The sky, once clear, was now veiled in dark clouds, as the wind howled in an ominous, distorted symphony.
Bolts of light rained down from above as the immense, verdant dragon finally revealed its true power. Bronya understood, in that instant, that their supposed “evenly matched” skirmish had been nothing but a game to this creature. Humanity had never come close to touching even a fraction of its strength, nor had they ever truly been regarded as a threat.
She knew well enough—anyone still standing on this battlefield, if they didn’t leave now, would likely be erased without a trace.
Fleeting thoughts of retreat flashed through Bronya’s mind before she banished them all in an instant, her heart steeling with reckless determination.
So what if humanity couldn’t measure up?
Was she supposed to simply cry, “There’s nothing I can do!” and abandon the fight?
Absolutely not. Even if her efforts were insignificant or weak, she would find her own way to contribute. History had already shown Belobog’s people that victory would always demand sacrifice.
So, with renewed conviction, Bronya took her first step forward, her face hardened against the razor-sharp winds that sliced past her, leaving her resolve untouched and sharpened.
“Once, we were swept away by biting winds…”
The clear ring of her combat boots against Belobog’s ancient stone was the sound of defiance. No longer the figure molded by the mantle of inheritance, she stood as a true rebel, as someone who would fight for her people with her own strength.
“Our warriors bled their last drop, froze, fell, and fled…”
It was as if specters rose from the ground beside her, spectral ironclad soldiers responding to her call, standing upright to join their ranks.
“We mourned them. We despaired, we wept… But for Belobog, our frail, fragile city, we will give our all!”
Like a wildfire, the collective hopes, dreams, and burdens of the seven hundred years since this city’s founding rose up with her voice.
“Awaken, and gather! For our warmth, our fire, for the dawn—tear through this season of endless cold!”
Her declaration rang out as a chorus of spectral soldiers raised their weapons, the flicker of their gunfire painting the sky with streaks of light.
These bullets might have been too weak to pierce even a Fragmentum monster’s armor, yet in this moment, they shone like shooting stars, defying the odds as they burned toward the dragon above.
Unbeknownst to her, Bronya’s allies watched her, surprise and awe in their gazes, caught by her newfound strength.
Following the echo in her heart, she fired again.
Back in the city, those huddled in their shelters could almost feel her courage resonating through the storm, as though they too could see the young protector challenging the colossal green dragon.
The spirit of preservation that had kept this city alive for centuries had never glowed so brightly.
Even Cocolia, confined to her dark prison cell, could sense the shift. The whispers of the Stellaron in her mind had grown weaker. But…
Her path was already paved. This burden was hers to bear alone, a road of her own making.
In the silence of her cell, she felt a quiet joy for her daughter’s growth.
If anyone could lead Belobog to the future it deserved, it was Bronya.
She could only imagine what might have been if this rebellion had happened sooner, if perhaps they had stood side by side under the sun, sharing in the warmth of their people’s cheers.
But such a vision was beyond her now. Her only gift left for Bronya was to sweep away the thorns she had strewn in her daughter’s path.
…
Bronya’s weapon glowed a molten red, its blade now tapered into a spear-like edge. Twin wings sprouted from its barrel, radiating heat like the city’s great power core.
But Bronya felt no burn. Only strength, a profound weight and power.
The strength of Preservation, forsaken by her mother, now hers to wield.
In a fleeting moment, she felt herself glimpsing the figure of Qlipoth, Belobog’s Aeon of Preservation, her friends’ faces illuminated by its light.
Her heart ached as her eyes wandered to Venti. She saw the glint of admiration in his gaze.
Did she feel hurt, disrespected by his attention?
Not at all.
In fact, Bronya had never felt so uplifted, so full of reverent gratitude.
With her will, she cast a shimmering barrier of red over her allies. Even Gepard was astonished by the density of this shield. Though it wasn’t as finely honed as his own, its quality far surpassed his own capabilities, and those of any other commander.
As Belobog’s designated successor, Bronya had gained the favor of the Aeon of Preservation.
It was a distinction that no protector since the very first had earned. For generations, the people of Belobog had grown cold to the Aeon’s distant, indifferent presence. Their survival in this frozen world had once depended on this god’s protection, yet its silence had all but erased it from their hearts.
But this had another meaning—that if a successor could attain such light once more…
Then they would become the Savior, the vessel of all hope!
Bronya squeezed the trigger.
The flow of time seemed to resume, and the dragon above thundered its wrath as it barreled toward her, sweeping up massive whirlwinds from heaven to earth to swallow the lone girl whole.
But Bronya only lifted her weapon, forming a solid wall that severed the distance between her and the beast. Though the barrier cracked, it held fast.
Victory wasn’t about defeating the dragon outright. In the very moment that Yarilo turned its gaze back to its people, Belobog’s bleak fate had changed.
Bronya’s duty was only to give her all, with the right process, the right faith, to bring forth the right result.
So there was no room for failure.
Surrounded by her allies, upheld by their trust, she could taste the freedom won by her rebellion, just within reach.
Concentrating with all her might, Bronya summoned a blazing spear and, with a powerful shout, hurled it forward.
As it tore through the air, her barrier shattered. The colossal dragon, its head corrupted by crystalline Fragmentum spikes, roared as the lance met its mark.
The fractured crystal splintered, the twisted Fragmentum bloom bursting into embers of red that scattered, reluctantly fading away.
Bronya felt her strength drain, as though her very being had been hollowed out. But her friends were there, holding her upright.
“Not bad,” Seele’s voice teased at her side. “Pretty impressive, for a princess.”
“Bronya has more than proven herself,” added another voice.
Praise surrounded her, and a new feeling bloomed in her heart, the desire to share this joy with someone in particular.
The poet who had brought her this new dawn…
But then, a dark glimmer caught her eye.
A streak of blood, red as dusk, seared into her vision.
A hand had pierced his chest. And with a merciless yank, it twisted as though eager to rip his heart out whole.
Behind him stood a figure that should never have been there—a figure she had once called “Mother.”
—
T/N: NOOOOOOOOOO VENTI
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