The sky was still ink-black when they stepped outside the cave mouth. No hint of dawn yet—just the storm's restless churning, lightning forking white across swollen clouds, thunder rolling like distant artillery. Rain fell in sheets, drumming against the marsh reeds and turning the ground to sucking mud.
Stark stood at the edge of the overhang, staring up with wide, miserable eyes. "Are we sure this is the best idea?"
He rubbed his arms against the chill. "Maybe we should wait for the storm to pass at least…?"
Percia glanced up from where she was helping Fern fold the last blanket into the suitcase. Lightning flashed; her midnight-blue eyes caught the brief glare.
"The ruin drifts with the storm," she said calmly. "I told you—this is also a method of travel. We're taking the storm's path to cross the marsh."
Stark wilted further, shoulders slumping. "Right… the storm's path… great…"
Frieren smirked from beside him, already wide awake and bright-eyed despite the early hour. She looked almost excited. "If you want, Stark, you can cover the ground from below. Alone."
Stark flinched. "Frierennn—stop being so cruel!"
Frieren laughed—soft, genuine, the sound cutting cleanly through the wind.
Fern closed the suitcase with a quiet click and frowned at Frieren. "Frieren-sama, please take this a little more seriously. We are venturing into unknown territory."
Percia thought aloud, voice low over the rain. "True. I'm not sure myself what to expect. It shouldn't be anything outside my capabilities, though."
Stark clung to that like a lifeline. "Yeah—right, Percia? There's nothing out there outside of your capabilities, right?"
Percia blinked. Then she laughed—soft, surprised, the sound almost lost under the storm.
"Stark," she said gently, "I'm not a god. Of course there's a lot outside my capabilities."
Stark wilted again, deflating like a punctured waterskin.
Percia gestured them closer. "Come. I'll get us up there safely."
Fern twitched as she felt Percia's mana enclose them—cool, drifting, almost liquid. She reached out instinctively; it fluttered away, just out of reach, shimmering like heat haze.
Percia leaned back slightly, hands loose at her sides. "I've cast a barrier spell on each of us. It should protect us from the rain and lightning." She glanced at Fern. "Do you recognize it?"
Fern frowned, studying the translucent, dynamic shimmer under her gaze. It moved like water over glass—never still, never solid. A memory flashed: golden hair, sharp eyes, a barrier that had once contained numerous mages.
Her eyes widened. "This is… Serie-sama's barrier magic."
Percia smiled—small, faint. "Yes. It's a very impressive spell."
She glanced at Frieren, who was staring up at the roiling sky with quiet fascination.
"Isn't your master even more impressive now?" Percia asked softly. "She analyzed this sort of barrier in a single day and destroyed it with ease."
Frieren gave no sign of hearing them, her attention fixed on the storm above.
Percia turned back to Stark, who had started edging away. She reached out, grabbed him by the back of his collar before he could retreat.
He yelped. "Hey—!"
She turned to Fern and Frieren. "I'll carry Stark up. Follow me. There is a specific path we have to take."
Stark flailed weakly. "Wait—carry—?!"
Percia didn't answer. She simply lifted him—effortless, one arm under his knees, the other supporting his back—like he weighed nothing.
Stark went rigid. "This is humiliating."
Fern exhaled slowly, then nodded once. "Let's go."
Lightning cracked overhead.
Percia stepped out into the rain.
The barrier shimmered around them—rain sliding off like oil, thunder muffled to a distant growl.
She looked up at the storm, eyes steady.
Then she rose—slowly at first, then smoother—effortless.
Fern followed close behind, staff in her hand. Frieren drifted beside her, white hair whipping in the wind, green eyes bright with anticipation.
Stark clung to Percia's cloak, whimpering. "I hate heights… I hate flying… I hate storms…"
Percia's voice was calm against his ear. "You'll be fine."
A smirk from behind, "Probably."
"Frieren!"
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The storm raged around them as they rose higher, wind screaming past the invisible barriers like a living thing. Lightning forked white and vicious through the clouds; thunder cracked so close it rattled teeth. Stark clung to Percia's cloak with both hands, eyes squeezed shut, whispering frantic prayers under his breath.
Fern called out from behind, voice raised above the howl. "You said there's a specific path!" She flinched as lightning shrieked downward—too close—scorching the air inches from her barrier. "How do you know this if you've never been there?"
Percia's voice carried steady, calm over the gale. "It mirrors the path you had to take when it still existed on the ground. I'm pretending right now that the sky is the ground."
Stark mumbled into the hand covering his face. "That doesn't make any sense…"
Frieren's voice cut through next, focused. "There's already demons here."
They all glanced upward.
Numerous shapes darted through the storm—demons stood against the beating wind. Some circled in loose patrols; others simply rode the currents, eyes scanning the churning clouds.
Percia didn't slow. "Don't worry. I tweaked the barrier to make us invisible. We'll have to be quiet, though—it doesn't muffle sound. We can easily sneak around them."
She tilted her head toward a darker gap in the roiling mass ahead. "Come on. We're almost there."
Thunder rumbled as they drew closer. Percia pointed wordlessly toward the narrow rift in the clouds. She waited until Fern and Frieren slipped through it—silent shadows gliding past—before glancing back at the demon sentries hovering in the storm.
Their hair clung drenched against skin and horns. Some shivered visibly, trembling in the cold wind. Miserable. Distracted.
Percia opened one hand toward them.
"Reelseiden."
Stark's jaw dropped.
Heads—every single one, even the furthest sentries—simply lobbed off. Bodies disintegrated mid-flight, scales and flesh unraveling into black ash that the storm swallowed before it could hit the ground. No scream. No alarm. Just sudden, surgical absence.
Percia looked down at a flabbergasted Stark. Lightning flashed around them, illuminating her midnight-blue eyes—sharp, glowing, utterly calm.
"I told you," she said softly. "I'm here to exterminate demons."
Stark stared into those eyes as another bolt cracked overhead, making the blue flare brighter.
"And you're going to help me."
Stark swallowed hard.
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A vast silhouette loomed—stone spires and broken arches suspended impossibly in the storm, drifting slow and majestic. Lightning illuminated shattered stained glass, remnants of goddess motifs long faded. Wind tore at ancient banners; rain lashed marble that had once welcomed pilgrims from every race.
The last temple of the goddess.
Now a ruin claimed by demons.
They landed on the clouds—soft, strangely solid beneath their feet, like walking on thick fog given weight.
Stark stumbled a step, knees wobbling. "It's… harder than I imagined," he mumbled, voice small. "Still feels like I'm gonna fall through any second."
Fern steadied herself beside him, eyes narrowed. "It's due to the mana," she said quietly. "I can feel it—the way it rolls from the ruin into the clouds. Thick. Heavy. It's holding everything up."
Frieren crouched and reached down, fingers trailing through the cloud surface. "Huh. It's still soft."
Stark's eyes scanned the area—wide, darting. He blinked. "How come there's no demons guarding the outside of the ruin?"
Percia reached out to the air, palm open. "Can't you feel it, Stark? The air is holy. Those lesser demons standing sentry could never deign to stand in air like this. They'd burn away before they realized."
Stark gulped audibly.
Frieren hummed in faint interest, already stepping forward.
Percia walked toward the ruin's broken gates, then turned back. "Come on now. We don't want to waste daylight. If we time this right, we can leave this place right as it rolls over the next town over."
They stepped inside.
Fern's breath caught.
Motifs of the goddess covered every surface—delicate carvings of crescent moons and star-crowned figures, vines of silver and gold leaf still clinging stubbornly to stone despite centuries of neglect. Spires rose impossibly high even here, their tips lost in drifting mist. Holy symbols—interlocking rings, open palms, radiant eyes—were etched into every arch and column. The air itself felt thick with lingering sanctity, like breathing incense.
Fern paused at a massive painting half-preserved on the far wall—faded pigments still vivid in places. A goddess figure stood central, radiant, surrounded by bowed pilgrims. At her left side, one figure in particular—head reverently lowered, onyx hair spilling like ink, white robes flowing—caught the light just so.
Fern's voice came out small. "Um… Percia? Why does that look like you?"
Percia turned.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
"Oh," Percia said quietly. "That's my mother."
They all froze.
Stark's voice cracked. "What?"
"It's not an especially fun story," Percia continued, already walking past the painting. "I was never close to her. Come now."
Frieren's brow twitched. Fern and Stark exchanged the same silent thought.
'How are we supposed to just move on past that?'
Percia walked along the ruined carpet—once rich crimson, now threadbare and stained. "The demons that are here are most definitely going to be strong. The holy presence is still prevalent. For them to withstand it… I wonder how."
Stark flinched. "Um… how many are there going to be?"
Percia shrugged. "I'm not sure. I was just told they're remnants of the Demon King's army."
Fern's voice sharpened. "Told? By who?"
Percia stilled momentarily. "An acquaintance."
Stark frowned. "That doesn't narrow it down at all. For all we know the goddess is your acquaintance."
Percia smiled—small, almost amused. "Well, it's not the goddess. That's for sure."
They investigated the room further. No immediate demonic presence. No traps triggered. Nothing too out of the ordinary.
Frieren paused beside a stone sculpture of a long-extinct griffin—wings half-spread, beak open in eternal cry. She ran her hand over the cold marble.
"Percia."
Percia turned.
Frieren stood still, hands still on the sculpture. "This… feels wrong."
She pushed down on the griffin's head.
Something clicked.
Stark yelped as his hand passed straight through where solid stone had been a second ago. He stumbled back, staring wide-eyed.
Beyond it stretched a long path lit by flickering torches—endless, straight, walls smooth and unmarked. The air within it was no longer holy. It stank of corruption—thick, oily, like rot beneath incense.
Percia wrinkled her nose. "So that's how they're in here. It's a connecting teleportation matrix. Old magic, by the looks of it."
Fern frowned. "How did demons get their hands on this magic?"
Frieren answered calmly. "It only makes sense that they got their hands on it. They live long, just like elves. They just die more because they gravitate toward entropy." She tilted her head. "Ask that question again if we come across a human with this type of magic... not that I'd know the answer to that."
Percia hummed as she observed the path beyond. "This is an obvious trap… the floors are layered with something."
Frieren hummed in agreement. "Looks like its been cursed with illusory magic. The chances are if we step into it, we'll get confused. Separated."
Stark flinched, hand tightening around his axe. "Um… guys, this time I definitely don't want to get separated." He glanced meaningfully at Percia.
Percia smiled—small, reassuring. Within her hands a thin ribbon materialized, deep red, shimmering faintly. "Of course."
She held it out. "Come. Tie this around your wrist. It's enchanted so we won't get separated."
She paused. "It does limit our movement, though. But I'd rather use this than cast a counterspell. Mistilziela might work with some adjustments, but continuous casting of it is excessive. I don't know what lies ahead of us and I want to conserve mana."
They stepped into the corridor.
The wall reformed behind them with a soft, final click.
"Oh come on!" Stark yelled, voice echoing uselessly down the endless torch-lit path.
Far down the path, eyes turned towards the noise.
Hungry.