The Inquisition was a fortress of cold stone and jagged spires. Yulia stood on the highest balcony, her eyes tracking the movement of farmers in the distant, sun-drenched fields of the South District.

"Princess..." A group of graceful maids offered a tray of shimmering silks and open boxes of sea-pearls.

"These are infused with elf-gold. The Pope says every craftsman in the city is at your disposal."

Yulia didn't look at the jewelry. She was busy calculating the crop yield of the dark soil below.

"Your Highness... are they not to your liking?" a maid whispered, her voice trembling.

"Please... we can bring more. The tailors are waiting."

Yulia realized the girls were shaking. To them, she was the Dragon's chosen, a woman whose whim could burn the city.

"The jewelry is fine," Yulia said, turning away from the view.

"But tell me... what do you usually plant in the fields around the Dark Forest?"

The maids exchanged a look of pure confusion. To them, Yulia's question sounded like the ramblings of a madwoman.

"We... we don't know, Highness," a maid stammered. "The farmers handle the dirt. We only handle the harvest."

"Right." Yulia patted her shoulder.

"But you mentioned the monster meat from the forest earlier. Tell me more about that. I'm interested."

The maid stared at her. The Princess was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, the Imperial Rose in full bloom.

But the girl realized with a start that this princess didn't care about the crown—she only cared about her next meal.

Yulia hitched up her skirts, searching the castle until she found Caerus on the terrace. "Blacksmiths are summoned. Can we go back now?" She needed to sketch the pot design and ask Menningen about that monster meat.

Caerus didn't answer immediately. He reached out, his cold thumb flicking the pearl hanging from her ear. "One task remains".

Three lords from the Black Crow district marched in, trailing boxes of gold. They forced smiles that looked like grimaces. "Lord Caerus, tell us what you desire, and it will be delivered".

The boxes flew open, the gold nearly blinding Yulia. Caerus pointed to her silk dress and the earrings. "Send this style. All of it".

"How... how much do you require, Lord?" a lord asked, his face turning gray.

Caerus tilted his head, his golden slit eyes narrowing. "How much do you plan on keeping for yourselves?".

The lords nearly collapsed. "Everything! We'll send it all!" Yulia whistled at the scene. This wasn't a gift; it was a daylight robbery.

The Pope and his lords watched their empty vaults with watery eyes. "Did we forget something?" a believer whispered. The Pope turned red. "I should have sent you in a box too!".

"The Priest," the believer stammered. "He's still at the Temple of Abyss trying to take the brides!" The Pope went silent, realized his mistake.

Back at the Temple, the Priest's men surrounded the girls. Menningen, the Undead Knight, stood his ground but hesitated. The Church held a secret leverage over him, a leash that had lasted centuries.

Giotto stood in front of the girls, his water staff shaking. The Priest swiped a hand, and Giotto hit the dirt before he could mutter a spell.

"Hey! That's our kid you're hitting!" Yulia yelled from the rooftop. She rolled up her sleeves, her eyes flashing with a very un-princess-like rage.

Caerus leaned against a spire, yawning. "Fight back. They can't touch you".

"How?" Yulia asked, looking at her empty palms.

Caerus moved behind her, his large frame swallowing her shadow. He gripped her right hand, his fingers interlacing with hers. "Fire Storm".

Heat exploded from her palm. A tornado of flame roared across the courtyard, throwing the priests back like dry leaves. The Priest scrambled up, smoke rising from his robes.

"You're a banished sinner, Yulia! Your fiancé Loren Eir is already marrying your sister! You think this thug can save you?".

"Menningen," Caerus cut in, his voice a jagged edge. "What are you waiting for?" The knight's jaw clicked. "Yes, my Lord!".

A screen of light flickered. Pope Gordon's face appeared, frantic. "Get out! He's awake! He slaughtered the High Priests—he's a madman!".

The Priest looked at Caerus, then at the statue in the hall. The resemblance was terrifying. Menningen's heavy sword was already in the air, ending the realization in a spray of red mist.

The news of the Black Dragon's awakening ripped through Catharsis. Citizens whispered about the Princess riding the dragon, her golden hair glowing like elf-dust.

"She must be a goddess of darkness," a noble whispered. "Even the God of Radiance couldn't keep her".

On the other side of the Necro-wall, the blacksmiths of the Old Pigeon Cage trembled. Alik returned home, his face sunken. "The Pope ordered us all to the Temple".

"But they have the rich smiths," his wife cried. "We're just fixers of axes," Alik sighed. "If we offend the Dragon, we're dead".

At dawn, the blacksmiths gathered at the Temple gates. The poor men clutched humble gifts—cheese, fresh fruit, a single old hen.

The master smiths from the Black Crow district sneered at them, their polished tools glinting in the light.

"Peasants. You really think the Dragon or the Princess wants your trash?"

The master smiths from the Black Crow district sneered, their polished tools glinting in the light. "Look at those rags. They'll stain the temple floor."

The smiths from the Old Pigeon Cage gripped their humble offerings, their knuckles white. "Forget it," Alik whispered to his neighbor. "We don't need favor. We just need to go home alive."

Deep inside the Temple of Abyss, Yulia Farislan stared at the frost on the window. "Perfect weather for a tomato pot," she whispered to herself.

"Tomato pot?" Caerus sat up, his grey-blue eyes heavy with morning sleep. He looked at her with a flicker of genuine interest. "Show me."