Silence lingered after the thirteenth ring's pulse faded, like the still breath before a storm.

Smoke curled around Verena's feet, stardust laced with heat from freshly collapsed magic. The invaders—those transmigrators and glitchy system-wielders—were no longer smug. Whatever illusion or overpowered cheat they relied on had been snapped clean through like thread, leaving only the raw reality of their existence. And in Verena's world, that meant reckoning.

"Did we win?" Penelope whispered, blade still raised, but her eyes darted uncertainly.

"No," Clarina answered, lowering her sword. "We bought time."

A gust blew through the Astrarium. At its center, where the constellations once swirled in harmony, the stars were misaligned, like someone had yanked the threads of fate and left them tangled.

"Where's Evelyn?" Isolde asked suddenly. "And Sera? Beatrice?"

Verena blinked. The victory high had clouded her focus—but now, the panic flooded in like cold water.

They weren't here.

None of the heroines were.

"I saw them pulled through something," Vivienne said, her voice trembling. "Some... mirror gate. It didn't feel like the Labyrinth's magic. It felt... wrong."

Of course it did. This wasn't over. Whoever was tampering with the Astral Trial—whoever wanted the story to shift, bend, or break—wasn't done.

Verena turned to Saphira, who had coiled tightly around her arm. "The thirteenth seal didn't just disrupt their mimicry, did it?"

Saphira's golden eyes narrowed. "No. It forced their influence out—but that kind of force creates backlash. I think they panicked. And pulled your heroines as leverage."

Clarina stepped forward. "So we're not done."

"Not even close," Verena muttered. "They're not just trying to rewrite the story anymore. They're taking hostages."

A strange silence fell across the room again—except this time, it wasn't cosmic. It was personal. The team looked at each other, each face carved with exhaustion, confusion, and something else.

Resolve.

"I'm in," Isolde said, adjusting her gloves.

Penelope groaned but nodded. "As long as I don't have to babysit Vivienne again."

Vivienne flinched. "Rude..."

Saphira uncoiled and floated midair. "We'll need a new path. The Astrarium is no longer the axis. Whatever gate they opened, it wasn't meant for this world."

Verena raised her hand. "I'll find them."

Everyone stared at her.

"No," Clarina said quietly. "We'll find them."

Verena blinked.

"You forget," Clarina added, glancing at the others, "you're not the only one who cares about those girls. We're not just side characters to your grand system quest. We're real."

It hit harder than she expected. In the chaos of survival, of system notifications and trial events, Verena had tried to carry everything. Because that's what the transmigrated villainess always had to do, right?

But maybe not this time.

Maybe she wasn't alone.

"Then we move," Verena said.

Saphira hissed approvingly.

They followed the fading trail of celestial leakage—star residue left behind from the ripped open mirror gate. It shimmered in air currents, leading them away from the Astrarium ruins and deeper into the Old Wing of Irasios Academy. A place abandoned, sealed since the last Zodiac War.

The architecture changed the farther they went. Spires curved unnaturally, halls twisted inward like they were built from melted dreamscapes. Glyphs glitched, overlapping languages of different magical systems—sigils from Earth, astral runes, Hollow Deep etchings.

They had crossed into a fracture.

A pocket world created out of narrative chaos.

Vivienne clutched Verena's sleeve. "This place is creepy..."

"It's worse than creepy," Penelope muttered. "It's inconsistent."

Verena paused. She understood now. Whoever the enemy was—they weren't trying to destroy the world. They were trying to rewrite it. Patchwork a new story from borrowed scenes and stolen power. That's why the girls were taken. The heroines were the anchors of this world's script. Without them, the narrative frayed.

And if someone rewrote the world with them as the core...

Verena might disappear.

Or worse—revert to the monster she once was.

"We stop them," she said out loud. "Before this becomes permanent."

A door appeared ahead. Not a normal one. It rippled like water, veined with shifting constellations—one for each heroine.

Vivienne gasped. "It's a dreamgate..."

Saphira flicked her tongue. "Then let's wake them up."

They stepped through the Dreamgate.

The moment Verena crossed the threshold, the world blurred—like falling into an unfinished painting, brushstrokes unsteady, colors bleeding into each other. Her feet no longer touched stone but something soft and ever-shifting. Mist, maybe. Clouds. Dreams made tangible.

Her first breath tasted like memory.

"Where are we—" Penelope began, but her voice echoed like a child calling across a canyon. She wasn't beside them anymore. None of them were.

The Dreamgate had separated them.

Verena stood alone in a world of muted color, where the sky rolled like ocean tides and gravity felt like a suggestion. Pieces of scenery hung in midair—a half-built house, a tree growing upside down, letters in the sky forming half-finished sentences.

This dream wasn't hers.

A laugh echoed, melodic but broken.

"Evelyn?" Verena called out. "Sera? Beatrice?"

No response.

Saphira slithered along her shoulders, silent but tense.

"This dream feels hollow," the snake finally whispered. "As if it wasn't born from a mind—but stitched together from pieces of one."

Verena turned, scanning the horizon. That's when she saw the silhouette. A girl, standing at the edge of a broken bridge, staring into a void where the stars used to be.

Evelyn.

Verena called her name again, louder this time, and ran forward—but the distance didn't close. The closer she got, the farther Evelyn drifted, like a memory just out of reach.

"No... no, no, no." Verena grit her teeth and focused.

"Thread convergence," she whispered. Her fingers moved instinctively, mimicking the constellation of her birth sign, and her mimicry weave sparked to life.

Reality obeyed—somewhat. The world shuddered. The dream tried to fight back.

Then it cracked.

In a single burst of force, she warped forward. The stars above realigned just long enough for her to land at Evelyn's side. The girl didn't turn.

"Hey," Verena said quietly. "You're not supposed to be alone."

Evelyn's voice came back, faint. "But I always am."

The world flickered.

Now they were standing in a ruined ballroom, chandeliers shattered above them. Then on a cliffside overlooking a battlefield soaked in rain. Then in a school hallway where everyone walked past Evelyn like she was invisible.

A collage of rejection.

A spiral of loneliness.

Verena reached forward, grabbing Evelyn's wrist. "You told me once—if you became more confident, you'd marry me. Remember that?"

Evelyn blinked. Her form trembled.

"I do." Her voice was stronger now. "But then I remembered how many times I was cast aside. Even when I tried. Even when I smiled."

The world cracked deeper.

Verena pulled her closer. "You don't have to keep proving yourself. You've already changed. You've already grown. You're not the same doormat I dragged through a confidence plan."

Evelyn flinched at that. Then laughed—a genuine, teary sound.

"You made me cry in public so many times."

"You needed it."

"You're awful."

"You're worse."

For a moment, the dream froze. Evelyn looked around, disoriented.

"What is this place?"

"A trap." Verena squeezed her hand. "But not a permanent one."

Behind them, the sky began to warp. Constellations blinked back into place like rebooted code. The dream didn't like that. It fought back.

A scream split the air, and from the shadows rose a malformed version of Evelyn—bigger, meaner, warped by every insult she'd ever heard.

"Go," Verena whispered. "Find the others. I'll catch up."

"But—"

"I said go."

And then she turned to face the nightmare.

The nightmare Evelyn lunged—an amalgamation of self-loathing and shame, twisted into flesh. Her face was warped by tears that never fell, her limbs stretched too long, her voice echoing every rejection Evelyn had endured.

"Useless!" it howled. "Forgettable! A burden!"

Verena didn't flinch. She reached for her mimicry weave, threads of celestial magic flickering around her fingers. They hummed in resonance, aligning with the memory of Evelyn's strength—not her weakness. She wasn't fighting this thing with power. She was fighting it with understanding.

With empathy.

"Funny thing about monsters like you," Verena said, her voice low. "You scream so loud hoping someone will finally listen. But all you are is a memory loop stuck on the worst parts."

The creature screeched and swung, but Verena ducked, weaving backward with dancer-like agility. Her mimicry weave pulsed, copying its aura—not the physical attack, but the source emotion.

The mimicry glowed a deep indigo. Despair.

She inhaled. And instead of lashing out, she stepped forward.

And hugged it.

For a terrifying moment, the world stilled. The nightmare thrashed, flailing to escape the contact. But Verena didn't let go. She pressed her forehead against its grotesque chest and whispered, "You wanted someone to care. I do. I just won't let you hurt her anymore."

Light exploded.

The nightmare collapsed inward, not shattered—but calmed. Folded back into Evelyn's core, absorbed into the girl's emotional truth.

And just like that, the scenery faded.

Verena was alone again, standing in the Dreamgate's intermediary space. Soft mist underfoot. Endless stars above.

Then a pulse—like a heartbeat through fabric. Another dream rippled open, and a scream echoed in the distance.

Sera.

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