“Lisa!” I yanked her wrist and practically threw us backward.

The heat from the incoming fireball was already licking at my face, the air around us warping like reality itself was reconsidering its existence. I barely pulled mana together, my instincts screaming at me to do something—anything—before we got turned into very crisp adventurer kebabs.

A meter-thick wall of solid ice slammed into existence before us, cracking and creaking under the sheer wrongness of fire that should not be burning this hot.

It didn’t even slow down.

The flames consumed the ice in an instant, not melting it but devouring it—like a fire that had long since evolved past needing fuel. The moment it met the ground, the stone shattered from the force of impact.

Lisa and I were hurled backward like discarded dolls, landing in an undignified heap with enough force to rattle my brain inside my skull. My healing spell fixed our bruises.

“Wait!” I gasped, shoving myself up before he could launch round two of our untimely demise. “I’m here to—”

“The audacity!” The definitely-not-a-dragon moved, and the world tilted.

One second, he was perched atop his throne of volcanic rock, the next, he exploded forward, flying with zero effort—his massive wings not even moving.

He was too fast. Wrongly fast.

The air itself detonated from the sheer force of his movement, the sonic boom slamming into us like a titan’s slap. My ears rang as the pressure wave shoved us toward the entrance like we were unwelcome guests at an aggressive house party.

“Yes, yes, I’m like that,” I coughed, barely keeping my footing as the ground stopped shaking beneath me. I pointed a very shaky finger at Lisa. “But she needs your help!”

The dragon—not-dragon, fine, definitely not-a-dragon—paused. His massive, shadow-swallowing form loomed over us like an impending natural disaster.

I really wished I could identify him, but of course, the system was pulling its usual. I don’t know her act. And refused to work for me.

Figures.

Lisa stood her ground, her expression surprisingly composed for someone who had just been nearly incinerated by an ancient being of untold power.

“The Hero of the Flame-God is her nemesis!” I continued, because apparently, I had no self-preservation instincts whatsoever. “She hates him!”

That at least got his attention.

His colossal head tilted, eyes narrowing as he turned his full, suffocating presence onto Lisa. The heat pulsed in waves from his massive form, every breath he took making the cavern vibrate as if the volcano itself obeyed his whims.

“Interesting,” he rumbled, his voice shaking dust from the very ceiling. I still wasn’t breathing properly. He lifted a single, razor-sharp claw and pointed it straight at Lisa. “Is it true?”

Lisa met his gaze without hesitation. Her back straightened, her jaw set, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “He’s the worst,” she said, her voice hard with conviction.

Something shifted in the dragon’s stance. His molten gaze assessed her for a long, agonizing moment, and then—

“If you prove your worth, I will train you.”

Lisa’s head snapped up in surprise, but before she could even consider responding, he turned his monstrous gaze back to me.

“But she,” he said, his voice dropping into something lower, darker, dangerous, “needs to go.” A single, massive talon jabbed toward me, like the final verdict of a judge passing down an execution order. “I don’t want to stain my home anymore.”

Wow. Rude.

I didn’t even argue.

“Of course!” I bowed so fast I nearly folded in half. Then, with the grace of a person absolutely terrified for their life, I began the world’s most dignified backward crawl toward the exit.

Lisa didn’t look back at me.

I didn’t blame her.

I just really, really hoped there wouldn’t be another fireball farewell before I left.

I staggered for a few moments, still shaking off the holy-crap-I-just-faced-a-not-dragon-and-lived daze, before finally finding my feet. My hands scraped against the hot, uneven rock as I pushed myself up, my legs wobbling like I’d just downed an entire bottle of whiskey in one go.

Reaching for the ring, I shoved mana into it, feeling the greedy pull of its enchantment.

The prince let out a huff in my mind, a sound somewhere between irritation and reluctant amusement. “I don’t know if you’re brave or just terminally stupid.”

I scoffed, stumbling forward as the cavern’s heat continued to press down on me like an overenthusiastic blacksmith’s anvil. “I must say,” he continued, his tone almost contemplative, “you know about places even our ancient kingdom didn’t know existed.”

“Heh,” I let out a shaky laugh, the aftershock of barely surviving still thrumming through me. “I’m just full of surprises, I guess. And yeah, stupid fits me like whiskey in my hand.” I wiped the sweat from my brow, wincing at the heat still clinging to my skin. “Which, by the way, I desperately need after that.”

The prince snorted. “A fitting epitaph for you, pretender.”

I finally reached the cave’s exit, gulping in a breath of fresh—or at least less lava-infested—air. Outside, the wind hit me like a blessing, hot but at least breathable compared to the oven I had just crawled out of.

“Where to now, adventurous heroine?” the prince asked, his thoughts full of sarcasm.

I shot the ring a glare. “Now, we get the hell away from volcanoes, dragons, and fireballs. Maybe somewhere with water? Or at least somewhere that doesn’t actively try to murder me the second I arrive?”

A beat of silence. Then, in a tone that was just a little too smug, he said, “Would you like a vacation? Perhaps the seaside? Or are you more of a mountain retreat kind of pretender?”

I groaned. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I will smelt you down.”

He laughed.

Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the horizon. The sun still hung high, casting long, shimmering heat waves across the desolate wasteland surrounding the volcano.

“How much time do we have?” I asked, glancing back at the cavern.

“A few hours before your mother finishes it,” the prince replied, his voice suddenly losing its humor. “I can feel the disturbance.”

A chill ran down my spine, despite the blistering heat. “Great,” I muttered, rolling my shoulders. “Guess that means I need to get moving.”

“Indeed.” The prince’s voice was quieter now. “And quickly.”

“Of course, I know exactly what to do right now—besides smelting you,” I muttered, shoving my hand into one of my many pilfered bags.

It took a few seconds, but my fingers brushed against the smooth surface of something stiff and delicate. I pulled it out with a flick of my wrist, revealing an absolute masterpiece of excess—a masquerade mask.

Fine gold filigree traced swirling patterns across its deep black surface, with inlaid gemstones so bright they practically screamed “rob me” in seventeen different languages. I turned it over in my hands, admiring the craftsmanship. Maybe a little too fancy.

Yeah.

This was definitely the fancy that made people ask questions. The fancy that screamed, This was not meant for you, you filthy thief, and the owners will absolutely look for it.

Eh. Details.

With a practiced ease that could only come from years of knowing I should make better life choices, and then, ignoring that knowledge, I secured the mask over my eyes. The silk ribbons tightened around the back of my head, settling the mask into place like it had always belonged there.

“You still have your clothes,” the prince pointed out, his tone positively steeped in smugness. “Your heist will fail.”

I huffed, adjusting the mask until it sat just right.

“Sssh!” I hissed, waving my hand in front of the ring as if I could physically shove his commentary away. I felt his judgment radiating through the enchanted metal.

Ignoring him, I focused on my next destination. The temple.

The air shifted around me, magic swirling as the ring hungrily devoured my mana. The sensation was smoother now—less gut-wrenching disorientation, more gentle pull through the fabric of reality.

I was getting better at this. Too bad it wouldn’t last.

 

The temple was, to put it politely, underwhelming.

No grand marble statues, no extravagant golden altars, no self-important priests decked out in silks and jewels. Just smooth, unadorned stone walls, worn by time and touched only by the occasional carved inscription—simple prayers in an old imperial, nothing flashy, nothing self-indulgent.

The air inside carried an eerie stillness, not the weighty, incense-drenched kind found in most religious spaces, but something more subtle. Like a hush that wasn’t imposed but expected—as if the very foundation of the place had soaked in centuries of quiet sorrow and made a home of it.

The people within matched their surroundings.

No noble robes, no expensive dyes, no unnecessary adornments—just plain, earth-toned garments, each one a testament to modesty and restraint.

Even the priest, standing at the center of the gathered mourners, wore only a simple linen tunic that draped just past his knees, its edges frayed from use rather than any attempt at fashion. His feet were bare against the cold stone floor, toes curling slightly as he spoke, his voice the only thing breaking the stillness.

At least twenty people had gathered here, standing in silent reverence. Mostly humans, but among them stood a twir—shorter than the humans, but not by much, their lean frame giving them an air of quiet agility.

I, of course, fit in perfectly.

Well, not.

Decked out in my high-quality clothes, a freaking masquerade mask strapped to my face, and probably still radiating residual, I just almost got roasted by a not-a-dragon energy.

I was definitely an intruder.

“Uhm, hello,” I waved awkwardly at the group, already shoving mana into the ring like my life depended on it—which, at this rate, probably did. “I just need to borrow something, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

The priest, to his credit, barely reacted.

His calm, expressionless gaze settled on me, studying me with the patience of a man who had spent his entire life listening to people cry about their problems and had long since stopped being surprised by anything.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice even, measured, and completely devoid of the what in the absolute hells is this masked lunatic doing here? Then, with all the genuine curiosity of a man asking if I’d like a cup of tea, he added, “Are you searching for the emotional release of grief?”

I reached for the nearest wall, fingers brushing against its surface—smooth, cold, and absolutely devoid of personality. Seriously, I’d seen more decorative glamour in a storage closet.

Not even a sad little candle to add some tragic ambiance.

“Well, not exactly…” I muttered, tapping my nails against the lifeless stone. “There’s just something I need.”

Twenty pairs of eyes bore into me, and I could practically feel the priest’s judgment radiating through his linen-clad serenity. But I ignored them because I had priorities.

I knocked on the wall.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

A deep rumble filled the temple, vibrating through the very foundation beneath our feet. Dust trickled from above, catching the dim light, and the sound that followed was the kind of ominous mechanical groan that usually meant one of two things.

You just unlocked something ancient and powerful, and you were about to get crushed under something ancient and powerful.

Click.

The stone lowered—not slid, not swung open like some grand door to divine knowledge. It just dropped with a thud so anticlimactic it was almost disappointing. And there, where a totally ordinary wall had once stood, was now a pedestal.

Elegant. A little dusty. And absolutely screaming loot me.

I winced and turned back to the priest, who remained unshaken, though I was pretty sure I saw his eye twitch.

“…Sorry,” I offered, giving him what I hoped was a charming smile.

Judging by the way his stare could probably see into my very soul, I was not forgiven.