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Horn stood in the middle of the silent restaurant, her shadow stretching long across the wooden floor, bathed in the morning light. Behind Syr's perfect face, something trembled—a soft yet alien pulse that did not originate from her. She stared at her own hands, fingers that still radiated the same gentle charm as the Goddess of Beauty.
"This form... this voice..." she whispered, stroking her own face as if to confirm that the skin she touched wasn't a dream. "I can feel it... even her memories and feelings, they are all flowing into me."
This ability was no ordinary magic, no illusion, but the result of a direct blessing from a goddess—the Skill Vana Seith, a forbidden grace that allowed Horn to mimic Freya's essence completely. Not just her appearance, but also her divine scent, her allure, even fragments of emotions stored within the goddess's heart. However, every time Horn used this form for too long, the boundary between herself and Freya grew increasingly blurred. Sometimes, she no longer knew who was truly speaking: Horn, or the shadow of Freya living within her.
"Ah... Lady Freya," she murmured, gazing at her reflection in the window. "How beautiful you are... how perfect... and I... I am the only one allowed to touch that light."
The reflection in the glass slowly changed, depicting the face of a dull-haired, dirty child with hollow eyes. The memory came sharply—a young Horn, curled up in a corner of Orario's streets, her body wrapped in tattered rags, staring emotionlessly at the passersby. No one cared. No one glanced her way. The world to her was a cold, meaningless gray mist.
Until she arrived.
Amidst the crowd, a woman's steps halted. Her hair shone silver, every movement like a dance of light. When Horn looked at her face for the first time, her heart—which had been empty until now—trembled for something she didn't even understand.
"Do you want something, child?" That gentle voice pierced her consciousness like a goddess's song.
The young Horn stared, her eyes glistening, her lips quivering before she finally spoke with innocence, "I want... to be as beautiful as you."
"Very well," Freya said softly, her voice like a spell, "if that is your wish... then from this day forth, you shall become the reflection of my beauty."
From that day on, Horn was no longer a forgotten street urchin. She became Freya's shadow, her attendant who not only served, but also held a small piece of the goddess's soul within her.
And from that blessing was born a terrifying ability—Vana Seith—which allowed Horn to perfectly take on Freya's or Syr's form, mimicking their smiles, voices, even the feelings Freya felt towards others. But with it came a curse: every time she mimicked, she also felt the love that Freya felt, and it slowly carved her up.
Through Vana Seith, the bond was not one-way. Like two mirrors reflecting each other's images, not only could Horn transform into the goddess, but Freya could also use this ability to lower herself into a human form. It was in this form that the figure of Syr Flova was born, the gentle waitress of the Hostess of Fertility—a girl who seemed so ordinary, yet was truly the Goddess of Beauty hiding her radiance behind simplicity.
At first, Horn didn't mind. She even thought it was beautiful. Watching the great goddess lower herself and play as an ordinary human, sitting amidst the laughter of the waitresses and customers, was to her like watching a living painting—a perfect Freya, who even in her simplicity radiated divine elegance. Sometimes, Horn would secretly stand in a corner of the restaurant, watching from afar as Freya, in her Syr form, joked with Ryuu or scolded the noisy Anya. A warmth filled Horn's chest each time she heard that soft laugh—a laugh that only the goddess Freya could possess.
But everything changed... since Bell Cranel appeared.
When Freya first mentioned that boy's name, the goddess's voice sounded different. Soft. Too soft. There was a tone that shouldn't belong to an eternal being like her. Freya called him "Odr"—a name used only for true love in mythology. And at that moment, something inside Horn began to crack.
"Odr..." Horn whispered, full of hatred, staring at herself in the mirror while biting her lip until it bled. "That boy's name... isn't even worthy of being spoken from your lips, Lady Freya."
She punched her chest angrily, trying to stop the warm pulse emerging from within—a pulse that wasn't hers, but an echo from Freya's own heart. "These feelings... aren't mine! But I can feel them! That love... that foolish, mortal love!"
She laughed bitterly, tears trickling down, but her expression remained twisted between love and hatred. "No, Lady Freya must not fall to this filthy world. You are an eternal light! Not a human girl who can cry over a lowly boy like him!"
Horn looked at the sky from the Hostess's window, the morning light highlighting her face still disguised as Syr. "Bell Cranel..." she murmured slowly, Syr's gentle smile now turning cold. "You have defiled Lady Freya's feelings. And I... will make sure you never approach her again."
In her heart, there was no love—only fanatical devotion and a burning obsession. Horn, the attendant created from Freya's affection, had now become a shadow protecting that beauty by any means necessary, even if it meant staining the hands that were supposed to be gentle.
"Lady Freya is the Goddess of Beauty," she said softly yet sharply, "not a mortal human. And I will ensure it remains that way... even if I have to remove anyone who makes her forget."
The shadow on her face shifted between Syr's sweet smile and Horn's gaze full of madness. Her footsteps sounded softly on the Hostess's wooden floor, each step like an echo of the vow she swore for one purpose only—to keep the goddess as a goddess.
Horn stopped in front of the table Shirou had just used, her fingers slowly sweeping across its surface, as if trying to erase any trace of the man's presence. Her gaze was empty, but behind it swirled emotions hard to define—jealousy, hatred, fear, and something she wouldn't even admit to herself. "No one else is allowed to touch Lady Freya's feelings," she whispered softly, almost like a mantra. "Not a mortal human, not that filthy creature. I won't let her... be tainted again." She gripped the table so hard her knuckles turned white, as if wanting to break something—or someone—invisible.
Unlike Bell Cranel—who was like a sacred gem in Freya's eyes—what the goddess felt for Shirou was much darker, lower, more... worldly. It wasn't love. It was lust.
When Freya looked at Shirou, her eyes didn't shine softly like when she gazed at Bell. There was no pure affection or desire to protect. There was only the desire to possess, to taste something that should be disgusting—the rusted soul of that red-haired youth.
To her, Bell's soul was a transparent crystal—a pure, shining Odr, untainted by the world's sins. A form of love she had yearned for for thousands of years. But Shirou?
Shirou was the opposite of all that. His soul was dark, dull, like a sword blade rusted from overuse in cutting down others for their sake. There was no beauty, no clarity—only wounds, regret, and sacrifice.
Yet, that was precisely where his appeal lay for Freya. A man with a soul so foul that he should be full of hatred and ego, yet he continued to walk on for the sake of others. He dirtied his hands to protect. He smiled even though his heart was empty. He sinned, but never stopped doing good.
"...Beautiful," Freya had whispered then, her voice half-laugh, half-sigh of desire. "How ironic... beauty born from rust and sin."
She wanted to touch him. Not to embrace, but to prey—like a human unable to resist a burning flame. What Freya felt wasn't affection, but a desire to swallow that entire tragic beauty for herself.
And Horn knew.
She knew it all.
From every pulse of Freya's feelings merging with her body through Vana Seith, she could feel that beat—a beat that was no longer pure, that now radiated lust.
"Lady Freya..." Horn whispered softly, sitting in the corner of the room. She gripped her left chest tightly, feeling the hot pulse spreading from their soul bond. "This feeling... It's different from when you think of Bell. This... isn't love."
She bowed her head, holding back a bitter breath, then smiled coldly. "But... for some reason, I feel calmer."
To her, Shirou was indeed disgusting—his soul was broken, full of bloodstains and falsehood. But at least, that man didn't make the goddess weak.
Unlike Bell Cranel, who made Freya want to become human, Shirou made Freya remember herself as a goddess... a goddess who ruled over lust, not puppy love.
"Shirou Emiya..." Horn murmured, staring far out the Hostess's window, where the morning was beginning to dawn. "Your soul is indeed filthy. But you're still better... than that boy."
A thin smile graced her face—a mix of disgust and acceptance. Because in her eyes, Shirou was just rust... but rust that kept Freya shining like a sacred metal.
Horn was still lost in thought in the middle of the room, her face still wearing Syr's gentle smile, but her gray eyes were empty. She whispered, her voice like an echo from a void, "That rusted soul... is more fitting under Lady Freya's heel, not by her side."
Suddenly, the restaurant door creaked. "Eh, Syr? Who are you talking to?" Anya's cheerful voice broke the silence. Behind her, Lunoire and Chloe peered in curiously.
In an instant, the empty expression vanished. "Oh, you're here~!" Horn answered cheerfully, putting back on Syr's signature sweet smile while clapping her hands. "Hehe, I was just... practicing talking to myself so I won't get nervous in front of customers!"
Anya and Chloe exchanged glances, then burst out laughing.
"Wow, you're so weird~," Chloe teased.
Horn—or Syr—laughed softly, covering her mouth with her hand, hiding the cold gaze that had briefly appeared behind that smile.
***
Shirou's footsteps echoed softly on Orario's stone streets, which were growing busier with the morning's activity. The air was still cool, but his mind was foggy, busy replaying the events at the restaurant earlier. There was something strange about Syr.
Not just a small change—but... something completely different.
"That scent," he murmured, staring blankly ahead. "Usually, she always smells like winter flowers. But earlier... There was almost none. As if it was fake."
Shirou frowned, trying to shake off the unease that had crept in uninvited. He didn't want to speculate too much—but his heart refused to stay quiet. The mysterious goddess... or Syr... whoever she truly was, something was definitely going on.
He looked up at the pale blue sky above Orario, remembering something. "Wait... Loki said Today is Denatus, right?" he said, half to himself.
His steps slowed.
Denatus—the periodic meeting of the gods, where they give new aliases to adventurers who level up. And strangely, during the previous Denatus meeting, Syr had disappeared from the Hostess.
Back then, he had suspected... Syr wasn't an ordinary human. But today? Syr was at the Hostess, greeting him as usual, even joking as if nothing was wrong.
"Is it possible... she has the power to split herself?" Shirou thought, staring at his palm. "Or maybe... some kind of projection... an avatar?"
The longer he thought, the further his mind wandered. He even imagined a goddess using a fake body to interact with mortals, or a divine being channeling her consciousness into another form. "If that's true, then all this time I've been talking to... half of her?"
The wind blew, making his cloak flutter slightly. Shirou let out a long sigh, rubbing his tense neck.
"Ugh... I'm thinking too much," he muttered in frustration. "Maybe it's just a coincidence. Syr is still Syr."
Yet, even as he tried to calm himself, the deepest part of his instincts—honed by experience and a warrior's nature—could not be silenced.
No. Something is wrong.
Shirou's steps finally stopped in front of a simple wooden building—the waitresses' dormitory. He stood for a moment, staring at the door, but his mind was still fixated on one thing. Syr's face, smiling too calmly. Her gaze was too flat. And the scent that shouldn't have been missing from a goddess.
"...Who are you, really?" he whispered before knocking on the door.
The dormitory door opened with a soft click, revealing Ryuu, ready from head to toe. She looked at Shirou with a flat expression, but her tone sounded slightly annoyed.
"You're late," she said curtly, though her eyes implied more than her words.
Shirou smiled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "I was helping Syr clean up the restaurant earlier. She delayed telling me that you were actually waiting."
Ryuu sighed, her voice soft but laden with weariness. "Haaah... That's just like Syr. I left a message last night, but she still made me wait for you."
She then glanced at Shirou from head to toe. "And you're not even ready?"
Shirou just gave a small smile. He raised his right hand. "Trace on."
A soft blue light pulsed, and in an instant, various weapons made of magic steel appeared around him—swords, daggers, and spears, all looking real. A few seconds later, the weapons vanished as if evaporating into the air.
"See? I'm always ready," he said lightly.
Ryuu turned her face away with a slight huff, but her cheeks puffed out a little—a mix of irritation and admiration. "Hmph... show-off," she muttered. However, deep beneath her calm demeanor, Ryuu's heart trembled.
She glanced at Shirou from the corner of her eye—a man who always made her feel comfortable, yet hid something behind his calm eyes. All this time, she knew Shirou was strong. But how strong? That was something she had never seen with her own eyes.
"Let's head to the Dungeon," she said finally, her tone becoming calmer yet firm. "We'll go down to the eighteenth floor first."
"The eighteenth floor, huh?" Shirou nodded firmly. "Feels like just yesterday I was down there. Let's go."
They walked side by side away from the dormitory, their steps in sync even though their individual goals differed.
For Shirou, this was just a normal trip to the Dungeon—a routine to keep himself sharp.
But for Ryuu... this was an opportunity.
I want to know the extent of your power, Shirou Emiya.
Her thoughts echoed in her heart as the morning wind of Orario blew softly past the two of them.