The air in Freya's opulent palace, usually thick with the scent of roses and whispered devotion, hung heavy with a suffocating tension Ottar had never felt before.
As the undisputed pinnacle of mortal strength, one of only two Level 7 adventurers in the world, Ottar understood pressure.
He thrived under the weight of expectation, channeling it into the relentless honing of his blade in the Dungeon's deepest hells.
Yet, the pressure now was different. It wasn't the crushing force of a Deep Floor boss; it was the brittle, terrifying silence of a breaking heart – his Goddess's heart.
Lately, Lady Freya had been radiant. Brighter than the sun reflecting off Orario's spires. Happier than he'd ever seen her. The hunt for her Odr was finally bearing fruit.
Bell Cranel's soul, that pure, blazing white flame, had captivated her utterly. But beneath Ottar's unwavering loyalty, a sliver of doubt, cold and sharp, had taken root.
Was the boy worthy?
Not of Freya's power, but of the all-consuming, divine love she now poured upon him? Could that fragile vessel hold such an ocean without shattering?
His Goddess's will be law. When she spoke of "blights" darkening her Odr's path, Ottar acted. The Soma Familia supporter, Lili, a known thief and poison in Orario's underbelly, was a shadow over Bell's light.
Removing her influence won't suffice, forcing Bell to confront the city's ugliness, was deemed unnecessary.
Hence, the Minotaur. Not a mindless beast, but one Ottar had painstakingly trained in the lower labyrinth, forcing instinct into crude swordsmanship, a brutal lesson in the darkness Bell would need to embrace to survive.
A harsh method, but Ottar was no stranger to harshness. Survival often demanded it. He wondered only if the boy understood the necessity, if he could accept the blood on his hands, metaphorical or otherwise, to walk in Lady Freya's light.
His thoughts turned to Allen Fromel. He needed to find the swift spearman, to coordinate the next step, to ensure the stage was set perfectly for Freya's grand design. But before he could move, disaster struck.
A sound unlike any he'd ever heard echoed through the gilded halls – raw, wrenching sobs. Lady Freya, his radiant Goddess, stumbled through the grand entrance, tears streaming down her face, her usually immaculate silver hair disheveled, her expression one of shattered devastation.
She didn't acknowledge anyone, didn't speak, merely fled towards her private chambers like a wounded animal seeking refuge.
Ottar's blood ran cold. Worry, a foreign sensation, twisted in his gut, swiftly followed by a surge of protective fury.
He moved, a silent shadow keeping pace behind her, his immense presence radiating a warning that kept the gathering Familia members at bay.
The palace erupted into panicked chaos.
Helun wrung her hands, her face pale. Horn fluttered nervously, distracted mid-song. Heith clutching her staff in worry.
The younger, hot-blooded members – Hedin's usual calm replaced by cold fury, the Gulliver brothers cracking their knuckles, Allen already reaching for his spear – were vibrating with outrage.
"Who DARES?!" one roared. "We'll tear them apart! Bring me their head!" another bellowed.
Ottar didn't hesitate. A single, controlled swing of his massive sword, not even drawn fully, unleashed a concussive wave of pure force.
It slammed into the shouting members, not cutting, but blowing them off their feet, sending them crashing into distant pillars and tapestries like discarded toys.
The sudden silence was deafening. Ottar's voice, low and gravelly, cut through it. "Silence." The single word carried the weight of his level, his authority, and a terrifying promise of annihilation. "No one defiles the sanctity of the Goddess's will. Or her grief."
He turned and strode towards Lady Freya's private sanctum. The top executives – Hogni with his usual stoic mask slightly cracked, Hedin radiating icy calculation, the Gulliver twins exchanging grim looks, Allen vibrating with barely contained rage – fell in behind him, a procession of dread.
They entered the chamber to find Freya not on her throne, but curled on a window seat. She had shed her dress from the Hostess and her disguise, wearing only a simple, almost frail-looking negligee. She stared out at the twilight city, not seeing its glittering lights, her eyes distant, lost in an abyss of pain.
The vibrant, commanding Goddess was gone, replaced by a hollow figure radiating profound despair. She offered no orders, no explanations, only silence and tears.
Ottar after clutching his sword for some time knelt instantly, his forehead almost touching the cool marble floor. The others followed suit, forming a line of supplication before their broken deity.
The silence stretched, thick and unbearable. They waited, breath held, for a word, a command, a flicker of the indomitable spirit they served. Nothing came.
Every minute passes was agonizing as Balor trying to tear them with the eye melting their nerves and flesh.
Salvation arrived in the form of heavy footsteps.
Mia Grand, proprietress of the Hostess of Fertility, Freya's only true confidante, barged in, her face etched with concern. She took one look at the kneeling executives and the desolate Goddess and pointed a thick finger towards the door. "Out. All of you. Now."
No one argued. Not even Ottar. They filed out, the heavy doors closing behind them, leaving Mia alone with Freya. Ottar remained closest to the door, a silent sentinel.
As a Level 7, his senses were preternaturally sharp. He focused, filtering out the distant sounds of the still-chaotic palace, honing in on the low murmurs within the chamber.
He heard Mia's gruff but gentle voice, Freya's broken sobs, fragmented words: "...Syr... he saw... he knew... rejected me... my Charm..."
Ottar's breath hitched. Rejected? The concept was alien. Lady Freya's Charm was absolute, an irresistible force woven into her very being.
Gods in Tenkai coveted it; mortals were enslaved by it. It was an unassailable truth of existence.
Then, Allen Fromel, standing nearby, also caught the crucial phrase a name he wanted to hear. His eyes, already burning with fury, narrowed. He subtly shifted, a predator scenting prey.
Hedin, ever observant, gave a minute nod. Allen melted into the shadows of the corridor, his intent clear: find the source of this pain and erase it. Ottar saw it, understood the rage driving Allen, but inwardly sighed.
It was impulsive, reckless. He would likely need to intervene later, to clean up the mess Allen's wrath would inevitably create. But for now, his duty was here, guarding the door, waiting for his Goddess.
He focused back on the conversation within, straining to hear Mia's reassurances, Freya's fragmented grief. And then, Mia's voice, low and incredulous: "...so the boy... Bell Cranel... he just... ignored it? Your Charm? Entirely?"
Freya's answering whimper was confirmation enough.
The words struck Ottar like a physical blow. His massive frame, usually an immovable mountain, actually swayed slightly. His eyes, usually calm pools of amber, widened fractionally.
A man. A mortal. Ignoring Lady Freya's Charm. Not resisting through sheer will like Ottar himself could manage with monumental effort, but ignoring it. As if it simply didn't exist.
It was impossible. Unthinkable. It shattered a fundamental law of Ottar's world.
The strongest adventurer stood frozen outside his Goddess's door, the revelation echoing in the silent corridor, more terrifying than any Deep Floor horror.
The boy wasn't just an Odr. He was an anomaly. A paradox. And he had just broken the heart of the most powerful being Ottar knew.
The weight of the unknown settled upon Ottar's shoulders, heavier than any monster he'd ever slain. He waited, a statue of dread and loyalty, for the storm brewing within the chamber to break.
~ (Scene Change) ~
Freya remembered.
She remembered the Dawn. The first light spilling across the nascent realms. She remembered her own birth, not from chaos, but from the very concept of desire, of irresistible allure.
From that first moment, the gaze of Tenkai had been upon her – not curious, not admiring, but enslaved.
Gods of every domain, of every pantheon, powerful beings who shaped stars and commanded elements, fell before her like wheat before a scythe. Lovers who swore eternal oaths tore themselves apart, scrambling over each other to kneel at her feet, begging for a sliver of her attention.
Zeus, the King, casting aside Hera's fury for a chance. Indra, Lord of Storms, quieted in her presence. Enki, Enlil, Ra, Odin – titans of creation and wisdom – all reduced to simpering supplicants.
Their "love" was a reflex, a biological imperative triggered by her existence, as inevitable as gravity. It meant nothing.
The emptiness yawned. A chasm within her divine core. Was this love? This pathetic, involuntary adoration? This complete lack of challenge, of choice?
Driven by a perverse hope, she plunged into debauchery. Lavish, grotesque parties where divine ichor flowed like cheap wine.
Nights blending into days filled with flesh – male, female, mortal consorts summoned briefly before disintegrating under the weight of her presence.
She demanded stars ripped from their constellations, palaces built from solidified moonlight, jewels carved from the hearts of dying comets.
She received them all, instantly, without question. Possessions piled high, monuments to her absolute power to compel desire.
Yet the void only deepened. The jewels held no sparkle, the palaces felt like gilded cages, the stars were cold stones in her hands. The debauchery left only ash on her tongue.
No disgust, no revulsion, no rejection ever came. Only more desperate, hollow worship. Even her most vile acts, her casual cruelties, only seemed to intensify their pathetic devotion.
It was a love that required nothing of her, that saw nothing in her beyond the surface. A love that was no love at all.
She fled. Through mountain peaks that scraped the void, across galaxies swirling with nascent life, past realms untouched by divine hands.
She ran until her divine essence felt ragged, until the endless adoration became a scream in her silent mind. She collapsed, not in a celestial palace, but in a simple field of wildflowers on a forgotten world. Tears, real tears born of a loneliness no God should comprehend, fell onto the petals.
Eternal sleep, she thought, the despair a crushing weight. Oblivion. Anything but this.
Then came Idunn. Gentle, persistent Idunn, the keeper of youth, her voice a soft chime against Freya's silent storm. She spoke of a consort, an Odr.
Not a puppet, not a worshipper, but an equal. A partner whose soul would resonate with hers by choice, whose love would be freely given, strong enough to stand beside her, not grovel before her.
Freya, drowning in her hollow victory, barely heard. Idunn faded away, her hopeful words lost in the wind.
The concept, however, took root. A desperate, final gamble. She searched Tenkai anew, not for worship, but for that resonant soul.
She peered into the hearts of every God, every primordial being. Nothing. Only the same, suffocating, involuntary adoration. Her Odr was not among the eternal.
Whispers then, of the Genkai. The Lower World. Mortals. Fragile, fleeting sparks. Stories of monsters crawling from a great hole, devouring not just flesh, but souls.
Freya cared little for mortals or their struggles. Their lives were brief candles, easily snuffed. But the idea of a different realm, untouched by her automatic dominion… a place where a soul might exist that hadn't been pre-programmed to adore her… it sparked a desperate ember.
She watched as Ouranos, the First God, descended. Not for love, but for duty. To grant mortals Falna, weapons against the soul-devouring abominations. Others followed – Hephaestus for craft, Loki for chaos, countless others for boredom or curiosity. Freya descended for one reason only: her Odr. Her last hope.
Centuries passed in the mortal realm. Kings destroyed nations for her smile. Heroes cast aside honor, lovers betrayed vows, entire civilizations burned themselves to ashes in pyres of devotion meant for her.
Mortals proved no different than Gods. Their "love" was just as easily compelled, just as hollow, just as meaningless.
The faces changed, the scale was smaller, but the song remained the same: a monotonous drone of involuntary obsession. She wandered Genkai, a goddess walking among ants who instantly became besotted drones. The field of flowers, the crushing loneliness – it all returned.
Then, she found her.
Not in a palace, but in a noisy, smoke-filled tavern smelling of ale and roasted meat. Mia Grand. A mortal woman of formidable stature and even more formidable spirit.
Freya, draped in illusion as Syr, sought anonymity, a respite from the gaze. Mia offered no worship.
She offered a rolling pin aimed at her head for spilling ale, a scowl deeper than any Tartarus chasm, and a voice like grinding stones. "Watch it, girlie! Clean that up!"
The shock was… profound. Not anger, not indignation, but a spark of something utterly alien: recognition without submission. Mia saw Syr – clumsy, perhaps endearing, but ultimately just another barmaid who needed to learn the ropes.
Freya, the Goddess, was completely invisible behind the facade.
Slowly, carefully, Freya nurtured this connection. Syr became a fixture at the Hostess of Fertility. She endured Mia's gruff commands, her barked orders, her occasional (deserved) whacks with the ladle.
She witnessed Mia's fierce loyalty to her girls, her rough but genuine care, her terrifying protectiveness. Freya, who had commanded galaxies, found herself learning.
Learning to scrub floors without magic, to balance trays without divine grace, to navigate the messy, complicated web of human relationships under Mia's stern but oddly nurturing gaze.
Mia became… something. Not a worshipper. Not a subject. A friend? More. An anchor. A mother. The concept was bizarre, alien to a primordial Goddess.
Yet, Freya found herself helplessly falling into the role of the adopted daughter. Mia's fierce gaze, her exasperated sighs, her rare, gruff praises – they held a weight, a truth, that millennia of divine adoration never possessed. Mia saw Syr. Mia cared for Syr. Mia scolded Syr. It was real. It was terrifyingly, beautifully real.
Now.
That same fierce gaze was locked onto Freya, not Syr. The Goddess sat crumpled on her window seat, clad only in simple silk, her divine radiance dimmed to a guttering candle.
She doesn't know how long she was there but it must be enough for the sun to set.
Mia stood before her, arms crossed, her expression a tempest of anger, worry, and profound disappointment.
"...and you thought this was the way?" Mia's voice was low, dangerous, scraping the marble floor. "Terrorizing' a boy? Manipulation'? Using' that thrice-damned Charm like a club? After everything, Freya? After seeing' what real connection looks like? After knowin' what it feels like to be seen, truly seen, without all the glitter and compulsion?"
Freya flinched, wrapping her arms tighter around herself, unable to meet Mia's eyes. The Goddess within her railed at the audacity of this mortal woman.
Who was she to judge? Who was she to scold a primordial force? But the girl within Freya – the lonely, desperate entity seeking connection in that field of flowers – cowered.
This wasn't divine censure; this was a mother's fury at a daughter's profound betrayal of everything she'd been taught.
Mia stepped closer, her shadow falling over the shivering Goddess. "You found someone who looked back, Freya. Someone who saw you, not the Goddess, not the allure, but the spark underneath.
Someone who chose to be kind, to be brave, despite the world throwin' monsters and gods at 'im. And what did you do?" Mia's voice cracked, not with weakness, but with raw emotion.
"You tried to break him. To force him into your gilded cage. Because you were scared. Scared that without your Charm, without your power to make him adore you… you had nothin' to offer."
Freya's breath hitched. A fresh wave of tears, hot and shameful, spilled over. Mia saw. Mia always saw.
"You stupid, selfish girl," Mia whispered, the anger momentarily replaced by crushing sadness. She didn't kneel. She didn't offer platitudes. She simply stood there, a solid, unmovable pillar of mortal integrity in the face of divine despair. "After all this time... after pretending to be Syr... did you learn nothing' about what love really is?"
The question hung in the opulent silence of the chamber, echoing Freya's own ancient, unanswered lament.
The hollow Goddess stared at the woman who had become her unlikely mother, the truth of Mia's words cutting deeper than any divine weapon.
She had sought her Odr for eons, only to discover, too late, that the key wasn't finding the perfect soul, but becoming someone worthy of being truly seen.
And she feared, she had shattered the one fragile chance she'd been given.
~(Scene Change)~
Mia Grand scratched her head, the motion rough but thoughtful, like sandpaper on wood. The tension radiating off Freya was a physical thing, thick enough to choke on.
"Alright, spill it properly this time, Silver-Tongue," Mia grunted, dropping heavily into a plush chair opposite the distraught Goddess.
"What actually happened last night that got your divine knickers in such a twist? Made you lash out like a cornered viper?"
Freya flinched, pulling the thin silk of her negligee tighter around her shoulders. The vulnerability was stark, almost painful to see in the usually imperious Goddess.
After a long, hesitant pause, the words spilled out, raw and ragged. "He... Bell Cranell... he rejected me. My Charm. Completely. Utterly."
Her voice was barely a whisper, laced with disbelief. "It slid off him like water off a duck's back. Didn't affect him in the slightest."
Mia blinked. Then, a low, rumbling snort escaped her. She reached into the large satchel slung over her shoulder and pulled out a sturdy, unmarked bottle of deep red wine and two sturdy clay cups.
"Rejected your Charm, eh?" She poured a generous measure into both cups. "Sounds like a skill issue, Silver-Tongue. Maybe you're losin' your touch down here in the mortal muck."
Freya's head snapped up, silver eyes flashing with indignation. Divine aura flared instinctively, a sudden pressure that made the heavy velvet curtains stir and the crystal decanters on a nearby table chime faintly.
"Losing my touch?" Her voice regained some of its icy command. "It has never failed! Not on mortals, not on spirits, not on Gods in Tenkai! Zeus himself groveled! Odin sought my favor! They all fell!"
Mia, unfazed by the divine pressure wave, took a long, deliberate sip of her wine. She pointedly pushed the other cup towards Freya.
"Sounds like you're the one who doesn't understand what happened," she countered, her voice dry. "Your little party trick failed. Spectacularly. On a rookie adventurer.
And the boy ran. What you're doin' now? Sittin' here sulkin' and flarin' your aura? That's denial, plain and simple."
Freya deflated slightly, the aura receding as quickly as it flared. She reached for the wine cup, her hand trembling faintly.
"It... it was impossible," she murmured, staring into the dark liquid. "Utterly impossible for any mortal to resist. Unless..." She trailed off, a shiver running through her frame, genuine fright flickering in her eyes.
Mia paused, cup halfway to her lips. "Unless what? Spit it out."
Freya took a shaky breath. "Unless... it was because of the thing."
Mia lowered her cup. "Thing? What 'thing'?"
"I don't know!" Freya slammed her cup down, wine sloshing over the rim. She buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled.
"But there's something in his soul, Mia. Something... vast. Ancient. Dangerous. It looked back at me when I tried to See him properly. It frightened me." The last word was a terrified whisper.
Mia leaned forward, her gruff demeanor replaced by sharp focus. "You think this... thing... is what stopped your Charm? Blocked you?"
"Not only stopped it!" Freya looked up, her eyes wide with remembered shock. "He saw me, Mia! Through Syr! He saw Freya beneath the illusion! Utterly!"
Mia frowned. "A Skill? Something that sees through disguises? Divine-level Intuition?"
"Perhaps," Freya conceded, swirling the wine in her cup. "But whatever it is within him... it felt close to divine. Not divine itself, but... adjacent. Comparable in scale."
Mia grunted, taking another sip. "A Spirit, then? A powerful one? Only thing I know that could mimic divine power like that is an ancient Spirit bound by contract. But to pull off both? Resist your Charm and see through your disguise?" She shook her head. "That'd be one hell of a spirit."
Freya slumped back in her chair, the fight draining out of her again, replaced by utter bewilderment.
"What do I do, Mia? Never, in all my existence, has this happened. Rejected. Seen through. I'm Laughed at..." Her voice hitched.
Mia snorted, but this time it held a hint of exasperated pity.
"Isn't that what you wanted, Silver-Tongue? Deep down? Someone who didn't just fall at your feet? Someone who could actually stand beside you? Look you in the eye as an equal? Sounds like you found him, and it scared the divine spark right outta you."
Freya's eyes snapped open, locking onto Mia's. The words struck like a physical blow, echoing Idunn's long-ago counsel. An equal. An Odr. "Do... do you think...?" she breathed, hope warring with terror.
Mia shrugged massively. "Not for me to decide. I run a tavern, not an oracle. But if he is... your 'Odr'... then actin' like a spoiled brat whose favorite toy got broken ain't the way to win him."
Fresh tears welled in Freya's silver eyes. "How? How do I fix this? What if... what if he forgets Syr? What if he finds someone else? Someone... mortal?" The fear was palpable.
"First," Mia stated firmly, "you come clean. To him. As Freya. No more games, no more Syr. Show him the real you – the scared, messy, powerful Goddess who screwed up royally.
Hidin' behind illusions got you this mess."
Freya paled. "And if... if he rejects Freya? Utterly?"
Mia leveled a look at her. "Proposin' marriage already won't work, girl. You burned that bridge good and proper. Mend the friendship first, if you can.
Earn back his trust. Show him you're more than just the Charm and the schemes. I'll help with that. But," she jabbed a thick finger towards the door, "the little Boar and his hot-headed buddies? They stay out.
No threats, no intimidation. You go with me, or you don't go at all."
Freya took a deep, shuddering breath, the weight of Mia's words settling on her. It was terrifying. It meant vulnerability without her divine armor.
But the alternative – losing Bell forever to her own fear and pride – was worse.
She straightened her spine, a flicker of her old determination returning, tempered by newfound humility.
"Alright," she whispered. "Alright. But... first, I need advice. About... souls. About Odr. I need to speak to Idunn."
Mia raised an eyebrow. "The Golden Apple keeper? Heard she was your... complicated history."
Freya winced. "Idhunn was a Vrigin Goddess... yes. We butted heads. Immortal politics. Petty jealousies. And... Odin." A shadow crossed her face.
"He trapped me once, used Idunn... sacrificed her connection to me out of fear for my Charm.
Old wounds. Deep resentment." She sighed. "But... she knows souls. She understands the bond of Odr better than anyone. Even if it galls me... I need her counsel."
Mia nodded slowly. "Pride's a bitter drink, Silver-Tongue. Sometimes you gotta swallow it."
Freya managed a weak, watery smile. "Indeed." She took another fortifying sip of wine, then raised her voice, clear and regal once more, though still edged with emotion. "Ottar!"
The heavy chamber doors didn't just open; they exploded inwards. Not with violence, but with the sheer, comical momentum of several large bodies tumbling over each other in a desperate, eavesdropping heap.
Horn shrieked as she landed on top of a grunting Hedin. The Gulliver brothers, Allen and the other, were a tangled mess of limbs, Allen notably trussed up with what looked like curtain cords, a gag half-hanging from his mouth – clearly caught mid-sneak-away.
Hogni landed with a dignified oof, managing to look stoic even sprawled on the floor. Helun and Heith peeked out from behind the pile, eyes wide with fright and fascination.
Only Ottar remained upright, standing just inside the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of it, his expression carefully neutral, though a faint twitch near his eye betrayed his awareness of the absurdity behind him.
He gave a slight bow. "My Goddess?"
Freya stared. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. The sight of her most powerful, feared executives – including the lethally swift Allen Fromel, currently resembling a captured eel – piled on her floor in a ridiculous heap of failed espionage... it was too much.
A choked sound escaped her, then another. Suddenly, clear, genuine laughter, bright and unexpected, bubbled up from her chest, filling the tense room. It started as giggles, then grew into full-bodied laughter, tears of mirth mixing with the earlier tears of despair.
Mia Grand took a long, slow sip of her wine, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips as she surveyed the chaotic tableau. "See?" she rumbled, her voice warm with gruff affection. "Told ya. There are people who care. Even if they're idiots about showing' it." The laughter, Freya's and the nervous chuckles starting to rise from the pile on the floor, was the first real sound of healing in the opulent, grief-stricken chamber.
~ (Scene Change) ~
The rhythmic sizzle of frying potatoes was a dull metronome to Hestia's turbulent thoughts. Her hands moved automatically at the stall – scooping batter, dropping dollops into hot oil, turning them with practiced, if robotic, motions.
Jagamarukun. The cheerful little dough balls felt absurdly trivial against the storm inside her head.
Genkai. The word echoed like a bittersweet dream. She'd imagined grandeur – epic adventures shared with beloved children, mysteries unraveling, joyous celebrations. Instead?
Eviction.
Thrown out by her best friend, Hephaestus, after crashing on her divine couch for three measly months! Sure, she'd been lazy back then, just like she was sometimes now in Genkai, but she was trying! Trying to recruit, trying to change! The thought still stung.
Then came Orario. The "City of Heroes." Her first job? Blowing up a potato fryer on day one, earning a furious bonk on the head from the stall owner.
How dare she strike a Goddess of the Eternal Flame! Another bonk followed, harder. The lesson was brutal: "No work, no eat." Tears flowed that day, the harsh reality of mortal existence crashing down.
Hephaestus gave her the ruined church, but she scrubbed the filth, patched the holes, chased out the rats. That small, clean space was hers. A tiny victory she clung to.
Then, recruiting. The parade of leering eyes, the crude propositions disguised as interest. Fat old men, sneering ruffians, all seeing only her divine form, not her sacred heart! A Virgin Goddess yearning for true love, reduced to a target for mortal lust.
Each rejection chipped away at her hope. She used her divine intuition, searching, searching for that one pure soul. Disappointment piled high.
Was there no one worthy? She'd almost given up, almost returned to Tenkai in defeat.
Then… him. A flash of white hair in the twilight, eyes wide with vulnerability, searching for a home. Bell Cranel. Her first child.
Her familia. Her… hopeless, all-consuming love. And now, that precious love was threatened, stalked by a shadow so deep even her divine intuition failed! Freya's influence, a viper hidden beneath silk.
She couldn't use her Arcanum, bound by Ouranos's iron rules. Helpless. She'd thought she'd lose him, that he'd outgrow her meager Familia.
But he'd refused. His words, warm and firm: "You gave me a home. A family." Her heart swelled even as it ached.
Orario's promised grandeur felt like a gilded cage now. The "City of Heroes"? It felt like a pit where real monsters lurked in shadows, a dog-eat-dog hellhole slowly crushing her bright, hopeful child. The walls were closing in…
BONK!
"OW!" Hestia yelped, clutching her head, brought crashing back to the present.
"You're burning the potatoes, Little Goddess!" Eizel, the stall's formidable matron, scowled, pointing a wooden spatula at the smoking, blackened Jagamarukun in the oil.
Hestia yelped again, hastily scooping out the charred lumps. "S-Sorry, Eizel-san!" She dumped a fresh batch in, the oil hissing angrily.
Eizel sighed, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Honestly, if you weren't such a customer magnet with that divine beauty of yours, I'd have fired you ages ago." Her tone was gruff, but held a hint of weary fondness.
Hestia managed a weak chuckle. "Ah… well, you won't have to worry about that much longer, I suppose."
Silence fell, punctuated only by the sizzle of frying dough. Eizel studied Hestia, her sharp eyes missing nothing.
Finally, she spoke, her voice lower. "Leaving, are you?" She released a long breath.
"Surprised you lasted this long. Most newly descended gods I've seen wash out day one.
This city…" She gestured vaguely at the bustling, sun-drenched street.
"Orario. City of Heroes. Hope. Where Albert fought the Dragon. Shines bright, doesn't it?"
Her voice turned grim. "But scratch the gold paint, and you find the festering wounds. A thousand years of battles, greed, betrayal. It seeps into the stones."
Hestia frowned, packing an order for a waiting customer. "Why tell me this? Everyone knows Orario's history of light and darkness."
BONK! Another light tap with the spatula.
"The point, Little Goddess," Eizel said, ignoring Hestia's indignant "Hey!", "is that even when the darkness closes in, someone always shines through. Brings a spark of hope."
Hestia managed a small, genuine smile at that.
"Or," Eizel added bluntly, "they fall into the dark. Leaving tales untold, lost forever.
" Hestia's smile vanished instantly, her mood plummeting. Eizel softened slightly. "Don't feel dejected, Hestia. I see it.
Weariness. Losing your child, even for a few days… it changes you. Wanting to run from the danger stalking him? Understandable.
" She leaned on the counter. "Maybe being a Goddess for adventurers isn't for you. But adventuring… it's not just diving for riches or fame.
It's… the joy of discovery. Learning something new." She met Hestia's eyes. "I won't blame you for quitting this vipers' game. Many gods have.
Orario takes more than it gives sometimes. But…" She poked Hestia's chest lightly. "Stay true to you. Don't let that light inside you dim, wherever you go."
Hestia blinked, then a radiant, grateful smile spread across her face.
"Thanks, Eizel. I needed that." She puffed out her chest slightly.
"So what if I didn't make a name and home here? I'll make it elsewhere! Spread the name of Hestia Familia across the world!"
Eizel chuckled, a rare warm sound. "That's the spir—"
"Hello, Hestia! It's been a long time!"
The cheerful voice, smooth as silk and laced with underlying calculation, sliced through the moment.
Hestia froze, then slowly turned. Standing there, leaning against a market pillar with infuriating casualness, was a man in merchant's clothes – simple but well-made.
A cap shaded his face, but the sunny blonde hair and charming, knowing smile were unmistakable.
Hermes.
A whirlwind of emotions flashed in Hestia's eyes: surprise, wariness, deep-seated annoyance.
"Hermes," she stated flatly, her earlier warmth gone. "What do you want?"
"Come now, don't be cold!" Hermes pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"
"Friend?" Hestia scoffed, crossing her arms. "Hardly. You and Zeus are the last people I want to see.
" The memory of Hermes's infamous peeping incident – and the glorious, skewering revenge exacted by Athena that left him howling – was still fresh centuries later.
Hermes visibly shuddered at the unspoken memory. "Ancient history, Hestia! Water under the bridge! I'm reformed!" He waved a dismissive hand.
"Look, I'm busy, you're busy… but I heard some fascinating rumors."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes sharp behind the charming smile.
"About a new record holder. Leveled up incredibly fast, they say. And whispers place him in your Familia."
Hestia's blood ran cold. She fumbled with the Jagamarukun she was packing, nearly dropping it. Her guard slammed up, her gaze turning hard and guarded as she looked at Hermes.
His captain, Asfi Al Andromeda, stood a step behind him, her expression impassive but watchful.
Seeing Hestia's reaction, Hermes held up placating hands.
"Now, now, don't be alarmed! Just curiosity! Rumors fly fast in Orario, you know? As God of Messengers, I feel a… duty to verify such extraordinary claims."
He leaned in slightly. "After all, Orario is the City of Heroes. If such a remarkable child exists…"
His smile widened, taking on a prophetic gleam. "…it's my sacred task to observe his journey, to chronicle his tale! A tale of a—"
"MINOTAUR! IRREGULAR! UPPER FLOORS! IN THE MARKET DISTRICT! RUN!"
Screams erupted, shattering the market's bustle into panicked chaos.
People scrambled, stalls overturned. Hermes merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by Orario's typical brand of excitement.
Asfi was instantly at his side, a short sword appearing in her hand, her posture shifting to protector.
Eizel slammed the lid on her fryer. "Shop's closed! Hestia, get under the counter! Now!"
Hestia's heart leaped into her throat. Bell! Where was he? Was he diving? Was he here? Panic overrode everything.
Hermes saw his chance. He stepped towards Hestia, extending a hand, his expression shifting to one of concerned benevolence.
"Come with us, Hestia! It's chaos out there! My Captain is Level 4!" He gestured to Asfi. "She'll protect us both. Safety in numbers!"
Hestia didn't hesitate. Thoughts of Hermes's scheming vanished.
Her child was out there. She latched onto Hermes's arm with surprising strength, her eyes wide with maternal terror. "Quick! I need to find my child! Bell!"
A flicker of triumph, quickly masked by concern, crossed Hermes's face.
Perfect. He gave a subtle nod to Asfi, who scanned the panicking crowd with cool efficiency. "Of course, Hestia! Familia first!" He patted her hand reassuringly.
"But first, we get you to safety. Can't have you caught in the crossfire, can we? My Familia will find Bell, I promise.
Let's get clear!" He began steering her firmly away from the stall, deeper into the side streets, away from the direction of the screams, Asfi clearing a path with calm authority.
Hestia, her mind consumed by fear for Bell, allowed herself to be led, clinging to Hermes like a lifeline, oblivious to the calculating glint in the Messenger God's eyes as he guided her away from the danger, and potentially, deeper into his own carefully laid plans.
Things today surprisingly were unfolding exactly as he'd hoped.
~ (Scene Change) ~
The rhythmic clang-clang-clang of hammer on steel filled Welf Crozzo's forge, a familiar counterpoint to the tense silence that had settled between him and Bell.
Gone was the usual banter, replaced by the intense focus radiating from the red-haired smith as he examined the material Bell had entrusted to him.
Laid out on his reinforced workbench wasn't dungeon ore or monster drop. It was a cluster of softly glowing crystals, pulsing with an inner light that seemed to hum with pure potential.
Mana Stones, Bell called them. Essence Stones.
Welf wiped sweat from his brow with a grimy forearm, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and near-terror.
"Bell," he breathed, his voice rough, "where in the hells did you find this? I've seen Valgang Dragon teeth – crystallized shards brimming with fire mana.
I've managed Amphibasean horns that crackle with lightning. But this?" He gingerly picked up one of the smaller stones. It felt warm, almost alive, in his calloused palm.
"This purity... it's absurd. It makes Mithril look like scrap iron and Adamantite feel... mundane."
He shook his head, a grimace twisting his features.
"Look, I appreciate the trust, but... honestly? You should take this to someone else. Tsubaki, maybe, or one of Lady Hephaestus's top masters.
My level... my skills... they're not worthy of this. I'd just be wasting it." Pride warred with pragmatism in his voice. "It hurts like hell to say, but it's the truth. This needs a master."
Bell stepped forward, not towards the stones, but towards Welf. He placed a firm hand on the smith's shoulder, grounding him.
"Welf," he said, his voice steady, "it's true. There are blacksmiths out there with higher levels, more fame, maybe even a divine blessing like Blacksmith.
They might have more experience." He met Welf's conflicted gaze squarely. "But they don't have what you have. They don't have what I need most right now."
Welf gave a humorless chuckle. "And what's that? My charming personality?"
"Trust," Bell stated simply. The word hung heavy in the smoky air. "I trust you, Welf. Not just your hands, but your heart.
I know that whatever you forge for me, you'll pour everything you have into it. Not because you're paid extravagantly, or for fame, but because you believe in what you're making – something meant to save a life.
"My life."
He squeezed Welf's shoulder. "I don't care about legendary names or fancy skills right now. I care about having gear I can rely on when things go wrong in that pit, gear forged by someone who genuinely wants me to come back alive.
That's the precious thing you're giving me, Welf. That trust. That's why I brought this to you."
A surge, fierce and hot, ignited in Welf's gut. All his life, the Crozzo name had been a curse, reducing him to a magic-sword factory in the eyes of others.
The jeers, the dismissals when he showed his meticulously crafted blades and armor – "Nice, but where's the magic sword?" – they had chipped away at his soul.
He dreamed of being seen as a blacksmith, period. Of crafting weapons and armor that would carve legends, even if his own name faded into obscurity.
He yearned for his creations to be the heroes, carrying his skill into history.
This... this was it. The fire blazed higher, burning away doubt. He looked at Bell, then back at the glowing stones. Not just materials. A lifeline. A vote of absolute confidence.
"Alright," Welf breathed, his voice thick with sudden determination. He straightened, squaring his shoulders.
"You sure you won't regret it? Entrusting something this... monumental... to a guy without the Blacksmith skill?"
Bell shook his head, a small, resolute smile touching his lips.
"Not as long as you put your heart into making something that helps me survive. Something that helps me come home. That's all that matters."
He gestured towards the pile. "Besides, I've got more where that came from."
Welf burst out laughing, the sound rich and genuine, echoing in the forge. "Don't let Captain Tsubaki hear you say that! She'd hunt you down and wring you dry for a pebble!"
He clapped Bell on the back, the earlier tension replaced by fierce resolve.
"Leave it to me, Bell. Even without a fancy Skill, I'll hammer out a miracle. Count on it."
He turned back to the workbench, his eyes alight with the challenge.
"Feel free to poke around while I get started. Gonna use a couple of the smaller ones for trial runs – gotta understand how this stuff behaves under the hammer and in the fire before tackling the main armor piece."
As Bell nodded and began exploring the cluttered workshop, Welf called over the din of him selecting tools, "Hey! Once you're settled in Altena, if you find any interesting monster drops or exotic ores, send 'em my way! I can forge custom orders remotely."
Bell paused, blinking. "Is that even possible?"
Welf smacked his palm to his forehead. "Right! Newbie! Yeah, Hephaestus Familia has contracts all over the world – trade routes, supply lines.
Except Rakia and the Western Empire, obviously. Too hostile. Altena's a big client, actually. We supply enchanted jewel cores for their staffs, alchemical catalysts for magic swords, spirit-woven threads for their magical cloaks and armor..." Welf grinned.
"Point is, the world's bigger than Orario. If you find something cool, holler."
Bell felt a spark of excitement. Alchemy, spirit magic, enchanted jewels... So much he hadn't seen.
"I'll keep that in mind," he promised, turning his attention to the racks of finished gear. He tested blades and spears, the System quietly providing E and D-rank ratings.
Solid work, but nothing exceptional. Then his hand brushed against a suit of full plate armor tucked in a corner.
It was dark, almost obsidian, yet lighter than it looked, with clean lines and a detachable dark cloak. Rating: D+. It felt... familiar. A strange sense of nostalgia washed over him, though he'd never worn such armor. Like remembering a dream...
CRASH!
The forge door burst open with enough force to rattle the tools on the walls.
"BELLLLL!!!"
Hestia's frantic cry shattered the relative peace. Bell spun around, realizing with a jolt he'd forgotten to check on her after the minotaur chaos. The conversation with Loki and ensuring the children were safe had pushed it from his mind.
CLANG! THUD! Welf dropped his hammer with a startled yell, lunging towards the doorway, a hefty forging hammer held high. "Attack?! Who dares?!"
Bell chuckled, stepping out from behind a rack of spears.
"Easy, Welf! It's just my Goddess." He sensed the divine aura first – Hestia's familiar, warm presence, spiked with panic.
Then two others the System showed their Names: one smooth and calculating (Hermes), one sharp and professional (Asfi). And a dense cluster of powerful auras nearby, likely Hermes Familia guards blending into the street crowd.
Hestia barreled into the workshop, her eyes wide and scanning frantically until they locked onto Bell. Relief flooded her face, swiftly followed by renewed worry.
"Bell! Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did that horrible minotaur...?" She launched herself at him, burying her face in his chest. He caught her easily, holding her close.
"I went to the clinic! Then I heard you were here... and I ran into that damned flat-chested trickster on the way!" She shot a glare over her shoulder.
A smooth chuckle came from the doorway. "Now, now, Hestia, is that any way to speak of an old friend who helped reunite you with your child?" Hermes leaned against the frame, hat tipped back, a charming smile plastered on his face.
Welf lowered his hammer slowly, looking utterly bewildered, the acrid smell of slightly overheated metal beginning to waft from his abandoned forge.
"Damn it, the billet!" he muttered, rushing back inside.
Bell gently extricated himself from Hestia's grip enough to look at the newcomers. His gaze immediately settled on Hermes, suspicion flaring.
The god's eyes held layers – curiosity, calculation, amusement – and that smile didn't reach them. Syr had been lesson enough about deceptive facades.
"You are?" Bell asked, keeping his tone neutral.
Hermes swept off his hat with a flourish. "Hermes, at your service! Merely the humble messenger who helped deliver this worried damsel to her gallant hero! And you must be the star of the hour...?"
"Bell Cranel," Bell stated flatly, noting the flicker of recognition in Hermes's eyes. He already knew. Of course he did.
But the intensity of that recognition felt... deeper than just Orario gossip. His gut tightened with unease.
Hermes smoothly interjected before Hestia could complain about the 'damsel' comment. "Ah, Bell Cranel! The rumors are indeed thrilling! As God of Messengers, verifying such tales of extraordinary growth is a sacred duty! Orario thrives on its heroes, after all."
Hestia suddenly swayed, her face paling. Bell caught her as her knees buckled.
"Hestia-sama!"
"Just... a bit dizzy," she mumbled, leaning heavily against him. "Headache from last night... and no sleep..." She looked utterly drained.
Guilt pricked Bell. "I'm sorry. I worried you."
Without another word, Bell scooped Hestia up in a princess carry. She nestled against him, exhaustion finally overwhelming her adrenaline.
"Welf," Bell called towards the forge where frantic hammering had resumed, "I'll see you tomorrow. I like that dark knight armor in the back!"
"Got it!" Welf's voice echoed over the clanging. "I'll have it prepped! Come by early!"
Bell nodded, then turned his gaze back to Hermes.
The god's smile remained, but Bell offered no pleasantries. A curt nod was all the acknowledgment he gave before carrying Hestia out into the fading afternoon light, leaving Hermes and Asfi in the workshop doorway.
~ (Scene Change: Streets of Orario – Twilight) ~
The walk back towards the church district was quiet. Hestia dozed fitfully in Bell's arms, the day's stresses finally claiming her.
Bell's own expression was grim, etched with worry. The constant pressure – Freya's obsession, the city's vipers, the sheer danger – wasn't just wearing on him; it was crushing Hestia.
He sighed. At least we can keep contact with Welf. Maybe I can help him level faster, get better materials... improve his chances.
His thoughts turned to the System's dungeon keys, the potential they held for safe, controlled growth away from Orario's prying eyes.
Hermes, walking silently beside him for a few blocks, finally broke the stillness. "Rough day?" he asked, his tone light but observant.
Bell glanced at him. "How so?"
Hermes gestured subtly towards Bell's clothes.
"You wear the aftermath rather prominently." Bell looked down, noticing the dark, dried splatters of minotaur blood staining his jacket and pants – grim souvenirs from the parries and blocks. Need a bath.
"Heroic debut, though," Hermes continued smoothly. "Saving the day against a rampaging irregular. Tales are already being woven."
Bell frowned, tightening his hold slightly on the sleeping Hestia. "Hardly heroic. People died. Good people who fought to buy time for others to escape. I just... finished the fight."
"Ah, but you answered the cry," Hermes countered, his eyes glinting. "While others hesitated, you charged towards the roar. That's the stuff of legends, Bell Cranel. The Guild reports are quite vivid – the lone white-haired warrior facing the beast."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Though... a minotaur trained in swordsmanship? Wielding a Gobinu Familia masterpiece worth millions? That's not just unusual, Bell. That's... orchestrated."
Bell stopped dead in the middle of the nearly deserted street. His gaze snapped to Hermes, sharp and wary.
"What are you getting at?"
Hermes met his look, unflinching. "I have contacts, Bell. In the Guild, in various Familias. The mark on that sword's pommel? It was traced.
The reports are... fascinating." He let the implication hang, then smoothly produced a simple, elegant white card from his vest pocket.
He offered it to Bell. "If you ever need information delivered... or perhaps, need to acquire information... look me up. I specialize in connections."
He smiled, a predatory edge beneath the charm. "Naturally, such services require appropriate... reciprocity."
Bell stared at the card, then at Hermes. The god was playing him, dangling information like bait. He felt the familiar coil of suspicion tighten. But the question about the sword... the trained minotaur... it gnawed at him.
Reluctantly, he took the card, slipping it into his jacket pocket. "I'll keep it in mind," he said flatly.
"Excellent!" Hermes beamed, tipping his hat again. "Since your lovely Goddess needs her rest, I'll take my leave.
Do ponder what I said, Bell Cranel. The stage is set, but the playwright remains hidden." With a theatrical twirl, Hermes strode away down a side alley, Asfi melting out of the shadows to follow him, her glasses glinting in the twilight.
Bell watched them go, a weary sigh escaping him. Another god to watch. Another player in the game.
He adjusted Hestia in his arms and resumed walking towards the church, mind churning. The minotaur, the sword, Hermes's hints... and the System.
He realized abruptly he hadn't received any quest notifications during the fight – no "Survive!" or "Escape!" prompts.
It was as if the System expected him to handle lethal threats instinctively now. It's changing me. Training me to react without hesitation.
He hoped Lili had managed a quiet day of packing. They needed to leave Orario soon. The System's dungeon keys offered a path.
Suddenly, the warm twilight air turned icy. A familiar, chilling sensation crawled up Bell's spine – a feeling both known and utterly alien, interchangeable only with one source. His blood ran cold.
"Mr.Cranel"
The voice was gruff and firm carrying an unsettling blend of familiarity and profound authority.
It came from a narrow, shadowed passageway he usually took as a shortcut, the path he used to take long ago and he unconsciously too it.
Dread, cold and heavy, washed over him. He slowly turned.
Standing at the mouth of the alley were three figures from the Hostess of Fertility: the cat girl waitress, the dwarf, and the elf – Ryu Lion.
Their expressions were hard, wary, especially Ryu's, her eyes narrowed with suspicion and something akin to protective anger. But his gaze was drawn past them, to the figure they subtly flanked.
It was Ryuu and Mama Mia.
She stood there, not in her usual waitress uniform, but it seems to wear normal clothes with armor.
But her eyes... Those stern eyes were fixed on him with an intensity that froze him in place. Not the warm, motherly gaze. Not the smoldering anger.
This was different. Cold. Analytical. Like a adventurer observing a target.
She looked at him as if he were, incomprehensible. A chill far deeper than any dungeon wind cut straight through him.
It seems Freya is making her move.
Or he was going to be have to be forced to work at the Hostess to Pay for the Grimoire.
~ (Scene Change) ~
The air in the Rusty Nail tavern was thick with the smell of cheap ale, unwashed bodies, and despair – a familiar perfume to Lili.
She hunched over a chipped mug of watery beer in a shadowed corner, her small frame swallowed by a oversized, stained cloak, her features obscured by a grimy hood.
Her mind, however, was far from the drunken arguments and bawdy songs filling the seedy Daedalus Street establishment.
Abandoned. The word echoed in her skull, a bitter refrain.
Left by parents who valued Soma's cursed wine more than their own child. Scraping survival from garbage heaps, begging only to be snatched by the wolves of Soma Familia.
Years of being less than a dog – bait for monsters, a tool for theft, a target for scorn.
She'd learned to hate adventurers then, seeing only greed and debauchery in their eyes, reflections of the monsters they hunted and the men who'd exploited her.
Then came him. Bell Cranel. White hair like moonlight, eyes burning not with avarice, but with a pure, terrifying hunger for strength.
Not for wealth or pleasure, but for… something higher. Lili watched him return from the Dungeon battered but unbroken, his spirit undimmed by the horrors he faced.
He was different. Humble. Kind. A flicker of something she'd thought extinct in Orario. And now, impossibly, he was hunted.
Not just by street thugs, but by Freya herself and the venomous Ishtar Familia.
The sheer scale of the trouble he'd attracted was staggering, yet… witnessing his frightening potential, even at Level 2, sparked a terrifying hope.
Could he… rival the Freya Familia someday?
A wave of inadequacy washed over her.
What was she, a Level 1 Supporter, a former thief, next to that? But watching Bell stumble back to the church, battered and exhausted after his brutal dives, a fierce determination solidified within her. He needed care.
He needed someone to shield him from the city's coldness, to tend the wounds, physical and unseen, that the Dungeon and its human monsters inflicted.
He needed warmth after the harrowing chill of survival. That was her role.
Her purpose. If she couldn't match his strength, she could be the foundation that let him reach higher.
Even if that meddlesome tiny Goddess kept getting in the way of providing… personal comfort.
Pushing thoughts of Hestia aside, Lili focused on her current mission: Information. Survival for Bell meant anticipating threats.
Her sharp eyes scanned the Rusty Nail, cataloging faces, overhearing drunken snippets. She was here for Ishtar and Kali. Infiltrating the seedy underbelly was second nature; it was where Soma Familia thrived.
Her moment came when a group of rough-looking adventurers, clearly affiliated with a minor familia supplying Ishtar, stumbled towards the back room, loudly demanding more ale.
Lili moved like smoke. A flick of her wrist, a small slingshot concealed in her sleeve, and a tiny pellet dissolved into the pitcher carried by a barmaid. Unnoticed laxatives – a Supporter's dirty trick, perfect for creating a diversion.
Chaos ensued minutes later as the men scrambled for the privy. In the ensuing commotion, Lili slipped behind the bar and into the cluttered, unlocked office.
Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering through a grimy window. Ledgers lay scattered. Her small fingers flew, flipping pages with practiced speed, her mind a steel trap for names, numbers, and dates.
There were things she was looking for her Findings.
Hunt for Master Bell? No active order or quest in the logs specifically targeting Bell Cranel… yet. Ishtar was preoccupied, but the sheer volume of resources moving suggested preparations for something big. Lili's gut tightened. The calm before the storm.
Soma's Familia's Intervention A note referencing "the troublesome rat" needing "deal with." Zanis. He knew she'd betrayed Soma Familia. Hard to miss when your former captors are actively trying to kill you. Another threat lurking.
There were other things concerning mostly like members of Evilus Her breath hitched. Scribbled in a margin: "Payment delivered to Jura. Gallows. Discretion paramount." Jura. Of the Rudra Familia. Infamous for his role in the downfall of the noble Astrea Familia.
Presumed dead. Hiding here, in the Gallows district of Daedalus Street, under Ishtar's dubious protection? If Gale Wind ever found out… A vicious smile touched Lili's lips. This was leverage. Beautiful, disruptive leverage. Leaking this to Ryu Lion could set Ishtar's world on fire.
Monsters supplied in the Market Transactions logged with the Ikelos Familia. Not just materials – live monster trades, specific breeds noted, destinations coded. A direct violation of Guild laws Ganesha Familia enforced zealously.
Another bomb ready to drop. Pass this along, and Ishtar would have Ganesha's enforcers breathing down her neck.
Pages of requisitions. Massive stockpiles of standard weapons, preserved rations, and, most tellingly, high-grade Magic Swords from Goblinu and Hephaestus Familia workshops.
All listed under "Expedition Supplies." Ambitious, yes, but the quantities screamed preparation for war, not exploration.
Lili scoffed mentally at the note about Phryne Jamil, Ishtar's captain, boasting about surpassing Freya's beauty. With a face like a stepped-on toad. Master Bell needs to stay miles away from that one.
She committed it all to memory, then risked sketching a quick, coded map fragment showing a hidden access point to Daedalus's labyrinthine tunnels she'd observed Ishtar using earlier – a disguised door near the tavern leading to underground passages where covered carriages waited. Orario's secrets ran deep.
Exiting the office as silently as she entered, Lili melted back into the tavern's shadows. She dropped a few discreet coins into the palm of a wiry man nursing a drink near the door – a paid informant from Hermes Familia. "Watch the carriages near the Knucklebone Alley access. Note times, destinations if possible," she murmured. He gave a barely perceptible nod. Hermes's network was invaluable, even if the God himself was slippery.
Her information run was complete. Time to return. Master Bell would need funds for the journey to Altena.
With his strength, a dive tomorrow would fill their coffers easily. Her own small savings would swell too. For the first time in her life, the thought of overflowing valis wasn't tied to fear or exploitation, but to security and purpose.
Lili slipped out of the Rusty Nail into the perpetual twilight of Daedalus Street. She moved with practiced anonymity, a small shadow among larger, darker ones.
The intel felt heavy, dangerous, but potent. Jura's location, the monster trade, Ishtar's stockpiling… she held matches that could ignite Orario's powder keg.
She turned down a narrow, refuse-strewn alley, a shortcut towards the brighter, marginally safer streets.
The sounds of the tavern faded, replaced by dripping water and distant, unseen scuffles. She was almost to the mouth of the alley when the prickle started – the instinct honed by years of survival on streets where being prey was the default.
Too quiet. The usual background hum of Daedalus was absent here. Her hand drifted towards the small knife hidden in her boot. She paused, listening intently, her senses straining.
From a crumbling balcony overhead, obscured by laundry and shadows, two pairs of eyes watched the small Supporter pause.
One belonged to a wiry man with a scar bisecting his lip. The other, colder and more calculating, belonged to a woman whose purple Ishtar Familia crest was just visible beneath her cloak's fold.
They had watched the Hermes informant take the coins. They had watched Lili leave the Rusty Nail.
The scarred man smirked, a silent question in his eyes to his companion. The woman gave a minute shake of her head, a predator deciding the mouse wasn't worth pouncing on… yet.
But the message was clear: Lili hadn't been gathering information unnoticed. The shadows of Orario had eyes, and some of them belonged to the very vipers she sought to expose. The game was far from over.
~(Scene Change)~
The heavy door to Mia's private office clicked shut, sealing Bell and Hestia inside with the imposing proprietress.
Bell was completely caught before he can utter the word sprint pulled by the back of his shirt. The pull awakened Hestia from her slumber as she was faking it to get more time for bell to carry her.
Now he was here completely trapped like a rabbit.
The air felt thick, charged with unspoken tension and the lingering scent of Hestia's divine aura, which still prickled against Bell's skin.
He sat rigidly on a sturdy chair, Hestia perched protectively on his lap like an angry, black-haired kitten, her small hands gripping his arm.
Mia Grand sat opposite them, her massive frame radiating calm authority, a stark contrast to Hestia's vibrating fury.
Mia leaned forward, her elbows resting on the worn wooden desk, her gaze fixed unflinchingly on Bell. No preamble. No small talk. Straight to the heart of the matter.
"So," Mia's voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder. "When did you figure it out? When did you know Syr was my wayward Goddess Freya?"
Bell felt Hestia tense further against him.
He met Mia's gaze, keeping his voice level despite the hammering of his heart.
"I was the only one who did," he admitted. "I figured it out... recently. After things started feeling... off."
He didn't elaborate on the constant feeling of being watched, the uncanny coincidences.
"Off?" Mia raised a single, thick eyebrow. "Because of a Skill, I'm guessing? Something that lets you see through pretty illusions?"
Bell's breath hitched. He gave a curt nod. "Something like that." He couldn't reveal the System, but the implication was clear.
Hestia exploded. "He has no obligation to tell you anything!" she spat, her voice sharp as broken glass.
She pointed a tiny finger at Mia. "And what obligation does he have to her? The help Syr gave? That wasn't charity! That was fattening the lamb for slaughter! Luring him in with smiles and grimoires!
We were fools! I was a fool not to see the signs sooner!" Hestia's voice rose, fueled by righteous anger and guilt.
"The stares from the elf, the feeling of being watched like a piece of prime meat! It was all there! Freya is a vixen!
A scheming, manipulative vixen straight out of her Tenkai escapades! Luring men, playing with them, and discarding them when she's bored!
I won't let her do that to my Bell! Turn him into some trophy for her collection!"
Mia listened silently throughout Hestia's tirade, her expression unreadable.
When Hestia finally paused, breathing heavily, Mia sighed, a sound heavy with weary understanding. She leaned back slightly.
"I found her, you know," Mia began, her voice softer now, almost gentle. "Years ago. Not Freya the Goddess. Just... a girl. Crying her heart out in a field of wildflowers outside the city.
Lost. Desperate. Like a child who'd broken herself and couldn't fix it."
Hestia's tirade faltered. Curiosity flickered in her silver eyes, warring with suspicion. "What?" she asked, her voice losing some of its edge. "Why?"
"Because she had a wish, Little Goddess," Mia said, holding Hestia's gaze.
"A desperate, aching wish. Just like all you gods who come down. For entertainment, for craft, for power... or for something deeper.
She wanted..." Mia paused, searching for the words. "She wanted to know what it felt like. To be... normal. To connect. Without the Charm. Without the worship. Just... Syr."
Hestia scoffed, though the curiosity lingered.
"And you expect me to believe that? She has a whole familia! A massive family worshipping her! As Goddess of Hearth and Family, I can see she already has one!"
Mia shook her head slowly.
"A family? Slaves, Little Goddess. Every single one, save maybe Ottar fighting it tooth and nail, is bound by her Charm.
They adore her, yes, but it's not free will. It's compelled. Like puppets on strings. I'm the only one who can look her in the eye and tell her she's being a damn fool without flinching or being affected completely.
The only one who sees her, not the Goddess."
Hestia rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Well, obviously! What did she expect? She's the Goddess of Love! It's the same song in Tenkai! She can't just turn it off! Coming here expecting different was naive!"
Mia spread her hands slightly. "Perhaps. Not my place to judge her expectations.
But I tried. I gave her Syr. A job. A place. A... semblance of normalcy. And she brought the boy here,"
Mia nodded towards Bell, "because she genuinely cared for him, Syr did. And because Freya saw something special in his soul. Her way of trying to... Shape it? Nurture it? Connect? However misguided."
"Shape it?!" Hestia shrieked, leaping off Bell's lap, her tiny frame trembling with renewed fury.
"You mean snare it! Fatten it for her table! Like preparing a feast! It terrifies me, what she might do!" She whirled on Bell.
"Bell! Did she... did she try to Charm you? Earlier? In the alley?"
Bell nodded, his voice tight. "Yes. I felt... something probing. Trying to push. But it... washed away." He didn't mention the System's silent defense.
Hestia knew. The blood drained from her face, then rushed back in a crimson tide of pure, incandescent rage.
"THAT'S IT!" she roared, her voice echoing with a power that made the glasses on the desk rattle.
"I AM DONE! I may not have a strong Familia, but if Freya thinks she can use that thrice-damned Charm to bend my first child to her will..."
Hestia's form began to shift. Her silver hair bled into strands of pure, incandescent white-gold light.
Her eyes, always bright, became burning pools of primordial fire, shedding actual heat that made the air waves. Her hair turning shades of pink.
An aura of immense, ancient power rolled off her – not the cozy warmth of the hearth, but the terrifying, devouring fury of the Eternal Flame at the dawn of creation. Vesta.
Her presence filled the room, heavy and suffocating, pushing against the boundaries of the mortal realm. Bell gasped, the System blaring silent, urgent warnings of
Alert(!)
[DIVINE ARCANUM RELEASE DETECTED! EXTREME HAZARD!
EXERCISE CAUTION]
"LET THAT HARLOT KNOW," Vesta's voice was a chorus of crackling flames, ancient and terrible,
"WHY I WAS ONCE COUNTED AMONG THE TWELVE! IF SHE IS SO INCLINED TO STEAL MY FAMILY, SHE WILL LEARN THE WEIGHT OF THE FLAME THAT FORGED THE STARS! I WILL BLAST HER SMILING FACE BACK TO TENKAI MYSELF!"
Bell lunged forward, ignoring the searing heat radiating from Hestia's form, grabbing her shoulders – or where her shoulders seemed to be amidst the light. "Hestia-sama! STOP! You'll be forced back! You'll vanish!"
Vesta turned her burning gaze on him. The fury didn't diminish, but a flicker of... something else appeared. Resignation?
"THEN I SHALL MEET HER AGAIN IN TENKAI," the fiery voice declared, the heat lessening slightly but the power undimmed. "I HAVE SEEN HIS SOUL. I WILL FIND HIM AGAIN."
Mia had pushed her chair back, sweat beading on her forehead despite the lessening heat, her face pale but composed.
"Very well," she said, her voice strained but firm against the divine pressure. "It seems negotiation is... off the table."
She met Vesta's burning eyes. "But know this, Little Flame: Freya's heart is broken. Your boy rejecting her... seeing through her... it shattered something in her."
Hestia/Vesta snorted, a sound like embers collapsing.
"BROKEN? WHY? BECAUSE SHE COULDN'T ADD ANOTHER BRIGHT SOUL TO HER COLLECTION OF TRIUMPHS? SHE HAS PLENTY! SHE CAN HANG HIS PICTURE NEXT TO THE OTHERS SHE'S DEVOURED! I WILL NOT LET BELL BE HER TROPHY!"
"He wasn't a trophy to Syr," Mia insisted quietly, the words cutting through the divine anger.
"And Freya... I don't pretend to understand the minds of gods. But she wasn't looking for a trophy this time."
Confusion warred with fury in Vesta's fiery eyes. The intense light flickered, receding slightly.
The terrifying pressure lessened as the white-gold light faded, leaving Hestia standing there, trembling, her hair silver again, her eyes wide and shocked, back to her usual self.
She swayed, and Bell quickly caught her, lowering her gently back onto his lap. She clung to him, shaking.
Mia let out a slow, shuddering breath, wiping her brow. She looked at Bell, then at the exhausted Hestia nestled against him.
"I accept my Goddess can be... willful. Overbearing. Ruthless when thwarted." She bowed her head slightly, a gesture of profound respect and supplication.
"But I ask you, Bell Cranel, not as an employee of Freya, but as a friend of Syr... as someone who cares for that lonely girl I found in the flowers... please.
Talk to her. Let her explain the misunderstanding. Hear her out, not as the Goddess, but as the woman who was Syr. Just once."
Hestia stirred weakly, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Fuck no... Trap..."
Bell patted Hestia's head, his own expression grim but thoughtful. He met Mia's pleading gaze.
"Don't be rash, Hestia," he murmured to the goddess in his lap, then looked back at Mia.
"We don't know how Lady Freya or her Familia will react to a flat refusal. Ignoring this... could be more dangerous.
" He took a deep breath. "I'll meet her. On our terms. Hestia comes with me. But not now. We have things to settle first. A week. One week from today."
Mia's shoulders slumped slightly in visible relief. "A week. Understood. Where?"
"We'll send word," Bell said firmly. He stood, Hestia still held securely in his arms, bridal style. "We take our leave."
Mia nodded, her expression weary but grateful. "Safe paths, Bell Cranel. Little Goddess."
Bell turned and opened the door.
Outside the Door
The three waitresses practically tumbled into the room, caught mid-earwig. Chloe dropped her cleaver with a clatter, scrambling to pick it up, her face flushed.
Lunor blinked rapidly, her usual placid mask shattered into wide-eyed astonishment. Ryu Lion stood frozen just beyond the threshold, her green eyes wide with shock and profound confusion, having clearly heard Hestia's transformation and the name Vesta.
The air crackled with their stunned silence and unanswered questions. They stared at Bell – the boy who had somehow shattered Syr, faced down a transformed Hestia, and negotiated with Mia – holding his Goddess protectively.
The heavy oak door of the Hostess of Fertility clicked shut behind Bell, the warm, ale-scented air instantly replaced by the cool, tense stillness of the Orario night.
The abrupt transition felt jarring after the charged atmosphere inside. Bell didn't pause, didn't look back. His arms tightened instinctively around Hestia, still held securely in his bridal carry.
She let out a small, indignant squeak but clung to his neck, her silver eyes wide and darting nervously.
They were immediately met by a wall of silent scrutiny. Chloe, Lunor, and Ryu Lion stood frozen in the dim light spilling from the pub's windows, forming an unintentional blockade on the narrow street.
Chloe had stopped mid-way through polishing a vicious-looking cleaver, her feline eyes narrowed to slits, reflecting the lamplight.
Lunor simply stared, her usually placid expression replaced by profound, unnerving blankness. Ryu stood rigid, her posture radiating controlled fury, her green eyes fixed on Bell with an intensity that felt like physical pressure – a righteous anger simmering just beneath an elven mask of composure. The air crackled with unspoken questions, confusion, and a palpable sense of betrayal directed at the boy who had seemingly shattered their friend Syr.
Bell met Ryu's gaze for a fraction of a second. He saw the flicker of conflict there – the loyalty to Syr warring with the ingrained sense of justice that defined the former Astrea Familia member.
He saw no immediate threat of violence, only a deep, wounded bewilderment demanding answers he couldn't give. Not here. Not now.
"Move," Bell stated, his voice low but cutting through the tense silence. It wasn't a request. It was the calm, firm command of someone who had just stared down divine wrath and negotiated with a tavern-owning force of nature.
Chloe's ear twitched. Lunor blinked slowly. Ryu's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but she didn't step forward. The sheer unexpectedness of his directness, the aura of weary determination mixed with the lingering chill from Hestia's earlier divine flare, created a momentary hesitation.
It was all the opening Bell needed.
Sprint.
He didn't run around them; he moved through the space between Ryu and Chloe like a dark blue ghost.
The world blurred. Cobblestones became a streaked grey beneath his boots. The surprised gasps of the waitresses were swallowed by the sudden rush of wind in his ears.
Hestia yelped, burying her face in his armored shoulder, her arms tightening like vices around his neck. Buildings-streaked past on either side, lantern light smearing into yellow streaks.
Behind them, the stunned figures of Chloe, Lunor, and Ryu rapidly shrank, still rooted to the spot outside the Hostess.
Ryu took half a step forward, hand instinctively reaching towards the dagger hidden in her apron, but Bell was already turning a corner, vanishing into the labyrinthine network of streets leading towards the dilapidated church district.
He didn't slow down. The Passive Cloak (Rank C) dampened the sound of his passage, making his flight eerily silent for its speed.
He wove through back alleys, vaulted low walls, and took sharp turns, putting distance and confusion between them and the Hostess. His mind was a whirlwind – Mia's revelations,
Hestia's terrifying transformation into Vesta, the cold calculation in Freya's eyes, the weight of the agreement forced upon him.
The System remained silent, no quests, no warnings, just the thrum of his own adrenaline and the rhythmic pounding of his heart against Hestia's weight.
Only when the familiar, crumbling silhouette of the old church loomed in the distance did Bell finally allow himself to ease off Sprint.
He slowed to a fast walk, then a stop, leaning against the cool stone of a nearby building, breathing heavily. Hestia lifted her head, her face pale but her eyes blazing with residual anger and protective fervor.
"Bell! Are you alright? Did they try anything? That Ryu Lion looked ready to skewer you!" Hestia demanded, her voice trembling slightly.
"I'm fine, Hestia" Bell assured her, setting her gently on her feet but keeping a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"They were just... shocked. Confused. Ryu-san especially. She doesn't understand." He looked towards the dark entrance of the church. "Let's get inside."
The familiar, musty scent of the church basement was a strange comfort. The single candle Bell lit cast long, dancing shadows on the cracked walls.
Hestia immediately started pacing, her small fists clenched.
"That... that audacity!" she fumed, her voice echoing slightly in the hollow space.
"Trying to play the victim! Asking you to soothe her wounded pride? After everything! After the stalking, the charm, the deception!" She whirled to face Bell.
"You do realize we absolutely cannot go to that meeting in a week, right? It's a trap! A honeyed trap laid by the most cunning vixen in Orario! Probably involving silk sheets and poisoned wine!"
Bell managed a weak, strained smile, sinking onto the worn couch. Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, was crashing down.
"Fuck no," he agreed, the crude words feeling oddly cathartic.
"Meeting Lady Freya again? On her terms? After seeing her look at me like... like I was some fascinating, toy?" He shuddered, the memory of those cold, analytical silver eyes vivid.
"No. We're getting out. Faster than planned that's why I said week anymore it would be suspicious."
Hestia stopped pacing, her expression shifting from fury to concern as she saw the deep weariness etched on Bell's face. She hurried over, sitting beside him. "Bell...?"
He took a deep breath, forcing focus. "Tomorrow. We finish packing. We get the valis. We get the armor from Welf."
He pulled the C-Rank Dungeon Key (Forest Labyrinth) from his inventory. The crystal key pulsed softly in his palm.
"And I use this. I hit Level 3 before we set foot outside Orario. We need the strength, Hestia. Altena... Athena-sama... they might offer sanctuary, but we can't rely solely on that.
We need to be stronger." His crimson eyes burned with renewed determination, cutting through the fatigue.
Then he pulled out the other item: the simple white card Hermes had given him. Hermes Familia – Swift Delivery. Discretion Assured.
He held it up. "And I pawn some of the crystals. The high-purity ones from the Dungeon, maybe even a sliver of that Cerberus loot.
Not all, but enough. We need fast transport out of here, Hestia-sama. The best we can afford. Hermes... he's slippery, but he deals in movement. We use his network, pay his price, and vanish." He tucked the card away. "We leave no later than tomorrow evening. Dawn the next day at the absolute latest."
Hestia stared at him, seeing the resolve solidify. She placed her small hand over his. "Okay, Bell. Okay. We run. Together." Her voice was fierce, matching his determination. "To Altena. Away from the vipers and the goddesses playing their games."
He opened his Status Window again, the soft glow illuminating their faces in the dim basement.
Name: Bell Cranel
Level [2]
Job: None
Title: None
Hp: 3545
Mp:3490
{STR} A 899-SS-1009
{VIT} S- 998-SS-1098
{DEX} S-989-SS-1078
{AGI} A-878-SSS-1100
{MAG} SSS-1008-SSS-1400
{SEN} B-739-S-989
[Skills]
-Longevity-All diseases, poisons and status effects are healed and sleeping exponentially increases regeneration ability.
-Sprint- Mana Cost 5(+1/Minute) Activates to increase your movement speed by 30%. Costs 1 mana per minute to maintain. "Your running has strengthened your legs".
-Unyielding Spirit- When below 30 % HP, all damage received is reduced by 50 %. "You have an unyielding spirit".
Rasaka's Armored Scales-Physical damage reduced by 20%
Shadow Veil (Stealth): Hides Player from Divine Eyes and surrounding environment. (PASSIVE ACTIVATION/ ACTIVE ACTIVATION}
Magic:
Umbra Mortis
Brilliant Light
"Close," he murmured, a flicker of anticipation cutting through the dread. "So close. Tomorrow... it ends." He dismissed the window.
The Minotaur fight was a blessing in disguise.
Suddenly, the trapdoor above creaked open. Lili's head popped down, her sharp eyes instantly taking in the scene
"Master Bell! Goddess Hestia!" Lili scrambled down the ladder, her pack looking bulkier than usual. "Lili has returned! Information gathered, supplies prepped, and...
" She noticed their expressions. "...is everything alright? You both look like you faced another Cerberus."
Bell stood, the dark armor plates shifting quietly. "We're fine, Lili. Or we will be.
" He met her eyes. "Change of plans. We accelerate. We dive tomorrow. Early. Very early. A marathon run.
We clear a special location –" he held up the glowing green key "– and I hit Level 3 and max my stats. Then we leave Orario. By tomorrow night."
Lili's eyes widened, then narrowed with instant understanding. She nodded sharply, no questions asked.
"Understood, Master Bell. Lili will be ready before first light. Where do we meet? Babel North Gate?"
Bell nodded. "North Gate. Bring everything you have for a long haul. We're draining this place dry before we go, before thant we meet Hermes Familia I'll explain on the way.
" He glanced at Hestia, then back at Lili and the dark knight armor he now wore. Tomorrow promised exhaustion, danger within the Forest Labyrinth, and the frantic final push to escape a city closing in.
But looking at Lili's ready stance and feeling the weight of the key in his hand, Bell felt the first spark of hope. They had a path. They had each other. And they were getting out
The escape had begun.