From the peak of Babel, Freya gazed down upon Orario. Her Orario. A city that pulsed like a living heart beneath the morning sun, endlessly moving, endlessly breathing.
She had seen it all.
The ceaseless cycle of desire, struggle, and decay—repeating over and over again until it had become dull, colorless, a lifeless performance that no longer held her interest.
There were moments, fleeting embers that caught her eye, but they never lasted.
Nothing in this city could stir her heart anymore.
And then—she saw her.
A girl, small and unassuming, moving like a ghost through the crowd, slipping between the gaps of existence itself.
Snow-white hair, untouched and pure, caught the lantern's glow, reflecting in soft glimmers—like moonlight dancing upon a still lake.
She did not draw attention, did not command presence, did not leave a trace of herself behind.
People noticed her, briefly. But the moment they looked away, they did not turn back. As if her entire existence was nothing more than a fleeting illusion.
Like a fairytale.
All except Freya.
The moment her gaze settled upon the girl, the world shifted.
The noise of Orario faded into a distant murmur, as if reality itself had dimmed in the face of something more profound.
Her fingers curled around the arms of her throne, tightening with a force she did not understand.
Her soul—
Freya's breath hitched, her chest tightening as though something vital had been wrenched from her in an instant.
It was unlike anything she had ever seen.
Not the souls that burned with reckless ambition. Not those flickering with desperate yearning. Not even the ones seething with sorrow or surging with desire.
No, this was something different. Something vast.
Peerless. Unprecedented.
It was something she had never seen before.
Unique. Incomparable.
Three distinct colors surrounded a radiant golden core, each hue possessing its own unique charm.
Swirling together, the colors did not clash—they only made the center shine brighter.
The center, primarily golden, had a sense of yearning, but despite this, it didn't lower the beauty of her soul.
If she had to put it into words, there was only one answer.
Heroic.
A perfect soul, one that even the gods would covet.
And yet, that was not what made it so breathtaking.
The three orbiting shades—various tones of ice—embodied Loneliness, Detachment, and Purity.
Yet rather than diminishing the golden light, they completed it. A harmony so flawless, so untouched by mortal hands, that it made the rest of the world feel faded, brittle, incomplete.
It made the rest of the world feel colorless in comparison.
Exquisite.
Devastatingly exquisite.
And amidst those three colors—one, in particular, felt familiar.
A sharp pang lanced through her chest. Something raw. Something terrifyingly unfamiliar. Something that unraveled her from the inside out.
Not admiration.
Not even the ravenous hunger and appreciation she had felt for so many others before.
No—this was obsession.
A yearning so deep it clawed at her insides, dug into her ribs, wound itself around her heart with merciless finality. She needed that girl.
Freya had always been the one who chose.
The one who reached out.
The one who took.
The one who devoured.
And yet, as she looked at this girl—this unassuming, unnoticed girl—she realized with a shuddering certainty that something had been stolen from her instead.
The girl did not look up.
Did not see her.
Did not know that high above Orario, a goddess had just been undone.
Freya exhaled, the sound unsteady, trembling with something dangerous.
Her face was flushed red, her silver eyes clouded with love and something far more sinister.
A warmth bloomed deep in her abdomen, spreading through her body in waves.
Her hand pressed against her chest, against the unbearable ache blooming there.
How cruel.
How utterly cruel.
That she, who had always stood above, should now be the one left longing.
That she, who had always been adored, should now be the one who yearned.
Her lips parted, a soft, breathless laugh slipping through. A sigh of a woman in heat.
Madness. It was madness, intoxicating and irreversible.
She had fallen.
And the girl did not even know her name.
It took everything in her not to throw away her throne, her pride—everything—just to approach her.
To beg for her love.
She, who had always taken. A taker.
Yearning to be given something instead of taking it herself.
Not just as a mere object that she could take.
She wanted her love.
She wanted the girl's everything
--+--
The girl had to be new to Orario.
It was unthinkable—impossible—that Freya had never noticed her before.
Her gaze, flushed with obsession, followed as the girl—Sitonai—stepped through the doors of the Guild.
Did that mean… she didn't have a Familia yet?
Freya's breath hitched.
The possibilities unraveled before her, sweet and intoxicating.
Sitonai, joining her Familia.
Sitonai, by her side.
Sitonai, looking at her with nothing but love and devotion.
A future filled with affection, filled with her.
And yet—she hesitated.
Uncharacteristically, unbearably, she hesitated.
What if she was too forceful?
What if Sitonai didn't want to join?
What if—what if she hated her?
Freya's heart stopped.
The Fairy… hating me?
The mere thought of any emotion other than love and passion coming from Sitonai made her vision blur.
It felt wrong.
It felt wrong.
It felt wrong.
She didn't like it.
She didn't like it.
She didn't like it.
What could she do? What should she do?
She had seduced, manipulated, and schemed to win the affections of those with beautiful souls countless times before—but this was different.
She didn't want a love built on deception.
This feeling… this doubt… it felt foreign. Unfamiliar.
She, the Queen of Orario, worrying about someone else's opinion.
--+--
Freya was jealous.
She watched as Sitonai left the Guild Headquarters, heading in a direction away from her home.
Was she… going to another Familia?
The thought alone made something ugly coil within her chest. Jealousy—dark, bitter, all-consuming—seeped into her veins as she continued to watch, unable to look away.
And then—Demeter.
The goddess approached her Sitonai, smiling, teasing, touching her.
Freya's fingers dug into the arm of her throne. Her love.
That love was meant for her.
That attention was meant for her.
That look was meant for her.
They were meant to be. Two sides of the same coin.
Yet now, for the first time in her immortal existence, Freya felt something terrifyingly unfamiliar. Nervousness.
Inexperience.
She, who had gazed upon the world with indifference, who had looked upon lovers and admirers as one would regard fleeting trinkets—she had seen love.
And she would not allow anyone to take it from her.
--+--
A/N: This is a much shorter chapter cause I had the chance, seeing as it's just a pov change, and lowkey, while I don't really like Freya's actions(lies) I fucking love yandere type characters like DAMN.
Freya didn't romantically like Bell. She liked his soul in a way one would look at a treasure.
That's how Freya sees people.
This chapter is more or less like showing the differences between how Freya views the two. Also, because I won't go in depth regarding Sitonai's soul in the book and isn't really a spoiler, I'll just explain her soul.
Her original soul, the center piece, is the combination of the body and personality of Illyasviel von Einzburn and their previous life, with an addition with her skill and potential, Throne of Heroes.
The 3 orbiting aspects are Sitonai, Louhi, and Freyja respectively, representing Loneliness, Detachment, and Purity. Idk if Freyja even represents Purity but it's an asspull anyways. While Sitonai has her hunting dog in her story she was technically thrown to the dogs(a dragon in this case) by her villagers if i'm not mistaken. Louhi's self explanatory.
The yearning feeling of the center is a combination of her previous life(which I won't go too much indepth) along with Illya's experience in her stay with Jubstacheit(what a complicated ass name) before the 5th HGW.
I would appreciate the Power Stones, but it's just something that I like.
It just gives me the feeling of like leveling up.