“You’re saying the Emperor of Flames is your brother?!”
What are the odds—the thought sparked in my skull like a stray ember.
“Yep.” Yan Ya Princess nodded, then slid a lollipop between her lips, ruby candy flashing like a coal. “Yumigawa Sumeragi, you really want to find my useless brother… Huh? Wait.”
She seemed to remember something; her round red eyes fixed on me like two little moons, sweeping me from head to toe like a lantern beam.
“Uh… what?”
Heat climbed my face like steam from a hot spring under her stare.
After a moment, Yan Ya Princess finally drew back that piercing gaze, her tone firm as a locked gate. “If you want to find big bro, I’d advise you to drop it.”
“What?!”
Her sudden shift threw me, my thoughts whirling like leaves in a gust.
“I’m saying this for your own good. If you actually show up in front of him…”
She lowered her voice, trying for solemn thunder, but with her childlike tone it chimed like a silver bell in a temple.
“Your chastity probably won’t survive.”
That was… a lot. FrostyLily Dream warned me to “protect your chastity,” too—what did that even mean? Is the Emperor of Flames into men? The notion flared, then sputtered like wet tinder.
As if reading me, Yan Ya Princess nodded, slow and grave as a tide. “Not exactly what you’re thinking, but close enough. And because it matters, I’ll say it again. If you show up in front of big bro, even I might not be able to stop him when he snaps. Are you still going? He’s trash in temperament, but his strength sits at the peak of the Divine Realm, a mountain crowned in fire.”
“…”
Hey, come on, isn’t that overkill?! The first-floor warden was only half-step Divine Realm, and the second jumps straight to the peak? The path of beating the warden is a wall of flame; I’ll have to take the other route—meet the warden’s condition.
Seeing me go quiet, Yan Ya Princess tilted her little head, puzzled, like a sparrow listening for rain, then went on. “I’m not insulting you, but with your current power, you can’t weather his casual flick of a wrist. To reach the third floor of the Nine Cold Labyrinth, you’ll have to meet one condition he sets… and that might be more tragic than a head-on fight.”
“Why…”
Dread pooled cold as meltwater in my gut, but my resolve burned steady—I have to clear the Nine Cold Labyrinth; I can’t turn back in this frost-lit corridor.
“Forget it. Humans say ‘seeing is believing.’ I’ll take you to the Fire Dragon Hall. Stick close, like a shadow on stone; if big bro spots you, you’ll be ash on the wind.”
Maybe she sensed I wouldn’t give up; Yan Ya Princess let the warning go, like releasing a held breath.
“Mm, I need a different form. My true body’s too conspicuous, like a beacon in the night.”
Muttering, she flared with red light, a blossom of flame opening and folding. When it faded, the fire qilin was gone; in her place stood a human girl of eight or nine, as cute as a painted doll.
A tiny crown tilted on her head like a star on a peak; deep red hair braided into two twisting ropes that draped over her shoulders like crimson vines. Her face was small and fine, pinchably soft, with round red eyes bright as cherries, lively as a kitten.
She wore a princess dress of red trimmed with soft pink-white, a ribbon cinched at her waist like a band of dawn. Lace edged her cuffs and collar like frost on petals, and floral patterns bloomed across the skirt that fell to her knees. White over-the-knee socks wrapped her rosy legs like fresh snow, and her dainty feet nestled in red princess shoes, two berries on snow.
Taken together, Yan Ya Princess in human guise was a super-moe loli—so cute it stunned me like a sudden sunbeam through smoke.
“Hehe. Still not used to this look—it feels like wearing spring over winter. Anyway, Yumigawa Sumeragi, come with me.”
She tugged my hand, warmth flowing into my palm like a small hearth, and I snapped back to myself.
“Ah—okay.”
Her hand was soft and warm, like silk warmed by noon light; I couldn’t help but hold on.
“??”
She glanced at me, puzzled like a fox at a puddle, but said nothing and didn’t shake me off. She led me forward, pulling me toward the Fire Dragon Hall like a red string in the dark.
…
An hour passed.
As we neared the heart of the lava field, the world grew brighter, harsh as mid-summer noon; red magma surged and hot flames leapt everywhere like dancing banners. The black ground was a cracked mosaic, fine fissures veining it like dried riverbeds, faint light breathing from within. Hundreds of meters ahead, through rolling heat-haze, the silhouette of a grand building loomed like a mountain in mist, but searing smoke draped it so thick we couldn’t make it out from here.
Yan Ya Princess and I crept toward it, careful as cats on glass, not daring to make a sound in the roaring furnace of air. According to her, the Emperor of Flames was the worst kind of shut-in, a troublesome hermit wrapped in sparks, which is why the “little” her moved out of the Fire Dragon Hall to live deep in the lava lands.
On the way, no beasts barred us. When one did stir, a whisper of fire qilin aura drifted from her like a warm wind, and they fled like deer from a torch—no needless fights.
Soon—after ten odd minutes of slow steps—we reached the front of the Fire Dragon Hall. We crouched behind a large tree, pressing our breath down like stones in water.
Why hide? Because in front of the Hall’s gate sat a folding cot, and on it lounged a young man.
His short, fiery hair broke in jagged waves, and a pair of horns curled from it like dark crescents. His features were handsome, sharp as carved jade; his clothes were rich and brilliant, splashed like phoenix feathers, a blaze of color. I could feel it—his power was a storm rolling over mountains, far greater than Mikaret’s by a gulf.
He had to be the Emperor of Flames.
He stared up at the flame-flooded sky, boredom written across his face like ash on snow, muttering under his breath, words drifting like sparks.
What was he saying? I closed my eyes, straining like a hunter in brush, and at last his murmur threaded into my ears. The content—good grief—made my tongue bite back a surge of sarcasm like a tide held by a dam.
You want to know? You do? Fine—don’t regret hearing this.
“…Say ‘blonde’ and I think ‘twin-tails’; say ‘twin-tails’ and I think ‘tsundere’; say ‘tsundere’ and I think ‘masochist’; say ‘masochist’ and I think ‘H manga’; say ‘H manga’ and I think ‘cute girls’; say ‘cute girls’ and I think ‘pretty heroines’; say ‘pretty heroines’ and I think ‘pale, soft legs’; say ‘pale legs’ and I think ‘stockings’; say ‘stockings’ and I think ‘fluttery skirts’; say ‘fluttery skirts’ and I think ‘maid outfits’; say ‘maid outfits’ and I think ‘an adorable girl who does the chores and calls me Master’; think of that and I think ‘maid’! Ahhh, I want a maid so bad—this gods-forsaken dump is driving me crazy!”
How’s that for deranged? Only now do I grasp what FrostyLily Dream meant by, “In a word, the Emperor of Flames has zero restraint—please guard your chastity.” Too late to brace—no matter how you look at him, the Emperor of Flames is beyond saving, a bonfire blown wild by the wind.
