulled Bronya away earlier… to the orphanage."
Her eyes flicked toward Bronya's profile—quiet, determined.
"So—did it solve the problem?"
Bronya didn't stop working. She lifted her gaze and met Natasha's question, then nodded.
"Yes."
"The problem… is solved."
The old chains were broken. She knew where she came from—and she knew, finally, how far her mother had drifted.
She would stand against Cocolia. Help the Nameless seal the Stellaron. End the freeze and the Fragmentum.
And she would tear open the Underworld blockade and return sunlight and dignity to the people below.
Natasha's eyes softened—one brief, grateful moment—then she turned back to the next emergency.
"Good. Then move. Hold him down—now."
They worked until most injuries were stabilized and the room's tension finally eased.
Then the clinic door opened again.
Star, March, Dan Heng—and Firefly—strode in, dusty and marked with the day's fighting, but alert.
"We're back!" March's voice cut through the heavy air, lively as ever.
Dan Heng's gaze swept the crowded clinic and settled on Natasha.
"How bad is it?"
"Contained—for now." Natasha exhaled and wiped sweat off her brow.
Then, curiosity: "I heard you went to see Svarog?"
Dan Heng nodded.
"Sampo gave us a key lead. Svarog is an ancient automaton—he's been operating for a very long time. Sampo suspected he might have records about the Stellaron's location."
"Hardest hunk of metal I've ever seen!" March cut in, proud and annoyed at once.
"Super tough defenses. If we didn't have Firefly at the crucial moment, we'd still be stuck arguing with a walking tank!"
Firefly smiled sheepishly.
Dan Heng continued, tone sober.
"With Firefly's assistance, we broke through Svarog's defensive protocols and forced him to acknowledge us as a new 'variable.'"
Natasha repeated softly, thinking: "Variable…"
As Wildfire's true leader, she'd mediated conflicts with Svarog many times—with little success.
Maybe the "variable" had always been the missing piece.
In Svarog's calculations, she, Wildfire, even the entire Underworld had never been treated as meaningful input.
Dan Heng's expression sharpened.
"Once we proved we could alter Belobog's trajectory, Svarog opened parts of his core database."
His gaze moved to Bronya.
"There is no direct record of the Stellaron's current position. But the records strongly indicate the Great Guardian should know—because the data confirms that every Great Guardian in history knew the Stellaron was the true cause of the eternal freeze and the Fragmentum."
Bronya's pupils contracted.
Dan Heng's voice stayed even as he unearthed the buried truth.
"Seven hundred years ago, the Antimatter Legion invaded. Belobog faced extinction."
"The Architects, standing on the edge of despair… made a choice."
"They used the Stellaron."
He let the silence bite, then continued, heavier.
"The Stellaron's extreme cold froze the Antimatter Legion and saved Belobog from immediate destruction."
"But the freeze and the spreading Fragmentum became a longer, deeper catastrophe."
"And worse—the Stellaron whispers. It continually tempts the Great Guardian, corroding will and judgment."
"Past Guardians resisted that corruption while keeping the secret, fearing Belobog would lose faith in Preservation if the truth came out. They researched the Stellaron in the shadows, trying to destroy it and end the disaster."
Dan Heng looked straight at Bronya's pallid face.
"Cocolia Rand's recent decisions—especially the total Underworld lockdown and her inaction toward Fragmentum anomalies—suggest she may have…"
He chose the words carefully.
"…deviated from Preservation's path."
"…and been swallowed by the Stellaron's whisper."
Bronya swayed, face blanching.
She had prepared for it. She had already decided to resist her mother.
But hearing it stated so plainly still made it feel like her lungs had been crushed.
Seele, instantly sensing the shock through their link, stepped closer—without thinking—and pushed quiet steadiness into Bronya's mind.
Bronya closed her eyes, breathed deep, then opened them again.
Her eyes still churned—but resolve outweighed the tremor.
"I understand," she said hoarsely.
"I'm ready. I'll return to the Overworld immediately… and meet Mother."
To question. To try one last time. Or—
To sever everything.
But Dan Heng shook his head calmly and pointed at the old but precise wall clock.
"It's late."
"Everyone is exhausted. After the mine conflict and the high-intensity fighting… and after learning what we learned today…"
"We should rest."
He looked at Bronya.
"Tomorrow, after we recover, we go to the Fortress together."
The proposal met immediate agreement.
The moment there was permission to loosen, fatigue surged like a tide.
The Express crew left Natasha's clinic and headed for the familiar Goethe Hotel.
Natasha offered Bronya a clean place to stay.
Bronya shook her head.
"No. Thank you, Natasha."
She turned to the girl beside her—who still hadn't let go of her hand.
"Can I stay with you tonight?"
Seele blinked once, then nodded.
"Yeah."
Night deepened.
The Underworld fell into darkness except for scattered lights.
Seele's place wasn't big—simple, even shabby—but reasonably clean.
A thin plastic curtain marked off a narrow "bathroom." Water ran behind it.
Seele, already changed into casual clothes, was busy draping wet laundry on a heated column powered by geomarrow—rough and practical. The machine hummed, pushing warm air.
The water stopped.
The plastic curtain lifted.
Bronya stepped out, towel-drying her silver hair, wearing a spare robe Seele had handed her.
It fit Seele well enough, but on Bronya—taller, fuller—it looked stretched and short.
The room's dim light caught her damp skin with a soft sheen, water beads sliding from her hair tips.
Seele pointed at the heater. "Your clothes are washed. Dry them there. They'll be fine by morning."
Bronya's gaze followed—and froze.
Among the damp clothing was a particularly embarrassing item from a full day of sweat and fighting.
Her face went bright red, up into her ears and neck.
Seele felt the spike of mortification through the link and shrugged with deliberate nonchalance, lips curling in a teasing half-smile.
"Relax. This is the Underworld. Nobody here acts like the Overworld's fancy."
"Dirty, wash it. Dry it. Wear it again. Big deal."
Her tone was casual—trying to spare Bronya.
Bronya pressed her lips together. She relaxed a fraction—but the shame still burned.
The two of them in one small room, under one dim light…
The interrupted moment in the orphanage—the closeness, the almost-touching—rose again uninvited.
The air thickened.
The heater's low hum was the only sound.
Their heartbeats quickened, and through the link each could feel the other's pulse racing to match.
They drifted closer.
Bronya lifted her eyes and collided with Seele's violet gaze—desire and restraint tangled together.
No words.
Their lips met.
(…The rest of the night continues into explicit sexual content. I can't translate or reproduce explicit sex scenes. If you want, I can continue with a fade-to-black version that keeps the plot, emotions, and the "mind-link feedback" idea, but without graphic detail.)
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 178)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 139)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League ( 126 )
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter110)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter171)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter100)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter184)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 65
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 77
From Junkman to Wasteland 66
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
From Kiana, Lord Ravager, Onwa 168
Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
Warhammer: My Primarch Is Remi 156
From Demon Slayer to Grand Ass 105
The Way the Umamusume Look at 68
Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 185
Naruto: Weaving the Future, Be 65
Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 76
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 66
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 65
Uma Musume: The Dark Trainer 160
Uma Musume: A Calamity Born fr 150
I, a Reincarnation-Loop Player 76
The Violent Girl Group Is Beat 97
Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 66
Uma Musume: From Beginner 116
Becoming a Horse Girl, I Will 75
Uma Musume: I Want All 93
I Can Copy Unique Skills 79
Summoning an Evil God, but the 55
Supernatural Multiverse 75
My Harem Is Indescribable 68
Jujutsu Kaisen: Heroic Spirit 70
"I'm just a Valkyrie passing through." 66
Uma Musume: Today Is Another Romantic Battlefield 69
Still playing traditional Honk 49
The Most Filial Son Under Heav 53
What Should I Do After Switchi 42
Reincarnated as a Demon, Skill 50
Hell-Difficulty Dungeon? 38
Transmigrated as Sukuna 35
Checking In in Demon Slayer 40
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 55
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