Dawn was just breaking when Lokey and his siblings dragged the battered priest through the castle gates. His robes hung in tatters, his face was deathly pale, and his body shuddered with every step—as if the memory of Hela’s hounds still clawed at him from the shadows. The guards at the gate exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to intervene.

  They crossed the courtyard and entered the great hall.

  The Baron sat upon his throne of stone, eyes hollow from sleepless nights and relentless worry for his daughter. When his gaze fell upon the broken priest, a storm of emotion crossed his face—anger, relief, and something far darker.

  With a grunt, Lokey hurled the man forward. The priest crashed onto the marble floor, chains clattering as he groaned.

  “He is all yours,” Lokey said, his voice hard as iron. “Make sure he receives the proper punishment for his crimes.”

  For a heartbeat, the Baron’s expression hardened into pure wrath.

  Then his gaze lifted—and softened.

  From the shadows of the hall, Asra stepped forward. Bruised, clothes torn, but standing strong. When her eyes found Lokey, a small, radiant smile broke across her face.

  The Baron’s stern mask shattered. His anger dissolved into raw concern, then overwhelming relief. He descended from the dais and gathered Asra into his arms, holding her as though afraid she might vanish if he let go.

  “My daughter…” His voice trembled. “Thank the gods you’re safe.”

  Far beyond mortal sight—on a plane where stone halls and divine will blurred together—Sera stood before a gathering of gods.

  Her gaze burned like a newborn sun as she fixed it upon a towering, birdlike god clad in iron and banners of war.

  “So,” Sera said coldly, her voice carrying the weight of judgment, “what do you have to say for one of your high priests?”

  Her eyes could have scorched a world.

  “He was going to rape that mortal girl. Is that what we should expect from your followers? We already know you care only for raising soldiers—but I see now you teach neither morality nor decency.” Her lip curled. “You have only one follower with any honor left… and even he is slipping from you. I can feel his faith reaching for me as we speak.”

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  The war god said nothing. He only stared, his thoughts in chaos—his plans unraveled by mortals who refused to bow.

  “Answer us,” Sera demanded. “Brother.”

  Silence was his only reply.

  The siblings stood before the Baron, posture straight, respectful. Lokey spoke first, his voice steady but heavy with all they had endured.

  “It was our honor to return your daughter to you, my lord,” he said, bowing his head.

  Hela inclined hers as well. Despite the shadows clinging to her presence, her eyes were gentle. “Your people needed her. Your land needed her. And no father should suffer what you have.”

  Artemis, leaning slightly against Lokey after the brutal battle, managed a faint grin. “Besides, it’s what we do. We fight the darkness—even if it means walking through hell to drag someone back.”

  The Baron’s gaze swept over them, lingering on Lokey longer than the others. Something passed through his tired eyes—understanding, perhaps permission—though he spoke nothing of it.

  “Asra is safe because of you,” he said solemnly. “And I will never forget that.”

  Silence followed—heavy, but not uncomfortable.

  “We ask no reward,” Lokey said at last. “Only that you remember this day. That we stood for you.”

  Hela placed a hand over her heart and bowed. Artemis followed. Together, they turned and left the hall.

  As they reached the doors, Lokey cast one last glance back. Asra stood beside her father, but her eyes lingered on him—shining with relief, gratitude, and something deeper. Lokey’s gaze softened in return, unspoken but clear, before he stepped into the torchlit corridor.

  The hall emptied, leaving only the Baron, his daughter, and the priest—now chained and broken upon the stone floor.

  The Baron gently dismissed Asra to her chambers. Once she was gone, his gaze returned to the trembling man.

  The priest rocked back and forth, whispering in a shattered voice.

  “The hounds… the hounds of hell… burning teeth… fire in their eyes… they tore me apart, over and over. She healed me just to begin again…”

  For the first time, the Baron felt something dangerously close to pity.

  Almost.

  “You brought this upon yourself,” the Baron said coldly. “You plotted against my people. Against my child. You hid behind holy words while your hands dripped with filth and greed.”

  The priest’s eyes snapped up, wild and bloodshot. “You don’t understand! She’s a demon—your saviors are demons!” He clawed weakly at the air. “They’ll never leave me… never…”

  The Baron rose, his presence pressing down like iron.

  “Perhaps,” he said quietly. “But demon or not, they did what you never could.”

  He turned away, voice ringing through the hall like a verdict.

  “They saved my daughter.”

  “Take him away.”

  Guards seized the priest as his mad ramblings echoed through the chamber—a warning to all who heard them.

  Already thinking ahead, the Baron strode toward the doors.

  “Gather every scrap of information you can on the Eastern Kingdom and its king,” he ordered. “The King will need everything we have.”

  With that, he disappeared into the halls beyond, the weight of coming war settling heavily on his shoulders.