The cold wind of the high mountain plateau swept through the open archways of Clayman's former palace, carrying the sharp scent of wet stone, crushed limestone, and fresh mortar. Following the conclusion of Walpurgis, Loki bypassed the celebrations in Arashi and ported directly to Jistav, stepping into the quiet command hub of the provisional government.
Spread across a massive wooden table were maps of the puppet kingdom, ledger books detailing resource distribution, and report scrolls regarding undead containment. Adalman stood over a glowing glyph map, his skeletal fingers adjusting spiritual markers, while Mjurran sat nearby, reviewing civilian petition scrolls with a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose.
Loki pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning his forearms on the table. "Report. How is the reconstruction holding up?"
"The physical infrastructure is progressing," Mjurran said, looking up from her ledgers. "The eastern districts have cleared seventy percent of the rubble from Clayman's final mobilization. But we have growing friction in the southern agricultural settlements. Your proposed plan to rezone those farmlands for automated spirit-driven irrigation is meeting heavy resistance."
Loki raised an eyebrow. "It quadruples their crop yield and cuts manual labor by eighty percent. Why resistance?"
"Because you didn't ask them," Mjurran replied sharply, tapping her pen against the parchment. "They are farmers who spent decades under Clayman's tyranny, where sudden government orders meant confiscation, forced labor, disappearances, or worse. When Arashi engineers arrive without warning and begin altering the magicule anchors in the soil beneath their homes, they don't see progress, they see another ruler deciding their lives for them. You cannot rule local decisions from four hundred miles away using raw efficiency."
Loki held her glare for a second, then let out a short breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Point taken. Have the local council meet with the farm representatives tomorrow. We won't touch the soil until they agree on the terms."
Mjurran nodded, sliding another petition across the table. "Good. While we're on the subject of consent, the northern timber guilds are refusing to adopt the new forestry rotation standard until we clarify their tax status under the provisional charter. They fear Arashi will retroactively claim back-taxes for the months following Clayman's fall."
"We're granting a full tax amnesty for the entire transition year," Loki clarified instantly. "Arashi is funding the provisional administration, not draining Jistav's local commerce. Make sure that's posted on every municipal board in the city."
"I will," Mjurran said, noting it down. "Just remember that every administrative order carries the weight of a foreign occupation if we don't explain it first."
Adalman bowed his skeletal head smoothly, his glowing red eye sockets fixing on Loki. "A wise concession, Lord Loki. However, our primary concern remains spiritual stabilization. The containment arrays around the lower catacombs are holding, but I have pulled our undead patrols away from the civilian districts to prevent panic. Even so, the spiritual residue left by those killed under Clayman and Mariabell's schemes is growing increasingly unstable. The promise you made to restore them must be honored. Their lingering anguish is beginning to pollute the local flow of magicules."
"I haven't forgotten," Loki said, his voice dropping into a quieter register. "The containment wards are holding what they can, but I won't rush a resurrection on this scale. Every soul has to be identified, recovered, and stabilized before we begin."
Satisfied with the status of the territory, Loki stood up and gestured toward the deep stairwell leading into the castle's subterranean vaults. "I'm here for the vault."
Adalman and Mjurran exchanged a solemn look before following him down into the damp, stone corridors deep beneath the palace. The air grew progressively colder until they reached the innermost seal chamber. Resting on a pedestal of reinforced obsidian was a pitch-black, sealed cube. A dense spatial container holding the restrained, corrupted remains of the Chaos Dragon, Gaia.
Loki stepped up to the pedestal, placing a hand against the freezing surface of the black cube. He closed his eyes, activating Hades.
A wave of emerald light swept through the container, bypassing the heavy physical suppressors and filtering through the corrupted outer layers without disturbing them. Instantly, Loki's mind was touched by a terrifying storm of corrupted magicules, violent instinct, and ancient pain. The black malice swirled like a vortex.
'Filtering outer corruption,' Loki's cold, analytical presence echoed in Loki's consciousness. 'Isolating origin core… analyzing soul framework.'
This was not an abstract object or a mere monster core; it was an intimate, agonizing inspection of a broken soul. As Hades mapped the corrupted outer layers, brief, fragmented memories flashed through Loki's mind. A small, bright dragon flying over sunlit fields; the warmth of a child's laughter; the sudden violence, pain, and death; and the endless, dark suffocating nightmare that followed.
Beneath the overwhelming noise of the Chaos Dragon's madness, Hades located a faint but stable core.
'Core identity verified,' Loki reported. 'Gaia's original soul persists beneath the corruption. Its identity remains coherent, but the surrounding spiritual structure is heavily damaged and bound.'
Loki let out a long, shuddering breath, pulling his hand back from the cube. The emerald glow faded, leaving only the cold black stone on the pedestal.
Hades had already outlined a possible purification route. Loki possessed enough authority to attempt a solo purification process here in Jistav. To peel away portions of the corruption, reinforce the surviving soul, and begin constructing a viable vessel. But a theoretical route was not the same as guaranteed success. One mistake inside damage this ancient and complex could erase the very identity he was trying to save.
He could attempt it alone. He didn't have the right to decide that alone.
Loki closed his eyes, recognizing the familiar, dangerous impulse rising within him. For centuries, his default habit had been to decide what his loved ones needed, act as their sole shield, and deliver the final result while keeping them isolated from the suffering. But doing that here, treating Milim as a fragile child who couldn't handle the truth of the dragon her father had given her would be a betrayal of her trust.
Milim deserved to be there. She deserved to hold her friend, to fight for Gaia's return, and to participate in her restoration.
"I'm taking it," Loki said softly, lifting the heavy obsidian cube off its pedestal and securing it within his dimensional shadow.
Mjurran looked at him with a mixture of relief and concern. "Are you taking it to Milim?"
"Yeah," Loki replied, adjusting his coat. "It's time."
Without waiting to send an official diplomatic courier or issue a formal advance warning to Frey, Loki stepped through a spatial tear, relying entirely on his spatial coordinates to take him directly into the heart of Milim's domain. In his mind, the sheer purity of his intention, to bring Milim her greatest wish was more than enough to justify the sudden arrival.
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