After the meeting with Fiona, I would have gladly flown back to my domain and let the others follow by coach. But in the end, I went against my gut and decided to stay one more night to leave tomorrow with Zachary.

  Trying to carry Mike, Elenia, Miranda, and Yolanda on my dragon’s back would’ve been tempting fate. I doubted they’d even survive takeoff, let alone an hours-long flight - especially without Ju to shield them with magic. Sure, Mike could’ve flown on his own, but no way he’d leave Elenia behind. None of them even knew how to cast feather fall…

  But letting them travel alone - with Yolanda, whether as "Princess Ju" or just herself - or tagging along with the viscount’s fourth son would’ve been a risk all its own. Who knew what might’ve happened? They were all low-level, with Yolanda the highest among them, but still nowhere near strong enough to guarantee safety. And I didn’t know her well enough to be certain things wouldn’t end in some strange disaster. You only send off a group like that with a proper escort... unless you’re fine paying ransom later, and that’s the best-case scenario.

  So here I was, lying flat on my back, waiting for the night to pass, eyes fixed on the frescoed ceiling, trying (and failing) to fall asleep. But my thoughts had other plans, spinning in maddening circles through my head.

  What if I try another summon? Maybe this time, I’d finally get my levels back!

  The idea was tempting. I drew in a deep breath pondering on it, and let it out in a long, tired sigh.

  Yeah, brilliant. Go ahead and trigger Fiona’s wards again. That’ll go great!

  Like a bucket of cold water, that thought doused the flickering hope I’d started to feel.

  No. I'll have to wait until I'm far from here.

  Still, I needed those levels back, not just in dragon or lynx form, but as myself. Once I did, I’d have access to the full range of spells I remembered from White Flower. Including the ones I needed to bring my friends back to their world.

  They didn’t know that and I hadn’t told them. But I knew. And the weight of that sat heavy on my chest. If something happened to them… it would be on me.

  Because I was a coward.

  A couple more summons, just a couple, might’ve been enough to fix everything. And yet, I was still waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for Godot?

  I sighed again and rolled to the other side, careful not to disturb Yolanda. If Ju had been sleeping in my bed - her logic went - then Yolanda alias Ju should sleep here too. Maids noticed everything, and it was better not to give them any reason to start whispering.

  Maybe Yolanda was right, but that didn’t change how I felt. To me, Ju was gone, and in her place there was a snoring stranger.

  Ju always had a way of calming me down, and I was really feeling her absence. I didn’t want to admit it, but I missed her like crazy - her quiet presence, her sharp wit, her dry humor, her strength, the way her hands could just ease my tension. There was no one else like her.

  Restless, I turned to one side, then back again. It didn’t help.

  It was late into the night - maybe around two in the morning - when I gave up on trying to sleep. I took a bottle of liqueur, a glass, and stepped out onto the terrace to look at the stars. Two large, comfortable chairs made of woven twigs - a true work of art - and a low table between them were waiting for me. I set the bottle and glass down, wrapped myself in a blanket, nestled into a wide two-seater and rested my legs on the other one, with the table shifted to the side. Perfect!

  I poured a glass, lifted it toward the sky, and toasted the stars. High above, the blue moon glowed.

  To some, it was Frigg, God of Cold and Ice; to others, Selena, Goddess of Light and Knowledge.

  "Cheers," I whispered with a chuckle, thinking of that night and my little adventure with the Church of Light. It already felt distant, even though it had only been yesterday. I took another sip and raised the glass again to the moon, emptied it - and then my eyes drifted toward a distant bench in the park, bathed in pale moonlight, looking strangely inviting.

  The wards are for the castle, not the garden, I told myself. Out there, far enough... it should be safe to try a summon...

  So, do I do it?

  Five minutes later, I was sitting on that bench, still in my nightgown - as I had been too lazy to change - and I placed the bottle and the glass on the weathered wood table in front of me.

  Hopefully no one comes to disturb me. And if someone does?

  Simple. I’d tell the truth: I couldn’t sleep.

  But I hadn’t seen a soul on my way here, and the chance of someone showing up seemed slim.

  I looked up again at the moon, gleaming above.

  “Thanks for the inspiration, girl,” I said with a wry smile.

  Do I try it now? I hesitated. Could there be hidden wards out here too?

  Well - the proof of the pudding is in the eating.

  The transformation came easily, seamlessly, and I had to shift on the bench to make room for my tail as it unfolded. It stretched, flexed in the cool air, and then - without me even thinking - reached for the bottle and poured more liqueur into my glass with deliberate care. Well, I did think about pouring more liqueur into my glass, just not about doing it with my tail.

  I grinned. This was new!

  I raised my glass toward the moon, but before I could take a sip, a summon came.

  With a small sigh of resignation, I downed the liqueur, set the glass beside the bottle, drew in a long breath... and braced myself for whatever this one had in store.

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  *

  Baratak was proud of himself. More than proud. He was certain his star blazed across the heavens.

  He had already become the most admired, the most influential living architect in the known world. Nobles, kings - yes, even kings - sought his counsel on questions of construction, grandeur, and vision. Even the emperor of the neighboring empire had sent a delegation bearing questions... and gifts.

  But this? This would eclipse them all.

  What he was creating now would endure beyond memory, a marvel to test the patience of time itself. Who could ever hope to build something even remotely comparable?

  He tilted his head back to admire the structure already rising under his guidance - magnificent even now. But in his mind’s eye, it was larger still. He saw not just what it was, but what it would become: grander. Glorious. A true masterpiece.

  Every great structure required a sacrifice: a soul bound into its foundations. That was well known.

  There was a ballad, among many tales, a mournful and haunting ballad, about the poor builder who had entombed his living, pregnant wife within the walls of a church. It had worked and the structure still stood, small but stunning, a flawless little gem of divine geometry.

  Baratak understood the principle, but he found the execution barbaric. Shortsighted and wasteful. He scoffed at the idea. To choose the first passerby as your sacrifice, as tradition dictated? That was madness. Even if agreed upon in advance with your team, it was still a crude and idiotic approach.

  He shook his head to banish the thought and drew a deep breath, turning his focus back to the glowing runes etched across the foundation. Every sigil had to be perfect. Every line, every resonance, tuned to harmonic precision.

  He looked up once more at the impossible height of the unfinished walls. The massive cupola still had to be placed. The load-bearing crystals had been charged and positioned. His design defied the rules - of gravity, of symmetry, of logic - and every other architect had said it would collapse the moment the scaffolding came down.

  Baratak allowed himself a slow smile.

  Let them think it impossible.

  If everything held, if the summoning worked… this monument would become eternal.

  They said you couldn’t bind more than one soul to a building. That if you tried, the souls would clash, tear at one another, and the structure would collapse in a matter of days.

  But what if you could fuse them?

  He had found the answer - his own invention, his own brilliance: a binding agent to hold the souls in unity. He had already tested it. Not just in theory, but in practice. The main bridge in the capital - praised for its elegance and eerie stability - was built that way.

  That was what he called small-scale testing.

  He turned to the lead priest and gave a simple nod. The ritual had been running for days; this moment was merely the final crescendo. Along the foundations, the line of war prisoners, silent or sobbing, were prepared for sacrifice. But they were only a part of the process.

  The glue, that was the real innovation.

  The spell to tether them in place, to lock their souls into the stone and hold them from unraveling, was made possible by a keystone element: the demon.

  The scream that erupted from below clawed the air like nails on metal. A high, harrowing sound that carried something oddly feminine. Even though he had been expecting it, a shiver traced Baratak’s spine. His skin bristled. Then he chuckled, steadying his breath.

  Demon capture wasn’t new. They had long been used to power engines, magic tools, furnaces—drained like cattle for mana. Caged, half-starved, milked for energy.

  But to use one as a binding core, a jailor of souls? That was new.

  He had done it once before and it had worked. It will work this time too.

  If souls were truly indestructible, and if the demon held them tight enough, then this masterpiece would stand forever.

  The ground trembled as if an earthquake had struck the capital. The containment field, anchored into the city’s ancient defensive walls, was as solid as any human hands could make it. But the demon was stronger than the standard demon they used to capture. It had to be stronger, to bind so many souls. Baratak had known this might happen. Still, the raw force on display unnerved even him.

  The lead of the royal delegation exchanged a tense glance with him. Behind them stood the High King and his court, a sea of nobles arrayed in full regalia, their banners fluttering in the hot wind. Beyond them, packed into the fields like grains of sand, stood the people: hundreds of thousands, maybe even a million. The entire capital had come to witness this moment.

  The construction had taken four decades, swallowing generations of labor and sacrifice. Unwilling sacrifices. Accidents were also some kind of sacrifices, wasn't it so? But no one spoke of that now. Today was time for celebration.

  The final stage was moments away.

  Baratak kept his face neutral, refusing to betray concern, though his eyes flicked to the soaring walls and vaulted scaffolds. The structure held. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  Then came another shudder - stronger, deeper - and a guttural scream, this time echoing with rage. That would be the molten metal, he thought grimly, being poured into the containment vessel. Meant to encase the demon, freeze it in place and lock it down.

  The containment runes flared, brilliant lines of power wrapping around the pit, anchoring the demon into its prison. And soon it would be fed.

  All around the site, the screams of the sacrifices began to rise in a terrible, overlapping chorus. Dozens, then scores, then hundreds wailing as their souls were taken. And behind the King, the crowd cheered.

  The runes of the wards flared to life. The demon had attempted to teleport or maybe transform - of course it had - but the runes held, anchoring it in place. Then the construction magic surged, and the final stage began.

  In an intoxicating display of craftsmanship and arcane mastery, the materials lifted themselves into the air, giant colored windows, gems, marble and magic strengthened beams, moving with uncanny precision. A mesmerizing ballet unfolded as each piece locked into place, and the monumental dome of the temple formed, seamless and vast.

  Then, as if breathed into existence by the gods themselves, an ethereal glow shimmered across its outer walls and the towering cupola, a luminous veil of bound souls and refined magic.

  A structure like no other, radiating power, promise, and permanence. What kind of magic or blessings this temple might bestow was impossible to guess, and the priests were visibly trembling with anticipation.

  It must be even more beautiful inside, Baratak thought, breath catching in his throat.

  He exhaled slowly. Everything had unfolded exactly as planned. He turned to the delegation leader and gave a confident nod.

  It was done.

  All around him, amazed voices rose like the first notes of a symphony. The High King’s entourage began to move toward the great double doors, their chatter already filled with reverent praise. He knew they spoke of him: his name, his genius, his triumph, his masterpiece.

  Baratak stood a moment longer, drinking it in, chest rising with pride as he gazed at the glorious shape of this new Hall of the Divine, the Souls’ Pillar of Devotion, that was the name that will be given to this marvel.