They knew it in their bones. That one‑eyed Valkyrie would do exactly what she said, hurling the laughing ones straight into the storm. Lady Brynhildr had ceded command; this woman was a hard stop person.
“Hey, Lori, come grab your partner.”
Flora smiled without much warmth. She leaned into the Aether, snapped a ribbon like a whip, and flung the still‑drowsy Haiyin across. Lori rushed in, hugging her tight, afraid Flora would slam her into the floor.
Haiyin stayed foggy, eyes half‑lidded, no sign of waking.
Flora chuckled under her breath. During that burst of speed, she’d eased her grip on Haiyin on purpose. The impact rattled her, left a wave of nausea. A small lesson for ignoring orders.
The thought weighed heavy. Leading this squad was a grind. Every one of them was sharp‑edged, not some average blade. They were all splinters of Lady Brynhildr, each inheriting a shard of her power. Equals, whether they liked it or not.
Which was why Valkyries were a nightmare to manage.
Haiyin’s mess wasn’t special. Most problems had surfaced in training, and with Brynhildr’s guidance, they were nothing. On the field, those same cracks turned fatal.
If Haiyin had fallen back on time, Flora and the one‑eyed Valkyrie wouldn’t have requested the “Iron Curtain” javelins. The beast herds were terrifying, a dark tide that pressed with sheer numbers, but only outside their domain. Inside the Aether barrier, under a Valkyrie’s field, even a full tide slamming in couldn’t break the line. Not with Brynhildr seated like an unmovable mountain.
Most beast tides had died since Brynhildr’s world‑shattering strike back then. It scared nonhuman races and beasts alike, fear carved into their genes like frost into bark.
Second was their system defense. Under the Eye of Aether’s lock and orchestration, the fire‑support Valkyries were precision killing engines. They painted every inch of the field with fire. Heavy Valkyries shielded them, armor like cliffs in a storm, letting them survive in the thick and keep shooting.
Third? Their greatest pillar—Brynhildr. Across the Asgardian Realm, only a coalition of every Aesir and nonhuman race could hope to counter her. And only by striking during her brief vacuum of power.
As for that last thought, Flora snorted. Asgard’s lot hadn’t even grasped Aether yet. Pitting them against Brynhildr was cruelty. The corner of her mouth curved. Ribbons flared again, and she became a swift Reaper, streaking back into the battle.
“Don’t go, Sister Flora—uh, what do I even do...”
Lori stared, helpless, then glanced around. Their class pairings were focused on the fight. She sighed, leaned close, and tried to wake Haiyin, nudging her brain with a trickle of Aether, hoping for anything.
In the rear cave, the scenes reflecting in Fenrir’s eyes tightened like a vice.
She felt it—the terrible pressure saturating the manor. Fenrir had just drifted asleep in her recollection, then snapped awake. She didn’t know when memory turned into slumber. Scarlet sparks had already kissed the long curtains, and in a breath, a roaring blaze leapt skyward, swallowing the room like a hungry dragon.
“Cough—cough! You’ve got to be kidding me. This was a memory—why does it feel so real?”
She didn’t dare linger. Fenrir drove Aether, smothered flames at her edges, and bolted for the manor’s rim. That searing heat from the sky‑high fire was nothing like a dream. Playing safe, she ran.
Others woke too. Guards came late, shouting, trying to choke the flames with blankets like waves against a furnace. Fenrir, sliding along shadows, spotted a woman outside a door—hair blazing like a torch.
“That’s... Sister Lilo, right? If she’s here, does that mean—”
Fenrir hid her shape and slipped toward Lilo.
Lilo had arrived first. She stood before the door, eyes narrowed. The manor fire mattered, but what rooted her was the True God aura coiling inside the room. That pure, dark breath wasn’t Aphelia’s power.
She kept the guards back with a raised hand. Scarlet sparks gathered into a Mageblade in Lilo’s grip, edge humming like a live coal.
As a daughter of the Crimson Dragon Clan, magic was in her blood, a gift by birth. But the Crimson Dragon name wasn’t forged by spells.
Everyone in the Demon World knew it. The Crimson Dragon Clan’s close‑quarters might sat near the top—second only to the Demon Dragon Clan. Their bodies alone could challenge across ranks, flesh like ironwood.
With her strength founded on a True God’s ascent, Lilo could handle most storms, and she didn’t flinch from leading. She drew the Mageblade down the door, carving it open.
Not a surge of True God aura greeted her. It was the heavy copper stink of blood.
Lilo’s brows knit. Scarlet sparks flared into flame, lighting the room with a wash of heat. The sight pulled a gasp from her. Fire coursed around once, then she dashed to Aphelia.
“Where are the Nature Mages?! Get them in here! We’ve got a patient!”
Lilo blew the flames back with practiced ease. Crimson Dragons had their quirks with fire. She lifted Aphelia from a pool of blood, tried to probe with Arcane Power—only for it to vanish, swallowed like rain into sand. Her face tightened.
“Aphelia. Aphelia, wake up.”
She wiped blood from Aphelia’s cheeks, whispering by her ear. Outwardly, Aphelia had no wounds. The floor said otherwise—a lake of red meant grave internal damage. Lilo couldn’t trace it. All she could do was worry.
Shi and Fen approached, guilt on their faces. They were assigned to guard Aphelia. If she looked attacked and broken like this, the blame sat on them.
Nature Mages hurried in, circling Aphelia, hands lifted, spells weaving like green vines. Their faces soured fast. The elder who seemed in charge stepped to Lilo, bowed, and sighed.
“Miss, we tried. This honored guest’s strength is too high. We can’t even probe her state.”
He looked helpless. Even with Titleholder‑level power, he couldn’t see Aphelia’s condition, let alone treat it. Healers like them leveled slow. Even in the Demon World, Demigod Nature Mages were rare.
Those few were wanderers with odd tempers. Some served the royal family. With their standing, the Crimson Dragon Clan couldn’t call them here.
“There’s no other way?”
Lilo bit her lip, eyes on the unconscious Aphelia, her heart a tangle of flavors.
The elder sighed again, shaking his head.
“We can only support her, keep her from worsening. But your Demigod friend—we truly can’t treat those wounds. We also don’t know what that burst of True God aura was. If you have a lead, that’s best. If not...”
He bowed once more, then moved to direct the others. Emerald light wrapped Aphelia, soft and steady, but the pain‑crease between her brows didn’t loosen.
The commotion pulled half the manor here. The master arrived, face thunderous, but Lilo held him at the door, her stance a gate of flame.
Fenrir slipped inside, careful as smoke. With Aether phasing, no one in this memory could sense her. She hurried to Aphelia’s side, eyes roaming, studying the “protagonist” who kept walking through her dreams.
