The world beyond the dragon's lair was colder than Lemma remembered.
Not colder in temperature—the sun still warmed the mountains, and the wind carried the scent of pine and distant rain—but colder in intent.
Every step she took beyond the cavern's threshold felt like crossing an invisible line, as if the land itself had been holding its breath while she was gone.
Now it exhaled.
Lemma paused at the edge of the cliff overlooking the valley below. Her cloak—woven from dragon-spun fibers that resisted flame and magic alike—fluttered behind her.
Beneath it, the Dragon's Brand pulsed faintly against her chest, a low heat that never quite faded.
"So this is the world again," she murmured.
Behind her, the dragon remained half within shadow, half within light. Its massive form dwarfed the mountain itself, yet it did not follow her forward.
"This is where my protection ends," it said. "From here on, you walk beneath open skies."
Lemma didn't turn back. "You're not coming?"
"If I do, the gods will descend in force," the dragon replied. "They fear me. They will hunt you.
Lemma exhaled slowly.
"Then it's better this way.
The dragon's golden eyes studied her for a long moment.
"You are still weak," it said bluntly. "Your will has weight, but your body and magic lag behind.
Out there, hesitation will kill you."
Lemma clenched her fists.
"I know."
"And yet," the dragon continued, "you are no longer prey."
Something like pride flickered in its gaze
"Go," it said. "Make them uncomfortable."
Lemma stepped forward
The moment her foot touched the mountain path, the Dragon's Brand flared sharply—hot enough to steal her breath. She staggered, grabbing a rock to steady herself.
Voices erupted in her mind.
Not one.
Many.
So she walks.
The little ember leaves her nest.
How delightful.
Lemma gasped, dropping to one knee as the pressure crashed down on her from all sides. The sky darkened—not with clouds, but with overlapping presences, each vast, each alien
She had felt a Demon King before.
This was different.
This was a court
You wear a dragon's mark, one voice rumbled, deep and molten. How quaint
She refused you, another hissed, sharp and cold. That makes her interesting.
Mine, purred a third, smooth and possessive. She will burn sweetest under my guidance.
Lemma pressed her hands to the ground, teeth clenched.
"Get out of my head," she growled.
Laughter rippled through the unseen gathering.
She has spirit, said one. I call dibs.
"No," Lemma snapped. "You don't get anything."
Silence fell.
Then—amusement.
Listen to her, one Demon King said. She thinks she has a say.
The pressure intensified.
The world blurred at the edges, rocks fracturing beneath her palms as her will pushed back instinctively.
"I'm not your vessel," Lemma said, voice shaking but unbroken. "I'm not your weapon."
Yet, murmured the first voice she'd ever heard—the one that had tempted her before. You will need us.
Lemma lifted her head.
"Maybe," she said. "But you'll need me more."
The Dragon's Brand flared violently.
A shockwave rippled outward—not destructive, but declarative. The air thickened, space itself resisting the Demon Kings' collective pressure.
The voices recoiled.
Interesting, one said thoughtfully.
She pushes back.
Then let the game begin.
The presences withdrew—not gone, but watching.
Waiting.
Lemma collapsed onto her back, chest heaving.
"…That was new," she whispered.
Far above, beyond mortal sight, the gods reacted instantly.
The assassin did not announce herself.
She never did.
A blade descended from empty air, aimed for the base of Lemma's skull—perfectly placed, perfectly timed.
It never landed.
The air resisted.
The blade slowed, grinding against something unseen until sparks flew.
Lemma rolled instinctively, pain flaring as the weapon sliced her shoulder instead of her neck.
She scrambled to her feet, heart hammering.
Another divine hound—this one cloaked in light so pure it hurt to look at. Runes burned along her armor, each symbol a prayer sharpened into law.
"By decree of the higher seats," the assassin intoned, "you are condemned."
Lemma laughed breathlessly. "You gods really don't like being ignored.
The assassin moved.
Fast.
Lemma barely kept up—dodging, stumbling, her movements clumsy compared to the assassin's perfect form. She blocked with her forearm—
—and screamed as divine energy tore into her flesh.
She fell, skidding across stone.
The assassin raised her blade again.
"You are not worth fear," she said calmly. "Only correction."
Something inside Lemma snapped.
Not rage.
Resolve.
The world grew heavy.
The assassin's movements slowed—not because of magic, but because reality itself resisted her approach. Lemma stood
blood dripping from her arm, eyes burning.
"I didn't ask to be born wrong," Lemma said quietly. "But you don't get to erase me for it.
She stepped forward.
Each step felt like wading through water—for the assassin.
Lemma swung her fist.
It connected.
The sound was wrong—too deep, too final. The assassin flew backward, armor cracking, divine light flickering erratically.
Impossible.
No mortal should be able to touch a god's blade-bearer like that.
Lemma stared at her own hand, shaking.
"I… did it again."
The assassin struggled to rise.
"Anomaly escalating," she rasped. "Requesting—"
A spear of light descended from the sky.
The gods had lost patience.
Lemma reacted without thinking—throwing her will upward, not to block, but to deflect.
The spear shattered.
Fragments of divine light rained down like burning snow, scorching the mountainside.
Silence fell.
The assassin lay motionless, her armor cracked and dim.
She was still alive.
Lemma stared at her, breath ragged.
"…Gods bleed," Lemma whispered.
High above, several divine thrones went very, very still.
Lemma left the mountain by nightfall.
She wrapped her wounded arm, stole supplies from an abandoned outpost, and followed the road leading toward the lowlands—the same road merchants once traveled to reach the Heartfilia capital.
Each step away from the dragon's lair felt heavier.
Lonelier.
But also… freer.
The Demon Kings whispered occasionally—never too close, never too loud.
Choose wisely.
We will wait.
You cannot walk this road alone.
Lemma ignored them.
For now.
She stopped at a hill overlooking a distant city, lights flickering like stars fallen to earth.
Her kingdom lay beyond it.
Her mother lay beyond that.
Lemma rested a hand over the Dragon's Brand, feeling its steady heat.
"I'm coming," she said again—not as a promise, but a statement of fact.
Somewhere, a Demon King smiled.
Somewhere, a god clenched their fist.
And the world—long stagnant, long resigned—finally began to move.