It had failed. Again.
No complex analysis was needed; the simple, undeniable reality of his current situation told Rowe everything. The chilling, soul-eroding aura of the Underworld had completely dissipated. All the vitality that had been leeched from his body had returned in a warm, restorative wave. His rejuvenated form no longer carried the heavy, stumbling burden of imminent death. Clearly, this was the conscious action of the Goddess of the Underworld, actively withdrawing the deathly energy she had emanated. If Ereshkigal had misinterpreted his suicidal march as a grand romantic gesture, it was only natural that her inherent, divine 'goodness' would compel her to stop harming him.
But that left the pressing question: what was this?
Rowe shifted his gaze from the moonlit street ahead, looking down until his eyes fell upon the figure nestled against his chest. A dark golden crown was tilted back, and from it spilled a cascade of golden hair that tickled his jaw. He couldn't see her face, but he could feel the soft, warm pressure of the goddess's cheek pressed firmly against his sternum. The Goddess of the Underworld, Ereshkigal herself, was holding him tightly.
He had the overwhelming urge to pat her head and ask, 'Miss, what in the world are you doing?!'
But he managed to restrain himself. That would have shattered the moment far too brutally.
Rowe was no fool. While her actions were baffling from his perspective, he understood that his confusion stemmed from not having endured her eons of profound loneliness. He grasped the reason for her emotional shift, and it was a frustratingly familiar one.
...My performance was just too convincing!
He mentally rubbed his forehead in exasperation. However, since things had progressed to this point, Rowe was not one to dwell on lost opportunities. His philosophy was simple: just keep pushing forward.
It was in this suspended moment, as a gentle evening breeze whispered through the alley, that he heard a soft, muffled sound from the goddess in his arms.
"Thank you..." she murmured, her voice so quiet it was almost carried away by the wind. She kept her face hidden. "For letting me know that someone still remembers me. That someone still... longs for a useless deity like me."
The burning heat he felt through his robes, radiating from where her face was pressed, was a testament to her nervous and deeply shy state.
Rowe was never a saint. While courting the Goddess of the Underworld wasn't his primary objective, he was not opposed to the idea. If the opportunity presented itself, he wouldn't mind sharing a beautiful, legendary story with her. A bond with a deity would not only serve as magnificent proof for his eventual ascension to the Throne of Heroes, but it would also be a testament to his own enduring humanity. And for a goddess as genuinely kind and gentle as Ereshkigal, he had to admit he held a rather favorable impression. This was an unexpected development, but it might just present a new and wonderful opportunity.
"You're right," Rowe's voice broke the silence, his words reaching Ereshkigal's shyly lowered ears. "You are utterly useless."
She froze in his embrace, then instinctively looked up, her crimson eyes wide with shock and confusion. What she saw was his young, handsome face, now fully restored, and a pair of eyes crinkled in a warm, teasing smile.
"I'm saying—" he continued, his tone light, "what kind of deity doesn't even dare to properly respond to the devotion of her one and only admirer?"
"Wh-what are you talking about?!" Ereshkigal stammered, flustered. "I was afraid you couldn't withstand my presence! Yes, that's it!" The more she spoke, the more she seemed to convince herself, finding a justification for her earlier retreat. "I am the cruel goddess who symbolizes death itself! What right does a mere mortal have to stand before the very embodiment of the end?"
Rowe stroked his chin, a look of playful curiosity on his face. "Does the embodiment of death... cry?"
"Eh? Eh—!?" Ereshkigal instantly panicked. She took two quick steps back, breaking their embrace, and frantically rubbed at the corners of her eyes with her fingers.
She found them dry. There was nothing there.
"You... you tricked me!" she exclaimed, her face flushing an even deeper shade of crimson. "You're truly a hateful man...!"
The Goddess of the Underworld, by her very nature, had no tears. She had definitely been deceived by this unscrupulous mortal.
Rowe simply spread his hands innocently. "I didn't lie. Look... isn't this a tear?" In his palm rested a small, sparkling, crystal-like object that gleamed with a soft inner light in the dim alley.
Ereshkigal stared, stunned. At first glance, the object did indeed resemble a glistening, frozen tear. However, when Ereshkigal carefully took it from Rowe's palm, she realized its true nature—a tiny, exquisitely crafted key, seemingly forged from solidified light, encapsulated within a crystal as pure and clear as freshly fallen snow. It was an artifact that hummed with a profound, conceptual power, something capable of prying open the very gates between the world of the living and other realms.
"No matter what happened before," Rowe said, his voice gentle yet firm, "from now on, you will possess a 'tear' from the human world."
Ereshkigal was utterly captivated, rendered speechless. Was this a gift he had prepared specifically for her? The thought sent a fresh wave of warmth through her divine core. The Goddess of the Underworld clutched the crystalline key tightly in her palm, as if holding a fragile, precious dream, and then nodded, a gesture heavy with unspoken gratitude. Seeing her accept it, Rowe felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. This key was a minor creation of his 'Key of Heaven' authority, a focused application of his power. It could open a door directly to his location whenever she wished.
And most crucially, the passage it created was two-way. Ereshkigal could use it to attempt to leave the oppressive silence of the Underworld, and conversely, Rowe could use the connection to enter her domain when she was there—
The path to seeking death has just gained another viable option... Rowe thought, quite pleased with his own cleverness. This was a strategic investment with promising returns.
"Rowe's gift... I have received it," the goddess whispered, a delicate blush once again coloring her fair cheeks. She caressed the warm, pulsating crystal in her palm, and her crimson lips curved into a beautiful, genuine smile. "And I... I also wish to give Rowe a gift. In the name of the Goddess, I bless you. From this moment forth, you shall no longer be eroded by the touch of death or the aura of the Underworld..." She declared this with a soft pride, "This is a blessing the Goddess has never bestowed upon anyone before!"
Rowe: "..."
Then why should I go the Underworld?!
He was on the verge of refusing this counterproductive blessing when he noticed Ereshkigal, who had just stepped back, suddenly draw close to him again. The golden-haired goddess rose lightly onto her toes. A faint, fragrant breeze accompanied her movement as her slender, jade-like fingers gently touched his lips, silencing any protest. Then, before he could react, her soft, moist crimson lips pressed against his knuckle in a tender, chaste kiss.
Rowe's eyes widened slightly, gazing at the face so near his own. The goddess's fair skin glowed with an alluring, divine blush. He understood then that this so-called 'immunity to death's erosion' was no ordinary divine blessing. It was, instead, the most sincere wish of the Goddess of the Underworld herself—a profound affirmation and protection bestowed upon one cherished by her.
Will you remember this moment?
Ereshkigal closed her eyes, silently posing the question to her own heart. For her, who had known only eternal twilight and silence, this was a beauty she had never experienced since her creation. But no, she decided, she wouldn't merely remember this moment. Because of the 'key' she held tightly in her hand, because of him, she would remember every single moment from now on.
Her lips, which had been pressed to his hand, lifted into a smile. The Goddess of the Underworld smiled, a sight as rare and beautiful as a flower blooming for the first time in the desolate Kur.
'She's fallen for him, completely...' Ishtar, a hidden observer deep within their shared vessel, sighed silently. She found it hard to blame her sister. If she, too, had been imprisoned in endless darkness and solitude for millions of years, and then someone appeared, willing to brave death itself just to be near her, her own reaction probably wouldn't be any more composed than Ereshkigal's.
But as she watched the tender scene unfold, a different feeling began to gnaw at her.
'Suddenly... I feel so unbearably sour!' Ishtar grumbled internally, a pang of what felt suspiciously like jealousy making her metaphorical teeth ache. She became acutely aware of her own presence in that moment. She wasn't a participant; she was an observer, an intruder.
She felt like a massive, glaringly out-of-place light bulb, illuminating a scene she wasn't part of.
Unfortunately, Rowe was oblivious to Ishtar's internal monologue. And even if he had been aware, he certainly wouldn't have turned to the formless presence and said, "You've come at just the right time." His goals, after all, were fundamentally at odds with the Venus Goddess's current mood.