Some time ago, before the sun had set.
Dungeon, 2nd Floor.
Heith unleashed the most powerful strike of her adventurer's career.
Dust rose as the dazzling golden light scattered and faded, revealing her exhausted, fragile face.
Allen was sent flying into the wall from her punch.
The trio of rookie adventurers in the distance had already turned away, covering their ears, terrified to hear or see anything.
The only gaze Heith could feel was Bell's, fixed on her from nearby.
After such a fierce battle, her white outfit was torn to shreds, the netted gaps barely concealing her figure.
A faint blush of shyness crossed Heith's face.
Stop staring like that, idiot.
She wanted to complain, to take Bell and hurry off somewhere quiet to change.
But she just stood there blankly, her body swaying.
Magic exhaustion.
Since changing her role to healer, it was a feeling she hadn't experienced in years.
The world spun, her body no longer responding to her will.
Heith collapsed into the young man's arms.
The last thing she saw was Bell's face—filled with worry and panic.
Heith dreamed.
Even she couldn't recall what the dream was about.
All she knew was that it was warm and gentle, sweet and peaceful—a dream she never wanted to wake from.
...
Bell draped his torn coat over Heith.
The blood-soaked fabric looked like a deep crimson gown, covering everything.
The sleeping Heith carried a serene, almost ethereal beauty—like a slumbering princess.
Bell lifted her in his arms and ran toward the Dungeon's entrance.
His wounds had healed, but the pain lingered—like insects burrowing into his nerves, their pincers clawing at old memories.
Bell kept running.
His limbs felt as if they would give out, his organs screamed in pain. That searing, soul-tearing agony clung to him like death itself, refusing to release him.
He didn't know how long he'd been running, nor who could possibly save her.
All he could do was turn his weakness and guilt into strength and run forward without hesitation.
The pale blue walls blurred past him.
Bell ran until sunlight touched him.
"Please! Someone, help her!"
Ignoring his body's cries, Bell shouted toward the light.
He didn't know enough about magic to realize that Heith's collapse was due to magic depletion.
Between the two of them, Bell—the one who had just endured a nightmare—was the one who needed saving most.
"Someone... please, save her!"
"Are you all right?"
Beneath the Babel Tower, a girl stood in the sunlight.
"You'll be fine."
Before losing consciousness, Bell heard a voice—clear and pure, like that of a goddess.
...
"What about the other one?"
Bell had barely woken when he asked about Heith's whereabouts.
"Don't worry," Syr replied softly. "The doctor said she just ran out of magic. She only needs some rest, and she'll be fine."
"Can I see her?"
"Her magic needs time to recover. It's best not to disturb her for now."
"I see."
Bell relaxed a little. He could tell from Syr's eyes that she was telling the truth.
"Yes," she said with a reassuring smile. "I promise you, that girl will be absolutely fine."
In the wooden attic, Syr's voice was calm and gentle—pure and kind, just like her appearance. Her light gray hair was tied in a high ponytail, adding a touch of liveliness to her fair, delicate face.
She looked like a simple, modest girl—yet so pure and endearing it felt almost unfair. That was the impression Syr gave.
Outside the window came sounds of chatter, laughter, clinking glasses, and sizzling oil.
Dinner time had arrived.
"Sorry, it must be noisy for someone who's injured," Syr said, turning to close the window.
"It's fine. I like it this way."
The lively sounds of adventurers made Bell feel the reality of being alive once more, grounded in the everyday.
"You were supposed to stay with another girl at the healer's quarters," Syr said, glancing thoughtfully toward the window. "But because of the bad potion incident, the healers didn't have any rooms left."
"Where is this place?"
"A tavern. It's called The Hostess of Fertility. Once you've recovered, you must come back and eat here again."
Syr smiled warmly.
"Yeah, I will," Bell said, accepting her kindness before asking, "Then where is Heith—no, the other girl who was with me—staying?"
"She was taken back by her Familia's god to recuperate. That god apparently doesn't like seeing their favorite child in another's arms. So I think it's best not to go looking for her. Once she's recovered, she'll come find you."
Syr spoke gently, her tone friendly and familiar, like that of a neighbor's little sister.
Every word rang true.
At least, Bell couldn't sense a hint of deceit.
Thinking about it, it made sense. To the gods, Familia members were like their own children.
Heith and he had only just met, and after a single Dungeon dive, she had ended up half-dressed, with him covering her in his coat and carrying her out.
No parent could easily accept that.
Still, Bell couldn't help but grumble, "Hearing it like that, her Familia's god sounds like a real headache."
Syr's brows lowered slightly. "Yes... such a selfish god, isn't she?"
Bell exhaled lightly. After all they'd been through, he at least wanted to see Heith safe and well.
Practically speaking, he also needed her to explain what had really happened.
With so little information, he couldn't just file a report to the Guild.
From Heith's words, the dark-haired demi-human who attacked them was another adventurer from her own Familia.
Comrades turning against each other.
If that truth were made public, it would only cause trouble for Heith.
Bell decided to keep it secret until he could speak with her himself.
"Your expression's scary," Syr teased, leaning closer to him. "You should be worrying about yourself instead of that girl. The doctor nearly fainted when he saw you—he thought you'd been tortured by a healer."
Bell chuckled softly. "I'm just a rookie adventurer. I'm not worth that kind of effort."
His injuries had mostly healed, though the memory of the silver spear's thrust still left a faint, phantom ache.
But to Bell, that was nothing.
In the tales of heroes he admired, no matter how dire the situation, they never stopped moving forward—even when blinded or broken.
If his goal was to become a hero, then a nightmare like this was nothing worth mentioning.
Syr stared at his determined face, momentarily dazed. "A-anyway... you still need to rest properly."
She raised her slender arm and lifted a small bamboo basket from behind her. Inside were bread, cheese, milk, and a small note that read, Wishing you a speedy recovery.
"Please... have these," she said, hiding part of her face behind the basket's lid. "They're just leftovers from dinner. Don't mind it..."
"Thank you," Bell said sincerely.
The food was still warm—it had clearly just been made. And that little note of blessing could only have come from her.
Bell didn't call out the obvious lie. Instead, he smiled, quietly enjoying the meal filled with kindness.
Syr turned toward the window, watching the evening sky, careful not to disturb him. Her cheeks glowed faintly red in the light of the sunset.
In that peaceful, everyday moment, a loud, familiar voice echoed through the tavern.
Cat Person Anya Fromel burst through the door, spotting Bell on the bed and shouting,
"Mama Mia! Syr finally brought home a pretty boy, nya!"