The pre-dawn chill of Orario clung to the air like a shroud, biting deep despite the thick cloak Draco wore.
The sky, a bruised purple, offered no hint of approaching sunrise, instead choked by a heavy blanket of charcoal-grey clouds.
A furious winter wind, a harbinger of the storm to come, howled through the city's still-sleeping streets, rattling the magic street lamps that flickered weakly, casting long, dancing shadows of the two figures that walked along the main western street.
A few minutes ago, Stardust Garden had been a whirlwind of activity, a vibrant contrast to the oppressive gloom outside.
What began as a hasty, sleep-deprived gathering had quickly escalated into a scene that Draco was still trying to process.
He rubbed a hand instinctively against his lips, the phantom press of Hephaestus's surprise kiss from the night, still a bewildering memory.
It had been quick, chaste even, but the sheer unexpectedness of it had left him flustered.
That, however, paled in comparison to the morning's tumultuous farewells.
Draco slid his hand from his lips to his left cheek, feeling a peculiar tingle there.
He recalled opening his room door, fully intending to sneak out with minimal fuss, only to encounter Kaguya, standing there in the loose kimono she'd slept in, her long, dark hair a wild cascade around her shoulders.
Before he could even utter a greeting, she had moved with a swiftness that belied her relaxed posture, pulling him into a kiss, deep and unapologetic, that had completely stolen his breath.
His mind had gone blank, his body rigid with shock, as her lips commanded his.
When she finally broke away, a slow, predatory lick of her lips and an infuriatingly seductive smirk had been her only reply before she'd spun on her heel and slammed her door shut, leaving him dumbfounded in the silent hallway.
Her bold act, it seemed, had broken some unspoken dam.
Emboldened by Kaguya's brazenness, a few other girls like…..Alise, Clair, Vasiliki; and, to his utter astonishment, even Neze, Iska, Celty and several others...had, one by one, planted quick, surprisingly firm kisses on his left cheek.
Each touch had been different, some lingering, some fleeting, leaving a mosaic of emotions he couldn't quite decipher.
It was hard to grasp the true meaning behind some of these acts, especially from those he knew weren't romantically inclined towards him.
'Perhaps it was just a farewell kiss' he mused, trying to rationalize the sudden outpouring of affection.
The sheer number of them, the varying degrees of passion or casualness, left him bewildered, a flurry of emotions he wasn't prepared to unpack at five in the morning.
He wasn't sure if he should be flattered, embarrassed, or just confused.
It was easier to push it all aside, a problem for a future, less chaotic day.
Shaking his head to clear away the distracting thoughts that threatened to pull him deeper into a tangled web of speculation, Draco turned his attention to Aasterinian.
The dragon goddess beside him, usually radiating a playful confidence, seemed unusually quiet, her gaze distant, lost in her own musings.
Even the biting wind seemed to respect her thoughtful silence.
"Asta-san, Asta," Draco called, using her familiar nickname, his voice barely audible above the wind's mournful wail.
"Hmm?" Aasterinian replied, her eyes slowly focusing back on him, a faint, almost melancholic smile playing on her lips.
"What are you thinking about so deeply?" he asked, sensing a weight behind her usual nonchalance.
"Hmm, just wondering if I should give you a kiss too," Aasterinian replied, her smile widening into a familiar teasing grin, though her eyes still held a flicker of something more serious.
Draco winced, a genuine blush rising to his cheeks.
"Please don't jest, I can barely handle one dragon goddess."
Aasterinian let out a soft, melodious giggle, the sound like wind chimes in the otherwise harsh morning.
"True, you already have your hands full with so many maidens seeking your reciprocation," she acknowledged, a hint of something complex in her tone….amusement, certainly, but also a deeper understanding.
"Please don't bring that up, I don't want to think about it," Draco replied, running a weary hand through his long, silver hair, pushing it back from his face.
The weight of those expectations, those unaddressed feelings, felt heavier than any backpack.
He knew he couldn't ignore them forever, but now was not the time.
"If you say so," Aasterinian conceded, her expression shifting, the teasing fading to a more somber look, "but don't keep them waiting too long. Unlike you, many of them have rather short life spans."
The lightness was gone, replaced by a stark, almost brutal honesty that cut through the cold air. The disparity in their lifespans, a dragon-kin and some other mortal races, was a chasm he often tried to ignore, but Aasterinian's words brought it crashing down upon him.
It was a truth that had haunted him since he first learned of his own nature, a silent clock ticking away for those he cared for, while his own seemed to stretch longer as he grew stronger.
Draco's own expression hardened, matching hers.
"I won't. I plan to face them all, at least those who still hold interest when we return from this trip. I owe them that, at least."
It wasn't just a promise to her; it was a vow to himself, a recognition of the emotional debts he was accruing.
He couldn't string them along, not with that cruel truth hanging over their heads.
"Hmm, speaking of waiting," Aasterinian continued, her tone shifting again, though the seriousness remained.
"You should probably start thinking of leaving descendants as early as possible."
The abrupt change in topic to something so personal startled Draco, his eyebrows shooting up.
"And what brought about this topic?" he asked, his expression turning decidedly weird, a mix of discomfort and genuine curiosity.
Aasterinian sighed, her breath pluming white in the frigid air.
"Well, as you recall our past discussion, after you are all fixed up, that crazy goddess will start hunting you for real. I hate to say this, but it would be a shame if you should perish without leaving behind a legacy, and all our effort might be for naught."
Her words were stark, devoid of any embellishments, painting a grim picture that sent a shiver down Draco's spine, deeper than the winter wind could reach.
The casual mention of his potential demise, of all their efforts being meaningless, brought a palpable sense of dread.
"I get what you mean, but is Tiamat that strong even without her arcanum?" Draco pressed, his voice tight.
The concept of his own death was something he'd faced countless times as an adventurer, but the idea of an entire race ending with him...that was a different kind of terror.
The dragon-kin, a lineage that had once been formidable, now rested solely on his shoulders.
"Hmm, that is a difficult question," Aasterinian muttered, her brow furrowed in contemplation, her eyes scanning the dark, cloud-laden sky as if searching for answers there.
"In strength without divinity, she should be about even with Bahamut, maybe a bit stronger. But that is not the scary part. Tiamat has a rather troublesome innate ability which charms and enhances the ability of certain evil creatures. Something similar to Freya's ability, but far more insidious in nature"
Draco's breath hitched in his throat.
"Gasp! Don't tell me it's monsters from the Dungeon!"
His mind immediately leaped to the most terrifying possibility, the very bedrock of Orario's existence becoming a weapon against him.
"More specifically," Aasterinian corrected, her voice dropping to a low, grave tone, "it's extremely effective on evil dragon-type monsters."
The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity, a cold dread seeping into Draco's very bones.
"That means that it is possible that she can control the One-Eyed Black Dragon, along with all the dragon monsters in the Valley of Dragons!"
His pupils dilated, his mind racing through the implications, constructing scenarios of unimaginable horror.
The One-Eyed Black Dragon, a creature of legends and nightmares, responsible for countless deaths and the very fear that gripped the world, potentially under the sway of Tiamat?
And not just it, but an entire valley teeming with other monstrous dragons?
Most monsters, excluding some Xenos, could be classified as evil.
It was sickeningly plausible that Tiamat could control them all.
'Is it possible that she was responsible for the death of…' Draco's thoughts trailed off, not daring to complete the sentence, but the devastating image of his destroyed home, his fallen family, flashed before his eyes.
A searing wave of grief, rage, and helplessness washed over him.
His fists clenched, knuckles white, a silent scream of fury trapped in his throat.
The very thought, the possibility woven into Aasterinian's words, was like a knife twisting in an old, unhealed wound.
The idea that his greatest enemy might be directly linked to his deepest trauma was almost unbearable.
Smack!
A sharp, painful smack from Aasterinian's tail, delivered with surprising force, jolted Draco back from the precipice of his dark reverie.
The blow sent a shockwave through his body, violently breaking his mental spiral.
He stumbled, then lost his footing entirely, rolling forward in the thin layer of fresh snow that had begun to accumulate, finally coming to a stop about ten meters ahead, a disoriented heap in the cold.
"Stop overthinking things!" Aasterinian's voice, though firm, held a hint of concern.
"It's highly unlikely that she was the cause for the attack on your hometown."
Draco scrambled to his feet, indignation flaring, still reeling from the impact and the sudden interruption of his painful thoughts.
"Highly unlikely doesn't mean impossible!" he snapped, his voice sharp with lingering pain and anger, turning to face the goddess.
His defiance earned him another, equally powerful smack, this time directly to his back.
He was launched forward again, tumbling through the snow-dusted street, a groan escaping his lips as he collided with a particularly stubborn patch of ice.
He lay there, winded and stinging, as Aasterinian calmly walked over, her face a mask of exasperated sternness.
With a surprising gentleness that belied her previous actions, she casually hooked a hand beneath his cloak and hoisted him effortlessly from the huge pile of snow he'd landed in, setting him upright beside her as if he weighed nothing.
"Don't get cocky now, brat," she scolded, her blue eyes blazing with wisdom that cut through his anger.
"Even if your theory is correct, what can you do as you are now? And would that still change the fact that Tiamat and the Black Dragon are your enemies? Your rage clouds your judgment, child. Focus on what you can do, not on unchangeable pasts or unprovable theories."
Draco bowed his head, shame washing over him.
Her words, though harsh, were true.
He had gotten ahead of himself, letting his emotions overwhelm his rational mind.
"I am sorry, Lady Asta. I got ahead of myself," he apologized, the anger draining away, leaving behind a sense of vulnerability.
"Good," Aasterinian replied, the sternness softening slightly as she resumed walking, Draco falling into step beside her, a renewed sense of humility guiding his stride.
"Anyway, as I was saying, her ability is troublesome and will become even more so when Io is gone," Aasterinian said, dropping yet another bombshell that made Draco stumble.
"What do you mean 'gone?' I thought he would still remain guarding the Valley of Dragons!" "Do you think there is any way to fix you up without divine means?" Aasterinian asked, her question rhetorical, a prelude to a deeper explanation.
"Io plans to briefly break the rules, using his divinity to solve your problem. Of course, the other deities in the mortal world and above will sense this. According to the rules, Io will have to return to the heavens."
"Wait, but won't the other gods try to undo what he has done?" Draco asked, remembering the case of Fels.
The gods, despite their whimsical nature and strict adherence to their self-imposed rules, were notorious for meddling in unusual things.
"Normally that would be the case, but Chronepsis got that covered, so it's no concern of yours. And before you ask, no, he cannot… the Black Dragon is a 'black' monster, meaning it is resistant to divinity. Additionally, it would break the oath before the promised time, it would hurt you mortals more in the long run," Aasterinian replied, her tone firm, offering no further explanation on the matter.
'Makes sense' Draco thought, realizing how simple and naive his initial thoughts had been.
The consequences of outright divine intervention, especially regarding something as fundamental as the Dungeon and its balance, were catastrophic.
The last thing the world needed was the Dungeon spawning monsters like the Behemoth, Leviathan, and Black Dragon without any checks or balances.
The current Orario, had no means to resist such a disaster.
The gods, despite their flaws, maintained a delicate balance, and breaking the 'oath' had far-reaching, devastating implications for mortals.
His own desire for vengeance, for a quick solution, paled in comparison to the stability of the entire world.
An awkward silence stretched between Draco and Aasterinian as they continued their walk through the deserted streets, the biting wind now the only sound.
The weight of their conversation, the revelations about Tiamat, Io's potential sacrifice, and the precarious balance of the world, pressed down on him, turning the morning air heavy with unspoken concerns.
They had cut across several small streets connecting the western and northwestern main thoroughfares, and soon, the looming silhouette of the northwestern main gate appeared before them.
"Sigh," Draco finally broke the silence, trying to inject a semblance of normalcy into their grim discussion.
"On another note, what route and means are we using to travel? Don't tell me we are walking there."
The thought of walking all the way to the Valley of Dragons, wherever there was, was ludicrous.
"Of course not, silly," Aasterinian replied, a hint of her usual playfulness returning, "we are flying there… did I not mention this?"
"Wait, what? No, you didn't!" Draco exclaimed, genuinely surprised.
"Well, now you know," Aasterinian said with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"We will be flying by sea, across the coast of Rakia lands."
Draco's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Wait, isn't that a super long way around? If my mental map is correct, wouldn't that take months even by flying? Why not cross through the Beol mountain range, then the plains of Melistora? This should give way to the great mountain range before the Valley of Dragons."
He outlined the logical, most direct route, a path that would shorten their journey considerably.
"We can't use that route as we will be pulling a lot of attention to ourselves, besides I have some business in those lands," Aasterinian said, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
Draco didn't press the issue.
He understood.
Taking the route he suggested would indeed be quicker, but it would involve passing over many countries, cities, and settlements, drawing unwanted attention from mortals and perhaps even other deities.
A discreet journey was clearly paramount, especially given the gravity of their mission and the enemies they were trying to avoid.
Arriving at the northwestern gates, which were still securely closed, Draco and Aasterinian easily leapt onto the towering wall, their figures like specters against the dark, swirling clouds.
The wind became even more ferocious atop the parapet, tearing at their cloaks and whipping Draco's hair across his face.
He walked to the edge and turned back, staring down at the city of Orario one last time.
From this height, the city looked like a sprawling gear of stone and light.
His eyes roamed from the dark outskirts, past the Stardust Garden, all the way to the center of the world: the Tower of Babel.
The tower pierced the clouds, a needle of white stone against the black sky.
Draco's sight sharpened, focusing on the very uppermost floor, where the grand windows of the goddess of beauty were located.
There, a lone silhouette stood against the glass.
Even from this distance, Draco could feel the weight of that gaze.
It was silver, piercing, and possessive.
It didn't take a genius to know who was watching him.
Freya.
Draco stood still for a long moment, the wind howling in his ears.
He thought of the people he had left behind, the heat of the kisses on his skin, and the heavy destiny placed in his hands.
He thought of the war to come and the goddess waiting in the shadows.
Slowly, deliberately, Draco raised a hand.
He didn't wave with the frantic energy of a boy, but with the steady, somber acknowledgment of a warrior.
He waved to the silhouette in the tower, and entire city, a silent promise that he would return to the place that had become his home…..
"Let's go," he whispered, more to himself than to Aasterinian.
The goddess nodded, her eyes glowing in the dark.
With a sudden burst of power, they leapt from the wall, vanishing into the dark, snowy abyss beyond the city limits.
The winter storm had begun...