[Queen's Shrine Courtyard - A Few Hours Later]
Elder Wenya was in disbelief as she listened to the extraordinary tale. It seemed like a narrative from the ancient, forbidden texts of the Great Era. Raiking had not only invaded the Divine Realm, causing utter chaos, but he had replicated the feat in the Demon Region as well. In both instances, he confronted their supreme rulers and emerged unscathed.
If she had harbored any lingering doubts about him truly being the God of Death, those doubts were now rendered absolutely baseless.
While Wenya was processing not only the astonishment of this feat but also the sheer terror of whatever grand design Raiking was plotting, the Storm Dragon was quietly piecing together a different puzzle entirely.
"That makes sense then," the towering behemoth accidentally muttered aloud.
"What does?" Ezmelral asked, her silver eyes shifting toward him.
"I..."
The Storm Dragon didn't immediately finish his sentence. Instead, the proud, divine-stage beast stepped forward and dropped to one knee, bowing his massive head before Raiking.
"What is the meaning of this?" Ezmelral demanded.
"My Lord, I seek forgiveness."
"For?" Raiking asked, his tone flat.
"The Princess of Dawnfall is currently residing in Greenhollow."
"Explain."
The Storm Dragon bowed lower, beginning to recount the events of the previous day. A royal carriage had strolled through the humble village he was tasked to protect. Sensing no immediate, overt hostility from its occupants, he had chosen to ignore it.
That had been a mistake.
He later discovered that the passengers were none other than the Princess of Dawnfall and a nobleman named Sir Lerikmen. Because the welcoming, mundane people of Greenhollow had already accepted them as guests and temporary residents, the Dragon was bound by the Guild's rules—he could no longer harm them within the town's borders. He had begun to investigate and eventually confronted them, but his hands were tied.
"If I had known then that her royal family were the ones who hired the Silent Blade Clan," the Dragon rumbled, lightning crackling around his kneeling form, "I would have incinerated them there and then."
"I see," Raiking said.
"Then what did they want?" Libinea asked, her eyes narrowing at the mention of the Kingdom that had caused so much trouble.
"They said they wish to speak to the leader of my Guild."
"A mere mortal wants an audience with Master?" Ezmelral scoffed, crossing her arms. "Did they not learn they have no bargaining chips when we decimated their entire army?"
Raiking didn't reply immediately. Instead, he reached into his robes and pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. It was the same one Nanny Martha had given him before he left—a meticulously written checklist of baby necessities for Faye.
Right at the very top of the list was a single item: Baby Crib.
Raiking stared at the paper for a moment before speaking.
"The mortal realm's Ice Bed Dungeon Trials will be opening soon," Raiking stated calmly. "When the time comes to acquire it, Dawnfall will naturally pay for their transgressions."
"Will you be participating in the trials?" Libinea asked, slightly bewildered by his sudden, casual shift from geopolitical warfare to dungeon exploration.
"Naturally," Raiking said, gently rocking Faye in his arms. "My daughter deserves nothing but the best."
"And the Princess?" the Storm Dragon asked, still kneeling in the dirt, awaiting his punishment.
"Not of my concern."
"Then what is our immediate next move?" Libinea asked, observing the God of Death seamlessly transition from discussing the fate of human kingdoms to examining his daughter's outfit.
Raiking's gaze shifted to the massive pile of sacred Phoenix Feathers the grateful villagers had presented them with. A practical thought occurred to him: winter was approaching, and one of the most critical items further down Nanny Martha's list was warm clothing.
And what better source of eternal warmth than the legendary, magic-infused plumage of the Fire Phoenix Kin?
His decision made, Raiking approached the stack of priceless treasures. He casually waved his hand over the pile. Guided by a fraction of his boundless cosmic energy, the crimson, blue, black, and gold feathers began to float into the air.
They gracefully wove and interlocked with one another, radiating gentle warmth. Within seconds, the sacred relics were seamlessly tailored into a small, impossibly soft feather cloak.
"Gaga!" Faye squealed, her wide eyes following the glowing multi-colored cloak as it drifted down toward her. She eagerly reached out her chubby hands to grasp the shiny fabric.
"Come. Let us enjoy the festival," Raiking said.
He gently wrapped the perfectly fitted cloak around Faye's shoulders, ensuring she was snug against the autumn chill, before turning toward the massive doors of the Queen's Shrine.
The rest of the Guild exchanged warm smiles at the profoundly fatherly sight. Forgetting the blood, the politics, and the looming threats for just one night, they followed behind their Master, ready to partake in a rare, genuine celebration of life.
---
[Outside The Queen's Shrine]
The moment Raiking and the Guild stepped outside, they were met with a breathtaking sight. The festival preparations were finally complete.
Strings of glowing lanterns and handcrafted paper feathers connected the rooftops. Though the rough, uneven designs were clearly the work of children, they radiated a profound, handmade charm that warmed the crisp morning air.
From the central plaza to the winding, open streets, every corner of the mountain was alive. Members of all four Phoenix Tribes mingled freely, their historic divides forgotten. Fire breathers entertained wide-eyed kids, while adults danced joyously around a massive bonfire roaring in the center of the village. Even the rooftops were occupied; several elders had shifted into their massive avian forms, coiling around the architecture to slumber peacefully until nightfall.
As the sun was just beginning to rise, the early hour did nothing to dampen the spirit of the village. Today was the day their feet would quake the mountain nonstop for the next twenty-four hours.
"So, what do you think?" Libinea asked, a proud smile gracing her lips.
Ezmelral took a deep whiff of the air. The rich, savory aroma of each tribe's unique delicacies wafted through the village, practically making the Sword Spirit vibrate.
"Perfect," Ezmelral declared, practically drooling.
"...I wasn't asking you," Libinea replied dryly. She shifted her gaze away from the hungry swordswoman, looking up at Raiking.
"It will be a night to remember," he said, his void-black eyes reflecting the warm glow of the lanterns.
"Gaga!" Faye cheered excitedly, snuggling into her newly tailored, ultra-soft feather cloak.
"Then let's make sure of that," Libinea smiled. She boldly took Raiking's hand, dragging the God of Death forward into the bustling crowd. Ezmelral quickly chased after them, intent on hunting down the source of the roasted meat.
Meanwhile, the Storm Dragon—who had never attended a mortal festival in his long, blood-soaked life—stood awkwardly on the shrine's steps. He stared left and right, completely unsure of where to go first. By the time he looked back for guidance, his Guild members were already gone.
"Uhh...?"
Before he could go search for them, a group of little Phoenix children rushed over, completely surrounding his massive, scaled legs.
"What a strange-looking man," a child from the Golden Feather Tribe pointed out.
"What is he?" another from the Black Feather Tribe asked, tilting her head.
"I don't know, but he looks cool!" a boy from the Red Feather Tribe declared, reaching out to poke the Dragon's unbreakable azure scales.
"..."
The almighty Storm Dragon—the apocalyptic beast who had ruthlessly decimated the formidable Demon Clan just a few hours prior—was utterly paralyzed by a gaggle of toddlers. He stood trapped, frozen as their latest fascination, while Raiking, Faye, Ezmelral, and Libinea vanished into the Phoenix Tribe to experience everything the festival had to offer.