There are certain things you don't expect to wake up to.
A rooster serenading your window in falsetto? Weird, but manageable.
Your demon daughter levitating six inches above the couch and muttering ancient curses in her sleep? Worrisome, but it's happened.
But waking up to the distinct sound of divine chanting and the smell of burning incense wafting through your front yard?
Yeah. That one's new.
I bolted upright on the sofa, nearly toppling the half-dozing Rhea from my lap. Her small body slumped against my shoulder, still warm, her tail wrapped around my arm like a safety belt.
The front door was glowing.
Glowing.
And not in the warm, "I baked cookies and used fire magic again" kind of way.
No—this was divine glow. Clerical. Righteous.
The oh-no-the-holy-temple-found-us kind of glow.
"Rhea," I whispered, gently shaking her. "Time to wake up. Trouble's knocking."
She groaned and rolled over. "Tell it to go away. I'm dreaming about lava baths."
"It's not the dream kind of trouble."
Outside, someone boomed:
"By the grace of the Divine Flame, Elias Thorne, surrender the cursed one into our custody!"
Rhea sat bolt upright. "Did he just call me cursed?"
"Yes."
"Did he just call you Elias Thorne?"
"Also yes."
She narrowed her eyes. "You told me your name was Bob Thistledown."
"I panicked when the baker asked."
"You are a terrible liar."
"I'm a strategic liar," I corrected, already moving to pull on my jacket.
Outside, the chanting intensified.
Rhea's voice was calm. Too calm.
"Should I burn them?"
"No."
"Just a little scorch?"
"No scorch."
"A minor sizzle?"
"Not even a toasty singe."
She sighed. "You're no fun."
We stepped outside together.
The morning mist hadn't cleared yet, but the divine light cut through it like a blade. Standing at the edge of my yard—right beside the herb patch Rhea accidentally nuked last week—was a figure I hoped never to see again.
Tall.
Armored.
Radiating holy magic like a bonfire at a wedding.
Cleric Damaris.
His silver robes shimmered with enchantments. A staff taller than him glowed in his grip. And his eyes—lightless, judgmental—fixed on me like I was mold on his sacred bread.
"You have violated the sacred seals," he said coldly. "By harboring her, you place the realm in jeopardy."
"I also pay my taxes," I offered.
He did not laugh.
"I warned you before, Thorne. The mark on her is unmistakable. That child is—"
"She's not a thing," I said, stepping in front of Rhea.
"She's a remnant of the Demon Queen."
"And also a kid who likes burnt toast and draws fish with swords."
Rhea stepped up beside me, arms crossed.
"I am also Queen of the Lawn."
Damaris raised his staff. "You mock this tribunal."
I frowned. "This is a tribunal? You're just one guy with glowing accessories."
He pointed his staff directly at Rhea.
She flinched.
"Return her," he said, voice booming, "or face purification."
That was it.
The word purification hit something in her.
Like a fuse being lit.
Her eyes flared with that dangerous gold. Her hair shimmered like embers caught in moonlight. And the air… grew heavy.
"I don't want to go back," she whispered.
Damaris raised the staff—and light surged forward.
I grabbed Rhea's hand and shoved her behind me, but the spell hit before I could react.
It should've seared me. Incinerated the corruption he believed clung to my soul.
Instead, Rhea screamed.
Not in pain—but in fury.
There was a shockwave.
A real one.
The grass uprooted. The trees buckled. The earth cracked in a neat circle around us. And the divine light shattered like glass.
Damaris staggered back.
Rhea stood in front of me now, eyes glowing, a corona of shadow-fire forming around her like jagged wings.
"I said I don't want to go back."
The ground around her burned in a perfect spiral.
Her voice deepened—just slightly.
"Touch him again… and I'll show you what burning feels like."
Damaris looked shocked. Rattled. But still resolute.
"You would destroy me to save a mortal?"
"I would destroy a thousand of you," she hissed.
Her fingers curled. Magic formed.
Something dark. Raw. Primordial.
"Rhea!" I shouted, stepping forward.
She didn't hear me.
The spell grew.
Crimson lightning danced across her arms.
Her body was shaking—not from fear. From restraint.
And I realized—
She wasn't letting go.
Because she was remembering. The throne. The screams. The justice she once believed in.
She could kill him.
She wanted to.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I walked right up to her and wrapped her in a hug.
Mid-spell.
While she was glowing with literal death magic.
Her eyes widened.
I felt the heat on my skin. The power. The danger.
But I held her tighter.
"You're not her," I whispered into her ear. "You don't have to be her."
Her body trembled.
The magic flickered.
Her voice was small. Childlike again.
"But he tried to hurt you."
"I know."
"I wanted to make him stop."
"I know."
She sniffed.
"I… I don't want to lose you."
"You won't," I said. "I'm not afraid."
"You're very stupid."
"I am. Hug me anyway."
She did.
The magic dispersed like mist in the sun.
And the grass began to regrow around our feet.
Damaris stepped back, clearly shaken.
His voice—when he finally found it—was uncertain.
"You stopped her. With affection."
"Yes," I said, still hugging her.
He stared at us.
Then, with slow, heavy steps, he turned and left.
No declaration of vengeance.
No holy fire.
Just… silence.
Later that evening, we sat on the porch, watching the sunset.
Rhea had her head in my lap, tail twitching lazily. She was silent.
Then she muttered:
"I almost… again."
"Yeah."
"I wanted to."
"I know."
She looked up at me. "You're not going to send me away?"
"Never."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a smudged drawing.
Sir Swim-a-Lot. Holding a tiny shield.
She handed it to me without a word.
I took it like it was a royal gift.
"I love you," she said softly.
I paused.
Then smiled.
"I love you too, Your Majesty."
Her smile returned.
"…Can I incinerate the mailbox?"
"Only if it bites you first."
"Deal."
To be continued…