His smile froze. No one in this forsaken land should know that name. He was a ghost, a wanted criminal, the Dragon’s Sin of Wrath. The kingdoms of Britannia had posters bearing his crude likeness, promising a fortune in gold for his head.
“The same thing I wanted three thousand years ago, Meliodas. A world without gods. No Demon King. No Supreme Deity. Just mortals, making their own choices, their own mistakes, their own loves.” Her violet eyes glowed. “I want you to help me kill the Demon King. Permanently. And then, together, we will tear down the goddess realm’s throne.”
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice losing its playful edge.
The wind howled across the crater of Danafor. Somewhere far away, a bar fight was probably breaking out in the Boar Hat. Diane would be laughing. King would be rolling his eyes. Ban would be stealing something. And Elizabeth—gentle, kind, mortal Elizabeth—would be waiting for him to come home.
Somewhere behind him, the crater seemed to breathe—a slow, patient exhale. The story was not over. The scales were still broken. And in a world balanced between gods and demons, the most dangerous thing of all was a child who had waited three thousand years for an apology that never came.
“So you choose her again,” she whispered. “Over balance. Over justice. Over the thousands who will still die under the tyranny of gods.”
But Meliodas had broken that oath. He had chosen love—Elizabeth—and in doing so, he had let the war consume everything. Frauja had been sealed away by her own kind for consorting with a demon. For three thousand years, she had waited in a prison of crystallized light, dreaming of the boy who had promised her a better world and then forgotten her name.
She turned and walked toward the crater. Her small form began to dissolve into motes of black-gold light.