The crown did not rest easily anymore.
Seraphina stood alone within the Sanctum of Accord—a chamber that did not officially exist, buried far beneath the palace where no god's gaze could reach cleanly. The walls were carved with ancient contracts, their letters burned so deeply into the stone that even time recoiled from them.
Chains of gold and obsidian hung from the ceiling, each linked to a presence that could not fully enter the world without invitation.
Tonight, they rattled.
Seraphina placed the crown upon the altar at the chamber's center.
The gem embedded within it pulsed once, twice—then split its light into five distinct hues.
Five thrones of shadow manifested in a half-circle around her.
Five Demon Kings answered the summons.
Flame coiled into a seated shape, molten and restless.
Frost condensed into a figure of razored stillness.
A mass of shifting eyes and mouths chuckled wetly as it settled.
A figure of living ash leaned forward, curious.
And last—something vast and quiet, its presence bending the chamber inward.
"You call boldly for a mortal," rumbled the molten one. "You have lost one of mine."
Seraphina did not bow.
She smiled.
"I corrected an imbalance," she said. "You grew careless."
The frost-bound king laughed—a sound like glaciers grinding. "Your daughter corrected it."
Seraphina's smile thinned.
"Do not speak of her as if she belongs to you."
The many-eyed thing rippled with amusement. "She burns a priest without invoking your name. She denies a contract mid-ritual. You raised something… inconvenient."
Seraphina lifted the crown.
"I raised a tool," she said calmly. "One that broke."
The vast presence finally spoke, its voice slow and crushing
.
"She carries weight," it said. "Not power. Weight. That is dangerous."
Seraphina's fingers tightened.
"I want her alive," she said. "Not broken. Not claimed. Alive and returned."
The molten king snarled. "She denied me."
"She denied you because you reached without permission,"
Seraphina snapped, the air cracking with authority. "Do not forget the terms. You reign by my consent."
Silence followed.
Then laughter—soft, approving.
The ash-figure leaned back. "She threatens your throne."
Seraphina stepped forward, eyes blazing.
"No," she said. "She threatens your leverage."
The crown flared.
"I will handle the girl," Seraphina continued. "In return, you will withdraw your hunters. Sabotage her rebellion quietly. Starve it.
Turn them against her."
"And if we refuse?" asked the frost king.
Seraphina placed the crown back upon her head.
"Then I remind the gods," she said softly, "that it was you who taught me how to bleed without dying."
The chains rattled violently.
One by one, the Demon Kings receded—some amused, some furious, all attentive.
The chamber dimmed.
Seraphina exhaled.
"…You should have stayed hidden," she whispered, thinking of Lemma. "Now you'll learn what ruling costs."
The rebellion died screaming.
It happened in the tunnels beneath the old aqueduct—where they had gathered to move supplies, to plan evacuations, to believe for one fragile night that they were winning.
Lemma felt it first.
A pressure—wrong, inverted.
"Everyone out," she said sharply. "Now."
Too late.
The sigils flared.
Not summoning circles—sanctification arrays.
Light flooded the tunnels, searing and absolute. Dawnwarden banners unfurled from hidden alcoves as armored figures poured in from every entrance, blades glowing with divine sanction.
"By decree of Her Majesty," Aurellion's voice echoed, amplified, merciless, "this gathering is treason."
Panic exploded.
Civilians ran.
Guards cut them down.
Lemma moved, screaming orders, dragging people behind stone pillars as arrows rained like judgment. She raised her hands, trying to thicken the air, trying to slow the slaughter—
—and felt something resist her.
Not overpowering.
Anchoring.
The Demon Kings had withdrawn.
Someone grabbed her arm—a boy no older than fifteen, eyes wide. "You said we could—"
An arrow took him through the throat.
Lemma screamed.
She surged forward, fury tearing loose, shattering a line of Dawnwardens in a wave of compressed force. Bodies
slammed into walls. Stone cracked.
But there were too many.
And then the sanctifiers activated.
The light turned hungry.
People burned without flame. Blood steamed. Screams cut short as bodies collapsed into ash and bone.
"Lemma!" someone cried—a woman, bleeding badly. "Run!"
Lemma tried to reach her.
Aurellion stepped between them.
"You should have ended this when you had the chance," he said, driving his blade through the woman's chest without looking.
Lemma felt something inside her tear.
She attacked.
They fought brutally—steel and pressure, faith and refusal. Lemma was stronger now, heavier—but exhausted, unfocused, drowning in screams.
Aurellion slammed her into the ground, blade at her throat.
"This is what you get for hope," he hissed.
The Dragon's Brand burned white-hot.
The world bent.
Lemma vanished.
Not teleportation.
Ejection.
She slammed into cold water, the river swallowing her as the tunnel collapsed behind her in sanctioned fire.
By dawn, the rebellion was ash.
Bodies lined the riverbanks.
Pamphlets burned.
Names erased.
Seraphina stood on the palace balcony as smoke rose from the lower districts, hands folded, expression serene.
"Send aid," she instructed. "Food. Healers. Let the people see my mercy."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She turned away, heart steady now.
Far below, unseen and barely breathing, Lemma Heartfilia dragged herself onto the mud-soaked shore, coughing blood, eyes empty with loss.
The world had answered her.
With teeth.