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Thank you to LimX23 for being the beta reader and quality control editor for this chapter.
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The living room of the Hestia Familia's new mansion was dimly lit by the light of Magic Stone Lamps. The atmosphere was warm and homey, a stark contrast to the emotional burden that had gripped Lena in Hestia's arms just minutes before. The young woman, though her face still flushed and her eyes slightly swollen from crying, walked beside the Goddess with firmer steps. It wasn't feigned strength, but a small but real relief that had opened in her chest after that conversation.
Bell, Mikoto, and Haruhime looked up at the sight of them returning. The air, which had been expectant until that moment, seemed to still for a second.
"I already spoke with Lena," Hestia announced in a clear tone, though her eyes shone with tenderness. "And I want everyone to hear this: from now on, she will also be part of our Familia."
The words resonated with a special weight. For anyone in Orario, being part of a Familia meant having a roof over their heads or a group of companions; but for the Hestia Familia, it was the literal meaning of the word; they were a full-fledged family member.
Lena, hearing that clear and open statement, took a step forward. A warm, shy, but genuine smile appeared on her face. It had been a while since she'd allowed herself to smile like that, without any harshness or the weight of guilt weighing her down.
"I really… appreciate your kindness," she said in a soft, but sincere voice.
Bell was the first to react, almost immediately rising from his seat with an energy that contrasted with the calm of the scene. "It's nothing," he replied, with that honest smile that always characterized him. "I hope we can become good friends, Lena."
Her eyes shone just a little brighter, as if those words were an unexpected balm. Her smile brightened, transforming into a gesture that seemed to bring her back to life. "I hope so too."
Bell stared at her for a moment in silence. He remembered Lena's expression before entering the room with Hestia: her lowered gaze, as if carrying an unbearable weight; her lips pressed together, as if afraid of breaking with a single word. And now, before him, he saw a different face, one where that burden hadn't entirely disappeared, but where something new was emerging. As if, beneath all those layers of pain, the true Lena was finally emerging: someone who could be joyful, even luminous. And that sight, simple as it was, gave him genuine joy.
"Thank you," Mikoto chimed in, nodding slightly to Lena. Her voice cracked slightly with suppressed emotion. "Thank you for bringing Haruhime back to me… for allowing us to reunite."
The name echoed softly in the room, and the young Renard, who had remained silent with her tail tucked against her legs, barely looked up. Her ears twitched, and her lips curved into a shy smile, directed at both Mikoto and Lena.
Lena looked at her and nodded tenderly, as if words were unnecessary between them. There was something about that connection, that shared bond of wounds and salvation, that made gestures speak louder than any words.
Hestia, watching the scene from the sidelines, felt her chest fill with warmth. There was something deeply comforting about watching her children—for that's what she called them in her heart—welcome one another. It wasn't a family built on blood ties, but on determination, trust, and a desire to belong.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward, but calm. The mansion, though modest, seemed to vibrate with the energy of this new beginning.
Bell broke the calm with a light laugh, scratching his cheek. "Well… I guess they can't call us a rookie Familia now, huh?"
Mikoto raised an eyebrow, though she couldn't stop a small smile from escaping. "Perhaps, but we shouldn't get too complacent either. Lena joining is a great honor, but also a great responsibility."
"That's true!" Hestia nodded vigorously, crossing her arms as if she wanted to assert herself but without losing her gentleness. "I don't want anyone in my Familia to forget that strength means nothing if we don't know how to take care of each other."
Lena bowed her head, taking those words as a personal oath. And silently, she promised herself again that she would do the best she could, not only for herself, but for this family that had accepted her unconditionally.
The room was once again filled with soft voices, with smiles that soothed the tiredness. And although the shadows of their pasts still haunted them, that night, at least, they could all feel a little lighter. A little more at home.
…
The darkness of the Dungeon was barely interrupted by the bluish light from the crystals embedded in the walls. A heavy silence dominated the halls, broken only by Ais Wallenstein's firm footsteps and the slashing sound of her sword scything through monstrous flesh. Every creature that emerged was cut down in a matter of seconds: Hellhounds, Bad Bats, and so on. None posed a real threat.
Ais moved with the precision of an automaton, but inside she felt uneasy. Every stroke of her sword was automatic, but her mind wandered far away, trapped in thoughts that hadn't left her for days.
An image appeared again and again in her mind: the white-haired bunny.
Bell Cranel.
That's how she knew him, the Adventurer who had grown absurdly strong in a ridiculously short amount of time. He was "That Bunny." Not as a mockery, but as an unconscious way of marking him as something fragile, tender, unlike anything else in the brutality of the world. And yet, that supposed Bunny had proven capable of something extraordinary.
Ais remembered well what she had seen through the Divine Mirrors in the War Game against the Apollo Familia. At first, she had thought Bell wouldn't stand a chance. She knew he had power, of course; she had seen it with her own eyes when they fought together in Rivira, but facing an entire Familia alone was a difficult feat (though she herself wouldn't know how to compare). However, he did it. He not only survived, but he won. And he did it with a speed that almost seemed impossible.
"How?" Ais muttered in the middle of a hallway, slicing a Minotaur in half with a single clean slash.
Her breathing was calm, but her eyes held a feverish glow. She needed to understand. What was his secret? How could he grow that strong so fast like this?
Because she needed it too.
The weight of her goal was like a chain tied to her chest. The One-Eyed Black Dragon. The enemy who had taken everything from her, who had stolen her mother. It was the goal that guided her every breath, every battle, every training. But no matter how far she advanced, sometimes she felt the goal remained distant, like an unreachable star in the night sky. What if she never arrived? What if even her life dedicated to the sword wasn't enough?
But Bell… he was defying that logic. He was breaking every unwritten rule that Adventurers had accepted for generations.
"If I can figure it out…" Ais thought, ramming her sword into an Ogre's skull before it could even raise its club. "If I can figure out how he does it… maybe I can too…"
She didn't finish the thought. There was no need. She knew what she wanted: enough power. Power to cut through the sky, to face the One-Eyed Black Dragon and win. Power to keep her promise to her mother.
And that's when another memory came to mind, more recent, more confusing.
The Rivira event had been strange, a series of events she hadn't fully understood. But what had left the biggest mark on her wasn't the massacre or the tension, but what she'd felt when she saw him. That Dragon.
Bell's Dragon.
Ais stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the hallway. Her sword was still dripping with monstrous blood, but her golden eyes seemed to stare through the walls, toward an image only she could see.
That Dragon…it felt different. It wasn't like the beasts she'd hated her entire life. It wasn't like the One-Eyed Black Dragon that had taken everything from her. That Dragon had conveyed something else. A feeling that shouldn't be there, that had no right to exist in the heart of a Monster.
Warmth.
Security.
Ais had felt, even if only for a fleeting moment, the same sensation she remembered from her childhood. A blurred memory, almost an echo: her mother's arms wrapped around her, the soft scent of her hair, the infinite tenderness she had felt when she was just a child. That sensation had returned through that Dragon, and it had disarmed her.
It was absurd. It was illogical. How could a Dragon, a Monster, remind her of her mother?
"I miss him…" she whispered, barely aware of her own words.
Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her sword. She didn't usually acknowledge her emotions, much less express them out loud, but deep down, the truth was clear: she wanted to see him again. Not just see him… she wanted to feel him again. That warmth, that familiarity. She wanted to be near that Dragon.
And not because she wanted to study it, not because she wanted to understand it as a tool to become stronger. But because…she needed to.
Ais pressed her lips together. It was an unbearable contradiction. Her hatred of Monsters was absolute, part of what defined her. And yet, here she was, in the middle of the Dungeon, her heart beating faster at the memory of a Dragon that didn't fit into her worldview.
She hated it. She needed it. She despised it. But she longed for it.
She brought a free hand to her chest, as if trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions she couldn't understand.
Monsters were enemies. That was all she had to think about. But that Dragon wasn't like the others. That Dragon had fought alongside Bell. That Dragon had given her the feeling of home she'd missed so much.
The sword in her hand trembled slightly. Not from fear, but from doubt.
"I want to feel it again…" she thought with a whisper inside her voice.
Her pacing resumed, slower than before. Each Monster that appeared was dispatched almost without Ais noticing, her movements mechanical and unconscious. Her mind was far from the battle.
What really occupied her thoughts was that duality: Bell and his Dragon. The Bunny who defied all logic with his rapid growth, and the impossible creature who awakened memories buried in her heart.
Ais felt like there was something missing, a secret, a mystery she couldn't ignore. And deep inside her, a desire began to grow.
It wasn't just curiosity. It was a necessity.
A need for answers.
A need to feel again what she thought was lost forever.
And that idea burned in her chest as strongly as the edge of her sword.
But then a doubt arose, an obstacle that stopped her suddenly, as if she had collided with an invisible wall:
"What… could I give him in return?"
The thought floated through her mind awkwardly. This wasn't a common transaction, she knew, but still... Bell had kept his secrets well until now. Why would he just tell her?
She pressed her lips together and forced herself to think. It was like being in a different kind of battle: not against Monsters, but against logic itself. What could she offer him?
The first thing that came to mind was something that she actually liked.
"Jagamarukun…?"
She put a finger to her chin, her brows slightly furrowed. Yes, buying him Jagamarukun might be an idea... at least if Bell was like her, someone unable to resist the warm, crunchy taste of those stuffed potatoes. Her cheeks flushed just imagining the scene: her offering him a bag, him accepting it in surprise, and then, satisfied, confessing everything.
But the image soon crumbled.
"No… that won't work."
Her head tilted to one side, her expression serious. Jagamarukun might be irresistible to her, but what if Bell didn't appreciate them in the same way? What if he didn't like them at all? No, she couldn't risk it. That would be a failure, and such a valuable secret deserved something more... something worthy.
The second option arose naturally.
"Training…?"
Ais tilted her head. She could have offered to train with him, taught him more moves, helped him perfect his technique. But then she remembered how quickly he'd improved without her. Bell had found his own way, fought, won a War Game practically on his own.
"He's doing fine without me…" she murmured softly, lowering her gaze slightly.
Yes, it was true. Offering him training wasn't enough. It wasn't a price equivalent to what she was asking. That "secret" must be... something enormous. Something he had jealously guarded, perhaps because it defined his very strength. So whatever she gave had to carry the same weight.
"Something valuable…" she repeated to herself.
A Bad Bat swooped down from the ceiling, screeching loudly, but was dispatched with a single slash without Ais taking her eyes off her thoughts.
And it was then that another image filtered into his mind, unexpected, almost absurd.
The figure of Riveria.
She vividly remembered how her caretaker, always elegant and serene, had observed Bell the moment they picked up the Captain of the Apollo Familia. Riveria had fixed her eyes on the White Rabbit in a way that Ais hadn't missed. There was something in that gaze... curiosity? Interest? Or something else?
Ais's heart skipped a beat.
"Does Mama Riveria like him?"
The thought seemed so strange that she stood still for a moment, as if the entire Dungeon had stopped with her. Mama Riveria, her guide, her teacher, the wise and strong woman who had always cared for her (and also traumatized her), could she possibly be interested in that little White Rabbit?
The more I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. Riveria had looked at Bell with a little too much intensity, more than she usually gave any Adventurer. And if that was the case, then… The spark of an idea ignited in Ais's mind.
"That's it…" she whispered.
Yes, it could work. If she reunited Riveria with Bell, if she gave them a chance to be together, perhaps he would open his heart. Perhaps because of that special interest, Bell would share his secret with Riveria. And then… then she could ask Riveria directly.
"And then… I'll know what I need."
A flash of pride crossed her golden eyes. It was a perfect plan, a plan worthy of someone cunning.
"You're so clever, Ais…" she mentally congratulated herself, a small smile barely perceptible on her face.
She didn't notice the naivety of her conclusions. To her, it all made sense. She didn't understand the complications of emotions, nor how strange it was to think of Riveria that way. For Ais, it was simple: Bell had a secret, Riveria might be interested in him, and she, Ais Wallenstein, just had to put them together to get the answer.
"Yes… that will do."
She resumed her march with firm steps, the Monsters all dropping like flies around her, almost without needing to pay attention to them. In her mind, the plan was taking shape.
Perhaps she could speak to Riveria discreetly, make her notice how special Bell was. Perhaps she could also bring Bell close to Riveria without him suspecting anything, let them talk. She wasn't good with words, but that didn't matter: the essential thing was to put the pieces together, and the rest would flow.
She saw everything with the same straightforward logic with which he wielded her sword. For Ais, emotions were like a battle: if she understood the opponent's movements, she could find an opening.
The problem was that human emotions did not operate according to clear rules.
But she didn't understand.
For now, she felt only a slight tingle of satisfaction, like when she found a strategy that promised victory. Yes, Bell would reveal his secret to Riveria, and Riveria would tell it to her. And then she could become stronger, could achieve the strength she so longed for.
And, deep in her chest, another part of her whispered something different.
The part that remembered the Dragon's warmth in Rivira. The part that longed to reconnect with that impossible feeling. That part clung to the same plan, seeing it as a means not only to gain strength, but to get closer to that warmth again.
Because maybe, if she discovered Bell's secret, she would also discover the Dragon.
And then, though she would never admit it out loud, she could feel like that little girl in her mother's arms again.
Ais tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, determination shining in her eyes.
The plan was in motion. Although she still didn't know exactly how she would do it, she was sure of one thing: she wouldn't let this opportunity slip away.
And with every step, with every monster that fell at her feet, she became more convinced that she had made the right decision.
Because, deep down, Ais Wallenstein believed she was smarter than she actually was. And that naiveté, that social awkwardness, only made her resolve seem even firmer.
…
Night had fallen over the fields at the foot of the walls of Orario, and the cool breeze carried with it the metallic scent of blood. In the pale moonlight, a god was crawling clumsily through the damp grass. His white robes were tattered and stained red. His face, once always smiling and proud, was now distorted with terror.
Apollo gasped, each breath a moan coming from him. He backed away clumsily, his trembling hands stained with dirt, trying to gain distance from the figure approaching with deadly calm.
Behind him lay the wreckage: the remains of what had once been his Familia. The men and women who had followed him out of Orario, even though the Guild's decree stripped him of his home and his power. But now they were reduced to lifeless corpses or unconscious bodies. Some had their eyes open, lifeless. Others were still moaning, their breaths slashed, as blood soaked the ground. They had fought, tried to protect him, but they hadn't stood a chance.
And the one responsible walked slowly among them, like a silver shadow bathed in moonlight.
Freya.
Each step resonated like a blow to Apollo's heart. He didn't run, he didn't need to. His warriors had done the dirty work: Ottar, Allen, the others. The best Adventurers in Orario had hunted a defenseless deer like wolves. But it was she who had given the order. It was she who now approached, with the grace of a queen and the coldness of an executioner.
Apollo swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. His voice came out hoarse, broken by fear. "Wait! Please! Don't do this! I didn't do anything… anything! I didn't do anything to you!" That phrase.
"I didn't do anything."
The echo of those words stopped her a few steps away from him. The wind stirred her silver hair, reflecting the night light, and her violet eyes glowed like burning embers. A slow, cruel, and bitter smile curved her lips.
"You didn't do anything…" she repeated, in a tone so soft it sounded more dangerous than a scream.
Apollo felt a chill. His body froze, as if the temperature had suddenly dropped.
Freya bowed her head slightly, her voice taking on an edge of contempt, laced with venom.
"You did nothing, you say. Have you forgotten? You claimed what's mine. You tried to take my jewel. My Bell."
Apollo opened his eyes in panic. His mouth moved, but all that came out was a shaky stutter.
"I-I-I… I didn't know! I didn't know he was yours! He was just… an Adventurer! A promising one, yes, but nothing more!"
Freya's laugh was low, cold, without a trace of joy.
"Nothing more?"
She leaned toward him, her slow steps crunching on the wet grass.
"Do you have any idea what you just said? He… isn't nothing more. He is my everything. He is my world. And you, you worm, had the audacity to lay eyes on him."
Apollo tried to crawl faster, but his arms weren't responding well anymore. Fear weakened him more than his injuries.
"Please! Forgive me! It was a mistake, I swear! I'll never go near him again, ever! Let me live!
Let me and mine live! My children… my children are not to blame!"
His trembling hands pointed toward the few still breathing amidst the carnage. Young Adventurers, bleeding on the ground, stared at their God with eyes that reflected pure despair.
Freya looked down at them, and for a moment seemed to reflect. The silence stretched, barely interrupted by the moans of the dying. But soon she turned her violet eyes back on Apollo, and there was no mercy in them.
"Your children…" she murmured, savoring the words with a smile that didn't fit her words. "They are guilty of following you. Guilty of bearing arms in your name. And above all…" his smile widened, barely showing his teeth, "…guilty of having touched something they should never have looked at."
Apollo felt like his heart was going to explode from terror.
"No… no, please! I beg you! I'll do anything you want! Whatever you want! I'll be your servant, anything! Just let them live! Let me live!"
Freya stopped right in front of him. Her shadow covered him completely. She lowered a delicate hand, gently caressing his bloody cheek, as if she truly pitied him.
"You know… I find it so funny."
Her tone turned into a poison-laced whisper.
"You love to talk about the Sun, about beauty, about perfection. You saw yourself as the God of Art, of Desire, of Splendor. But in front of me…" she leaned closer, her gaze boring into his like daggers, "…you are nothing more than an insect."
Apollo sobbed, tears and snot streaming down his face. His trembling hands tried to hold hers, as if holding on could save him.
"No! Please don't kill me! No! I don't want to die!"
But the glint in Freya's eyes cut him off abruptly. It was the glint of someone who enjoyed what she was about to do.
"I, on the other hand…" her lips brushed his ear, whispering with infinite cruelty, "…am going to really enjoy killing you."
Apollo let out a broken sob, trying to cling to those cold, perfect hands as if they were his only salvation. But then, Freya slowly pulled away, straightening with the distant grace of a queen.
"No, not yet…" she said calmly, though her voice rumbled like thunder in Apollo's chest. Her violet eyes blazed with a blood-curdling fire. "First, you'll do what every fool like you deserves: look. I want you to see what it means to mess with me."
She turned around slightly, and her warriors, who had been waiting silently like hungry wolves, responded to the minimal gesture.
"All of you." Her voice was sweet poison. "Kill them. One by one."
The silence of the night was broken.
A young Adventurer from the dissolved Apollo Familia, still breathing heavily on the ground, opened his eyes wide as Ottar approached him. He barely had time to raise his arm in a gesture instinctively before Boaz's sword passed clean through him, pinning him to the ground. A dry, wet sound filled the air, followed by a muffled gasp.
Apollo shouted.
"No! Please, no! Leave them alone! They didn't do anything, they're innocent! I'm the guilty one, not them!"
But his pleas were nothing more than a breeze to them.
A few steps away, a short-haired girl, barely a teenager, tried to crawl toward her God, her face soaked with tears. Allen intercepted her expressionlessly, coldly plunging his spear into her back. He lifted her a few inches off the ground, her legs kicking weakly, before letting her fall like an empty sack.
Apollo tried to crawl toward her, his trembling hand outstretched.
"No… no… not my girl, no!"
Freya watched it all with a cold smile, her arms crossed. Every moan, every plea, seemed to fuel a cruel pleasure in her chest.
Her Familia members continued the order. One by one, Apollo's Adventurers were hunted down in the very field where they had tried to protect him. Some barely reacted, too wounded. Others screamed, cried, and begged.
And then one of them, a young man with scars on his face, mustered the strength to get up on one knee.
In a whisper, looking directly at Apollo, he spoke.
"My… my lord… don't… don't worry… about us…" He coughed blood, but smiled weakly. "For us… it is the greatest honor… to have—"
The sound of steel cut off his words.
Allen drove the spear through his neck without waiting for him to finish. The crack of the bone rupturing echoed in the night, and a torrent of crimson gushed forth, staining the grass. The boy fell forward, his eyes still open, his last expression frozen in a smile of loyalty that Apollo would never forget.
The Sun God cried out with heart-rending despair, his voice cracked, broken, and filled with helplessness.
"Enough! Enough, please! I beg you! Freya, for Heaven's sake, stop this!"
Freya leaned in slightly, her gaze fixed on him, enjoying every second of his torment.
"Do you feel it now, Apollo? The despair of watching your children fall one after the other? That's what you tried to take from me. That's what I would have felt if you had taken him from me."
Apollo was trembling, panting, his face bathed in tears. Each death tore at him a little deeper. Despair was tearing him apart, and yet, Freya seemed to want to push him deeper.
"I want you to record every face, every scream, every look in your memories."
Allen wiped the spear with a careless motion, looking to the next target. Ottar continued to execute with precision, his overwhelming force crushing any attempt at resistance.
Apollo's wails echoed in the night as he watched, helpless, as his Familia was wiped out before his eyes, one by one, under the cold and inexorable command of the Goddess of Beauty.
Apollo then lowered his head, unable to hold her gaze. His eyes, reddened and empty, no longer pleaded. They were dull, as if life had decided to leave him before its time. His body trembled, not from fear, but from surrender. The defeat wasn't just physical; it was absolute: mental, emotional, spiritual. A god reduced to ruin.
Freya watched him silently for a few seconds, like a hunter surveying his prey just before the final blow. She took a step forward, her blood-stained shoes crunching in the damp grass. She extended her hand, delicate, elegant, as if asking for something trivial in the midst of the carnage.
"Give me your sword."
Her lips formed a slight, crooked smile, and without hesitation, her Adventurer offered the weapon. It wasn't a polished or clean sword: it was soaked with fresh blood, still dripping. To anyone else, it would have been a common object; in Freya's hands, it was an instrument of destiny.
The Goddess took it with almost solemn grace. She ran a finger along the edge, unconcerned about further staining. Then she walked slowly toward the defeated God. Each step resonated like the echo of an unbreakable sentence.
She stopped in front of him, lifted Apollo's chin with the tip of her sword, and forced him to look at her.
"See? This is what happens when you try to claim what isn't yours."
Apollo moaned faintly, a broken murmur. "Mercy…"
Freya bowed her head, and a cruel, compassionless smile curved her lips.
"No. You have no right to ask for something you never offered to others."
Then, with the slowness of an executioner savoring the moment, he placed the cold blade against the Sun God's neck. The contact made Apollo shudder, though he offered no resistance. There was no more fight left in him.
Freya exhaled softly, almost like a contented sigh, and with a swift, precise motion, she slashed.
The sword pierced flesh and bone like nothing, and Apollo's head rolled to the ground with a thud.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. And then, a pillar of light burst into the sky from the decapitated body, illuminating the entire landscape. The radiance was so pure and absolute that even Freya's adventurers squinted. There was no doubt: Apollo had died, his essence returning to the heavens, stripped of everything he had once been on earth.
The field fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the steady dripping of blood and the hissing of the night wind.
Freya remained motionless for a few seconds, the sword still in her hand, her dress stained crimson. Then, slowly, she exhaled a long, deep sigh, laden with relief.
"Ah…" her voice slid out like a moan of relief. "It feels… so good."
She looked up at the sky lit by the pillar and smiled. There was satisfaction in her gaze, a cold calm that came with the fulfillment of a long-suppressed revenge. And yet, after a few seconds, that calm shattered.
She wrinkled her nose in disgust, looking down at her dress and skin. She was covered in blood. Dried streaks, fresh stains, even spatters on her perfect face. She grimaced in disgust.
"Ugh… how disgusting. I'm soaked…" she commented, with a hint of annoyance. "A small price to pay, I suppose."
She dropped the sword, which sank into the ground with a dull thud.
But then, just as quickly as she'd shown revulsion, her demeanor changed. Her lips curved into a radiant, childlike, almost girlish smile. Her violet eyes shone with a different warmth, one that had nothing to do with blood or revenge.
"Bell…" she whispered, gently stroking her own chest as if the mere name filled her heart.
The contrast was grotesque. The same woman who a second before had decapitated a God and ordered the massacre of an entire Familia now seemed to transform into a girl in love. She gave a couple of small jumps, ignoring the drops of blood that splattered with each movement, and twirled around as if dancing.
"My Odr… my beautiful, sweet Odr… I must go see him. Now, right now…"
Her thoughts wove haphazardly, filled with hope. She imagined his smile, that innocent warmth no one else could give her. She imagined his clear, pure gaze, untarnished even after going through Hell itself. She fantasized about his voice, about what she would name him, about the idea that only he held a place in her heart.
She walked a few steps, light as a feather, almost skipping. Allen watched her out of the corner of his eye, unfazed. Ottar lowered his head, silent, understanding that there was nothing he could do but follow her. The rest of the warriors, covered in the blood of the vanquished, showed no reaction. For them, this was normal: their Goddess oscillating between cruel executioner and enamored maiden.
Freya raised her arms, stretching them out as if embracing the night air.
"How beautiful the night is! How radiant it shines now that he exists in it!"
She spun around again, her stained dress swirling around her legs. A smear of blood crossed her cheek as she ran a hand over her face, but she didn't notice, too caught up in her reverie.
"Soon, Bell… soon I'll be by your side. And when that happens, there'll be nothing in the world that can separate us."
Her steps quickened, light, as if she were chasing a dream. The contrast was chilling: a Goddess who had just erased the existence of a rival God now moved like a girl madly in love, covered in fresh blood and with the sweetest smile on her face.
And a disturbing certainty hung in the air.
Freya wasn't well. She never had been. There was no balance in her, no stability. Only extremes: all-consuming passion and utter cruelty. And yet, no one could stop her. What could you do with a Goddess like her?
Nothing. Just appease her, calm her with the only thing that seemed to have any effect on her crazed soul: Bell Cranel.
And she was heading towards him now.
Skipping, humming to herself, covered in blood as if wearing a crimson cloak, her heart overflowing with hope and desire. Fantasizing with every step about returning to his side, about claiming him not as prey, but as her destiny.
Because in Freya's mind, there was only one indisputable truth: nothing in this world shone as brightly as her Odr. And now that she had removed another shadow that stood in her way, only the path remained clear for him.
The countryside was left behind, stained red, with corpses and silence. And on the horizon, under the glow of the moon, the Goddess of Beauty marched, her eyes filled with love, her mind lost in fantasy, the blood still running from her hands.
The only thing that mattered now… was seeing Bell again.