"Lowly humans! You're standing in the presence of the Great Caerus!" Ollie circles the dragon's head, his crimson feathers shimmering with a frantic, proud energy.

"Be grateful! This is the only miracle your pathetic lives will ever witness!"

The girls on the floor tremble, their heads bowed low against the cold stone. One bride whispers the name into the silence. "Caerus...?"

"The God of Radiance help us..." A girl in the back stumbles, her face draining of color until it matches her white gown. She points a shaking finger. "The Black Dragon! The Avatar of the Dark God!".

The name hits the room like a physical weight. Legend said the true name was a curse, a trigger for disaster, and the brides scramble backward in a blind panic. They stare at the handsome, lethal man by the window, unable to reconcile the myth with the figure before them.

Caerus ignores the chaos. He stares at the empty gold cup in his hand, his brow furrowing as he realizes the liquid is gone.

"Little girl." He slides the vessel across the table toward Yulia. "Another one."

Every eye in the hall snaps to Yulia.

Yulia drops the silk clothes she was holding, the fabric fluttering to the floor in a heap. She tilts her chin up, her knuckles turning white as she grips her skirts.

"No! I won't!" she barks, her voice echoing off the high ceiling. "I am a follower of the God of Radiance! I take no orders from a monster!".

Ollie nearly falls out of the air, his wings flapping erratically. "Wait—what happened to the face-changing? Where's the loyal lackey?!".

Giotto and the other brides freeze. They had watched her serve the dragon moments ago, but now the delicate princess looks like she's carved from iron.

Caerus leans back, the morning light catching the sharp, cold line of his jaw. "Done playing the dog?"

Yulia steps in front of the other girls, her arms spreading like a protective shield. "I was... under your spell! But I am a servant of the Light! The God of Radiance is the only one worthy of my soul!".

She glances back at the girls. Tears track through the soot on their faces as they watch their new hero.

Giotto grabs her hand, his own fingers vibrating with terror. "Miss Yulia... your faith... the God will reward your loyalty in the heavens."

Yulia stands tall, her heart racing. Actually, I just want a quick ticket back to my world and a hot meal.

Caerus watches the performance with a flat, emotionless gaze. "Fine."

His voice is low, like the sound of grinding stone. "But a word of warning. The saintly spirits in the God's kingdom? They only drink dew."

Yulia's spine goes rigid. "Oh... really?"

"Sometimes they skip the dew," Caerus adds, his golden eyes narrowing. "To stay pure. You seem... very devout."

Beads of sweat track down Yulia's neck. "Well... I mean..."

"Enjoy your dew for the next few days," Caerus says, standing up. "Go see your non-existent God in your most 'pure' state."

Yulia's stomach lets out a hollow, sharp growl that cuts through the tension. The other brides look ready to collapse; the Church's survival potions kept them alive, but their hunger is a physical ache.

Caerus turns to leave, his heavy black cloak sweeping the floor. Yulia's hand darts out, her fingers snagging the silk of his sleeve.

He stops, looking down at her.

Yulia beams, her smile bright and entirely shameless. "Actually... I could probably worship a god who feeds me."

"As a gift for my new faith... Lord Caerus, would you like to try a different flavor?"

Caerus pauses, his expression unreadable. He sits back in the high-backed chair. "Different flavor? Show me."

Ollie and Giotto stare, their mouths hanging open in unison. That was fast.

In the kitchen, the Undead Knight prepares the workspace. Ollie hovers over the counter, his beak snapping at the steam as Yulia gathers honey, milk, oats, and eggs.

"Lily! Lily! Save some for me!" the bird chirps, his previous anger forgotten like a dream.

Yulia mixes the oat pudding into the tea. Without sugar, the honey has to do the heavy lifting, but the aroma is thick and sweet.

Ollie gulps his share down and sprawls on the table, letting out a heavy, satisfied burp. "Ugh. You're a terrifying human, but this magic... it's too good."

"Who's terrifying?" Yulia asks, stirring the pot.

Ollie's green eyes dart toward the door.

"Menningen. He's a nightmare. He's peeled skins. He's the Lord's most lethal knight. Don't touch him."

Yulia looks at the skeleton in the doorway. Moss grows in the cracks of his bleached ribs, and his silver lance is sharp enough to cut the shadows.

A quick death, Yulia thinks.

She ducks under the bird's wing and marches straight up to the Undead Knight. She reaches out, plucking a small gold-thread flower from her own sleeve, and ties it carefully to the knight's shoulder bone.

The flower sits like a pin against the pale bone. The knight's empty, dark eye sockets lock onto hers.

"Sir Menningen," Yulia said, her voice dripping with a terrifyingly calm sincerity. "I've felt it since the moment I saw you. You must have been a stunning lady in life, as beautiful as this flower".

Ollie's scream choked in his throat.

The phoenix squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the wet sound of Yulia's spine being ripped from her body. No one in their right mind would tell the legendary, invincible Undead Knight he was a "stunning lady".

Yulia braced for the strike, her hands open as if welcoming the end. Her ex-fiancé, Loren Eir, would have snapped if someone even suggested he was "pretty," and he was alive and handsome. She practically leaned into the invisible shadow of Menningen's silver lance.

"You..."

The knight's jawbone clattered, emitting a series of dry, hollow clicks.

He took a sharp step back.

They stared at each other for one heartbeat. Then, Menningen bolted.

He sprinted down the corridor, his white bones a blur of motion. Yulia blinked, her boots thudding against the stone as she gave chase.

"Wait! You dropped something!"

She skidded to a halt at the end of the long gallery, hoisting a heavy, bleached femur over her head.

Menningen froze twenty meters away. He looked at the bone, then at Yulia, his empty eye sockets flickering.

With a frantic surge of divine magic, the leg bone yanked itself from Yulia's grip, whistling through the air back to its owner.

Menningen didn't stay to reattach it. He vanished around the corner in a frantic, one-legged scramble.

Yulia stood in the silence, her hand still raised.

Ollie's jaw hit the floor.