Fear is the most paradoxical emotion a mortal can experience. It serves both as a primal instinct to protect us from danger and as a shackle that can halt our progress.
The Phoenix Clan understood this bitter duality all too well. Their deeply ingrained fear of the Skyward Region's fury had ensured their survival over millennia, but it came with a heavy cost: their wings were intentionally clipped.
Can a bird truly be called a bird if it cannot fly?
Libinea had wrestled with this existential question ever since she uncovered a grim truth—the Dragon King had crafted these five mountain peaks not as a sanctuary, but as an immense, geographical prison designed to subdue her people mentally.
While journeying through the Dawnfall Region years ago, she heard an ancient saying from the human clans that resonated with her soul more than any scripture: "Under a man's knees, there is gold." Libinea had embraced this unwavering belief long before she grasped its literal meaning. Whether it was the Divine Emperor ignoring the Pearl Hunters, the Demon King sending his legions to devastate the Skyward Border, or the Dragon King oppressing her Kin...
There was only one man in all the cosmos she had ever willingly submitted to, and it certainly wasn't them.
She had battled their strongest warriors, foiled their most treacherous schemes, and single-handedly reignited the extinguished flames of hope within her people's hearts.
Yet one last, tangible collar remained to be broken if she was to fulfill her promise to Nirvana, and she was staring directly at it.
The five mountain peaks hung suspended in mid-air, entirely within her divine control. Just as she had stormed the Divine Realm and powerfully revealed her True Divinity to the entire continent, she would now boldly step into the future once more.
"Combust."
With this singular, authoritative command, she initiated a catastrophic series of events. Libinea observed as Azure Peak, already engulfed by her divine flames, began to unleash its apocalyptic fire upon the four neighboring suspended mountains:
The Golden Feather Tribe, renowned for its opulent, luminescent magical crystal mines.
The Red Feather Tribe, the origin of the most formidable, blood-tempered warriors the Phoenix Clan had ever known.
The Black Feather Tribe, the enigmatic intelligence network with spies concealed in every shadowy corner of the realm.
The Purple Feather Tribe, a serene sanctuary that nurtured the wisest and most spiritually enlightened minds.
One by one, these ancient bastions fell under the onslaught of the relentless tri-colored fire. Libinea lifted her hand, her golden eyes reflecting the inferno, and gradually clenched her fist to mark the conclusion.
BOOM! The explosive force of the detonation echoed across the heavens. Its impact resonated far beyond the immediate vicinity, compelling the entire continent to gaze skyward, past the Skyward Border, to behold the terrifying testament of her unwavering determination.
---
As the scorched earth below sizzled, the Phoenix Kin stood frozen in a whirlwind of emotions, watching helplessly as their ancestral mountains crumbled into ash. Their hearts pounded with fear and anticipation, hoping their Queen would soon restore their shattered courage as they gazed into the fiery haze above.
Through the dense, swirling smoke, a figure began to emerge, descending toward them with an ethereal grace.
It was Libinea, yet not the Queen they remembered. She appeared as a fearsome deity crowned with thorns, her presence exuding an icy indifference that sent chills down their spines. The bruised and battered crowd instinctively took a step back, their hearts sinking with dread.
But then, as her bare feet finally touched the scorched ground, the divine aura surrounding her dissipated. The black hair, thorn crown, and formidable robes faded like a distant illusion, revealing the warm, golden-haired Libinea they cherished deeply.
This comforting sight instantly eased their troubled hearts, breaking the oppressive tension that hung in the air.
"Queen Libinea!" a member of the Golden Feather tribe shouted joyfully, falling to his knees in the ash.
"You saved us!" shouted a member of the Black Feather Tribe, tears of relief cutting through the soot on her face.
As the surviving Kin celebrated her overwhelming victory, a few grasped the full weight of what her display of power meant for the tribe. Elder Mushai, leaning heavily on his battleaxe, was the first to voice the looming dread.
"You have achieved a legendary feat, Queen Libinea. Even the Ancestor would be proud," the veteran warrior rasped. "However... there is something I hope you can explain."
"Speak," Libinea commanded gently.
"Why... why have you destroyed our homes?"
"Because they were never truly your homes, Elder," Libinea replied, her golden eyes scanning the crowd. "They were your prisons."
Her words cut deep into the hearts of everyone present. Though none had dared to voice it, they all knew that the Dragon King's "exile" was never an act of mercy. They had been caged birds for a millennium.
"Then... what do we do now?" Mushai asked, his voice trembling. "What if the Dragon King sees this as a declaration of war and sends his army?"
"There's no need to worry about the Dragon King."
"How can we not?!"
"Because my master has already confronted the Dragon King," Libinea said, her voice resonating with authority. "And the Dragon King has retreated. He knows our Clan is now a vassal to my Guild."
A stunned silence fell over the crowd. Everyone understood the terrifying implication of those words. If the legendary Dragon King had retreated without a fight, then Raiking—whom they had assumed was merely a powerful, albeit young, hidden master—possessed a power that overshadowed even the most fearsome ruler on the continent.
Though this revelation served as the ultimate shield, there was a particular phrase she used that ignited a new wave of confusion.
"A vassal state?" Elder Wenya stepped forward, her voice tinged with concern.
Libinea turned away from her people, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon of the Skyward Region. "We won't just become a vassal state... the entire Skyward Region will eventually bow to the Guild."
It was a daring declaration, one that called for an unprecedented war of conquest against the Skyward Region—a victory that seemed out of reach if the battered, homeless Phoenix Clan were to fight alone.
But Libinea didn't linger for her people to debate her bold vision.
A millennium ago, when her wings were first restored, Raiking had presented her with two choices: rush back to the Divine Realm for a futile attempt, or earn her strength through a grueling and painful journey. Just as the God of Death had done for her, she did not plead with her people. She did not passionately persuade them.
She simply turned her back and stepped forward.
"Where are you going?" Elder Mushai called out.
"To the Demon Region."
"For what purpose?!"
"To reclaim our pride, amidst the chaos of war."
Her words were simple, yet they carried profound weight. And the first to follow her onto this perilous new path was Elder Wenya.
Seeing the Elder's determination, the hesitation among the people dissolved. One by one, members from every surviving tribe emerged from the ashes, choosing to venture into the daunting unknown alongside the Queen who had shown them that the impossible was within reach.
---
[Location - Boundary Lake of the Dawnfall Region]
As Libinea led her followers towards the continent's western frontier, Raiking's Void Portal shimmered into being at the entrance of the most dreaded spot within human territory. To his mild astonishment, someone was already there, awaiting their arrival.
"Dia'Tia!" Ezmelral shouted in surprise.
"If it isn't the little sword spirit," a booming, laid-back voice responded, echoing across the lake. There was Dia'Tia, casually fishing in the abyssal waters that connected directly to the Void Realm. Her calm demeanor in such a dangerous place mirrored exactly how Libinea must have felt upon first encountering Raiking.
"What brings you here?" Raiking inquired, his voice steady and unruffled.
"I heard the Guild's finally making moves," Dia'Tia replied, her sharp gaze shifting towards Morgal. "It seems the Storm Dragon wasn't wrong. So, I figured I'd dive into the fray."
"More like you're just itching for a good brawl..." Ezmelral grumbled. She watched as Raiking nonchalantly took a seat on the spare wooden stool Dia'Tia had thoughtfully set up beside her, clearly expecting his arrival.
Yet, Dia'Tia's attention soon drifted from the God of Death. Her eyes fixed on the slumbering bundle cradled awkwardly in Morgal's arms.
"Come... you..." Dia'Tia began, peering down at Morgal. As a giant's descendant, she was accustomed to towering over others, but Morgal appeared unusually petite.
Her gaze returned to Raiking, blinking in genuine bewilderment. "Is she... your other child?"
Ezmelral erupted in breathless laughter. Morgal, however, wasn't amused.
"Who is this... tall lady?" Morgal asked innocently, tilting her doll-like head. Her sweet voice masked the fact that calling a woman merely "tall" could be interpreted as a subtle insult.
"Seems your... other daughter is quite bold," Dia'Tia observed, rising to her full height. An overwhelming spiritual energy began to emanate from her massive form, signaling her sudden desire to test the bravery of this little girl.
Morgal didn't flinch. Instead, her lips curled into a faint, unsettling smile—just enough for Dia'Tia to realize that the tiny assassin's intent to provoke a reaction was indeed genuine.
Raiking let out a weary sigh, his gaze drifting over the swirling depths of the Void Lake. It dawned on him that guiding this volatile, newly assembled group on their journey would be far more challenging than he had anticipated.
Yet, as he glanced back at the peacefully sleeping Faye, entirely undisturbed by the terrifying auras clashing around her, he understood one thing with absolute clarity.
If it meant building a guild of monsters to babysit his daughter, then the headache would be entirely justified.