Chapter 61: Food Wars

The chaos in the orphanage's massive eating hall reached a fever pitch. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meats, gravy, and mashed turnips. The floor was a war zone of broken plates, spilled cider, and crushed bread rolls. Children darted and tumbled across the battlefield, their laughter mixing with battle cries as they hurled pies, bowls of porridge, and even whole roasted chickens at one another with reckless abandon. 

Yuuna crouched behind her makeshift barricade of overturned tables and broken chairs, her eyes gleaming like she was leading an actual military campaign. Her dozen or so children, faces streaked with various sauces and bits of fruit, were ready for action. Yuuna's seriousness was comically over the top, and she shouted orders like a knight-commander addressing her troops before battle. 

"Listen up, my brave warriors!" she exclaimed, pointing a wooden spoon toward the chaos in front of her. "Victory is within our grasp! But we must remain vigilant! We must remain strong! And above all, we must absolutely DESTROY those other peasants!" 

One of the children, a freckled boy with gravy dripping down his chin, raised his hand. "Yuuna, do we have to destroy them? Can't we just, like… win?" 

Yuuna spun around, her face inches from his, her voice dramatic and intense. "We *don't just win*! Winning is for amateurs! We CRUSH our enemies! We make them regret ever stepping foot in this dining hall!" 

Another child, a girl with pigtails and a smirk, chimed in. "You're just mad because Mertha's kids knocked over your pudding tower." 

Yuuna's eye twitched, and she slammed her spoon into the table. "That pudding tower was an architectural masterpiece! They will PAY for that!" 

Across the room, Quinara lounged lazily behind her barricade, popping grapes into her mouth one by one as her group of kids prepared their next assault. They were armed with buckets of stew, handfuls of bread rolls, and an alarming amount of blackberry jam. 

"Alright, listen up, my little gremlins," Quinara said, her voice calm but dripping with mischief. "Yuuna's losing her mind, as usual. That means we have the upper hand. All we have to do is keep poking the bear, and she'll lose it completely." 

One of her kids, a boy with a crooked grin, asked, "What's the plan, boss?" 

Quinara smirked, holding up a ladle filled with stew. "Aim for her hair. That'll really set her off. Her hand is unnaturally pretty and taken care of and it pisses me off."

The kids giggled and nodded, already preparing their ammunition. 

On the far side of the room, Gridd's team stood in perfect formation. The dwarf's stoic expression hadn't faltered once, even as a glob of mashed turnips slid down his beard. His kids, a scrappy bunch of street-smart orphans, were armed with skewers of roasted meat and bowls of thick gravy that they carried like grenades. 

"Lads, the time has come," Gridd said, his voice gruff and authoritative. "We'll be flankin' 'em from the left. Yuuna's too busy screamin' at her own kids to see it comin'. Remember, aim fer the arms an' legs. Disable 'em first, then go fer the pudding reserves!" 

One of the kids, a short boy with dirt smudged on his face, saluted with a turkey leg. "Aye, sir!" 

Meanwhile, Kivorn's team was… barely doing anything. The sleepy warrior sat slumped against an overturned table, his head resting on his hand. His kids, equally lethargic, were half-heartedly tossing pastries in random directions without much effort. 

"Do we… like… actually have to play?" one of the kids muttered, yawning. 

Kivorn shrugged, his voice monotone and tired. "Not really. Just… throw stuff if someone gets too close." 

One of the kids tossed a bread roll, which somehow hit one of Quinara's kids square in the face. The child yelped and fell backward, causing a chain reaction of chaos as Quinara's group retaliated blindly. 

"Huh," Kivorn said, blinking slowly. "That worked." 

Yuuna, crouched behind her barricade, peeked over the edge and saw Mertha's team charging forward like wild animals. The muscular woman led the charge with a massive roasted ham in one hand, her kids following behind her with pies and bowls of porridge raised like weapons. 

Yuuna's eyes narrowed, and she turned to her team. "This is it, brats. We're going after the big one." 

One of her kids, a girl with a pudding-streaked face, gasped. "You mean Mertha?!" 

"Yes, Mertha!" Yuuna said, pointing dramatically. "She's their strongest warrior. If we take her down, the rest will crumble like a stale biscuit!" 

Another kid raised a hand. "But how are we supposed to beat her? She's, like, super scary!" 

Yuuna grinned, her expression devious. "Oh, we're not going to beat her. He is." She turned to Xyenn, who was crouched next to her, looking thoroughly confused about how he'd ended up in this situation. 

"Wait, what?" Xyenn asked, blinking. 

Yuuna grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Xyenn, this is your moment! You're the chosen one! I need you to take down Mertha!" 

"But—" 

"No buts!" Yuuna interrupted, standing tall and pointing toward Mertha like a knight-commander leading her troops. "Move in carefully! Watch your flanks! And for the love of all that's holy, DON'T LET HER HIT YOU WITH THAT HAM!" 

Xyenn sighed, but there was a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Fine. I'll do it." 

Xyenn darted out from behind the barricade, weaving and dodging as pies, bread rolls, and bowls of stew flew past him. His movements were quick, precise, almost absurdly graceful for someone in the middle of a food fight. He leapt onto a table, slid across it on his knees, and used an upturned chair as cover while a pie exploded against it. 

'Food fight…something I've always wanted to do. And here I am doing it. I'm really moving up in the world.'

Some of the children from Quinara's team shouted at him. "Hey! You're cheating! Grown-ups aren't supposed to be this good!" 

Xyenn smirked, glancing over his shoulder as he dodged a flying turkey leg. "Cheating? This is just pure skill, kids. Losers."

'No way I'm taking this super seriously?! Am I that competitive?! Even against little children?!'

He continued moving, taking down a few kids on the way by tossing small globs of porridge at them with pinpoint accuracy. Each hit was accompanied by a dramatic "ARRGH!" as the kids flopped to the ground, playing dead. 

One kid hovered over another kid, role mplaying to try and revive him.

"We got a soldier down!" They would joke.

Gridd's team saw him coming and tried to intercept, but their attempt to flank him turned into an all-out skirmish with Quinara's group. The two sides collided in a chaotic mess, hurling food at each other while Xyenn slipped through unnoticed. 

Mertha spotted him as he approached, and her grin widened. She stepped into the center of the battlefield, her massive ham resting on her shoulder like a warhammer. "Well, well," she said, her voice booming. "Looks like the little one sent a champion to face me!" 

Xyenn skidded to a stop in front of her, his mismatched eyes gleaming with determination. "Mertha. It's time." 

"Time for what?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"For me to kick your ass. Duh," he declared, grabbing a nearby bowl of mashed turnips. "Think of this as training or something."

"Oh yeah?"

The two charged at each other, and the room erupted into cheers as kids from all sides stopped fighting to watch. 

Their battle was absurdly intense. Xyenn ducked under a swing of the ham and retaliated by flinging mashed turnips at Mertha's face. She blocked it with a pie tin, then countered by hurling a roasted chicken at him. Xyenn caught the chicken mid-air and used it as a makeshift shield to block a volley of bread rolls. 

The two moved with surprising agility, leaping over tables, sliding across the floor, and using overturned chairs as cover. Mertha swung the ham like a club, while Xyenn retaliated with anything he could grab—a ladle filled with gravy, a loaf of hard bread, even a decorative squash. 

On the sidelines, Yuuna climbed onto the heads of two of her kids to get a better view. "GO, XYENN! YOU'VE GOT THIS!" she shouted, waving a drumstick like a flag. "BASH HER FACE IN! RIP HER APART!"

One of the kids groaned. "Our heads hurt!" 

"But your little heads are so sturdy!" Yuuna replied, grinning. 

The battle reached its climax when both Xyenn and Mertha charged at each other, roaring like warriors on an ancient battlefield. At the last second, they both mashed pies directly into each other's faces, the impact sending a spray of custard and berries everywhere. 

The room fell silent. 

Yuuna darted into the middle of the battlefield, picking up Xyenn and holding him above her head like a prized trophy. "WE WON!" she declared, grinning triumphantly. 

Quinara, Mertha, Gridd, and even Kivorn shouted in unison. "You didn't win anything!" 

Yuuna soaked in their protests, still smiling. "Sore loser peasants!" 

Before anyone could respond, there was a loud crash as Klem leapt down from above, holding two massive baskets of food. "MY TURN!" he bellowed. "Thanks for waiting on me! Haha—!"

Before he could land, glowing white chains of light wrapped around him, yanking him away mid-air. "Nope!" came Faera's voice from the hallway. 

"Fuuuuck!"

The room descended into laughter and chaos once more. It was a battle none of them would forget.

The aftermath of the food fight was catastrophic, but in its own way, it had been worth it. The dining hall of the orphanage was an absolute disaster. Gravy dripped from the ceiling, sticky puddles of cider covered the floor, and the walls were splattered with unidentifiable medieval foodstuffs. Tables were overturned, chairs were stacked awkwardly in corners, and bits of bread, mashed turnips, and roasted chicken littered every surface. 

Yuuna stood in the center of the room with her hands on her hips, surveying the carnage with a grin that was far too pleased for someone who was now obligated to clean it all up. "This," she said dramatically, "was the greatest victory of my life." 

Xyenn, standing beside her, wiped pudding off his cheek with a sigh. "You do realize none of us actually won, right? Pretty sure we all just… lost."

'I really hate cleaning. Gives me super bad memories.'

Yuuna turned to him with mock indignation. "How dare you? Did you not see me standing triumphantly at the end? That's winning, Xyenn. You wouldn't understand." 

"Uh-huh," Xyenn replied with a chuckle, bending down to pick up a smashed pie tin. "Tell that to the floor. It's still covered in whatever this is." 

"Victory pudding," Yuuna corrected, snatching the pie tin from his hand and tossing it onto a growing pile of debris. "You have no vision, darling!"

From across the room, Quinara leaned against an upturned chair, watching the two with an amused look as she lazily flicked a piece of bread crust into a nearby bucket. "You know, Yuuna, for someone who claims to have 'won,' you sure spent a lot of time dodging pies and screaming for backup. Did you ACTUALLY contribute?"

Yuuna spun around, pointing an accusing finger at Quinara. "That's called strategy, Quinara. Something you wouldn't understand because you spent most of the fight hiding behind your kids." 

Quinara gasped in mock offense, clutching her chest. "Hiding? I was coordinating my troops! It's not my fault you and Xyenn decided to cheat with that whole 'assassin-level dodging' thing." 

"Cheat?" Xyenn interjected, raising an eyebrow. "How exactly is dodging a pie cheating?" 

"It just is!" Quinara said, throwing her hands up. "You're too good at it! It's unnatural!" 

"Unnatural," Xyenn repeated, smirking. "Right. I'll make sure to fight worse next time, just for you." 

"Good," Quinara said, crossing her arms with a grin. "I'd rather that to be pinned against the wall."

"YOU'RE STILL ON THAT?!"

"YES."

Nearby, Gridd was already stacking chairs with practiced efficiency, his gruff voice cutting through the banter. "Ach, will ye lot stop bickerin' an' get to work? This mess isn't cleanin' itself." 

Mertha, who had been wiping mashed turnips off her arms, laughed as she tossed a broken plate into a bucket. "Says the guy who spent the whole fight yelling at his kids to 'aim for the knees.' Real honorable, Gridd." 

Gridd snorted, placing another chair upright. "It's not about honor, lass. It's about winnin'. An' I'd say we did pretty well until yer ham-tossin' antics got in the way." 

"Hey hey hey that ham was a tactical masterpiece," Mertha shot back, grinning. "You're just mad because you didn't think of it first." 

"Mad?" Gridd said with mock indignation. "The only thing I'm mad about is the state of me beard. Took me ages to get gravy out last time."

Yuuna leaned on her mop, watching the two with an exaggerated thoughtful expression. "You know, Gridd, gravy in the beard could be a good look for you. Maybe we should add some mashed carrots for texture." 

Gridd glared at her, though his lips twitched in the smallest hint of a smile. "Don't ye dare." 

Off in the corner, Kivorn was leaning against a table, broom in hand, barely making an effort to sweep up the mess around him. His eyes were half-closed, his movements slow and lazy. One of the kids from earlier slipped on a puddle of cider nearby, landing face-first in a pile of pudding. 

The entire group burst into laughter—except Kivorn, who gave a single monotone chuckle before putting on the most unconvincing fake smile imaginable. 

"You okay there, Kivorn?" Xyenn asked, chuckling as he mopped up the cider. 

"This is me having fun," Kivorn replied flatly, not even bothering to look up. 

Yuuna leaned over a chair to look at him, squinting. "Are you sure? Because that smile looks like you're being held hostage." 

"Maybe I am," Kivorn said with a shrug, still sweeping at a snail's pace. 

Mertha rolled her eyes, tossing a rag at him. "Aww. Can you at least, PRETEND to help."

"I am helping," Kivorn said, catching the rag mid-air and placing it on the edge of the table like it was the most effort he could muster. "See?"

In one of the orphanage's quieter hallways, Gorran sat alone on the edge of a stone ledge, his dark figure silhouetted against the faint glow of the evening sky through a nearby window. He rested his arms on his knees, staring out into the distance with his usual brooding expression. The muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from the others echoed faintly through the halls, but he didn't move to join them. 

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy their company—he just preferred the quiet. This group, chaotic as they were, was his family, and he found a certain comfort in knowing they were nearby. Even if he didn't always show it. He would never admit it though.

His mind went back to when Xyenn spared Nacht.

'Xyenn hates the dragon gods. Yet, he spared one…what am I missing? I need to ask Xyenn what he feels when doing these things. Saving..saving…sparing. Things I've never been that good at or used to doing. I want to know what those feelings are. That feeling of saving and sparing…'

Back in the dining hall, the cleaning continued, though it was less about efficiency and more about banter and occasional bursts of laughter. 

At one point, Quinara slipped on a piece of bread and nearly took Xyenn down with her, grabbing his arm as she fell. He managed to catch her before she hit the ground, but not before she shouted, "You're trying to kill me, aren't you? Admit it!" 

Xyenn rolled his eyes, helping her back to her feet. "Yeah, because I'm the one who told you to walk on a slippery piece of bread." 

"See?" Quinara said, pointing at him accusingly. "That's exactly what a woman-beater would say!" 

"Stop calling me that!" Xyenn shot back, though he was laughing now. 

Yuuna leaned on her mop, grinning. "Don't worry, Xyenn. If Quinara dies, I'll avenge her. Probably. Unless it's inconvenient." 

"Wow, thanks for the support," Xyenn said sarcastically. 

"You're welcome, darling!" Yuuna replied cheerfully. 

As the group finished cleaning, a small boy stood quietly in the corner, watching. He had messy black hair, wide brown eyes, and wore a tattered shirt that hung loosely on his small frame. He didn't say anything, just observed, his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

Xyenn noticed him but didn't say a word. He simply met the boy's gaze for a moment before returning to his work, though the memory of the boy's theft from Draeven lingered in his mind. 

Just as they were about to call it a day, Yuuna grabbed a small piece of bread and tossed it lightly at Xyenn's head. 

He turned around slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Yuuna." 

Yuuna immediately pointed at Mertha. "She did it!" 

"Really?" Mertha said, raising an eyebrow as she grabbed a handful of mashed turnips. "Because I'm pretty sure it was you." 

Mertha hurled the turnips, and Yuuna ducked, letting the food hit Quinara square in the back. 

"Oh, it's on," Quinara said, grabbing a ladle full of stew and flinging it at Mertha. 

Within seconds, the room erupted into chaos again. Food flew through the air as the group devolved into yet another impromptu food fight, laughing and shouting as they wrestled and dodged. They wrestled uncontrollably, trying to shove food in each other's faces.

Gridd and Kivorn stood off to the side, watching the chaos unfold. 

"Ye know," Gridd said, scratching his beard, "I think they just like makin' a mess so they have an excuse to fight again." 

Kivorn shrugged, leaning on his broom. "Less work for me." 

Before things could get too out of hand, glowing white chains of light wrapped around everyone mid-throw, lifting them into the air. They squirmed and struggled, still trying to throw food at each other despite being bound. 

Standing in the doorway were Illyana, Faera, Vektor, and Klem. 

Illyana, as always, smiled serenely. "Well, it looks like you're all having fun." 

"Put me down, Illyana!" Yuuna shouted, still squirming in the chains. "This isn't over!" 

Vektor crossed his arms, smirking. "It's over." 

Faera raised her hand, and the chains began pulling the group out of the hall. "Enough. It's time to discuss serious matters." 

As they were dragged into the glowing realm of the Garden, Yuuna tried to look serious, her face twitching as she fought back a grin. Beside her, Xyenn glanced over, smirking. 

"You're doing great," he teased. 

"Shut up," Yuuna hissed, though the smile she tried to suppress betrayed her enjoyment. 

Then as everyone was talking amongst each other, Yuuna found a good time to speak to Xyenn.

"Darling."

"Yuuna?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what? You didn't do—."

"—Please don't say that. I did. I've held information from you."

"But I've done the same. So we're both in the same boat."

"You have an excuse. I don't. With my knowledge I could possibly change the tide to things, but keeping them to myself isn't good. I don't know everything, but whatever question you have for me, I'll answer it however I can. It already pains me enough Sethrak, Zyphira, and Draeven aren't here with us. I like when we're all together. And it hurts worse when you run off from me. Though I figured you needed time to yourself, so I let you be, darling."

"Don't apologize for that. That was me just clearing my head. You're not at fault. I've been overwhelmed with shit this past few weeks and alone time is all I needed. I..really love you, Yuuna. And the Tyrants are my friends. There's nothing that could separate us, I hope so. I don't wanna jinx it, though. I'm sorry I walked off—."

"NOW YOU STOP APOLOGIZING." Yuuna smiled. "You needed to clear your head, I let you, darling. You mean so much to me. And the Tyrants..you all belong to me. But you are literal mine. We've been through a lot together, and we're all still alive. I want all of us to be together again. Like with Sethrak and Zyphira, they went off on their own, most likely to face their father King Alaric. They wanted to do it alone, but I still sent Draeven went with them to escort them just in case. Because Alaric cannot be trusted."

"They went off to face Alaric?!"

"Yeah. Right after you left."

"I hope they're okay."

"They'll be fine, I'll tell myself that everyday. To keep my hopes up. But we should be seeing them quickly though, I think."

"Why so?"

"Alaric is smart. He won't be a dumbass and try to do anything to Sethrak or Zyphira with us in Jörvaldr. Most likely, he'll just talk to them."

"Hopefully that's all he does."

"Can I ask you something, darling?"

"Yeah?"

"How far would you go for me? For us? The Tyrants?"

"…As far as I need to."

"Even if you have to listen to those voices in your head? To become a monster?"

"…I..don't know. Why do you ask?"

'That's a strange question she asked me..'

Yuuna continued, "Just in case something happens in the future, I keep getting this weird feeling that impending doom is waiting on us. I often think to myself how far I would go and let hell consume my mind just to protect you all. And once I let he'll consume my head due to my own rage or something, I lose sense of control, and people WILL die."

"We're strong for a reason, Yuuna. You've been working towards being better, to save people instead of condemning. Just know if it ever gets to that point, I'll be there to calm you down again and again. You've been working hard to be better, and I've seen it. You're doing great. I'm glad you're getting closer to your own goals. Because I don't want to lose you either. Especially to Hell. Fuck that place. And your father, respectfully."

Yuuna laughed, and she honked Xyenn on the head, "AWWW YOU SWEET TALKER."

Xyenn shook his head, bantering back, "THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!"

"TRYING TO HOLD MY TEARS BACK, DUH!"

Everyone saw Yuuna bonking Xyenn on the head, and Quinara said, "Guys, they're being lovey dovey again."

Gridd nodded, "Aye. Yuuna's love language."

Kivorn yawned, "Quinara..you'll get used to it."

And in the midst of all the chaos, there was a quiet sense of camaraderie—a bond that, despite all the bickering and antics, tied them together as something more than friends. They were family, and this madness was just another day in their unpredictable lives.

…

The estate was eerily quiet now, the only sounds coming from the swaying of the trees and the occasional caw of a crow picking at the fresh corpses scattered across the grounds. The Delleren family's blood painted the walls, the floors, even the shattered remains of their once-pristine fountains. The air reeked of death—thick, metallic, and suffocating.

A group of six bandits crept through the carnage, their voices low but brimming with nervous energy. They had been watching the Delleren estate for years, always waiting for the right time to strike. The family's wealth was legendary, their cruelty even more so. But now, as the bandits stepped through the gates, the scene before them was far beyond anything they could have imagined.

"Shit," muttered a wiry man with a patchy beard and a crooked nose. He was dressed in worn leathers, his boots caked with mud from years of travel. He nudged a nearby corpse with his boot, flipping it over. The body was mangled beyond recognition, its face slashed clean off. "Who the hell did this?"

Another bandit, a hulking brute with a shaved head and a scar running down the side of his face, spat on the ground. "Does it matter? Look at this place. They're all dead. Finally, after years of lording over everyone, the Delleren bastards got what they deserved."

A third bandit, a younger man with shaggy blonde hair and a nervous twitch, glanced around, his wide eyes darting from shadow to shadow. "This… this doesn't feel right, Harn. What if—what if it was them? The assassins?"

Harn, the scarred brute, barked out a laugh. "Come on, Jorik. You believe those stories? Assassins who only kill the wicked? That's just tavern talk."

The blonde, Jorik, fiddled with the frayed edges of his tunic, his voice trembling. "But what if it's true? Everyone in Jörvaldr talks about them. They say they come from the shadows, that they can't be stopped. And—and the Delleren family… they were evil, weren't they? I mean, you heard the rumors about the babies, right? How they used magic to breed them faster and threw out the ones they didn't like…"

A fourth bandit, a woman with dark hair tied into a messy bun, rolled her eyes. She was lean and wiry, her leather armor patched with scraps of mail. "So what? We're not Delleren scum. We're just trying to survive in this gods-forsaken continent. Money's everything here. If we don't take this chance, someone else will."

Jorik didn't look convinced. He glanced at the corpses strewn around the courtyard, their mutilated forms telling stories of violence too horrific to imagine. "Still… what if they come after us next?"

The fifth bandit, a lanky man with sunken cheeks and a long, hooked nose, snorted. "Don't be stupid, Jorik. We're not bad people—we're just taking what we can. Delleren was filth. Everyone knows that. Whoever did this probably deserves a medal, not us pissing ourselves over it."

The sixth bandit, a quiet older man with graying hair and a limp, said nothing. He adjusted the strap on his makeshift crossbow, his weathered face expressionless as he scanned the area. He had seen his fair share of death, but even he seemed uneasy.

They moved cautiously through the estate, stepping over bodies as they raided the main halls. The woman kicked open a door, revealing a room filled with ornate furniture and golden trinkets. "Jackpot," she said with a grin, immediately stuffing her bag with whatever she could carry.

Harn grabbed a golden candelabra, examining its intricate design. "This alone could feed us for months," he said, tossing it into his sack. "Keep moving. There's bound to be more."

Jorik hesitated, looking down at a corpse sprawled across the floor. It was a woman's body, her throat slashed so deeply her head was nearly severed. He shuddered, stepping over her gingerly. "This wasn't just killing," he muttered. "It's… it's like they wanted to send a message."

"Good," the woman said coldly, rummaging through a drawer. "The Delleren family deserved worse."

As they looted the estate, moving bodies out of their way without a second thought, they grew bolder. Bags filled with silver goblets, jeweled necklaces, and gilded statues, they laughed and joked, their earlier unease fading with the promise of wealth. 

By the time they stepped back outside, their sacks bulging with stolen riches, the sun had dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the blood-soaked grounds. They were halfway to the gate when they stopped dead in their tracks. 

Something was there.

A figure sat on the ground in the center of the courtyard, cradling something in its massive hands. As the bandits stepped closer, their breath caught in their throats. The figure was a woman—**taller than any human they had ever seen, at least thirteen feet in height**. Her body was adorned with **dark green and brown dragon scales** that shimmered faintly in the fading light, and her head was crowned with two **elegant, curved horns**. A **halo of glowing light** floated above her head, inscribed with **ancient runes** that pulsed with a quiet, rhythmic energy. Her long hair, the color of verdant forests, cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall. 

In her hands, she held the **severed heads of the Delleren family**, their lifeless eyes staring out into the void. Blood dripped steadily from the pile, pooling at her feet. 

The bandits froze, their faces pale. 

"What the fuck…" Harn muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jorik pointed a trembling finger at the halo. "That… that's a draconic deity. It has to be. Look at her!"

The older man with the limp narrowed his eyes. "I've heard of her," he said quietly. "Scholars mention her in the old texts. That's Freina… the elder dragon goddess of motherhood, birth, and fertility."

Freina's glowing green eyes lifted to meet theirs. Tears of **brilliant, glowing energy** streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto the blood-soaked ground. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft yet resonant, carrying both sorrow and power. 

"My children…" she whispered, her hands trembling as she gazed at the severed heads. "My wayward children… why have you departed so suddenly?" 

The bandits exchanged uneasy glances, unsure if she was speaking to them. Freina continued, her voice heavy with grief. "They were flawed, yes… they were cruel. They doomed the soul of an innocent babe to hell. They discarded the unworthy, the imperfect. They played with life as though it were a game. For these sins, they deserved this death."

Her fingers tightened around the heads, her voice breaking as more tears fell. "But they were still mine. My children. My creations. I gave them life, and now that life is gone." 

The bandits stood frozen, the weight of her sorrow pressing down on them like a physical force. Even Harn, who had shown no remorse earlier, looked uneasy.

Freina's glowing eyes swept over them, her gaze piercing. "Do you understand the burden of creation? The pain of seeing your creations fall into darkness? They called it progress… but at what cost?"

Jorik took a step back, his voice trembling. "W-we didn't do anything. We—we're just—"

"Thieves," Freina said, her voice cutting through his stammering. "You scavenge like vultures, taking what does not belong to you. And yet… you are not like them. You are desperate. You do not breed life simply to discard it."

The woman with the dark hair whispered under her breath, "She's… she's not going to kill us, is she?"

Freina didn't answer. She simply closed her eyes, clutching the heads of the Delleren family tighter as her tears continued to fall, illuminating the growing darkness around her.

The Delleren estate was silent as death, its ruins bathed in the faint glow of moonlight. Blood pooled in the dirt, seeping into the cracks of shattered stone, the remains of the once-proud family now reduced to little more than mutilated bodies and severed heads. The bandits, standing in a loose circle outside the estate, were frozen in place, their breaths shallow, their bodies tense. They stared in horrified awe at the towering figure of Freina, the elder dragon goddess of motherhood, birth, and fertility, as she floated above the courtyard, still clutching the severed heads of the Delleren family. Blood dripped steadily from her hands, streaking down her scaled arms and staining the ground below. 

Freina's form was both beautiful and terrifying. Her horns curved elegantly upward, glinting faintly in the dim light, and her **dark green and brown dragon scales** shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Her halo, inscribed with ancient runes, pulsed faintly as it turned a deep, ominous red, and her long, verdant hair flowed like an endless river. Her glowing, tear-filled eyes gazed down at the bandits, her sorrow radiating through the air like a suffocating wave. 

The bandits dared not move. Their minds raced with fear and questions, but their feet were rooted to the ground. Harn, the scarred brute, gripped his sack of stolen goods tightly, his knuckles white. The woman with the dark hair clenched her fists, her lips trembling as she whispered under her breath, "What… is she?" 

Jorik, the youngest and most skittish of the group, was visibly shaking. He dared to glance up at Freina's halo, watching as it shifted between red and its original golden-green hue. "She's… she's angry," he stammered, his voice barely audible. "We need to run. We need to get out of here." 

"No one's running," Harn snapped, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. His eyes darted nervously to Freina, who had yet to speak again. 

Freina's voice broke through the tense silence, soft yet resonant, each word laced with both sorrow and power. "Do you understand what it means to create life?" she asked, her glowing eyes sweeping over the bandits. "To give birth to a soul, to watch it grow, to know that its existence is tied irrevocably to your own?" 

The bandits exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing. 

Freina continued, her voice growing heavier with emotion. "Through the power of the **Ohnupilath Tree**, I brought life to this world. A tree blessed by **Gabriel** and the **King of Sen**, a union of divinity and mortality. It was through their essence that I was able to give birth to humanity itself. The first of your kind. From that tree sprang the roots of your existence, the generations that followed, the bloodlines that grew and spread across Kyrrin." 

The woman with the dark hair muttered under her breath, "She's… she's talking about the first humans. She's not just a goddess—she's *the* goddess." 

Freina's glowing tears streaked down her face as she lifted the heads of the Delleren family higher, her voice trembling. "The Delleren family… they gave me the most worship of all. Their rapid births, their devotion to motherhood and fertility, their endless cycle of life and death—it was their magic, born of generations, that brought more souls into this world. And yet…" Her voice broke, and her halo flared red. "They doomed a child's soul to hell. They discarded the innocent, the imperfect. For this, they deserved death. I know this to be true. And yet…" 

Her hands trembled, the heads shifting in her grasp. "They were still mine. My children. My creations. The fruits of my labor. I felt each of their deaths as though it were my own." 

The bandits' fear deepened as Freina's halo glowed brighter, the runes shifting and pulsing with energy. Jorik took a step back, clutching his bag of stolen goods tightly. "This isn't right," he whispered, his voice trembling. "She's… she's going to kill us." 

Harn turned to him, his expression hard. "Shut up. Don't do anything stupid." 

But Jorik couldn't take it anymore. With a sharp cry, he dropped his bag and bolted, sprinting toward the woods as fast as his legs could carry him. His heart pounded in his chest, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he tore through the trees. For a moment, panic gave way to relief, and a nervous laugh escaped his lips. "I'm safe," he muttered to himself. "I'm safe. I'm—" 

He skidded to a halt as a towering figure materialized in front of him, hovering just above the ground. Freina's glowing eyes bore into him, her expression unreadable. Jorik stumbled back, falling to the ground as his bag of stolen goods spilled open beside him. 

Freina tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but piercing. "Do you know what it is like to lose what you hold close?" 

Jorik opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. His throat felt dry, his body paralyzed with fear. 

Freina extended one elegant hand, her fingers brushing against his chest. Her touch was gentle, almost tender, but the moment her palm rested against him, a searing green light erupted from the point of contact. 

Jorik's scream tore through the forest as his chest exploded outward in a grotesque burst of blood and viscera. Ribs snapped like twigs, and the gaping hole left behind revealed the pulsing remains of his organs. He coughed violently, blood spilling from his mouth as he raised trembling hands to the wound, his fingers brushing against the shredded edges of his flesh. His eyes widened in shock, his body collapsing to the ground as his life slipped away. 

Back at the estate, the other bandits saw the flash of green light in the distance. Their fear reached a breaking point. Some dropped their bags, abandoning their stolen goods as they turned and fled in different directions. Others hesitated, their minds racing with thoughts of redemption and regret. 

"It's not worth it," one of them muttered, throwing down his bag. "I'm done. No more stealing. No more of this life." 

But it didn't matter. Freina was upon them in an instant. Her massive form moved through the shadows effortlessly, her presence suffocating. With one elegant swipe of her clawed hand, the heads of the remaining bandits were torn from their bodies in a single, seamless motion. Blood sprayed into the air, pooling around their lifeless corpses as their severed heads rolled to the ground. 

Freina returned to the estate, clutching the bandits' heads in her free hand. She floated back down to the blood-soaked courtyard, her glowing tears still falling as she gazed at the carnage before her. 

The air was heavy with tension, a suffocating weight that seemed to press down upon the blood-soaked ruins of the Delleren estate. Freina stood in the center of the carnage, her towering form bathed in the soft green glow of her shimmering halo. The severed heads of the Delleren family hung limp in her scaled arms, blood dripping steadily from them, pooling at her feet. Her glowing tears fell silently, carving faint, glowing streaks down her cheeks as the elder dragon goddess of motherhood, birth, and fertility mourned in silence.

Then the blood pooled at her feet began to ripple. The viscous liquid swirled unnaturally, pulling itself into a single point as if called by some unseen force. Slowly, the blood rose, spiraling upward in a crimson vortex. It twisted and coiled, thickening as it grew, taking a vaguely humanoid shape. As the form solidified, the spirals smoothed into flesh, scales, and bone, and **Orin**, the elder dragon god of blood, stepped forward from the swirling mass.

Orin's appearance was nothing short of terrifying. His body was a masterpiece of draconic brutality, covered in dark crimson scales that shimmered with a wet, almost liquid quality, as though blood itself coursed through them. His wings were massive, their membranes translucent and streaked with veins that pulsed faintly with life. His claws were long and jagged, each one sharp enough to carve through bone with ease. Two thick horns jutted from his head, curling slightly backward, resembling the points of a wicked crown. Above his head hovered a blood halo, a glowing ring of crimson inscribed with shifting runes that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. His eyes burned like molten fire, smoldering with intensity, and his face, though humanoid in structure, carried the sharp angular features of a predator. Dripping trails of blood followed his every step, vanishing before they could stain the ground.

Orin's voice, deep and gravelly, broke the silence. "Freina." He spoke her name without ceremony, his tone heavy with forced seriousness. "I see you've been busy."

Freina glanced at him, her expression unwavering, though her tear-streaked face betrayed her sorrow. "And you've chosen a new form again, Orin," she replied, her tone dismissive. "How many is that now? Do you even remember what you used to look like?"

Orin's jaw tightened, his claws flexing slightly. "This form… suits the times." He folded his arms, the blood halo above his head pulsing faintly. "People take me seriously like this."

Freina let out a quiet sigh, looking back down at the severed heads in her arms. "You're still trying too hard, Orin. You don't need a new face every time you crawl out of the blood. It doesn't matter how you look—no one takes you seriously because you're always playing a part. Even now."

Orin's expression darkened, but he said nothing. He took a step closer, his wings folding behind him. "I didn't come here to argue about appearances. I came to stop you."

Freina raised an eyebrow, though her expression remained calm. "Stop me? From what, exactly?"

"From retaliating," Orin said, his voice low but firm. "You know as well as I do that this… rage of yours won't lead anywhere good. The other elder dragon gods don't want you causing havoc because they—we all know how you get. You are powerful, since you're an elder…"

Freina's glowing eyes narrowed slightly. She stepped forward, her towering form casting a long shadow over Orin. "Rage?" she repeated softly. "Do you think this is rage, Orin? This… is grief." She lifted the heads slightly, her voice trembling. "Do you know what it feels like to lose what is yours? To lose what defines you? And what do the other elder dragon gods know about giving birth? They're scared of the cycle, turning to Hell for an escape. And even Kragvyr was forced into a contract with Hell by his psycho vessel King Haldrek. Death, somehow turned to a being that now belongs to hell…They know nothing of holding onto the purity of life. And then to see it be taken from them, their very being..that's the only thing they can relate to."

Orin hesitated, his fiery eyes flickering. "Freina, I—"

"They were mine. The Delleren family," she continued, cutting him off. Her voice rose slightly, the mournful tone sharpening with bitterness. "The Delleren family was my greatest source of worship. Every birth, every soul brought into this world through their magic—each one strengthened me. Their rapid births sustained me. They were flawed, yes. They deserved death for their dealings with Hell. But they were still mine. My children. The magic skill that's able to speed up birth after intercourse was passed down from family to family, generation to generation of those who worshipped me. I passed down the knowledge to my current most reliable worshippers."

Orin shifted uncomfortably, his claws flexing at his sides. He glanced at the severed heads and then back at Freina. "You're mourning them now, but you know as well as I do they were doomed the moment they strayed too far. This isn't the first time, Freina."

Freina ignored him, her voice softening as she continued. "I felt their deaths, Orin. All of them. I am not omnipresent, but I feel it when my followers are wiped out. I feel their suffering, their distress, their final moments. And I… I wish I could have stopped it. But I couldn't. Because of my rules."

Orin's wings shifted slightly as he tilted his head. "Your rules?"

Freina nodded, her glowing tears falling faster. "I cannot intervene when my children are about to die. That is my law, the philosophy I have followed since the day I created humanity through the Tree using Gabriel's power. I gave them life, Orin. I gave them free will. To step in, to take that away, would be to undo everything I stand for. That is the burden of motherhood."

Orin's fiery eyes softened slightly, though his expression remained tense. "And yet, here you are. Planning to intervene anyway."

Freina let out a bitter laugh, her halo flaring red for a brief moment before calming. "Because this was not a natural death. This was not the result of their sins catching up to them. This was an execution. A slaughter ordered by the vessel of that devil Yuuna."

Orin stiffened slightly, his claws digging into his palms. He knew exactly who was responsible—Nacht's assassins, following the orders of Xyenn. But he said nothing, his silence betraying his knowledge.

Freina's glowing eyes bore into him. "Do you see now, Orin? This wouldn't have happened if Gabriel had accepted that demon hybrid Yuuna. Her and her human mother have caused nothing but havoc in this world. And now, her vessel walks free, taking from me what is mine. The elder dragon gods speaks of them almost every meeting. They are a nuisance."

Orin looked away, his wings shifting uncomfortably. "Freina… if you retaliate, Jörvaldr won't survive it. You know that."

Freina's expression hardened. "And you would have me do nothing? You, who gains worship and power every time blood is shed near you? This would help you, Orin. Every drop spilled in my vengeance would make you stronger."

Orin hesitated, his fiery eyes flickering faintly. He had his own reasons for holding back, a deal with Yuuna that kept him from indulging in the chaos he normally thrived on. "It's not about that," he said finally. "I'm not going on a murder spree just to grow stronger. You know that."

Freina tilted her head, her gaze piercing. "Then stay out of my way," she said softly. "I don't want to fight you, Orin. But I will, if you try to stop me."

Orin said nothing, his silence heavy with conflict. Freina turned away from him, her voice softening once more as she gazed at the severed heads. "They were mine, Orin. My children. I will not let their deaths go unanswered. I will find Xyenn, and I will deal with him myself. They are involved, so I will step in. I don't care what the others say."

She began to walk away, her massive form exuding an air of quiet power. As she moved, she spoke again, her voice carrying a mournful resolve. "He is compatible, you know. For breeding. I will create a new bloodline with him. One that will ensure my legacy survives, even as the Cycle of Rebirth looms over us all. He will be mine."

Orin's fiery eyes narrowed slightly. "Freina," he said cautiously, "Xyenn is a Jotyin. He comes from the Ohnupilath Tree itself. He might be needed if the demons return. You remember what happened when King Samuel faced the demon monarch in the early days of Kyrrin."

Freina paused but didn't look back. "I know. And that is why I will take him. He will serve me. And through him, a new generation will be born."

Without another word, Freina spread her massive wings and launched into the sky. The force of her takeoff was immense, shaking the ground and sending debris flying in all directions. The already-ruined estate crumbled further under the shockwave of her departure, the air itself trembling in her wake, leaving brutal explosions that uprooted trees and boulders all over the place.

Orin stood amidst the destruction, unmoving. The swirling winds and flying debris didn't touch him, his crimson scales glinting faintly in the moonlight. He stared into the distance, his expression unreadable. 

"I need to find Xyenn and Yuuna," he muttered to himself, his voice low. "Before she does."

Orin (Blood), Death (Death), and Freina (Fertility, Birth, Motherhood). The Three main deities that hold the Cycle of Rebirth together, yet can suffer its effects by losing their memories when they die and come back hollow. A fate worse than death. The concept of birth is within the cycle, yes, because of Freina. And since she is the goddess of Fertility, Birth, and Motherhood, she cannot be truly "killed". Like Death himself, as they all are the ones who hold the curse of rebirth together.

Orin was thinking of this, as he realized Xyenn and Yuuna might not be able to stop her if she finds them. And her being an elder dragon goddess, she's known to be stronger than current Kragvyr/Haldrek. But with Haldrek getting stronger as a Jotyin, that may be up for debate.