Strawberry's Descent

Thoth reached the mainland well ahead of the ship, wings carrying him in long, confident sweeps across the coastline, pure momentum from his newly discovered joy in flight pulling him further and faster than anyone had quite planned for.

Below him, the reaction was immediate.

NPCs scattered, market stalls abandoned mid-transaction, children pulled indoors by parents who moved with the specific, instinctive terror of people responding to a threat their ancestors had warned them about for generations. Players, by contrast, stopped dead in the streets, heads craned skyward, phones and recording tools forgotten in favor of simply staring.

[Thread: SOMETHING IS FLYING OVER THE HUMAN KINGDOM CAPITAL RIGHT NOW]pinned within minutes, climbing fast

"is that a DRAGON??""I thought dragons weren't even in this game""screenshot right NOW before it's gone"

An elderly NPC, one of the few who hadn't fled, stood in the town square staring upward with an expression caught somewhere between terror and disbelieving wonder.

"...Dragons," he said, voice trembling, "have been extinct for over a thousand years." He didn't look away from the sky, didn't blink, as though doing so might make the impossible shape above him vanish. "This is... impossible."

Thoth, entirely unaware of the panic rippling beneath him, banked in a slow, curious circle above the square, dish rotating downward to study the scattering crowd with the same patient, analytical focus he brought to everything.

"...Query," he called down, voice resonant even at altitude. "Why does the population flee?"

Nobody answered him, mostly because nobody below was in any state to.

The summons from Beelzebub arrived before Arista had even finished processing the forum explosion, notification cutting cleanly through her attempt to figure out how to explain a dragon sighting to an entire continent that hadn't seen one in a millennium.

[SUMMONS RECEIVED][From: Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, Ruler of the Seven Hells][Your presence is required.]

She stared at it for a long moment, then let out a short, tired laugh.

"...Of course. Of course he already knows."

She made her way to the throne room with the specific, resigned energy of someone who had, by this point, developed a genuine sixth sense for exactly how much trouble she was in based purely on how fast a summons arrived after the incident in question.

This one had arrived very, very fast.

She found Beelzebub seated behind an actual desk this time, small human-passing form settled comfortably in what looked like a genuine effort at ordinary bureaucratic normalcy, undermined entirely by the object sitting prominently atop the desk itself.

A Baby Beelz plushie. Considerably more luxurious than the ones she'd glimpsed being hawked in Tabula Rosa's market stalls, finer stitching, tiny embroidered horns picked out in actual gold thread, a small velvet cushion of its own to sit on.

Stolen novel; please report.

Arista stared at it for a long moment.

"...Is that a custom one."

"Nettle's craftsmanship has standards for commercial production," Beelzebub said, entirely unbothered, "and separate, considerably higher standards for personal commissions. I requested mine be accurate."

"...You ordered a nicer version of your own baby merch."

"I ordered the correct version," he corrected, with the same wounded dignity he'd once brought to the keychain. "The market ones cut corners on the horn detailing. Unacceptable."

Arista pressed a hand briefly over her mouth, torn between exhaustion and genuine delight, before Beelzebub's tone shifted, the small, comfortable domesticity of the moment giving way to something considerably more serious.

"Would you mind telling me," he said, folding his hands, "why a dragon is currently flying around the mainland, causing what I am told is widespread panic in at least three separate settlements."

Arista sat down, and told him everything: the scrap heap, the broken golem, the question nobody had ever thought to ask him, the orichalcum housing, the naming, the exile.

Beelzebub listened without interrupting once, expression unreadable throughout, until she finally reached the end.

"...I see." He was quiet for a long moment, considering. "You understand the position this places me in."

"...I have a feeling you're about to explain it."

"The golems informed you, explicitly, that any return by any of the six of you would be interpreted as an act of war." He said it slowly, deliberately, making sure each word landed properly. "You are my spokesperson, Strawberry. Officially, publicly, recognized across every kingdom on this continent as speaking with my authority when you choose to invoke it. If you return to that island, for any reason, however well-intentioned, that is not simply you returning."

Arista felt her stomach drop, the shape of the problem finally landing with its full, political weight.

"...That's the Demon Realm returning," she said quietly. "Not just me."

"Precisely." He leaned forward, and for once there was no performance in it at all, no theatrical grandeur, just genuine, weighted concern. "An act deemed hostile, committed by my own recognized spokesperson, would be received by an entire civilization as a declaration of war from Hell itself. Not from Strawberry the blacksmith, acting alone. From the Demon Realm, acting through you."

"...I didn't think about it that way. I was just thinking about Thoth. About the fact that he wanted to keep existing, and nobody there was ever going to let that happen without someone actually stepping outside their rules."

"I understand your reasoning. I do not fault the compassion behind it." Beelzebub's tone softened slightly. "But I am asking you, directly, plainly, without any of my usual theater, do not go back there. Not to visit. Not to negotiate. Not even to apologize. Whatever needs doing regarding that island, it cannot be you who does it, not while you carry my name."

Arista sat with that, the weight of an entire realm's diplomatic standing settling heavily onto shoulders that had, until a few weeks ago, only ever had to worry about tunnel structural integrity and boiler pressure calculations.

"...Okay," she said finally, quiet. "Okay. I hear you. I won't go back."

"Thank you." He sat back, something easing slightly in his posture, though the underlying tension didn't fully vanish. "Thoth may continue as he wishes, he is no longer bound to their jurisdiction, and his existence is his own to navigate now. But you, Strawberry, remain mine to worry about, whether either of us particularly enjoys the arrangement."

Arista managed a small, tired smile. "...You worry about me?"

"Constantly," Beelzebub said, entirely deadpan, reaching over to straighten the little velvet cushion beneath his custom plushie with unnecessary, fastidious care. "It is, I have found, considerably more efficient than being surprised every single time."

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