The morning sun hit the grey stones of the Fortress, warming the air that usually carried the chill of the northern mountains.

Damien walked through the main courtyard, his boots clicking rhythmically against the newly paved cobblestones.

He took a deep breath. The air no longer smelled of rust and dried blood. It smelled of sawdust, baking bread, and the ozone tang of mana-welders.

To his left, Leona walked with a heavy, predatory grace. She had grown taller in the last few months, her golden hair now a wild mane that framed her sharp features.

Her new left arm, the Void-Gauntlet hung by her side, the black segmented metal gleaming under the sunlight.

She was still getting used to the weight, flexing the mechanical fingers periodically as if testing their reality.

To his right, Lyra moved like a whisper. Her Shadow-Weave Cloak blurred her outline, making her look like a ghost caught in the daylight.

"It's different," Lyra said softly, stopping to look at a group of workers repairing a watchtower.

The workers were Demi-Humans, a mix of rabbit-kin, dwarves, and elves. But they weren't in chains.

They wore sturdy grey tunics embroidered with the Golden Coin crest. They worked with a rhythm that spoke of purpose, not fear.

"They're paid," Damien said, stopping beside her.

"Barnaby complains about the wages every morning, but productivity has tripled since we removed the collars."

"Different from Baelor, they work for us, not because they have to, but because they want to"

Lyra touched the phantom string of her bow. Her silver eyes tracked an elven woman who was laughing at a dwarf's joke while mixing mortar.

"I remember their eyes when we first came here," Lyra murmured. "They looked just like my squad, Alone, empty and in despair."

She looked at Damien, her expression fierce and fragile all at once.

"I wish we could break every cage in the world this easily."

"We aren't heroes, Lyra," Damien replied, his voice calm but hard.

"We can't save everyone. But if we break the people who build the cages, the rest tends to sort itself out."

"Young Master! Wait! Don't start the inspirational speeches yet!"

A shout interrupted them.

Barnaby waddled out of the main keep, moving with surprising speed for a man of his circumference.

He looked like a frantic grape, dressed in robes of deep purple Acromantula silk. Rings glittered on every finger, and his Golden Abacus clattered against his belt.

Behind him, Cipher moved like a shadow detached from the wall.

The spymaster wore a plain grey tunic that made him aggressively average, a stark contrast to Barnaby's opulence.

Barnaby skidded to a halt, wiping sweat from his forehead with a gold-threaded handkerchief.

"I have a surprise," Barnaby wheezed.

"Before you go off to conquer the world or whatever you have planned for tomorrow... you need to see the East Sector."

"The East Sector?" Leona frowned. "That's where Baelor made a ruckus when he came last time, It's probably just a crater."

"Ah, but it is a profitable crater," Barnaby grinned, his eyes turning into crescents. "Follow me."

…....…..

[The East Sector Crater]

They stood on the edge of what used to be the prison yard. A massive, jagged hole dominated the ground, a scar left by the Slaver King's rage during their first siege.

But the hole wasn't empty.

Steam rose from it in thick, white pillars. The crater had filled with milky-blue water that bubbled gently against the rocks.

"Baelor tried to bury us," Barnaby explained, gesturing proudly like he had dug it himself.

"Instead, he cracked the bedrock deep enough to hit a geothermal vein. We have a natural hot spring."

"He gave us a spa day," Damien chuckled, shaking his head.

"I almost feel bad for killing his men. Almost."

"I've had the boys smooth out the edges and add some privacy screens," Barnaby said, handing out towels.

"Consider this a farewell gift from the Guild. You all look terrible. No offense."

Damien looked at his team. They were strong, yes.

But Lyra had dark circles under her eyes.

Leona's shoulders were tight with tension.

Isabelle, standing silently in the back with her ledger, looked ready to collapse.

They had been running on adrenaline since Ironforge.

"Get in," Damien ordered, unbuttoning his coat. "That's a command."

…...

[The Hot Spring]

Ten minutes later, the steam obscured the world, turning the crater into a private sanctuary.

Damien floated in the water, letting the heat soak into his bones. He closed his eyes, feeling the tension in his muscles uncoil.

Across from him, the girls sat in the water, submerged up to their shoulders.

The mood was quiet. The steam hid their faces, but it couldn't hide the atmosphere. This was the last time the four of them would be together like this for years.

Isabelle sat closest to him, her cheeks flushed pink from the heat. She had tied her hair up, revealing the small, curved horns that marked her Demon heritage.

"Is it... is it really okay?" Isabelle whispered, hugging her knees.

"A maid shouldn't be bathing with the Master. It's improper."

"You aren't just a maid, Isabelle," Damien said without opening his eyes. "You are the family."

Isabelle giggled, the sound light and happy. "Family…."

On the other side, Leona sat apart from the group. She kept her left shoulder hunched, keeping her arm submerged.

The water hissed softly around her. Under the surface, the Void-Gauntlet glowed with a faint, eerie purple light. The metal contrasted sharply with her pale skin.

Leona stared at the ripples. "It's so ugly."

Lyra floated over, her movements silent even in the water. She looked down at the metal limb shimmering beneath the surface.

"It's not Leona," Lyra said softly. "If anything, I think it makes you look cool!."

"Cool.." Leona muttered.

Damien opened his eyes. He looked at the Lena, seeing the insecurity buried deep beneath her bravado.

"Leona, in this world ruled by Gods and Demons, nothing matters but strength," Damien said, his voice cutting through the steam.

"Rather than ugly, that arm is but a testament to your strength."

He lifted his own hand, tracing the faint line on his chest where Valerius's decay had almost touched him.

"That arm is proof that you survived the Void. It's proof that you refused to die. When other beast-kin see you, they won't see an ordinary Lion-kin."

Damien grinned, his blue eyes gleaming.

"They will see a god of war."

Leona looked at him. Then, slowly, she lifted her arm out of the water.

The black metal dripped, steam rising off the Dragon-Scale alloy. It looked terrified and powerful. She clenched the fist, the servos whirring softly.

"A God of War," Leona tested the words. A grin, sharp and feral, slowly spread across her face. "I like that."

"I'll make sure the bards sing it right," Lyra promised. " The Lion Queen with the Iron Claw."

"Void Claw," Leona corrected. "Iron sounds cheap."

They laughed. It was a warm sound, echoing off the crater walls.

For an hour, they didn't talk about the end of the world. They didn't talk about the Demon Gods or the corrupt Empire. They just talked.

They talked about the terrible food in the Dwarf Kingdom. They teased Isabelle about her obsession with keeping the ledger clean.

They argued over whether the Fenrir was faster than a Griffin.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of bruised purple and fire-orange, they leaned back against the rocks.

Damien looked up at the first stars appearing through the steam.

"Take a good look at this sky," Damien said softly.

The laughter died down. The reality of tomorrow settled in.

"In sixteen years," Damien continued, "the world is going to burn. The sky will turn red. Everything we built here will be tested."

He looked at Lyra, then Leona, then Isabelle.

"I want to look at this sky again with you. All of you."

"So don't die," Damien said. It wasn't a command. It was a plea.

Leona smashed her metal fist into the water, sending a spray of hot droplets into the air.

"Die?" She scoffed, her golden eyes burning. "I'm going to conquer the North. Death will have to wait in line."

"I'll be in the shadows," Lyra said, fading back into the steam until only her eyes were visible. "Ghosts are hard to kill."

"And I have to manage your money," Isabelle added firmly. "I can't die. The paperwork would be a nightmare."

Damien smiled. It was a genuine smile, stripping away the mask of the villainous Young Master.

"Then it's a promise."

The steam swirled around them, holding them in a warm embrace one last time before the cold winds of fate blew them apart.

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