At the very top of the Tower of Babel, where the sky met the cold, white marble, lay the chamber of the Goddess Freya. But what dominated that space was not its magnificence or its regal design, but the heart-rending sound emanating from its center.
Freya was crying. Not with a suppressed sob or a muffled wail, but with a cry of pain that echoed off the walls, as if her very divinity were breaking with every exhalation. Her tears flowed endlessly, sliding down her cheeks and dampening the fine fabric of her dress. There was no trace of the haughty, seductive, and untouchable woman the others knew; now she was only a broken woman, a soul who had lost what she valued most.
She curled up on the edge of her bed, trembling, her hands covering her face. In her mind, a single thought spun over and over, like a knife that cut deeper with each repetition: she had lost him. Bell Cranel, her Odr, her light, the only Soul who had ever fallen to her Charm, the only one who remained pure and untouched even in her presence. And now, after everything she had done, after everything she had confessed, he had rejected her.
"I messed up…I messed up everything…" she mumbled between sobs, her voice cracking to the point of being almost unrecognizable.
What tormented her most was the bitter certainty that her tragedy was self-inflicted. She had always believed her collection of souls was a glorious thing: gathering shining beings and making them her own, part of her family. And yet, over the years, she had noticed a cruel pattern. Those Souls that so fascinated her, those singular lights, lost their colors as soon as they came under her sway. They were no longer special, no longer unique; their devotion to her consumed them, erasing what made them shine. She was the cause. She extinguished them.
She had thought it would be different with Bell. He was her Odr, her destiny, the only one who didn't yield to her beauty or lose his light in her presence. She believed that with him, she had broken that cursed cycle. But even that hope now seemed broken, twisted, tainted by her own actions. Yes, Bell hadn't lost his brilliance...but she had destroyed what united them. She had poisoned him with her decisions, with her obsession, with her violence.
Her tears increased, her shoulders shook in heartbreaking sobs. The goddess who had been feared and revered by all, who dominated men's hearts with a mere glance, was now sinking into bottomless misery.
In the dimness of the room, in a quiet corner, Ottar stood. The Boaz, the one who never allowed himself to show emotion, clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles cracked. His jaw was tense, his fangs gnashed. Seeing his goddess in that state ignited a fury that threatened to boil over. To him, Freya was everything, the reason for his existence, and seeing her like that—broken, crying, suffering—was unbearable.
His thoughts focused on a single culprit: Bell Cranel.
Ottar couldn't ignore the image forming in his mind: that of the young adventurer who had brought this state upon his Goddess. His muscles burned with the desire to confront him, to make him pay with physical pain for every tear Freya shed. He imagined himself holding him by the neck, throwing him to the ground, forcing him to understand what it meant to break the heart of a goddess. And although his warrior instinct urged him to kill him, Ottar stifled him with the iron discipline that always characterized him. He wouldn't kill him. He couldn't. Because if he did, he knew Freya's pain would be even greater.
Still, the idea of "talking" to Bell—talking with his fists—repeated in his mind like a mantra. It might not solve anything, but at least it would ease some of the helplessness that consumed him.
Outside the door, in the silent hallway, Allen Fromel also heard the cries of his goddess. The black-clad Adventurer's face was hardened, his teeth clenched. His rage was different from Ottar's: rawer, more visceral, more sadistic. For him, the sight of Freya's broken body wasn't an unbearable weight on his chest, but a spark that ignited a burning hatred for Bell Cranel.
There were no restraining arguments or careful plans in his mind. There was only one absolute truth: Bell Cranel MUST DIE.
Allen didn't think about the consequences, nor the pain it might cause his Goddess. For him, Lady Freya would recover sooner or later, she would overcome that wound as she had overcome so many others. But in the meantime, the existence of that child was an affront, a living reminder of the rejection, the pain, the emptiness that now consumed his lady. It was intolerable.
He imagined the boy's blood staining his hands, the desperate look on his face as life drained from his eyes. He saw himself piercing his body with the spear, listening to his last breath. And every time he imagined it, a cruel smile appeared on his lips, a smile that contained all the darkness within him.
Inside the room, Freya sank back onto her pillow. Her cries filled the air, muffled as they were by the pillow, echoing off the walls and seeping through the doors, as if she wanted to drag all those who served her into her same despair.
"It's me…it's always me…" she moaned, her eyes red and her voice broken.
Her words were an echo of her condemnation, a whip against her own soul. And while Ottar silently contained his rage and Allen fueled his hatred with every passing second, the most beautiful Goddess of Orario was consumed by a storm of tears, convinced that she had lost the only thing that gave meaning to her eternity.
…
The atmosphere inside the Takemikazuchi Familia's home had always been more orderly than in most homes in Orario. The arrangement of the tatami mats, the neatness of the tables, even the way the food was served conveyed discipline, as if life there was governed by a rhythm that everyone accepted without question. For Bell, however, none of this was the cause of his discomfort. What kept him uneasy was an insistent gaze, both warm and embarrassed: Haruhime's.
She sat across from him, her hands clasped in her lap, gently squeezing the fabric of her kimono, and every so often her eyes met Bell's. They lasted barely a second before they both looked away as if they'd touched something forbidden. Bell tried to focus on the plate in front of him, but he found it impossible to ignore the way Haruhime blushed every time their gazes met, and it disarmed him.
What surprised him most wasn't the tenderness of that gesture the night before, but 'who' had comforted him. He hadn't expected that kind of intimacy from Haruhime, not from her. If he thought about it honestly, he had believed something like this would come first from his Goddess... or even Freya. The thought escaped him unintentionally, and as soon as he realized it, he forced himself to push it away with a lump in his throat. He didn't want to remember that part, didn't want to give that voice space in his mind. But for that very reason, every time the memory struck him, it left him reeling.
It hadn't been easy for Haruhime either. Her face betrayed the storm of emotions she was carrying within her. As much as she deeply loved Bell-sama, she would never have imagined herself taking the initiative in something so intimate. She, who had never dared to approach a man outside her own family like that, had suddenly done so with him. And now shame gnawed at her, because what troubled her most was that she didn't regret having done it.
The atmosphere, of course, soon caught the attention of others.
"Well, well…" Lena murmured with a mischievous smile, leaning forward a little. "What's with the look on your face, you pair of lovebirds?"
The comment was light enough not to break the harmony, but loaded with mischief enough to make Bell and Haruhime blush even more.
"Lena-san!" Haruhime clenched her hands in her lap, lowering her head immediately, as if she wanted to hide between the sleeves of her kimono.
Bell tried to say something, anything to defuse the situation, but the words caught in his throat.
Chigusa, watching from the sidelines, couldn't contain a brief, stifled laugh behind her hand. Asuka, for her part, let out a short, more open laugh, enjoying the spectacle the two were unwittingly putting on.
"Don't be cruel to them," Mikoto chimed in calmly, though even she was sporting a secret smile. "They're just…embarrassed, that's all."
"That doesn't mean they don't look cute together," Lena replied, shrugging innocently.
The taunt was mild, not at all hurtful, but enough to make Bell feel the heat rise up the back of his neck until his ears turned red. He swallowed, trying to convince himself not to overreact, but the awkward silence that followed weighed on him more than any words.
The laughter faded, and the conversation among the others continued in various directions. Yet Bell could no longer hear anything clearly.
The atmosphere became strange to him. It wasn't hostile or heavy; everyone seemed relaxed and at ease. But precisely because of that, because everyone was so calm while he felt like a bundle of nerves, he began to perceive every detail as if it were drowning him. The tapping of chopsticks against plates, the voices rising and falling with laughter, the warmth of the light coming through the windows. All of this mingled with the burning sensation of Haruhime's eyes, which, although they now avoided looking at him, were still present in his immediate memory.
Bell took a deep breath, but his mind couldn't find peace. And in that search for calm, his thoughts unwittingly wandered.
Suddenly, he wasn't seeing Haruhime, but Syr, with that smile that had always seemed so pure, so close. Then the image abruptly changed: the alley, Freya's words, her voice thick with desire and control. Confusion and betrayal hit him again like an ice-cold current running through his chest.
He blinked, trying to push the vision away, but the more he tried, the sharper the memory became. And with it, the same question pounding in his head: Why did it have to be like this?
The murmur from the table surrounded him, but to Bell it became a distant echo, each laugh and each word distorting into mockery. A familiar sensation gripped him: the suffocation, the weight in his chest, the inability to escape his own thoughts.
He couldn't allow himself to be seen like this. Not in front of Haruhime, not in front of the Takemikazuchi Familia, not in front of Hestia, his Goddess. With an awkward movement, he placed his chopsticks on his plate and forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I'm sorry…" he said in a low voice, barely audible over the murmur of the conversation. Everyone looked at him, surprised by the interruption. "I think I need…to get some air."
He stood slowly, bowing his head politely, and headed toward the exit without waiting for a reply. His footsteps echoed softly on the wooden floor, each one marked by the urgency to get away.
The hallway greeted him with silence. Gone were the voices, laughter, and stares; ahead, only the stillness of the place. Bell leaned his back against the nearest wall and breathed deeply, as if he'd just emerged from a narrow tunnel. He closed his eyes, but the darkness only made the memory of that alley more vivid.
Bell walked aimlessly down the hallway until a faint buzzing sound pierced his head. It wasn't a pain, more like an insistent echo, a vibration that seeped into his jumbled thoughts. He put a hand to his temple, closing his eyes. For a moment, he thought it was simple dizziness, a consequence of forcing himself to suppress what he felt... but soon he recognized that pulse.
It was Artemis.
His eyes shot open and he turned to the room where he had left the Artemis Spear. The door was ajar, and a faint glow escaped from within, as if the moon itself had crept through the wood. Bell's heart fluttered; he didn't hesitate to push the door and enter.
There, leaning against the wall, the spear waited for him. Bell approached slowly and reached out to take it. As soon as his fingers touched the shaft, the murmuring in his head became clear.
"Orion…"
Artemis's voice echoed, soft and close, but with a tone that carried a certain melancholy. He tightened his grip on the spear and raised it, holding it before him.
"I sensed your agitation," the Goddess continued. "I sensed you were…unwell. So I thought I'd try to talk to you."
The tone was kind, delicate, but it couldn't hide a slight rebuke hidden between the words. "I was hoping this time...at least this time, you'd listen to me."
Bell squeezed his eyes shut. The memory of other times he'd ignored that voice—whether out of pride, fear, or because he wasn't in the right state of mind—weighed on him like stones. He felt a lump form in his throat.
All he could do was lower his head a little and whisper:
"Sorry…Artemis."
The word escaped, laden with guilt, with the weight of all the times he had silenced her without even giving her a chance to be by his side.
The Spear responded with a faint glow, like a pulse in time with his own heart. Bell let out a long sigh, one of those that seemed to carry the tension from his entire body with it. The sound filled the room in a silence that wasn't uncomfortable, but almost liberating.
Finally, Artemis's voice resonated again, calm and sincere:
"It's okay, Orion. You don't have to apologize. I'm glad…I'm glad you decided to listen to me this time."
Bell looked up slightly, pressing his lips together. There was something about the way she said it that made him feel lighter, even though the heaviness in his chest was still there.
A brief silence passed, this time comfortable, as if they both needed that space to accommodate what was coming next. And it was Artemis who broke it, with a question that didn't sound judgmental or pressuring, but rather genuinely curious:
"Tell me…what exactly are you feeling?"
Bell swallowed. The question seemed simple, but as soon as he tried to put it into words, he felt something inside him tear apart. He looked down at the floor, as if speaking directly was impossible.
"I feel…" he began, but his voice trembled. He had to stop, take a breath, and start again, this time more quietly. "I feel betrayed. But most of all…I feel disappointed in her."
Silence returned, and Bell clenched his fists around the Spear's shaft.
"She said she loved me. She said it over and over again… and yet she still did things behind my back, things she knew I would never approve of. Things that… that go against everything I believe in."
Each word stuck in his throat like a thorn, but he needed to get them out. Artemis didn't interrupt him; she remained silent, present, holding him with the calm that emanated from her voice.
Bell sighed, a long, broken sigh. The room seemed narrower with each memory that returned to him.
"I don't know what to think," he murmured. "Every time I try to reflect on what happened, every time I want to analyze it… I end up back in the same place. In that moment with Freya. Seeing her face, hearing her voice. Watching her cry as she told me she was doing it all for me."
He squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could forcefully erase the image, but it only made it clearer.
"It haunts me," he confessed, his voice breaking. "And then I wonder…could I have done something differently? Could I have prevented it? Could I have done something to stop it before it got to that point?"
This time, Artemis did intervene. Her voice was firm, though it maintained the gentleness she used to avoid hurting him:
"Do you really think it was your fault? Don't you think she simply chose that path on her own?"
Bell opened his eyes in surprise. The reproach wasn't harsh; it was an attempt to lighten his load, to break the invisible chain that held him to the guilt that wasn't his.
But Bell hesitated. The thought had been with him for so long that he had almost accepted it as an inevitable truth.
Artemis continued, more slowly, as if she were careful with each word:
"I wish I could understand what you feel, Orion… I really do. But I can only imagine. I've never experienced anything like this. I've never had to face betrayal from someone who claimed to love me."
There was a brief silence. Bell involuntarily looked up at the gleam of the Spear, as if searching for a face he could see within it.
"But I want to understand it," the Goddess added, with crystalline sincerity. "I want to understand it so I can help you."
Bell's throat tightened for a moment, then he let out a deeper sigh than the last. One that seemed to drag gratitude, exhaustion, and pain together.
"…Thank you, Artemis."
His voice was barely a thread, but it carried an honesty that he rarely let out.
The Moon Goddess didn't respond immediately, and that pause was enough for Bell to sink back into his own thoughts. His head wouldn't shut up. Every image, every word from Freya, every broken promise returned again and again, like echoes in a cavern.
Finally, he put a hand to his face, covering his eyes, and muttered:
"I don't know what to do…I really don't know what to do."
The confession floated in the air, raw, naked. It wasn't a scream or a sob, but it conveyed the same desperation.
Artemis's voice came after a brief silence, soft, almost like a whisper caressing the air.
"You don't have to decide now."
The young man barely raised his head, as if those words had stopped him in his tracks.
"Not now," she repeated. "First of all…you have to clear your head. Don't make decisions with your heart full of storms. Breathe, Orion. Give yourself that time."
Bell remained silent, his chest still heaving. He gripped the Spear tightly and lowered his head, letting another tear escape. This time he didn't try to hide it.
The room was enveloped in that stillness, the glimmer of the spear the only thing illuminating the gloom. Bell had no answers, but for the first time, the burden felt a little more shared.
For a long moment, silence reigned in the room, only broken by the faint hum of the Artemis Spear and the steady rhythm of Bell's breathing.
The air smelled of old wood and polished metal, and in that mixture of calm and heaviness, something inside him seemed to come together. Not completely, but enough for the confusion to cease being a knot and transform into a direction.
Bell let out a last, long, deep breath and slowly raised his head. His eyes still held the gleam of fatigue, but also a new fire burning behind them.
Carefully, he straightened the Spear and held it at his side. The blue gleam of the weapon reflected a serene, almost determined expression on his face.
"Thank you, Artemis…" he murmured softly.
The Spear responded with a faint flicker of light, soft, as if dismissing him.
Bell nodded, more to himself than to the Moon Goddess. He ran a hand over his face, erasing the traces of fatigue, and took a deep breath. Then he walked over to where his blade, the Hestia Sword had laid, picked it up, and strapped it to his waist.
It had been a while since he'd been down to the Dungeon. Since everything happened, he'd kept his distance, trying not to think. But that, precisely, was what wore him down the most.
Combat had always been his way of ordering chaos.
Of understanding the world.
To remember who he was.
"If I can't think straight…" he muttered with a tired smile, "then I'll fight until I do."
He raised the Artemis Spear once more, feeling the familiar weight in his hands.
It was time to move.
He turned toward the door and took a determined step, but before he could reach it, a voice echoed behind him:
"Where do you think you're going, Bell-kun?"
Bell stopped dead in his tracks.
'I'd recognize that voice anywhere.'
He turned slowly, and there she was.
Hestia stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression serious, the likes of which she didn't often display. Her gaze examined him carefully, not with anger, but with that mixture of concern and determination she used when she knew Bell was about to do something impulsive.
"I'm going to the Dungeon."
His answer was short and direct. He didn't try to hide it.
Hestia raised an eyebrow. "To the Dungeon? Now?"
Bell lowered his gaze for a second, but his tone remained firm. "Yeah. I haven't been in a few days, and… I need to get moving."
The Goddess of Hearth took a few steps toward him, the echo of her feet resonating on the wooden floor. Her expression didn't change.
"Do you really think it's time to go?"
Bell didn't respond immediately. His fingers gripped the Artemis Spear tightly. He wanted to say 'yes', that it was just what he needed, but the way she was looking at him made him hesitate.
Hestia sighed softly. "I've noticed you've been feeling strange ever since we got here. From the moment you sat down at that table, it felt like you were in another world. What's wrong, Bell?"
The young Adventurer looked up, meeting her gaze. There was a moment of hesitation, a silent battle between the desire to speak and the need to remain silent. Finally, he lowered his gaze and exhaled slowly.
"I'd like to tell you," he admitted. "But I don't want to right now. I can't."
He turned a little, intending to leave, but added in a softer tone:
"I'll tell you later, Goddess, I promise. Just…I need to do this first."
Hestia watched him silently for a few seconds. Her expression softened, though there was still some sadness in her eyes.
"You don't have to carry everything alone."
That sentence fell like a light but accurate blow. Bell stopped.
There was a brief silence before he turned his face slightly, showing a weak smile, barely a reflection of what he used to be.
"I know…" he said in a small voice. "But sometimes…it's hard to remember that."
Hestia let out a resigned sigh. She couldn't blame him. She knew better than anyone of that impulse, the need to carry the weight of the entire world on her shoulders.
She brought a hand to her face, rubbing her forehead tiredly. "You're impossible, Bell."
Then she lowered her hand and looked at him again, this time with a slight but determined smile.
"I'm not going to forbid you from going."
Bell blinked, surprised. "Huh?"
"Yes, you heard right." The Goddess crossed her arms. "I'm not going to stop you. If you want to go, you'll go… but you won't be doing it alone."
"That?"
"Exactly that."
Hestia turned toward the hallway and, in a firm voice, called:
"Mikoto! Lena! Haruhime! Come here for a moment!"
Bell looked at her confused, still not understanding what she was planning.
In a matter of seconds, the three of them appeared from the side corridor. Mikoto with her usual serenity, Lena with a face that seemed like something funny was about to happen, and Haruhime—still slightly blushing—looking at her Goddess in surprise.
"Yes, Hestia-sama?" Mikoto asked.
"We have an Express Expedition," Hestia announced with a half smile. "Courtesy of our dear Captain."
Bell's face could be read like a poem. "Huh??"
Lena giggled at her reaction. "So you couldn't resist in the end, Bell-chan?"
"I didn't…this wasn't what—" he tried to say, but Hestia raised a hand to cut him off.
"I've already decided, Bell-kun. And don't look at me like that. If you want to go to the Dungeon, you're doing it as a member of our Familia, not as someone trying to run away from his problems."
Bell opened his mouth, ready to protest, but the words didn't come out. Partly because he knew arguing with her was pointless, and partly because, deep down, he was grateful not to have to be alone.
Mikoto nodded serenely. "It will be good to move and fight together again."
Lena stretched out her arms, smiling. "I guess I was craving a little action."
Haruhime, more shy, lowered her gaze and murmured: "If Bell-sama goes…then I will go too."
Bell sighed, finally giving up. He scratched the back of his neck, unable to suppress a tired but genuine smile.
"Okay…but I don't want all of you to push yourselves too hard."
Hestia looked at him with a mixture of pride and affection. "Leave that to us. The important thing is that you don't get lost in your thoughts down there again."
Bell nodded, holding the Spear firmly. The determination in his gaze mingled with a distinct gleam, one that had been dull for days.
The air in the room changed. It was no longer the weight of guilt or the echo of disappointment that drove him on. It was something purer: the need to move forward, to find meaning again.
As the others prepared, Bell took one last look at the Artemis Spear.
"Come on, Artemis…" he murmured. "Let's have a little adventure."
The Spear responded with a faint flash, as if the Moon Goddess was smiling from the other side.
And with that, Bell Cranel stepped out once more into the world that had forged him, not as a fugitive from his thoughts, but as an Adventurer determined to face them head on.
…
Finn's office, as always, was tidy to the point of seeming like a reflection of his mind. Every document was perfectly aligned, every map rolled up in its place, and the pens arranged by size and color. Or at least it had been before Loki decided to "use" the room. Now, the floor was littered with three empty wine bottles, a misplaced cushion, and the red-haired goddess was leaning back on the desk with her head in her arms, moaning as if the world was about to end.
"My head hurts, my soul hurts, and my life hurts…" Loki muttered, stretching out a hand in the direction of Riveria, who looked at her with a gesture so severe it could have made a Dragon retreat.
"If you stopped drinking during important meetings, maybe you could think clearly," the Elf replied, crossing her arms.
Loki raised her head slightly, her eyes tired but her smile cheeky. "You think that the wine is the problem, Rivie? No. The problem is that 'that woman' went crazy."
Finn, sitting across the desk—his own desk—sighed as he massaged the bridge of his nose. "It's confirmed, then. Freya killed both Ishtar…and Apollo."
The silence that followed was heavy. Even Gareth frowned and crossed his arms over his chest as if holding back a curse.
"That explains why the Guild is in chaos," the dwarf growled.
"And the worst part," Finn added, his expression serious, "is that both deaths point directly back to her. The three surviving members of the Ishtar Familia confirmed it. And with Apollo, the pattern was exactly the same. No one dares say it out loud, but…"
"Everyone knows it," Riveria completed, closing her eyes.
Loki let out a long sigh, dragging her chair back and slumping so she was staring at the ceiling. "Do you know what this means, Finnie? That we're screwed. But screwed with a capital F."
Ais, who had remained silent in a corner until now, watched the scene with her characteristic golden eyes, empty but alert. She shouldn't have been there—Finn had told her so more than once—but Loki had insisted. Because if she was going to let off steam, she wanted "her little girl" close by.
"Loki," Finn said patiently, "will you stop using my office for drama and start thinking about a strategy?"
"I'm thinking!" Loki replied, pointing at him with a trembling finger. "I'm thinking that if that woman finds out the Loki family knows something, she might come here and silence us."
"Freya wouldn't attack without reason," Riveria commented, though her voice sounded more like desire than conviction. "She…isn't careless."
"Careless? She killed two Gods!" Loki exclaimed, leaping up and throwing the papers off his desk. "Two! Do you know what that means? The crazy woman lost control!"
Finn gently banged the table, not in anger, but to regain everyone's attention. "Loki, please understand this. We can't just ignore this. The Guild is already pushing for answers, and if word gets out that we know, all eyes will be on us."
Gareth nodded, looking at the map of Orario hanging on the wall. "The Freya Familia controls the city. If a Familia War were to break out…"
"We wouldn't win," Riveria said without hesitation.
Loki turned slowly to her, with a bitter smile. "Exactly. If by some miracle we defeat Ottar, which neither you nor I believe we can do without losing half our Familia, we would be so devastated that any lesser family could devour us afterward. It would literally be suicide."
Ais looked up. "What if they try to talk to her?"
The question was innocent, almost naive, but everyone turned to look at her. Loki was the first to react, walking up to the blonde and placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Oh, Ais-chan, you're adorable," he said with a crooked smile. "But talking to Freya is like playing with a volcano. You can get close… and at best, you get burned a little. At worst, you disappear."
"I could try," Ais insisted, though her tone wasn't challenging, but sincere.
Finn looked at her with a genuinely worried expression. "No. There's no direct contact with Freya. Not you, not any of us. She doesn't act like the other Deities. If we visit her, she'll interpret any gesture as either a threat or an opportunity. And in both cases, we'll lose."
Loki's head fell back against the desk with a thud, causing the papers to rattle and Finn to jump. The Goddess of Mischief let out a muffled moan, a mixture of frustration and exhaustion.
"Ugh… why can't I have a single damn advantage against that woman?!" She complained, banging the table again. "Freya does whatever she wants, kills Gods, walks around Orario, and we all have to pretend nothing's happening or she'll squash us like cockroaches!"
Finn laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them, with almost divine patience. "We're working with limited information, Loki. We can't—"
"Limited information! Exactly!" Loki interrupted, raising her finger as if she'd just discovered the truth of the universe. "That's what I need: information. Something, anything, to use against Freya. A weak spot, a crack, a rumor, a… Aha!"
Her face suddenly changed. Her eyes lit up, and the smile that crossed her face was the same one Finn knew all too well: the smile Loki wore when she's about to do something dangerous, chaotic…and probably clever.
"I know," she said slowly, as if savoring every word. "That boy."
Gareth raised an eyebrow. "What boy?"
"The boy who was with Freya at Apollo's Banquet," Loki replied, slapping the table. "The white-haired boy. Bell Cranel, wasn't he? That rabbit! He was with her, clearly has some connection, and not only that, the Goddess of Beauty doesn't just show up with just anyone. If he knows anything about what she's up to, he could give us just the missing piece."
Finn frowned. "Are you suggesting…?"
"Suggesting what, Finnie?" Loki asked with a mischievous girlish grin.
The Pallum crossed his arms. "If you think what I think you think, this could be interpreted as a hostile act toward the Hestia Familia or Freya. We can't just 'do something' with the boy."
Loki feigned offense, clasping a hand to her chest. "Me? Do something wrong? Never! No, no, no! We just need to talk to him. Get information, talk, ask him questions…you know, diplomatic stuff."
Gareth gave a dry laugh. "Diplomatic boots, my dear. That kid looks like the guy whose face will turn red if you ask him what he had for breakfast."
"Exactly!" Loki said, snapping her fingers and pointing at the Dwarf. "That's why it's perfect. It's transparent. With a little pressure, he'll spill out everything he knows."
Finn exhaled, seeing the chaos coming. "I can't approve an operation like this without a good reason."
"A good reason? Finnie, Freya killed two Gods. If that boy can give us a clue as to why, that's already a good reason."
Before Finn could respond, a soft but determined voice spoke for the first time from the corner of the room.
"I'll go as well."
Everyone turned to Ais, who had been listening silently until then. Loki's gaze lit up.
"My little Ais-chan! I knew I could count on you!"
Ais nodded seriously, although her face remained as expressionless as ever.
Riveria, who had remained silent for several minutes, immediately intervened. "No. There's no need to involve Ais in this. If Freya is after the boy, getting close could be dangerous. Besides, Loki, this is just a hunch."
"Ahhh, but a hunch of mine is worth three guild reports," Loki said, waving his hand dismissively. Then he turned to Ais. "Although… you're right about one thing, Ais-chan. If anyone can get close without raising suspicion, it's you."
Finn sighed. "I don't agree. And I'm not sending Ais without backup."
"Oh, Finnie, please!" Loki replied, leaning toward him with a syrupy smile. "What could go wrong? It's just a friendly chat. A nice conversation between Adventurers."
Ais, who had already made her decision, calmly added, "I'll go with Riveria."
Riveria nearly choked on air. "What?"
Ais stared at her, with the same determination she usually had in combat. "Riveria has experience talking to other Adventurers. And although she was a little…harsh with Bell at first, I think they'd get along well if they spent more time together."
The Elf blinked, completely bewildered. "Pardon?"
Loki, enchanted by the scene, raised her hands to her face, feigning emotion. "Oh, Ais-chan, you're gonna make me cry! What a perfect plan!"
"I didn't agree to this," Riveria tried to say, but Ais had already grabbed her wrist.
"Come on," the blonde said simply, dragging her toward the door.
"No, wait! This is a misunderstanding!" The Elf exclaimed, looking to Finn and Gareth for support, but neither of them made an attempt to stop them.
Finn simply covered his face with his hand, resigned. "Loki, this is going to get out of hand."
"This is going to get out of hand," Loki corrected with a smile. "But don't worry, Finnie. If anyone can get information out without ruining everything, it's our dear Ais…and Mama Riveria."
"Don't call me that!" Riveria shouted from the hallway as the door slammed shut.
Loki let out a long, genuine laugh. "Heh…at least we have some volunteers now."
Gareth crossed his arms and shook his head. "This can't end well."
Finn looked at him seriously. "No, it won't. But maybe…he'll give us the answers we need."
Loki leaned back in her chair again, looking out the window at the Tower of Babel rising in the distance.