Valkyrie

Alice awoke first.

The dungeon was quiet for once only the tick of cooling sugar-glass and the soft rasp of breathing. Jen lay curled at her side, still out. A few paces away, the big guy Ignition, Kairos (apparently) slept like a log, heat rippling off his skin in gentle waves.

Her gaze drifted to the blackened arena where the Candyman had dissolved into a puddle of sin. There, half-buried in caramel slag, something gleamed.

(Please be clothes. Please please please be clothes.)

She padded over, toes sticking to the floor, and crouched. The “puddle” wasn’t just melt it was a loot spill. System runes skittered over the surface like oil on water, coalescing into neat, glowing cards.

[Boss Loot Identified: The Candyman of Candara]

[Distributing drops… stand by, you sticky little gremlin.]

She made a face at the system’s tone and reached in. Her fingers closed on fabric real fabric and she tugged free a long, heavy coat. Red and white striping (less circus, more bloodstained candy shop), with black piping and a high collar. The tails were scorched to a manageable length.

(Clothes. Thank every petty god.)

She shook it out, slipped it on, and cinched the waist. The coat fell past mid thigh not perfect, but decent coverage. She rolled the sleeves; they swallowed her hands in a way that somehow felt intentional. The collar framed her jaw, making her look a little taller than she was.

(Okay. I can work with this. Creepy ringmaster chic, but it beats walking around like a censored mosaic.)

More cards bobbed up from the slag. She plucked them one by one.

Candyman’s Conductor Coat (F Rank)

A long red and white striped ringmaster’s coat with candy shop flair. +6 Appearance, +3 Willpower

Sweet Ward: Minor resistance to candy/confection hazards.

Self-Cleaning: Repels slime, syrup, and… everything else.

“Step right up. Look the part, survive the act.”

She smirked despite herself. “Self-Cleaning.” Very on brand for this hell. She glanced back at Jen and set the coat’s item card aside to keep.

The next piece was a belt black licorice leather with inset crystal studs plus two pill shaped items in a small velvet pouch.

[Gumbark Grip-Belt (F Rank)

Utility Movement/Control

Stick-Step: Briefly anchor feet to surfaces

Snap-Line: 10m licorice tether retracts with a yank.

[Core Capsules x2 (Empty)]

“In case you miss snack time.”

Something metallic winked through the mush. She pried it loose: a slick, dark bracer capped with sugar-glass scales.

[Sugar-Steel Bracer (F Rank)

Offhand Light Guard

+2 Constitution, +2 Magical Control

Shattercatch: Once per encounter, auto-parry a candy/glass projectile.

“For when the jawbreakers start throwing back.”

(Yes, please.) She slid it on; it tightened with a soft click to fit her wrist.

A final panel surfaced, gilded and obnoxious.

A familiar, taunting font ribboned across her vision.

[Level-Up Queue: 1]

[Pending: Choose a Class]

(You can ogle the shiny buttons later. Combat flag ended, but I’ll allow you a moment of modesty, oh fashionably challenged one.) Dice

(Yeah, no kidding. Class later. Not doing life decisions while naked. Coat first, existential crisis second.)

She glanced over her shoulder. Jen shivered in her sleep, spotless even in ash. Alice shrugged out of the coat, knelt, and draped it over the girl like a blanket. The Self-Cleaning enchantment repelled soot instantly; it looked freshly laundered the moment it touched her.

“Keep it together,” Alice murmured, then began rummaging again for anything else wearable.

Two more finds:

[Confectioner’s Sash (F Rank)

Waist Support

+3 Agility, +1 Perception

Hidden Pockets x4

“Where the real tricks are kept.”

[Spun Sugar Shawl (D Rank)]

Neck Utility

Sugar Veil: Project a faint opacity field (modesty screen) for 10 minutes/day.

“Now you see a little less.”

Alice looped the sash on, slid the shawl around her shoulders, and thumbed the modesty field. A soft haze clung to her silhouette from collarbone to mid thigh barely there, but enough.

(Okay. Not elegant, but I’m no longer a scandal waiting to happen.)

She gathered the remaining cards into a tidy fan and took stock:

Conductor Coat (on Jen for now).

Grip-Belt + capsules (hers).

Bracer (hers).

Sash + Shawl (hers).

She stood, rolled her shoulders, and peeked at the two sleeping disasters that counted as her party. Ignition’s breathing was steady; the heat around him had dropped from “oven” to “space heater.” Jen, under the coat, seemed less tense, the line of her mouth unclenching.

A small, sensible voice coughed in the back of Alice’s head.

(Classes. You should pick one. Right now.)

(Yeah, after the werewolf meltdown and sugar genocide? I’ll pick “Not Dying” as my specialization until everyone’s awake.)

She stepped back to Jen, crouched, and gently tightened the shawl over her own shoulders as the haze flickered. With careful hands she adjusted the coat over Jen’s body, making sure the high collar shaded her face from ember-glow.

“Hey,” Alice whispered, half to Jen, half to herself. “We made it. You made it.”

A soft ding chimed.

[Title Passive Applied: Sweet Survivor]

+5 Willpower, +5 Constitution

(This isn’t a hug. It just feels like one.)

Alice rolled her eyes at nothing. Then she sat down with her back to a cooled ridge of rock candy, bracer clinking lightly against the stone, and let herself breathe.

(Next steps: wake Jen, find the exit node, keep Mount Doom from turning into Mount Werewolf again, then maybe maybe pick a class. Coat first, class later. Priorities.)

Her gaze drifted across the ruin one last time and snagged on a half-melted cylinder she’d missed. She pried it free: a little baton of dark crystal with a thumb switch.

[Candyfloss Cloaker (Consumable, 3 charges)]

Project a temporary 30s opaque curtain (sweet-scented, unfortunately).

“For wardrobe malfunctions and dramatic exits.”

She couldn’t help the small, mean spirited grin that tugged her mouth.

(If Blondie ever shows up, I’m gassing him with pink fog and stealing his mirror.)

Alice rose, modesty veil humming faintly, and squared her shoulders.

(And a class prompt breathing down my neck. Later. After everyone’s alive, dressed, and not on fire.)

She flipped the Spun Sugar Shawl’s timer in the corner of her HUD: 9:12 remaining.

Plenty of time to look less like a disaster and more like an adventurer.

Kind of.

[Class Selected!]

Congratulations, Alice! You’ve locked yourself into Valkyrie.

(Ah yes… the “I want to cosplay as a Norse warrior angel but still look like a swimsuit calendar” option. Bold choice.)

[New Class: Valkyrie]

Role: Hybrid frontline fighter/healer with wings included.

Party Role: Tanky guardian, group buffer, and emergency medic with style.

Passive Perks:

Wings of Ascension Manifest a pair of radiant wings that just happen to perfectly match your hair color. Flight feels completely natural. Like you were born with them.

Aura of Valor Party members within range get a passive Willpower and Morale boost just from basking in your shiny.

Divine Mend Your melee strikes have a chance to trigger small heals on allies. (Yes, smacking things makes your friends healthier. Don’t question it.)

Active Skills

Radiant Strike Slam with sword and wing both, dealing bonus holy/fire damage.

Valhalla’s Call Once per day, you may revive one recently fallen ally. They come back alive.

[Cursed Feature: Eternal Bikini Mode]

Bad news, champ. Your new wardrobe is now permanently locked to thematic bikini armor.

Every robe, tunic, shirt, or pair of pants you equip instantly transmutes into “appropriate” Valkyrie-style bikini gear.

Thematic consistency enforced by the system. (Translation: Dice thinks this is funny.)

Accessories (belts, bracers, shawls, rings) still work. Everything else? Hope you like thigh straps and armored lingerie.

(Look at the bright side: self-confidence is now a combat stat. And tan lines are free.)

[System Note: Attribute Points Earned!]

+10 Attribute Points granted.

(Remember: Attribute Points are both growth fuel and hard currency. Spend them to boost Strength or Willpower… or blow them in the Cash Shop on something horrifying and sticky. Choices, choices.)

[Cash Shop Now Available!]

Welcome to the premium side of survival. Here’s how it works:

Currency: Attribute Points (the ones you desperately need for stats).

Stock: Rotates often. Includes Traits, Skills, weird cosmetic gear, and sometimes race changes.

Featured Today: (Because Dice likes to rub it in.)

“Wing Glitter Cosmetic Trail” (1 AP): Leave sparkly motes when flying. Totally unnecessary.

“Bikini of Modesty” (5 AP): Technically still a bikini, but at least 20% more coverage.

“Elastic Anatomy” (8 AP): Guess where that one applies.

[ Would you like to open the Cash Shop now? Y/N]

Alice’s eyes skimmed the class pane, and her smirk died instantly.

[Cursed Feature: Eternal Bikini Mode]

Her jaw dropped. “Wait what?!”

She slapped the hologram, as if smacking it would change the words. Nope. Still there. Still flashing.

(Bikini. Armor. Forever. Are you kidding me? I can never wear pants again? No shirts, no robes just strappy swimsuit cosplay until I die? This isn’t a class, it’s public humiliation as a lifestyle.)

Her stomach twisted. She pictured herself walking into the guild, everyone in full plate or battle robes, and her… in some glittery two piece with armored thigh straps.

(Great. Just great. From adventurer to thirst trap. S tier embarrassment unlocked.)

Then her gaze slid down to the skill list.

Valhalla’s Call Once per day, you may revive one recently fallen ally.

Alice froze. Her heart thudded once, hard.

“…No way.”

The sarcasm, the shame, the fury it all fled at once. All that was left was raw awe.

(Resurrection. Real resurrection. That’s… that’s impossible. Only top tier clerics and miracle casters even dream of that, and I get it at level one? Even with the restrictions… this is insane. This is god tier.)

Her hands trembled as she flicked through the pane again, rereading just to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks. It was still there. Real. Permanent. Hers.

She laughed, half hysterical, half giddy. “Okay. Yeah. Pants are overrated. Who needs pants when you can literally pull people back from the dead?”

(Bikini forever? Fine. I’ll strut. I’ll sparkle. I’ll live with it. Because this isn’t just a classit’s S-tier. Top of the ladder. And it’s mine.)

Alice squared her shoulders, wings flickering faintly into being at her back, their glow reflecting in her wide grin.

(Alright, Valkyrie. Let’s see just how broken you are.)

The system chime faded, and Alice’s back tingled.

She stiffened then fwump!

A pair of wings burst into existence, trailing feathers that shimmered with the same red tones as her hair. They stretched wide, brushing air that wasn’t even there, and Alice’s heart nearly jumped into her throat.

“Oh… ohhh, that’s-” Her smirk cracked into a grin. “That’s insane! They feel real!”

She flexed, and the wings flexed. She leaned forward slightly, and the wings dipped as if they knew what to do before she did.

(It’s like moving my arms. No, easier. This is natural. This is-)

She launched.

The wings snapped down, air surging under them, and Alice shot off the ground like she’d been flying her whole life.

“YE-!”

CRASH.

Her face slammed into the trunk of a peppermint candy tree. Feathers scattered like glitter. She slid down, leaving a streak across the bark, and landed in a sticky heap at its base.

“-ow.”

She groaned, rubbing her forehead, feathers twitching in protest. The wings folded themselves tight against her back, practically sulking.

Alice coughed, smirk twitching back into place as she peeled herself off the trunk.

(Okay. So having wings doesn’t mean knowing how to fly. Note to self practice before showing off. Preferably somewhere with less trees.)

Alice groaned, feathers twitching like offended cats as she peeled herself off the candy tree. A red welt already blossomed on her forehead.

She dusted herself off, smirk wobbling as she tried to play it cool-

and that’s when the Spun Sugar Shawl fizzled.

The soft haze around her body blinked once, twice, then vanished entirely. Suddenly, every scandalous detail of her brand new “armor set” was on full display.

The bikini armor gleamed like spun metal and enchanted silk, straps glimmering, cut high on the hips, breastplate more decorative than protective. It hugged her curves like it had been forged for a cosplayer convention rather than mortal combat. Her new wings flared instinctively with the reveal, stretching out wide and radiant, framing her like some fallen pin up angel.

Alice froze. “…Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Behind her, Jen stirred. She blinked blearily awake, rubbing her good arm over her eyes then froze, jaw dropping. Heat flushed across her cheeks. “A- Alice, you’re-!”

From the other side, Ignition rolled over with a gravelly groan, eyes flickering open just in time to see her silhouetted against the pastel dungeon sky. His gaze slid from the wings to the glittering not-armor and back again. For a heartbeat, he just stared. Then he huffed smoke through his nose, muttered, “…Figures,” and pushed himself upright.

Alice threw her arms over her chest, wings twitching furiously. “It’s not-! I didn’t-! This is system-mandated slutwear, thank you very much!”

Jen, still staring, stammered, “That’s… your class? It just… did that?”

Alice groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Yeah. Valkyrie. Wings, healing, which, by the way, is amazing but also apparently cursed with eternal bikini cosplay. I can never wear pants again.”

She dropped into a crouch, muttering bitterly,

Her wings flexed with a will of their own, swatting a gumdrop off the tree she’d crashed into. It bounced once, then plopped into the caramel floor.

Ignition’s smirk, faint but undeniable, curved across his face. “You fly like an idiot, too.”

Alice groaned louder, wings curling in embarrassment.

(Perfect. First impression of my class? Crash-landing, flashing my party, and getting roasted by a walking volcano. S-tier, baby. S-tier.)

[Status Sheet: Alice]

(Spread your wings, baby bird. Oh, right, try not to crash them into another tree this time.)

Race: Human (well, mostly. Jury’s still out on how long that lasts.)

Class: Valkyrie (ah yes, the shining bikini angel of ****. Try not to blind people with all that exposed skin.)

Level: 1 (you survived long enough to hit one. Mazel tov.)

Title: Sweet Survivor (not the title you wanted, but the one you deserve.)

Affiliations: Guild of Inspira (Daddy’s coin purse), Ravens Howl (volcano babysitter),

HP: 45 (from 28 resurrection insurance comes with a sturdier meat suit.)

Mana: 250 (up from 50 healing juice and wing fuel don’t come cheap.)

Body

Strength: 31 (up from 24 you can almost break things on purpose now.)

Constitution: 45 (from 28 better odds of walking away from face-planting into candy trees.)

Agility: 52 (from 41 the stats say graceful, the tree says otherwise.)

Appearance: 66 (from 36 bikini armor scaling. Hope you like being ogled.)

Mind

Charisma: 44 (from 29 you can probably talk your way out of a mugging. Or into one.)

Intelligence: 37 (down from 38 distracted by your own reflection, huh?)

Willpower: 55 (from 45 stubborn, reckless, slightly more resistant to panic.)

Perception: 46 (from 42 you notice things… except large stationary objects apparently.)

Magical

Magical Strength: 25 (from 5 sparkler upgraded to actual weapon.)

Magical Control: 21 (from 3 at least now you won’t miscast yourself into spontaneous combustion.)

Class Features (Valkyrie)

Flight (Passive): Spread your shiny magical wings. Feels natural. Flies like chaos. (No refunds.)

Grace (Active): Basic healing spell. Costs mana, scales on sensitivity/control. “Ouchies begone.”

Battle Hymn (Aura): Party morale buff when fighting near you. Allies hit harder if they think you’re hot. (Spoiler: they do.)

Resurrection (Major, Restricted): The Big One. Once per day run, bring back a fallen ally but it chews through all your mana. Resurrection is one of the rarest powers in existence, and you just got it at level one. Don’t blow it on some rando.

Notes

Skill Slots: Unlocked. You’ve got space for real abilities now. Try not to fill it with garbage.

Armor Restriction: Bikini armor only. Everything you equip transmutes into something thematically skimpy. Daily wear included. Congratulations: pants are dead to you.

Wings: Color synced to your hair, fully integrated into your body. No off switch. Enjoy sleeping on your stomach forever.

Attribute Points

20 Attribute Points earned. You may:

Pump stats (boring but safe).

Blow them in the Cash Shop (chaotic, horny, fun).

[Cash Shop Unlocked!]

Spend points on Traits, Skills, Gear, or life-altering nonsense Dice finds funny. Stock rotates, deals are predatory, satisfaction not guaranteed.

(Pro tip: Spend wisely. Or blow them all at once and let me laugh while you regret it.)

[Equipment]

(Because you thought the armor restriction wouldn’t apply to your shiny new toys. Adorable. Let’s see what the system did to your loot.)

Candyman’s Conductor Coat (F Rank)

Original: Long red-and-white striped ringmaster coat with candy-shop flair. +6 Appearance, +3 Willpower, Self-Cleaning enchant.

Post-Valkyrie Change: N/A

Effect: Same stats. Self-Cleaning still active.

: “It’s not coverage if your belly button is a target reticle.”

Gumbark Grip-Belt (F Rank)

Original: Black licorice leather belt with retractable tether and sticky-step anchoring.

Post-Valkyrie Change: Transformed into a candy-striped garter belt with matching thigh straps. The tether shoots out from the garter buckle; the sticky-step activates from sandal-like foot straps.

Effect: Same utility (Snap-Line, Stick-Step).

“Congratulations: your grappling hook is now lingerie.”

Sugar-Steel Bracer (F Rank)

Original: Dark bracer capped with sugar-glass scales. +2 Con, +2 Magical Control.

Post-Valkyrie Change: Still a bracer… but re-styled as a gleaming, almost ornamental vambrace that matches your bikini armor aesthetic. Polished crystal accents, light enough it looks decorative instead of protective.

Confectioner’s Sash (F Rank)

Original: Practical belt-sash with hidden pockets. +3 Agility, +1 Perception.

Post-Valkyrie Change: A bright candy-colored hip scarf that hangs asymmetrically off your bikini bottoms. Hidden pockets remain, somehow. Looks more like a costume accessory than gear.

Effect: Stats unchanged. Still has hidden pockets.

“Yes, your extra storage is literally in your stripper scarf now.”

Spun Sugar Shawl (D Rank)

Original: Gossamer wrap with a modesty field (10 mins/day).

Post-Valkyrie Change: Still functions… but now manifests as a translucent sugar-silk capelet that flows behind your bikini armor wings. When active, the veil hugs your body outline like frosted glass.

Effect: Same utility. Timer still cruelly short.

“Ah, the illusion of modesty. How quaint.”

Candyfloss Cloaker (Consumable, 3 charges)

Original: Baton device projecting an opaque pink fog curtain.

Post-Valkyrie Change: Unchanged, except the fog smells faintly of cotton candy and sweat.

Effect: Same consumable effect.

“Wardrobe malfunctions incoming. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Core Capsules (Empty)

Still intact, no transformations. Apparently even Dice decided “pill-shaped monster storage” was already kinky enough.

Alice skimmed through the glowing panes, words dripping with Dice’s usual smug sarcasm. Every time she swiped a new window closed, her stomach twisted tighter.

She glanced sideways. Jen trudged just ahead, peppermint coat swishing behind her like a banner, her good hand buried in the fabric as if clinging to it for dear life. The girl’s face was pale, eyes distant, lips pressed into a thin line.

(…She hasn’t said a word since the fight. Not about the arm. Not about Ignition. Not even about the tattoo. Just walking, like if she stops, she’ll fall apart.)

Alice tugged her shawl tighter, biting her lip. She remembered that soft glow on Jen’s womb paw-shaped, pulsing and the same one that had branded her own skin. Except now, after the class change, hers was… faint. Barely there, like chalk washed thin by rain.

(Why did mine fade? Did Valkyrie overwrite it? Or did the system decide, “Congrats, Alice, you’re too shiny for primal wolf branding now”? …If Jen’s mark sticks but mine disappears, does that mean the bond breaks for me? For her? Gods, what if she’s stuck with it alone?)

She almost asked almost blurted out some clumsy reassurance. But Jen’s shoulders were hunched, her jaw tight. Wrong moment. Alice swallowed the words.

Instead, she let her eyes flick back to the floating pane where Dice’s snarky script hovered:

[Equipment Inventory: Alice]

(“Look at you, Valkyrie Barbie. Everything you own now comes in Bikini Edition.”)

Alice groaned under her breath. (Garter grappling hooks, stripper scarves, ornamental bracers… I’m basically a slot machine mascot now. Perfect. Just perfect.)

She swiped the window shut with more **** than necessary, forcing a smirk back onto her face.

(At least Jen’s got the coat. She needed it more. …And yeah, good job, Alice. Imagine forgetting to grab loot after all that. Only a total idiot would’ve walked out naked. Ha. Hilarious.)

She adjusted the spun-sugar shawl over her shoulders, though she knew the modesty timer was ticking down again. Any minute, her “illusion of dignity” would vanish, and then both Jen and the fire wolf demigod would see her new Valkyrie getup in full glory.

Alice’s smirk faltered.

(…And then what? Jen already feels broken. Ignition doesn’t give a damn. And me? I’m stuck wondering if being half-naked forever is worth it just to have resurrection on my bar at level one. Gods help me, I think it is.)

Her wings twitched unconsciously, feathers brushing against candy bark as they walked. Natural. Too natural. Which was exactly why she didn’t trust them.

Alice glanced back at Jen again, heart pinching.

(Forget the wings. Forget Dice’s bikini jokes. The real question is how do I keep her standing when she already thinks she’s dead weight?)

She didn’t have the answer yet. But she knew she had to find one.

Alice’s wings twitched nervously as they trudged through the caramel clearing, silence hanging heavy between them. Jen walked stiffly in the peppermint coat, one sleeve hanging limp where her arm used to be.

The words slipped out before Alice could stop herself. “I’ll ask my dad to get your arm healed.”

Jen froze mid step. Her head turned slowly, blue eyes narrowing. “…What?”

Alice winced. (Oh hell. Did I just yeah, I did. Nice job, Alice. Mouth before brain, classic.)

She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to recover. “I mean… there are A-rank healers. They can do limb restoration. I could y’know call in a favor.”

Jen’s laugh came sharp and bitter. “An A rank healer? Do you have any idea what that costs?!” Her good hand trembled as she pointed the stump toward Alice. “Even B rankers are out of reach for guild elites. People like mewe’re lucky if someone covers a prosthetic.”

Alice’s stomach knotted. “Yeah, I know. Most people go with cybernetics or whatever. But I’m not most people.” She hesitated, then **** the words out. “…My father’s Quin. Guildmaster of Inspira.”

The name dropped like a stone. Jen stared, eyes widening then narrowing again.

“No,” she said flatly. “You’re lying.”

Alice folded her arms, forcing a smirk. “You sure about that? Look closer.”

Jen did and faltered. The faint glow of the dungeon light caught Alice’s crimson hair, the exact same shade Quin was infamous for. The same color painted across every one of his heirs, a mark of his legacy as obvious as a brand.

“…That hair…” Jen whispered.

Alice gave a humorless grin. “Yeah. Lucky me. All his kids get the same bottle-red dye job straight from the womb. I just happen to be the bastard no one talks about.”

Jen’s disbelief wavered. Hope flickered underneath, fragile and dangerous. “But… if you’re really his daughter…”

Alice swallowed, softer this time. “Then you’ll get your arm back. I don’t care what it costs. I’ll make him pay for it.”

Jen bit her lip, trembling as her gaze darted between Alice’s face and her flaming hair. Slowly, uncertainty cracked into something smaller, weaker. “If you’re telling the truth…”

Alice smirked again, though it felt heavier now. “Then you’ll see it for yourself. Just… stick with me long enough to get out of this candy nightmare, alright?”

The world snapped back into focus with a rush of cold air and the tang of ozone. Alice stumbled out of the portal first, wings twitching reflexively as her boots scraped the polished stone floor of the guild’s portal hall. Behind her, Jen emerged pale and trembling, the peppermint coat hanging awkwardly. Ignition stepped out last, his massive silhouette framed in the fading glow of the portal. The temperature spiked the moment his foot hit the ground, the heat rippling from his body enough to make the nearest clerk flinch.

The portal chamber was busy. Adventurers queued up in roped lines, waiting their turn, their chatter filling the cavernous hall. But as soon as Alice appeared bare skin flashing between gleaming straps of enchanted bikini armor, wings flaring instinctively the crowd noise faltered. Dozens of heads turned. Eyes widened.

Alice **** herself not to shrink under it. (Ignore them. Just walk. You’re totally normal. Not an underdressed freak-show with wings and the world’s worst wardrobe lock.) She lifted her chin, smirk barely holding.

Jen kept close, face half hidden in the peppermint coat’s high collar. Ignition didn’t even seem to notice the stares; he radiated such raw menace that the line shifted away without him saying a word.

Alice strode straight to the clerk’s desk at the exit. The man there, bespectacled and twitchy, looked like he’d already been waiting for her. His gaze lingered on her crimson hair, then flicked to Ignition, then back again. His mouth worked silently for a beat.

Alice leaned forward, bracing her hands on the counter. “Call my father. Tell him it’s urgent. He’ll want to know I’m back, and” She hesitated, glancing at Jen. “and that I need a healer. Tier Five. Limb restoration.”

The clerk blinked, then gave a nervous laugh. “Tier Five? For a rookie? You can’t just-”

Alice’s smirk twitched into a glare. She flicked her wrist, pulling her sheet open in a glowing shimmer. The clerk froze as the name burned across the top line.

[Name: Alice Inspira]

The color drained from his face. “Y-you’re…?”

Alice snapped the sheet shut with a flick, wings rustling behind her. “Yeah. That Inspira. Now stop wasting time and make the call.”

For a long beat, the man just stared, then scrambled to grab his slate, fingers fumbling across the crystal keys. His voice cracked as he spoke into the comm rune. “G-Guildmaster Quin? Sir… your daughter is at the gate. She requests immediate healing arrangements…”

Alice straightened, smirk slipping as her stomach twisted. (Great. Now the whole damn lobby knows. Just what I wanted. Perfect.)

Behind her, whispers were already rippling through the lines.

“Inspira? That’s the Guildmaster’s kid?”

“Explains the wings.”

“Explains the arrogance.”

“Explains the… bikini?”

Alice folded her arms tight across her chest, trying to drown out the murmurs. Jen shifted closer, still silent, still pale. Ignition just loomed behind them like a walking furnace, expression unreadable.

The clerk was still fumbling with the comm crystal when the temperature spiked.

A fiery circle bloomed across the marble floor runes spiraling outward in molten script, the air filling with smoke and the smell of scorched ozone. The crowd scattered back as flames licked upward, twisting into the shape of a gate.

Through it stepped Quin Inspira.

His crimson hair caught the firelight like it had been born for it, slicked back sharp as a blade. A black suit jacket burned away into his combat regalia as his boots hit the ground, smoke curling around him like it belonged. A cigarette glowed between his fingers, its ember defiant against the flames wreathing his form.

The murmurs in the lobby rose to a roar.

“Guildmaster Inspira!”

“He just… teleported in here?!”

“Holy shit, that’s him”

Alice froze. She knew that look, the razor’s edge of charm and menace folded together in his smile.

“Darling,” Quin drawled, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled through the fire still guttering at his heels. His sharp eyes swept over Alice, Ignition, and Jen in one measured glance. “You didn’t even call and already you’re stirring up the guild lobby? Tsk. Just like your old man.”

Alice’s jaw clenched. The worst part wasn’t the entrance, or the way every adventurer in the room was gawking. It was how much of him she saw in herself the same hair, the same impossible need to make a scene.

She swallowed hard and gestured at Jen. “She needs a healer. Tier Five. Right now.”

Quin’s cigarette flared as he took a slow drag. Then he smiled dazzling, dangerous. “Then let’s not keep the lady waiting.”

Ignition stayed behind, still nude, still radiating that molten heat. His eyes crinkled faintly at Alice as Quin’s fiery portal widened.

“You three go. I’ll… find pants.” He gave a low grunt, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Still naked. Not my best look.”

Alice barked a short laugh despite herself, wings rustling against her back. “Yeah, because your modesty is what everyone’s staring at.”

Ignition only shrugged, a mountain refusing to move. “Catch you later, rookie. Try not to trip over the sky.”

Then Quin’s hand pressed against her shoulder, guiding her through. Alice didn’t resist. Not when Jen leaned into her, light and trembling, her one arm looped weakly around Alice’s waist.

The world bent, then bloomed.

Alice stumbled as her boots clacked against glossy obsidian tile, wings flaring wide before she wrestled them under control. The air tasted clean, cold, like ozone after a lightning strike. Above her, vaulted ceilings arched higher than any cathedral she’d ever dared sneak into, their ribs carved with glowing red runes. Stained glass cast ribbons of crimson and gold light across the polished floor, panes so wide they made the Badlands’ sky itself look small.

Quin’s home. His castle.

The flying cathedral.

Alice swallowed. She’d seen it all her life from Ikos below: a glittering island floating over the desert, waterfalls spilling from its edges like the tears of angels. A showpiece, a warning, and a crown, all in one. Standing here now, she felt dizzy not just from the sheer height, but from what it meant.

(He didn’t just build a house. He built a throne. And every single person in Ikos looks up at it every morning and every night. Including me.)

Jen’s eyes went wide, her lips parted. For a moment, awe eclipsed the exhaustion in her face. “This is… his mansion?” she whispered, voice thin, still disbelieving.

Alice tightened her arm around her. “Cathedral. Mansion. Whatever. He likes big entrances.” She shot her father a glance. “Obviously.”

Quin chuckled low in his throat as he lit another cigarette with a casual snap of his fingers, the flame curling like a pet serpent before vanishing. Smoke unfurled from his lips, coiling through the beams of red light. “You wound me, darling. I merely make sure people remember where I live. Keeps them from knocking on the wrong door.”

Alice rolled her eyes. (Yeah, because this place is so subtle. Just a floating gothic palace with waterfalls in the middle of the desert. Totally easy to miss.)

Beyond the cathedral’s high windows stretched the Badlands. Endless rust-red sands, lightning-scorched canyons, and storm shadows that rolled like hungry beasts. Alice traced the jagged line of the horizon.

Once, this had been Arizona, Nevada, Utah, New Mexico the old maps her mother sometimes pointed out over drinks. But those names meant nothing now. The Ikos Territory sprawled beneath their feet, an oasis of stubborn survival. The Dustfront stretched westward, Nevada and Arizona turned to cracked plains where storms carved glass out of the sand. North, the Redrock Marches clawed toward the sky, canyonlands split by lightning that never faded, like scars burned into the world itself. And east, the Drylands New Mexico’s curse where storms swallowed whole caravans and spat nothing back but twisted wreckage.

Alice dragged her eyes away, suddenly claustrophobic despite the endless sky. This cathedral wasn’t just Quin’s mansion. It was his flag planted in the bones of the world.

Her father’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Now then. Which of you is in need of the limb?”

Jen stiffened, pale eyes flicking between Alice and Quin. “I… you can really…?”

Alice blurted before she could think, the words tumbling out raw. “He can. He’ll fix it. He’s… he’s that rich.”

Quin’s gaze sharpened at her, smoke curling from his cigarette. Amusement flickered there, but something harder too a warning not to promise for him.

Jen looked between them, skepticism twisting her mouth. “Tier Five healing…? That’s That’s A-rank. Nobody just has that on hand.”

Alice snapped her sheet open, the name glaring bright across the top.

[Name: Alice Inspira]

Jen flinched, breath catching. She looked at Alice, then at Quin, crimson hair gleaming in the cathedral’s light. The resemblance was undeniable, the same fire in their hair, the same razor edges in their eyes.

Alice’s throat felt dry. She **** the words out anyway. “Believe it. He’s my Dad.”

Jen stared, silent, her one hand curling tight into Alice’s sleeve.

And Quin only smiled, smoke trailing from his lips

Quin exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching his daughter with narrowed eyes. The firelight from the palace’s stained glass painted his crimson hair in molten shades, making the resemblance between them impossible to ignore.

“You’ve never asked me for anything before,” he said at last. His tone was casual, but the weight behind it made Jen stiffen. “Not once. Every offer I’ve made, every door I’ve opened, every gift wrapped in a ribbon you’ve shoved it all back in my face. Unlike your mother, you’re stubborn to the bone. You’d rather starve than take what’s offered.”

Alice set her jaw, staring him down. “This isn’t about me. It’s about her.” She tightened her arm around Jen’s shoulders, her wings flexing behind her. “She lost an arm because she trusted me. If you can fix it, you will.”

Quin’s lips twitched, half amusement, half something harder. “Oh, I’ll fix it. But you understand what this means, don’t you? The first thing you’ve ever asked of me… isn’t for yourself. It’s for someone else.” He tapped ash into the air, letting it scatter on the breeze that seemed to exist only in his cathedral. “That tells me two things: one, you’ve got more of me in you than you like to admit. And two…” His eyes gleamed. “…you finally admit I’m useful.”

Alice’s stomach knotted. (Useful. That’s what he thinks this is about. Not trust. Not need. Just leverage.)

“I don’t want your wealth. I don’t want your name. But I want my friend whole again.” Her voice sharpened. “So stop circling and just do it.”

The silence stretched. Then Quin laughed, not cruel, not kind, but sharp enough to cut. “Very well, Alice Inspira.” He snapped his fingers, and fire traced a new circle into the air. “For the first time, my daughter asks something of me. Consider it granted.”

From the portal, power spilled heavy, shimmering, the kind of pressure only an A-rank healer carried.

Jen’s eyes widened, disbelieving. Alice kept her expression cold, but inside her chest something twisted painfully.

(First thing I’ve ever asked him… and of course it had to be this. He’ll never let me forget it.)

Jen leaned close as they crossed the obsidian tiles, her voice barely more than a rasp.

“You literally met me yesterday. Why are you going this far?”

Alice stiffened, throat tightening. She didn’t have an answer she was willing to say out loud.

Before she could stumble through a reply, the fiery circle sparked again. This time the runes cut deeper, glowing a blood-red that made Alice’s wings twitch.

A figure stepped through.

The heels hit first, crisp and deliberate, clicking across the cathedral floor like a judge’s gavel. Long crimson hair fell in a perfect sheet, gleaming under the cathedral’s light. Her eyes the same burning red as Quin’s swept the chamber with predator’s calm. The resemblance to Alice was immediate, undeniable, and terrifying.

Her gown flowed like molten scarlet, daringly cut, steel lined, every detail balanced between elegance and intimidation. A champagne glass tilted lazily in one gloved hand, catching the firelight as though even her indulgence was a weapon.

Alice swallowed. (Oh no. Not her.)

“Children,” the woman said, voice smooth, commanding, dripping with disdain that somehow managed to be affectionate all the same. “You make such a mess of yourselves the moment Father looks away. How tedious.”

Jen’s hand clutched tighter at Alice’s sleeve, her one arm trembling. “Who… is that?”

Alice’s mouth went dry. “My sister.”

The eldest Inspira daughter smiled then slow, sharp, and cruel. Her aura swelled, visceral and overwhelming, like blood rushing in a vein. Even without a gesture, everyone could feel it: she could peel flesh like silk or weave it whole again.

“Don’t pout, little sparrow,” she purred at Alice, her gaze cutting toward Jen’s missing arm. “I’m here to stitch your plaything back together. Father always did spoil you more than the rest of us.”

Alice’s wings flared, her jaw tightening. (First time I’ve ever asked him for anything, and it had to be through her. Gods help me.)

The eldest Inspira daughter set her glass down on a floating silver tray that hadn’t been there a moment before. The faintest curl of a smile tugged her lips as her red eyes found Alice.

“Little Sparrow,” she purred. “How quaint that you’ve finally fluttered home. I was beginning to think you’d roost forever in the gutter.”

Alice’s shoulders stiffened, wings twitching involuntarily at the nickname. (Gods, I hate when she calls me that.)

Her sister circled closer, heels clicking against obsidian tile, gown whispering like spilled blood. She let her gaze drift deliberately up and down Alice’s frame, from her bare thighs to the bikini armor she couldn’t take off.

“My, my… still so flat. You’d almost pass for one of Father’s boys if not for those… peculiar extras.” The smile widened, cruel and glinting. “A little bit of mana gone wrong, wasn’t it? Half one thing, half another, never enough to be whole. A sparrow with broken wings.”

Alice’s throat burned. Her fists clenched at her sides. (Don’t let her get to you. Don’t. Give. Her. The. Satisfaction.)

Jen tried to step forward, but Alice’s arm held her back.

“Enough, Seraphina.”

The command rolled across the hall like thunder. Quin’s voice wasn’t raised, but it carried all the weight of fire and smoke. He stepped closer, the glow of his cigarette haloing his sharp jawline. “Mock me if you like, mock this house if you dare but you do not mock my daughter.”

Seraphina’s laugh was soft, melodic, and venomous. She leaned into her father’s firelight, her pale face painted crimson in the glow. “Daughter, you say. How curious, considering she’s spent twenty years pretending she isn’t. No family name, no loyalty, no visits. And now? The first thing she does is drag some broken little stray through our door and beg for a gift she swore she’d never ask of you.”

Quin’s eyes narrowed. Smoke curled from his lips in a sharp exhale. “It speaks of her heart, Seraphina. Something you’d do well to remember.”

For the briefest moment, silence crackled between them, red eyes clashing against red.

Alice stood frozen, heat rushing to her face. (First time I’ve ever asked him for anything… and it’s like I’ve opened the gates of hell.)

Seraphina’s smile returned, sharper than glass. She reached out, her black-gloved fingers brushing the ragged end of Jen’s sleeve, where her arm had been. “Relax, Little Sparrow. I’ll mend your pet. Flesh and blood are mine to command, after all. But…” Her gaze snapped back to Alice, cold and cutting. “…don’t pretend this makes you my equal. You will always be the sparrow.”

Alice’s wings twitched involuntarily as Seraphina let the nickname drop again. Little Sparrow. The words landed heavier now, each syllable like a hook.

Alice **** a laugh, bitter and sharp. “You know, that nickname’s even more annoying now that I’ve actually got wings. Not exactly sparrow sized, are they?” She gave them a little snap, feathers rippling like flame. “Guess you’ll have to come up with something new if you want to keep insulting me.”

Seraphina’s red eyes glittered with amusement. “Oh no, Little Sparrow. That’s the beauty of it. You can sprout as many feathers as you want, but you’ll never be more than what you are.”

Alice clenched her teeth, wings folding tight to her back. (Gods, she doesn’t even have to try. One word from her and I’m already grinding my teeth.)

Quin’s voice cut through the tension, low and dangerous. “Seraphina. I said, "Enough.” Smoke curled from his lips as his gaze pinned her in place. “She’s my daughter. You will not diminish her for what she was born with. Not in my house.”

For a heartbeat, the cathedral’s silence rang louder than any argument.

Alice bristled, ready to retort, but she didn’t get the chance.

A pair of voices chimed together behind her:

“Sorry, Seraphina.”

“But we’re taking this one.”

Two bodies moved as one, sliding into the chamber like mirrored shadows. Before Alice could react, she was scooped up one twin hooking her under the knees, the other catching her back in eerie unison.

“Hey! What-” Alice yelped, instinctively flaring her new wings, which only made the whole lift more chaotic as feathers brushed against the twins’ cheeks. They grinned at the sensation, unfazed.

The siblings stood side by side, carrying her like she was some treasured doll they refused to hand over. Both wore their matching black suits sharp as blades, hair falling in crimson sheets that matched hers and Quin’s. Their closed eyes and ever-mischievous smiles made them look like porcelain dolls brought to life.

“Running away already?” Seraphine drawled, voice dripping disdain. “You coddle her as if she’s not already broken.”

“Better broken than bitter,” one twin replied.

“Better fragile than cruel,” the other finished, their words woven like a single thought.

They began stepping backward toward the corridor, still holding Alice aloft.

Alice squirmed, cheeks burning. “I can walk, you know!”

The twins ignored her, tightening their grip. One leaned close, lips brushing her ear. “Not while she’s sharpening her knives with words.”

The other whispered on her other side: “Let us carry you, Little sis. You’re safer this way.”

Alice groaned, covering her face with her hands. (Great. Now everyone’s treating me like some porcelain figurine. And these two… are way too comfortable carrying me bridal style in front of an audience.)

Quin’s booming laughter filled the cathedral, breaking the ice. “Ha! You’ll find no better defenders, Alice. Let them fuss. the Twins have always been thieves of my treasures.”

“Correction,” one twin said, spinning her playfully in their arms as the other supported her perfectly in sync.

“Borrowers,” the other finished, flashing a sly grin.

Alice peeked through her fingers at Seraphine’s scowl. For once, being whisked away by her unnerving twin siblings didn’t feel like the worst fate.

(If nothing else… they’re making sure she can’t keep calling me Little Sparrow to my face. Still hate that name,)

Alice tugged her knees up on the couch, wings twitching awkwardly behind her as the twins leaned in, hungry for gossip. “Alright, fine. You want the story? You’ll get the story. Just… don’t laugh too hard.”

She launched into it the dungeon’s saccharine nightmare of licorice vines and molten caramel, the rookies already half dead, the Chocolate Slimes, Jen’s **** gamble with her Everclean trait, Ignition’s terrifying precision when he severed her arm, and finally… the Candyman himself.

She glossed over certain parts, leaving them out with practiced vagueness.

(Yeah, no need to mention the whole “feral fire wolf transformation.” Or… everything that happened after. Some things don’t need a family audience.)

The twins ate up every detail anyway, gasping and laughing in all the right places. One leaned forward, grinning wide. “Wait, wait you really tried flying for the first time and smacked into a tree?”

Alice groaned into her hands. “Do we have to circle back to that?!”

The other twin was practically doubled over in laughter, clutching her side. “That’s the most you thing I’ve ever heard. Magic wings, level up, and your first act of flight is face-planting into bark.”

Alice fought back her own laugh, cheeks hot. “Shut up. It was majestic in my head, okay?”

The room had mellowed. A tray of snacks and drinks sat untouched on the low glass table, the ice in the twins’ glasses half melted. Alice lounged deep into the couch, one twin curled against her shoulder, the other sprawled across her legs like a lazy cat.

She had finished her abridged tale. The adrenaline had drained away in the retelling, leaving only the quiet weight of it the glow of new wings, the surreal permanence of her class choice, the ache of watching Jen cling to her borrowed coat with one arm instead of two.

Rose (probably Rose) cracked an eye open, her voice soft but laced with a teasing smile. “You’ve had a hell of a first day, Alice.”

Reed nodded against her shoulder. “And you’re already making headlines. Sweet Survivor, huh? You’re going to love how that title sticks.”

Alice snorted, rolling her eyes. “Dice has a sick sense of humor. Next thing you know, I’ll be ‘Faceplant Valkyrie.’”

The twins giggled, their laughter warm, safe. For once, Alice let herself smile too.

The twins had just started bickering over who got to tell Alice the juiciest gossip about the guild when a soft knock interrupted them. One of them slid gracefully to the door, pulling it open with a flourish.

Jen stood there.

She was pale, trembling, but whole. Her arm, the one that had been severed, was back. The skin was smooth, a little too perfect, but the fingers flexed when she lifted them, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“Alice…” Her voice cracked, and then she broke.

She stumbled forward, and Alice barely had time to rise before Jen threw her arms around her. The new one clutched tight, shaking as though afraid it might vanish again if she let go. Hot tears smeared against Alice’s collarbone as Jen sobbed into her chest.

Alice froze for a beat, startled at the intensity, then slowly wrapped her own arms around the girl. “…It worked. You’re okay.”

Jen shook her head against her. “No. I’m not okay. But I’m alive. With two arms. Because of you.” Her grip tightened. “You barely even know me, and you-” The rest was drowned in another flood of sobs.

Alice’s throat tightened. (Gods, she’s crying like she thinks I saved her life. …I guess I kind of did.) She stroked Jen’s back awkwardly, glancing at the twins, who for once looked serious.

She felt the weight of her own words echoing back the promise she’d made without thinking. I’ll ask my dad. Something she’d never said before. Something she’d meant.

She held Jen tighter, forcing the smirk she always wore back onto her face like armor. “Hey, don’t cry too much. You’ll make me look like I did something noble, and everyone knows I don’t do noble.”

That got the tiniest, wet laugh out of Jen, muffled against her shoulder.

The twins leaned in on either side of Alice again, their voices soft for once. “You really did something big this time,” one murmured.

“Yeah,” the other added with a grin that didn’t quite hide their pride. “Even for you, this is new.”

Alice exhaled, still holding Jen, the reality of it sinking in. (For the first time… I asked for something. And it mattered.)

Alice lingered in the twins’ room long after Jen had stopped crying, her new arm flexing shakily as she whispered thanks over and over. Alice just squeezed her back and tried to smile, but her mind was elsewhere.

Her wings shifted at her shoulders, feathers brushing the couch like they’d always belonged there. She hated how natural they felt. Hated how visible they made her.

And then her thoughts circled back to the two doors that weren’t in front of her, but might as well have been.

She could already picture Ignition back at the guild. Brooding, dangerous, impossible to ignore. He didn’t need her, didn’t even want her there, but that was almost the point. With him, there were no handouts, no pity, no strings just fire. Fire that burned everything in its way. (If I don’t go back… what if he doesn’t wait? What if I lose my one chance to prove I can stand next to someone like that?)

Or… she could stay. Face Quin. Her father. The man who had just done the one thing she never thought he would: answer her without strings attached. A gift she had actually asked for. It scared her more than Ignition ever had. Because she knew if she looked him in the eye now, thanked him, he’d take it as an opening. A tether. And once Quin had a tether, he never let go. (But if I walk away now, after asking him for something for the first time in my life… what does that make me? Ungrateful? Or just myself, again?)

The twins were chattering beside her, Jen was testing her fingers, and Alice **** her smirk into place to keep them from noticing how torn she was inside.

Two paths. Two fires. One that could burn her to ash if she flew too close. One that had been smoldering her whole life, waiting for her to finally breathe it in.

Her stomach twisted. (Gods. Why do both choices feel like traps?)