With those words, soft yet cruel, the black dragon vanished forever. Amid a storm of diffracting light, Hiro watched him to the last. Their vow seared itself into his heart, and there it remained to this day.
“I kept you waiting a while, didn’t I? A thousand years, in fact.”
He emerged from recollection into reality. Before him stood a woman, silhouetted against the sky—the Crimson Princess, now grown gallant and fierce, a rare jewel that anyone would covet. Flames swirled around her, scarlet and beautiful. Hiro had seen them before. His comrade-in-arms had favored the same technique, laying waste to his enemies with flames that obeyed his every command. It was a sight Hiro had learned to associate with victory.
“But I’ve never seen it look quite this terrifying.”
Liz’s intercession had bought him space to breathe. As long as she stood between him and the Demiurgos, no harm would come to him. That he felt as surely as if Artheus himself watched over him. The little bird he had once known had found her own wings now. She no longer needed charity.
“So you’ve finally come into your own.”
Amid a storm of blood and fire, Hiro’s lips curled into a smile.
“You’ve grown strong. Stronger than I ever imagined.”
Silent mirth gripped him, and his shoulders trembled as he fought to keep it in.
“At last, all can be one.”
Letting his thoughts be known to no one, Hiro laughed in the depths of darkness.
＊＊＊＊＊
Zeal burned within her. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest with every beat. And who could blame her? At long last, they now stood upon the same ground. She sensed him behind her even now, and she had to force herself not to turn. The enemy before her demanded her attention now. She wiped the sweat from her brow and leveled Lævateinn at the Demiurgos.
“Leave him,” she said. “Now you face me.”
Her voice trembled, not with fear, but with unassailable confidence—with the exhilarating joy of knowing she had earned the right to stand by his side. A fierce will smoldered in her scarlet eyes. Her crimson hair danced in fiery splendor, a warning to any foe who might approach. She was as majestic as a valkyrie, her beauty undimmed by the savagery of the battlefield, and it only shone brighter with every passing second. She was Celia Estrella Elizabeth von Grantz, heir apparent to the empire that had conquered Soleil. Born the sixth princess, she had been called the first emperor reborn, and yet for most of her life, the nobility had believed she would never take the throne. She had taken a long road to get here, but no one would dare say that now.
“Crimson hair and Lævateinn in hand,” the Demiurgos murmured. “You must be the cursed child.”
Liz frowned at that name. She swung Lævateinn, warning the Demiurgos to keep his distance, but he did not even acknowledge the threat. She seemed to hold no interest for him. He stared past her at Hiro.
“Any advantage can be squandered if one grows blinkered, it seems.”
He glanced around the battlefield. A wave of imperial cavalry had struck his monsters in the flank, shattering their ranks. The scales of battle had tipped in minutes.
The hairs on the back of Liz’s neck prickled. The Demiurgos seemed to have no contempt for the incompetence of his subordinates or pity for the monsters bleeding on the field. Indeed, his voice held no emotion at all. He was simply describing what he saw, distantly and dispassionately, as if it meant nothing to him. Only when he turned back to Liz did the slightest expression appear on his face.
“A bargain, cursed child. Give me Surtr and I will cede victory this day.”
“You want to make a deal? Have you looked around you?”
“Have you, girl? Do you realize you stand before a Lord of Heaven?” The Demiurgos swung Ipetam, striking the tip against the ground. Dirt flew up and scattered on the wind. He raised the blade high before bringing it down to point at Liz. “Do you truly believe you can defy me with that curse-riddled body?”
Liz could only look back, perplexed. His meaning was a mystery to her.
At last, the Demiurgos showed a true emotion—disappointment. “So you truly know nothing. You are ignorant of the fate you bear. Ignorant even of why the man behind you fights so doggedly.”
“So it seems. So why don’t you tell me what you’re talking about?”
Liz felt her resolve begin to falter, but she knew she could not let it. This had to be a trick. The Demiurgos was trying to make her question herself, nothing more. She tried to see through to the truth with her eyes, but the Lord seemed immune to their effects. They returned a blank void.
“Humans always did value one another too highly. That, it seems, has not changed in one thousand years. You seek to protect each other, even if it proves your undoing.”
The Demiurgos paused. A monster fleeing the imperial charge burst into the space between him and Liz. It turned to him with pleading eyes, but its prayers went unheeded. Ipetam sank smoothly between its eyebrows and skewered its skull.
“The weak are best slain,” he said, “before they become liabilities.”
“That’s not my way!”
Liz braced her foot against the earth and launched herself at the Demiurgos. The Lord stepped easily aside. She struck the ground with a thunderous crash, throwing up a plume of dirt. Sparks exploded within the haze. The air rang with the clashing of steel, and withering rage radiated across the field.
After perhaps a dozen blows, the wind whipped up, carrying the dust skyward and rendering the pair visible again. Liz fought with deft technique, her flames coiling in her wake like snakes as she rained furious blows on the Demiurgos, but the Lord held his own, weaving between her attacks with the smallest of steps. Neither had yet drawn blood. If anything, they both looked like they were only getting started.
“Splendid,” the Demiurgos said. “You have conquered many trials to stand before me, and they have made you strong.”
“I didn’t conquer them for you!” Liz reached out, irate, and grasped him by the lapels. “And you don’t deserve that body. Let me burn you out of it!”