Raising Hel, in Danmachi.

[Common]

Chapter 31: The trio at the guild

The builders were eyeing Hel like condemned men watching the sun set.


She stood in the middle of the construction site—hands folded behind her back, expression neutral—as Vishvakarma Familia craftsmen argued quietly among themselves about runic spatial inversion, interior volume violations, and whether it was too early in the day to start drinking.


One of them finally broke.


"Lady Hel," the foreman said carefully, rubbing the back of his neck, "with all due respect—this building shouldn't exist."


"It does," Hel replied calmly.


"Yes, well," he gestured weakly at the blueprint again, "it's larger on the inside by a factor of three, the load-bearing walls don't agree with Euclidean space, and you've added an auxiliary forge chamber that loops back into itself."


Hel tilted her head. "You missed the secondary living wing."


The foreman stared.


"…I am going to need alcohol."


"You will be compensated," Hel said. "Generously."


"That's not the issue," another builder muttered. "This is going to change architecture."


Hel ignored them, already turning away. "Do not worry I'll handle the runic arrays."


===

The trio headed down the street toward the Guild.


Ruby skipped ahead, scythe nowhere in sight but energy radiating off her like she'd drunk three cups of coffee too many.


"So!" Ruby said brightly. "Guild stuff! Paperwork! Probably boring but also important! And then maybe we get quests and—"


"Ruby," Blake said gently, walking beside Taylor. "Slow down."


Taylor adjusted the folded paper in her hand—her status sheet—still warm from Hel's touch. She hadn't looked at it yet. Not fully. Part of her was afraid that if she did, it would make everything too real.


"So," Taylor said instead, glancing around Orario's crowded streets, "the Guild handles… what, exactly?"


"Adventurers, monsters, money, rules," Ruby answers. "And fines. Lots of fines."

Taylor frowned. "That's comforting."


They reached the massive stone structure at the center of the district, banners hanging proudly from its façade. The air around it felt… orderly. Measured. Like a place that cataloged chaos instead of pretending it didn't exist.


Taylor paused at the steps.


"This is really happening," she murmured.


Blake glanced at her, golden eyes steady. "Yeah."


Ruby turned back, grinning. "Together."

===

Eina sighed softly as she flipped another page.


A slow day.


Those were rare—almost suspiciously so—but she wasn't about to complain. The Guild hall was calm, sunlight filtering through tall windows, dust motes drifting lazily over rows of desks. No shouting adventurers. No emergency dungeon reports. No gods arguing over paperwork semantics.


Just forms. Glorious, boring forms.


She dipped her pen and continued annotating a monster subjugation report when—


The door opened.


Eina looked up out of habit.


Three girls stepped inside.


And immediately, something felt… off.


The first was a curly-haired girl with tired eyes and a posture that screamed holding herself together by force of will alone. She stood like someone used to watching corners, measuring exits, her gaze constantly flicking just a little too much.


The second walked like a shadow given human shape—black hair, golden eyes sharp and guarded, movements fluid but restrained. An adventurer's stance, even without visible armor.


And the third—


Eina blinked.


"NO!" Eina shouts recongnizeing ruby rose

They approached the counter together.


Ruby leaned forward first, hands slapping down happily on the wood.

"Hi! We're here to register! And um—get stuff! Paperwork stuff! Guild stuff!"


Eina straightened automatically, professional smile snapping into place.

"Good morning. Welcome to the Guild of Orario. Are you registering as new adventurers, or—"


"Yes," Taylor said flatly.


"Are the two of you as likely to explode as miss Rose here? Am I going to need to book the reinforced room?" Eina asks

"I don't explode," Taylor said immediately.


Eina relaxed a fraction.


"I dissolve things," Taylor continued. "Usually with bugs."


Eina froze again.


Blake tilted her head. "I don't explode either. I make shadows. Sometimes they get stabbed instead of me."


Silence.


A clerk at the far end of the hall quietly stood up and walked away.


Eina slowly reached under the counter and pulled out a thick folder stamped REINFORCED ROOM – PRIORITY USE.


"…We'll be using this one," she decided. "All of you. If you would please follow me."

Eina led them down the side corridor with the brisk, defeated efficiency of someone who had long since learned not to ask why anymore.


The reinforced room was… reinforced.


Thick stone walls, A metal-lined desk bolted to the floor. Chairs that looked like they'd survived at least one minor explosion and one divine tantrum. Even the door shut with a heavy thoom that suggested it had opinions about staying closed.

Eina gestured them inside. "Please sit. Do not touch anything glowing. Do not activate skills. Do not—" she glanced meaningfully at Ruby "—test anything."

Ruby raised two fingers. "Scout's honor!"

Blake sat smoothly, back straight, looking over at Ruby, "you were never in scouts."

Eina sighed, the long-suffering sound of a woman who had chosen a desk job and somehow ended up managing walking catastrophes. She slid three thick stacks of parchment across the desk.


"Registration forms," she said. "Names, levels, familias, previous affiliations—" she paused, eye twitching "Please dont break anything while you are here."


"I am not that bad!" Ruby shouts


The other two look at her in a disbeliving stare.

Taylor picked up her papers, staring at the amount of fine print. "You people really like paperwork."


Eina gave her a thin smile. "Paperwork is how we survive gods."

 

[Common]

Loki clicked her tongue, boot heels tapping against the stone as she wandered the streets of Orario with her hands tucked behind her head.


Most of her Familia was still down in the Dungeon.

Which meant two things:


She was bored.


She was worried.


Hel had vanished again—no note, no warning, just that familiar, infuriating absence that always came with her daughter doing something Important™. Loki could have sent a few level ones to comb the city, sure… but that felt lazy. And besides—


Walking around was how you found trouble.


Or entertainment.


Or both.


That's when she saw it.


A brand-new structure wedged right next to the Hostess of Fertility.


Loki slowed.


Brows rose.


"…Huh?"


The building was wrong.


Not ugly. Not poorly made. In fact it looked really nice… Just… off.


The footprint was modest—three old buildings' worth, tops—but it just felt weird like if you peered through the windows you could see multiple different rooms depending on the angel that you looked in at.


It was a marvel an it really intrigued her so Loki decided to go in through the door which had the closed sign on it.

Loki paused half a step inside, one eyebrow climbing her forehead as her godly senses finally caught up with what her eyes were already screaming at her.


"…Oh. That's cheating," she muttered.


The interior was much bigger than the exterior had any right to be.


Scaffolding stretched upward into a vaulted space that simply did not exist from the street. Runes—subtle, clean, terrifyingly elegant—were etched into support beams and half-finished walls, glowing faintly as they stabilized folded space like it was just another construction material.


And everywhere—


Builders.


Members of the Vishvakarma Familia, sleeves rolled up, tools in hand, standing in loose clusters and staring in open disbelief at what they were supposed to be assembling.


"I'm telling you," one of them said in a low voice, "the left wall is longer on the inside."


"That's impossible."


"I WALKED IT. IT TOOK MORE STEPS."


Another builder just sat on a crate, drinking straight from a bottle like reality had personally offended him.


And in the center of it all—


Hel.


She stood calmly amid the chaos, cloak discarded, sleeves rolled up, dark-blue runes drifting lazily around her hands as she adjusted a glowing sigil embedded into the foundation like she was correcting a crooked shelf.


"…No, that one needs to anchor three layers deeper," Hel said mildly. "Otherwise the forge wing will resonate when Ruby starts her third-stage heat cycling."


A foreman swallowed. "Third… stage…?"


"Yes."


He nodded like that explained everything and immediately went back to drinking.


Loki stared.


Then leaned against the doorframe, grinning wide and sharp.


"Well I'll be damned," she drawled. "I leave you alone for five minutes and you start violating municipal geometry."


Hel didn't turn around.


"Hello, Father."

"Hel? So this is your place? Damn, this is some rather impressive magic." Loki states looking around.


Hel smiles to herself, "High praise coming from a goddess of magic."


"Bah! That's just a minor divinity of mine… So when can I expect the bill for this place?" Loki asks

Hel didn't look up from the glowing rune she was adjusting.


"You won't," she said calmly.


That got Loki's attention.


The trickster goddess blinked once. Then twice. "…I'm sorry, run that by me again?"


"I am paying for this one," Hel replied, finally straightening. The runes faded, locking into the structure with a low, satisfied hum. "Consider it a personal expense."


Loki squinted at her before closing the gap an pressing the back of her hand into Hel's forehead like she was checking for fever. "You? Paying? Voluntarily? With what money?"

"I actually am very independently wealthy Loki." Hel responds

The goddess of trickery and lies only laughs at that statement, "Sure sure, so What is this really big shop going to be selling?"


"I have a smith and an armor maker in my familia now." Hel responds.

Loki's grin widened, sharp and delighted.


"…Oh?" she drawled. "A smith and an armorer? You move fast, kiddo. That's practically speedrunning the 'successful familia' checklist."


She strolled farther inside, boots echoing in ways they shouldn't have been able to echo, peering into half-finished rooms that bent subtly around her vision. One hallway curved when she wasn't looking directly at it. Another seemed to have an extra corner that vanished the moment she focused.


"…You know," Loki added casually, "most familias start with 'one broke adventurer and a dream.' You start with 'reality-warped forge, familia home complex. It kinda makes the rest of us look bad you know."

"That is not my concern," Hel replied evenly. "Ruby requires proper facilities. And Taylor needs places to keep her insects so she can make her armor."




"Taylor? … Isnt that the brand new one? How do you know so much about her already?" Loki asks


"So, you know how gods of death usually answer to the entitey sometimes?"

Loki's grin froze.


Just a little.


"…Define usually," she said carefully.


Hel finally turned to face her, expression calm, unreadable, hands faintly dusted with residual rune-light.


"I walk the thresholds," Hel replied. "Souls that fall between endings. Places that are not meant to exist. People who refuse to stay dead, or refuse to stay gone."


Loki stared at her daughter for a long second.


Then she barked out a laugh. "Ah. That kind of answer. Love it. Hate it. Explains absolutly nothing. But thats because you learned from the best!" Loki states smiling hard.

"Wanna stay for Dinner?" Hel asks

 

[Common]

Blake woke with a headache that felt older than sleep.


Not sharp. Not blinding. Just… heavy. Like her thoughts had been wrapped in cotton and left somewhere damp.


She stared at the ceiling for a long moment, watching unfamiliar shadows stretch across stone and wood that definitely did not belong to any place she remembered. Her mind tried to backtrack.


Atlas.


There had been alarms. Screaming. A rupture in the air like glass tearing sideways. A portal—wrong, unstable, swallowing light instead of reflecting it.


People had fallen.


Friends.


She squeezed her eyes shut, jaw tightening. The memories slipped away the harder she tried to grab them, dissolving into fog. After that there was only—


Fire.


A shrine made of stone and ash.


A gentle blonde woman whose voice felt like the end of a long road.


And then… nothing. Just drifting. Waiting. Like the world itself was holding its breath.


Blake pushed herself upright slowly, every muscle protesting like it hadn't been used properly in days. She was fully intact—no wounds, no aura screaming at her—but exhaustion clung to her bones.


This place was real. Too real to be a dream.


She could hear voices beyond the door. Familiar ones.


"…no, Ruby, you cannot test that in the hallway."


"That's why I'm only thinking about it!"


Blake let out a weak huff of breath that might've been a laugh.


Ruby.


Alive.


The knot in her chest loosened just a fraction.


She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, to be honest the past few days had been a hell of a rush. Yesterday they were living in that near empty mansion and now they were living in a house that was bigger on the inside.

Blake rubbed at her temples as she walked, the dull ache behind her eyes refusing to go away.


Her memories still felt… scrambled, the paperwork yesterday doing nothing to help.

She reached the end of the hallway and paused.


The house—their house—was still wrong in a way she couldn't quite put into words. Corridors subtly longer than they should be. Doorways that felt like they opened into more space than the exterior allowed. It was also detrimental to her migraine,

Blake followed the smell drifting through the halls—something warm and savory, bread and meat and herbs. Real food. Not ration bars. Not survival meals scavenged from half-burned kitchens.


She rounded the corner and slowed.


The kitchen was larger than she expected, sunlight spilling in from a window that absolutely did not face the right direction if she remembered the outside correctly. A long table dominated the room, already half-full of plates and cups.


Ruby was there, of course.


The red-cloaked girl was perched sideways on a chair, feet swinging as she talked animatedly with Hel… Their goddess and Savior who was cooking for all of them? Why was a god cooking for them?

Blake lingered in the doorway.


For just a second, she let herself watch.


Ruby laughed at something she'd said, nearly tipping her chair before catching herself with a practiced ease.

"BLAKE!" she shouted, already scrambling out of her chair. "You're up! Ohmygosh did you sleep okay? Do you want pancakes? Or grits? Or both? Hel made both."


"Say Blake if you have any dietary restrictions as a Cat fanus it would be nice to know now before I go shopping for food later today." Hel asks

"I can only eat fish."Blake responds with a small smile before watching her goddess visibly frown slightly.


"Blake dear, I feel like I shouldve told you this yesterday. Hell I mighve but you cant lie to gods. We have an inherent lie detector." Hel answers

Blake froze.


Just a little.


"…Lie?" she echoed.


Hel set the pan down with deliberate care, then turned fully toward her. There was no anger in her expression—no accusation—just that calm, unsettling certainty that gods carried when they already knew the answer.


"You can eat other things," Hel said gently. "You prefer fish. You are more comfortable with it. But you are not restricted to it. Although if you just wanted fish you only need to ask silly Kitten."

Blake's ears twitch. "Thats racist."


"Eh get used to it Kitten, I am willing to bet several people already think Ruby is a Pallum." Hel states with a snort.

Blake stared at her for a long moment, ears flicking again as she processed that.


"…I am not a kitten," she said flatly.


Ruby, who had been very pointedly pretending to stack plates, failed spectacularly and snorted. "You kinda are though."


Blake shot her a look. Ruby beamed back, entirely unrepentant.


Hel, meanwhile, had already turned back to the stove, utterly unbothered. "Semantics," she said. "Also inaccurate accusations. Racism requires systemic power structures. I am merely teasing."


"That doesn't make it better," Blake muttered, but there was no real heat in it.


She moved farther into the kitchen, taking in the scene properly now. The warmth. The food. The fact that a god—their god—was standing there in an apron, flipping pancakes like this was the most normal thing in the world.


Her headache throbbed again, but softer this time.


"…So," Blake said slowly, "you can just… tell when we're lying?"


Hel nodded. "Innately. It's not invasive unless I focus on it. Most of the time it's just… a sensation. A discordant note." She glanced back at Blake. "Yours was mild. Habitual, even. Something you tell people so often it stopped feeling like a lie."


Blake shrugs to herself, what could she say she just loved fish.


"So, Ruby is foraging stuff, Taylor is setting up her bugs. What is your plan for today Blake?" Hel asks

Blake hesitated, fingers curling lightly against the edge of the table.


"…I don't know," she admitted, then clarified, "I was thinking maybe explore the city. See what's out there. Look for gear. Information."


Hel studied her for a long moment, "Great I can join you then, It'll be a date."


Blake froze.


Her brain stalled somewhere between she did not just say that and oh gods she absolutely did.


"A— a what?" Blake sputtered, ears flattening as heat rushed to her face.

"A date? Is that not what it's called. I swear you kids keep changing up names and such. Back in my day a date used to be a fruit." Hel answers as seriously as she could.

 

[Common]

The room Hel had given her wasn't just a bedroom.


It was a massive workshop—one that occupied an unknown amount of the compound. Taylor suspected that if she tried to map it precisely, she'd get different answers depending on where she stood. The walls were stone and metal layered together, etched with containment runes that hummed softly under her skin. According to Hel, the entire space was sealed and reinforced so that when Taylor stepped outside her control range, nothing inside would escape.


That alone told Taylor two things.


One: Hel understood her power frighteningly well.

Two: This wasn't a temporary arrangement.


Taylor let out a slow breath and stepped inside, the door sealing shut behind her with a sound more final than locked.


"…Alright," she murmured. "Let's get organized."


She started with the terrariums.


Her pack hit the worktable, and she unpacked with methodical precision—glass panes, metal frames, soil packets, humidity stones, feeding trays. Hel hadn't questioned the supplies list at all. She'd just nodded once and was at the house the next morning.

Have her build it out and set up the spider loom before she realizes she doesn't feel any bugs and needs to bring some here.

Once the terrariums were in place, she moved on to the spider loom.


The loom itself was a hybrid—part frame, part containment rig. Taylor bolted it directly into the reinforced floor, ran guide rails along the sides, installed silk tensioners and feed channels with obsessive care. The design was something Ruby had cooked up in a burst of caffeine and enthusiasm—overengineered, clever, and annoyingly effective.


That little girl could give tinkers a run for their money.


Taylor tightened the final brace and stepped back, surveying the setup.


Perfect.


She reached out.


Nothing answered.


Taylor froze.


The ever-present hum at the edge of her awareness—the background pressure of countless tiny lives—was gone. No brushing contact. No distant signals. Just… silence.


Her stomach dropped.


"…Oh," she said quietly.


Of course.


The room was sealed. Reinforced. Outside her normal operating range.


She hadn't brought any bugs with her.


Taylor stood there for a long moment, one hand resting against the loom, surrounded by pristine equipment and empty terrariums. Everything ready. Nothing alive to use it.


She exhaled slowly, forcing the tension out of her shoulders.


"…Alright," she murmured, turning toward the door. "Guess I'm going shopping."

====

Orario was loud.


Not just noise—life. Footsteps, voices, vendors calling out prices in half a dozen languages, the clatter of armor and the hum of magic. It pressed in on Taylor from all sides as she stepped into the street, senses adjusting automatically.


She had always thought cities had a lot of bugs.


This place was infested.


Her awareness spread out instinctively—and immediately ran into resistance, not in force but in complexity. There were insects everywhere: under stone, in walls, clinging to rooftops, drifting on thermals of warm air and latent mana. Whole ecosystems layered on top of each other, interwoven with the city itself.


And many of them… weren't normal.


Some answered her awareness like familiar shapes, just with sharper edges. Beetles. Ants. Spiders. Others felt wrong—their instincts branching in strange ways, their internal rhythms touched by magic instead of biology. A few didn't register as individuals at all, but as patterns, like semi-organized swarms bound together by Mana.

"How did I not notice this earlier?" Taylor mutters as she grabs some of this worlds spiders knowing some experimentation is going to be needed to see what webs work best for gear.
Shock, probably. Trauma. Being dragged across worlds by a goddess of death and waking up with her arm back tended to reorder priorities.


Still, she focused, narrowing her awareness instead of letting it sprawl. Careful now.


She crouched near a stone planter overflowing with pale blue moss and flowering vines, fingers brushing the edge as her power reached down. A cluster of spiders responded immediately—thin-bodied things with translucent legs and faintly glowing spinnerets. Mana-adapted, definitely. Their silk hummed against her awareness like a plucked string.


Interesting.


"Sorry," she whispered out of habit, and guided them gently into her bag as another group made its way over. They showed from beneath a roof eave—bulkier, heavier silk, less elastic but denser. Armor weave, maybe.

Experimentation later.


For now, dinner.


Taylor forced herself to disengage, pulling her awareness in close as she stepped into the marketplace proper. The smells hit her first—grilled meat, baked bread, spices she couldn't name, something sweet and nutty frying in oil. It made her stomach tighten unpleasantly as she realized she was actually hungry.


"Did I even bring enough vails to cover it? I have so much to learn still." Taylor whispers to herself.


====

The forge rang with steady, cheerful violence.


Clang—hiss—clang.


Ruby wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her glove, silver eyes shining as she lifted the blade from the quench. It was simple. Straight. Balanced.


Perfect.


"Well hey there, buddy," she said to the sword, giving it a gentle test swing. "You're not fancy, but you won't embarrass me."


She leaned it against the rack beside a growing lineup—short swords, daggers, bucklers. Nothing enchanted yet. Nothing flashy.


Practice.


The new forge felt right in a way she hadn't expected. The equipment responded smoothly, the mana channels Hel had etched into the floor humming in quiet approval as Ruby adjusted heat and pressure with practiced ease.


She bounced on her heels, mind already racing ahead.


"Okay, okay, next step is mechashift prototypes," she muttered to herself. "But no Dust rounds, which suuucks…"


She scowled at the workbench.


"If Weiss was here," Ruby sighed, "she'd have figured out a workaround by now. Probably something with those magic stones, but last time I tried that I blewup the guild training room."

 

[Common]

The table was too big.


Not physically—it fit the room just fine—but conceptually. A long slab of dark wood, polished smooth, with space for a dozen people who didn't exist yet. It made the four of them feel smaller somehow, like the chairs were placeholders waiting for more people to arrive. to arrive.


Hel had filled the table anyway. It was a veritable feast.


Platters of roasted meat sat at the center, juices still sizzling softly against carved stone dishes. Bowls of root vegetables… An they were fantasy vegetables at that to Taylor, she had never seen any of those foods before. Even while buying them at the market they were unfamiliar. Judging by the looks coming from Blake and Ruby they thought the same thing. Luckily Hel knew how to cook them.

Ruby was the first to actually dig in.


She didn't hesitate, didn't ask questions, just carved off a generous slice of the roasted meat and forked it into her mouth.


Her eyes widened.

"Okay. Nope. I officially retract all skepticism," Ruby declared around a mouthful. "I don't know what this is, I don't know where it came from, and I definitely don't know how it's prepared but this tastes amazing!"

She chewed thoughtfully, then nodded with solemn conviction. "This is officially a 'trust Hel with my life and my taste buds' situation."


Hel inclined her head a fraction. "Wise."


Taylor took her turn more cautiously, cutting a smaller piece and tasting it like she expected consequences. There were none—just heat and richness and a faint hum beneath it all, something that resonated oddly against her senses.


"…It's good," she said, after a moment. "Really good."


Blake watched them both for a few seconds before finally eating herself. The tension in her shoulders eased, not all at once but enough that she noticed it. Enough that it bothered her.


The normalcy was… loud.


She set her fork down, ears tilting slightly as she looked toward Hel. "So," she said, keeping her tone casual with visible effort, "do you know who might be joining next?"


Ruby paused mid-bite.


Taylor looked up.


Hel met Blake's gaze without hesitation. "I have a general idea, but unfortunately i couldnt give anyone specifics."

Blake frowned faintly. "And the rest of our team? Our friends?"


Hel folded her hands together on the table, expression thoughtful rather than evasive. "Every night I spend asleep I am searching limbo for them. Is there anyone you wanted me to look for Taylor?"

That earned her three very different reactions—Ruby going still, Blake's ears lowering, Taylor's shoulders tightening almost imperceptibly.


Hel turned her gaze to Taylor. "Is there anyone in particular you want me to look for?"


Taylor didn't answer right away.


She stared down at her plate, fingers curling slightly against the edge as names lined up in her mind—faces, voices, ghosts of unfinished conversations. The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable.


"…Yes," she said finally, voice steady despite the tension beneath it. "There are people I care about. A lot."


"Tell me about them later, an I will keep my eye open for them." Hel answers


Everyone gets back to enjoying dinner before going to bed.

Hel nodded once. "Tell me about them later, and I will keep my eye open for them."


That was all she said. No promises she couldn't keep. No false reassurance.


That was all she said. No promises she couldn't keep. No false reassurance.


"I'm thinking of going to the dungeon tomorrow," Taylor said after a moment, deliberately shifting the conversation. "See if I can control the dungeon bugs."


Ruby froze halfway through reaching for another roll. "…The dungeon dungeon?"


"Yes."


Hel's eyes sharpened with interest, but she said nothing.


Blake glanced at Taylor, then at Hel, ears flicking with thought. "Can I come with you?"


Taylor looked up, surprised. "You want to?"


Blake nodded. "If you're testing control, having someone watching your blind spots seems… smart."


"I wanna come with," Ruby said immediately, then winced. "But I need to fix Crescent Rose first."


She sighed dramatically. "Priorities."


Taylor gave her a small nod. "That makes sense."


Hel watched the exchange in silence, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she saw them fall back into familiar rhythms—planning, compromising, looking out for one another.


"My children," she murmured, more to herself than to them.


The conversation drifted after that, winding down naturally as the last of dinner was finished. Soon enough, they parted for the night, the house settling into quiet once more—content, watchful, and very much awake to what tomorrow would bring.

 

[Common]

Hel woke to fog.


Not the gentle kind that clung to mornings and rivers, but the thick, lightless haze of purgatory—cold, soundless, and heavy with unfinished ends. It curled around her feet and swallowed the horizon whole, as it always did.


Limbo.


She exhaled slowly, breath misting despite not needing to breathe.


"Back again," Hel murmured. "I was hoping to see Firelink."


The fog did not answer.


Hel began to walk.


Each step carried her deeper into the mist, her senses unfurling not as sight but as knowing. This place did not reveal itself to eyes so much as to intent—paths forming only once one committed to them.


The crying found her before the figure did.

There, crouched amid the fog, was the cat girl again—small, spectral, her ears flattened tight against her head as she hugged her broken sword, that Hel could tell once held a soul.

"You're still here," Hel said gently.


The girl looked up, eyes too bright in the dim. She didn't speak. She never did. Only watched Hel with a mixture of hope and fear, as though worried that being noticed might make her vanish.


Hel knelt, careful not to reach out.


"Not tonight, I feel if I approach closer I'll get wisked away again." she told her softly. "Soon. I promise—but not tonight."

The cat girl's lower lip trembled. She nodded once.


Hel rose.


She took one step forward—


—and the world slipped sideways.


The fog folded in on itself, swallowing her whole. Sound vanished. Direction ceased to exist.


Then it cleared.


Hel emerged into a different kind of shadow.


The mist here was thinner, stretched low across dark stone like a living veil. The air felt older—heavy with secrets, with oaths long broken and histories deliberately buried.


A voice spoke from behind her.


"You do not belong here."


Hel turned.


A woman stood a short distance away, tall and composed, with long purple hair that flowed like ink down her back. Her eyes were sharp, ancient, and entirely unimpressed.


."

"That's funny," Hel replied mildly. "I'm fairly certain I'm one of the premier authorities on all things death."


The woman's gaze did not flicker.


"You stand before the Queen of the Land of Shadows," she said, voice even and absolute. "Introduce yourself."


Hel regarded her for a long moment.


Then she inclined her head—not deeply, but enough to acknowledge a sovereign equal.


"Hel," she said simply. "Norse goddess of the underworld. Keeper of those who die without glory, without oath—"


She paused, just long enough for the silence to sharpen.


"—and I have an offer for you."


The mist stilled.


Even the shadows seemed to lean closer.


The Queen's eyes narrowed a fraction. "An offer," she repeated. "From a foreign death-goddess."


Hel's smile was thin, deliberate. "From a peer. I seek no dominion here. No souls bound to your realm. Only cooperation."


"Explain."


Hel folded her hands behind her back, posture relaxed in a way that made the tension worse. "How would you like to leave the land of shadows? An save humanity from an evil dragon that wishes the destruction of the world? A new adventure with new students to teach?"


"That, sounds like something I would enjoy." The purple haired woman states

Hel blinked and opened her mouth.

===

And then she was staring at her ceiling.


Hel lay still for a moment, the echoes of shadow and mist fading as reality reasserted itself around her. Stone. Warmth. The faint, comforting presence of her domain settled firmly back into place.


"…Damn," she muttered aloud. "That would've been an insane deal."


She sat up slowly, pale eyes unfocused for a second as she replayed the encounter in her mind—the Queen's gaze, the weight of unspoken rules, the near-agreement hanging just out of reach.


"I have to find her again."


Decision made.


Hel swung her legs out of bed and rose, dressing with casual efficiency. A simple green dress settled around her form, the color deep and rich against her pale skin

She stepped out into the familia's storefront.


Morning light filtered in through the front windows, catching on polished metal and sharpened edges. Racks of weapons lined the walls—swords, spears, daggers, shields—each one bearing the unmistakable mark of Ruby's hand. Clever designs. Clean work.

Hel walked slowly between them, fingers brushing close without touching.


"…She's getting better," Hel murmured, a note of pride slipping through despite herself.


This place was taking shape.


So were her children she just needed Taylor to start making spider thread armor and outfits, thenthis familia would become something truly unique.


Hel smiled faintly.

She walked to the front door, flipped the sign to OPEN, and prepared to see just how the city would receive them.

====

The Dungeon loomed.


It was impossible to miss—even surrounded by the bustle of Orario, the massive stone shaft descending into the earth pulled the eye like a wound in the world. Cold air breathed up from below, carrying the faint scent of damp stone, and metal.

Taylor stood at the edge of it, one hand resting on the grip of a bastard sword.


The weight felt… right. Balanced. Familiar enough.

Blake stood beside her, weapon in hand, posture loose but ready. Her ears flicked as she took in the sounds—the distant clatter of adventurers, the echo of footsteps vanishing into the depths, the low, ever-present hum of the Dungeon itself.


"So," Blake said quietly, eyes fixed on the entrance. "Still sure about this?"


Taylor nodded once. "Upper floors only. I already feel bugs down there it's just a question of if they are dungeon monsters or normal bugs living in the dungeon."

"Well lets do this then." Blake responds

 

[Common]

The first growl echoed down the corridor before Blake ever saw them.


"Five kobolds ahead," Taylor stated.


It wasn't a guess.


Although it appeared Taylor knew exactly where they were.


They rounded the bend, and the monsters came into view precisely where she had indicated—short, hunched humanoids with wiry builds, coarse fur matted along their limbs, and wolfish heads set low on their shoulders. Yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness as muzzles pulled back in low snarls.


"You are not just sensing bugs are you?" Blake asks


"No," Taylor replied, eyes never leaving the pack. "I'm sensing through them." A brief pause. "And those mangy mutts in front of us have fleas."


Blake blinked.


"…You can tell that?"


"Yes."


The kobolds growled louder, weapons lifting as they noticed they'd been spotted.


Blake exhaled, settling into her stance. "Great. Dungeon monsters and parasites."


Taylor adjusted her grip on the bastard sword, awareness already locked onto every twitch of fur and muscle ahead.


"Try not to step in anything," she said flatly.


Then the kobolds charged.

Blake moved first.


She vanished in a blur, reappearing to the side of the leading kobold as its club smashed into empty air. Her blade flashed once—clean, efficient—and the monster dissolved into ash before it hit the floor.


Taylor stepped forward to meet the second and third head-on.


She didn't rush.


Taylor stood her ground as they closed in, posture steady, eyes tracking every twitch and breath. These things were nothing compared to the monsters she'd fought before—bigger, smarter, relentless in ways kobolds simply weren't.


The first spear came in low.


Her sword snapped up in a controlled block, metal ringing sharply through the corridor as the blow glanced aside. It speared the Kobold trying to go around on her. n the same motion, she stepped in and drove her blade forward, piercing the third kobold clean through the torso. It let out a startled yelp before dissolving into ash.


The fourth tried to flank her.


It never made it.


A shadow snapped into place behind it—Blake's ribbon catching its ankle, yanking hard. The kobold hit the ground, and Taylor finished it with a downward strike.


The last kobold hesitated, ears flattening, yellow eyes darting between them.

"Boo." Taylor states


The kobold broke.


It turned to run—and died before it took its second step.


Silence fell over the corridor once more, the Dungeon's low hum reclaiming the space.


Taylor lowered her sword, listening.


Blake exhaled. "Well," she said, glancing at the fading ash, "that went about as clean as it could."


"Yes," Taylor agreed quietly. "…and there are more further down."

====


Hel was genuinely surprised by how many adventurers were checking out her store.


The bell above the door chimed constantly as new customers came and went, the sounds of boots scuffing stone and excited murmurs filling the air. Hands ran over polished blades, tapped shields, and tested the balance of spears.


"Wow… this is impressive," one young adventurer said, hefting a short sword and rotating it in his hands. "New smith in town?"


"Very," Hel replied smoothly, leaning casually against the counter. "And enthusiastic."


Coins clinked onto the counter with each sale, and the line only grew longer.


Hel allowed herself a faint smile. Looks like Orario isn't waiting for an announcement. They notice talent when it appears.


From the corner of her eye, she could see Ruby moving between racks, doing her best to restock with her practice pieces, although it was clearly a losing battle.

It would only get crazier once the custom clothing was made.

===

The Dungeon corridor was no longer quiet.


Blake stood very, very still.


In front of them, the stone floor rippled.


Not metaphorically—literally rippled, segmented bodies shifting in coordinated waves as dozens upon dozens of giant ants crawled into formation. Their chitinous bodies gleamed dully in the Dungeon's light, mandibles clicking in soft, rhythmic patterns. Each one was the size of a large dog, some bigger, their movements precise rather than frantic.


An army.


Blake slowly turned her head toward Taylor. "So," she said carefully, "I'm guessing this is what you meant by 'seeing what you could control.'"


Taylor stood at the center of it all, bastard sword lowered, posture relaxed in a way that bordered on unsettling. Her eyes were unfocused, attention clearly elsewhere.


Then the swarm answered.


A rising chorus of chittering filled the corridor—clicks, scrapes, and vibrating pulses that overlapped in a way that almost sounded like speech.


"Yes…"


Blake's ears flattened hard against her head. Her grip tightened on her weapon. "This is horrifying," she whispered.


And then—


The formation broke.


Without warning, the ants turned on each other.


Mandibles snapped. Chitin cracked. Bodies slammed together in violent, coordinated collisions as the swarm collapsed inward. What had been an army a heartbeat ago became chaos—ants tearing into ants, legs ripped free, acid sprays hissing as it ate into stone and shell alike.


Blake stumbled back half a step. "Taylor?!"


"Sorry about that, Blake," Taylor said calmly, already stepping forward as the first bodies began to dissolve into smoke. "That was a lot of ants, and we needed to get their numbers down if we wanted to leave safely."


Blake stared at her.


Taylor crouched, unfazed, and began collecting the glittering magic stones left behind as the monsters fully disintegrated, her movements relaxed and entirely unbotherd.

Blake watched in silence for a few seconds, ears twitching.


"…You planned that," she said finally.


"Yes," Taylor replied without looking up. "Controlled culling. Less risk than fighting them all directly."


She straightened, pouch heavier now, and glanced deeper into the Dungeon where the corridor sloped downward into shadow.


"Let's go down further," Taylor said evenly. "See what else we can find."

 

[Common]

The Dungeon shifted as they went deeper.


The stone underfoot grew darker, veins of faintly glowing crystal threading through the walls. The air felt heavier too—not oppressive, but watchful. Taylor slowed without consciously meaning to, her awareness stretching ahead of them in careful threads.


Then she stopped.


Blake noticed immediately. "What is it?"


"…Someone's running," Taylor said. Her head tilted slightly. "Small. Fast. Injured."


A sharp sound echoed down the corridor a heartbeat later—a yelp, high and panicked.


Blake was already moving. "That wasn't a monster."


They broke into a run.

===

A lone blonde Renard lay backed against the wall

Three Dungeon-born lizardmen circled her, hissing to each other, weapons raised.


The Renard's eyes were wide, pupils blown, chest heaving as she tried to make herself smaller.


Taylor didn't hesitate.


The bugs answered her thought before she fully formed it.


From cracks in the stone an the roof above, ants poured out.

The Renard's eyes were wide, pupils blown, chest heaving as she tried to make herself smaller, knife trembling in her grip.


Taylor didn't hesitate.


The bugs answered her thought before she fully formed it.


From cracks in the stone and the ceiling above, ants poured out.


They didn't swarm blindly.


They hit.


Chitinous bodies rained down onto the lizardmen's shoulders and heads, mandibles locking onto exposed flesh and armor seams. One lizardman roared, dropping its weapon as ants crawled over its face, forcing its jaws shut.


Blake was already moving.


She flashed past the first distracted monster, blade cutting cleanly through its neck. It dissolved into ash before it hit the ground.


The second staggered, trying to tear the ants free.


Taylor stepped in, bastard sword rising and falling once. The blow split its torso, and it vanished in a burst of smoke and glittering fragments.


The third tried to retreat.


Ants wrapped around its legs, dragging it down hard.


Blake ended it with a single thrust.


Silence returned to the chamber, broken only by the faint clicking of ants withdrawing at Taylor's silent command.


The Renard stared at them, frozen—eyes glassy, breath shallow.


Blake lowered her weapon and immediately crouched, keeping her posture open. "Hey," she said gently. "It's okay. You're safe now."


"Taylor?" the fox girl whispered, eyes locking onto her as if she were afraid to blink.


Taylor took a half-step forward. "Yes. I'm here."


That was all it took.


The tension bled out of the Renard all at once. Her knees buckled, knife slipping from numb fingers as she pitched forward—


Blake caught her just in time.


"Whoa—hey, I've got you," Blake said, easing her carefully to the ground and supporting her head. "Exhaustion. Blood loss, maybe."


Taylor knelt beside them immediately, already assessing, hands steady despite the adrenaline still humming through her. The Renard's breathing was shallow but even now, her ears twitching faintly as unconsciousness claimed her.


"She knew who I was." Taylor states confused

====

Hel was working the counter at the store… and found herself, once again, wondering what Ruby had actually named the place.


The bell above the door chimed.


"Excuse me, I have a question about this sword?" an adventurer said, resting the weapon carefully on the counter as he looked up at Hel.


"Ask away," Hel replied pleasantly.


The man hesitated, then held the sword up, squinting at it. "Do you have one that's… slightly shorter? I mean, I know all the stuff in here is custom made, and what I see is what you have, but maybe you've got one in the back?"


Hel stared at him.


Not angrily.


Not even annoyed.


Just… stared.


The look she gave him was the same one she'd once reserved for souls who insisted they hadn't actually died despite very clear evidence to the contrary.


Slowly, carefully, Hel leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand.


"No," she said flatly. "I do not have a secret pile of weapons hidden in the back that somehow escaped the notice of the smith who made every single one of these."


The adventurer blinked. "Oh. Uh."


Hel straightened, smile returning—thin, polite, and just sharp enough to sting. "What you see is what exists. If you want something different, you wait for the smith. Or you buy what is here."


She gestured to the racks with an open palm.


The man scratched the back of his head, sheepish. "Right. Yeah. That makes sense. Are you sure there isn't any in the back? Maybe you can check?"

Hel stared at him.


Again.


This time, there was a pause—long enough for the air between them to grow noticeably heavier.


Slowly, deliberately, Hel turned her head and glanced over her shoulder.


There was no back room.


No curtain. No door. No mysterious workshop hidden out of sight. Just more wall, more weapon racks, and Ruby very visibly scrambling to re-tag a spear before someone bought that too.


Hel turned back.


"No," she said pleasantly. Too pleasantly. "I am quite sure."


The adventurer opened his mouth.


Hel continued.


"If there were a back room," she went on, tone mild and conversational, "it would contain exactly the same things you see here, because the smith is currently asleep, and I am not in the habit of conjuring weapons out of thin air for people who ask nicely twice."


The adventurer opened his mouth—then stopped.


Because the bell over the door chimed.


Every head in the store turned.


Taylor stepped inside first, armor scuffed and dusted with Dungeon grime, bastard sword strapped across her back. Blake followed at her side, expression guarded, ears alert. Between them, cradled carefully, was a small fox-eared girl, unconscious and pale, tail limp against Blake's arm.


The store went quiet.


Conversations died mid-sentence. Hands froze on hilts. More than one adventurer took in the scene—the injuries, the soot, the unmistakable look of someone brought up from the Dungeon—and stiffened.


Hel turned.


The irritation on her face vanished instantly.


"…Taylor," she said, already moving around the counter.


The adventurer at the counter glanced between them, suddenly very aware that he was in the way.


Blake shifted the Renard slightly, keeping her supported. "She collapsed. We have no clue who she is but she know's Taylor."

"That's fine take her to one of the guest rooms, an if anyone in this shop has info on her god that would be appreciated." Hel announces


"I think that's Sarah, she's the captain of the Masatos familia!" A yong boy shouts

"Who, is Mastos?" Hel asks aloud.

 

[Common]

Hel was sitting across from Mastos.


She had arrived unannounced.


This was, after all, a courtesy.


Mastos' office was exactly what one would expect from a god of sensible spending. Clean. Functional. No gold trim. No excessive ornamentation. A sturdy desk, well-organized shelves, ledgers stacked neatly by date and category.


It was, Hel decided, deeply unsettling.


Mastos himself was equally predictable. A middle-aged man with neatly kept hair, plain robes, and an expression that suggested he had opinions about interest rates. He regarded Hel over steepled fingers, dark eyes sharp with calculation rather than arrogance.


"Hel," he said calmly. "Goddess of the Norse underworld. This is… unexpected. Well I am Mastos the god of sensible spending."


"I get that a lot," Hel replied, crossing one leg over the other. "One of your children ended up in my care."

Mastos' expression tightened—just a fraction. "Sarah."


"She was abandoned in the Dungeon," Hel continued evenly. "Injured. Exhausted. Alive because two of mine intervened."


That fraction became a line.

"I see," Mastos said slowly.


Silence stretched between them, heavy with implication.


After a moment, Mastos sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I assume you did not come merely to inform me."


"No," Hel agreed pleasantly. "I came because your child knew someone in my familia—which is weird, considering my child is new to Orario."


Mastos' brow furrowed. "Knew… how?"


"By name," Hel said. "In the Dungeon. While bleeding. Before passing out."


That earned her a sharp look.


"That is… concerning," Mastos admitted. "Sarah is cautious. She doesn't gossip, and she certainly doesn't memorize the names of unaffiliated adventurers."


"Yet she knew Taylor's," Hel replied. "So either my child is already famous—unlikely, though she is impressive—or someone has been talking."


Mastos opened his mouth to respond—


Knock. Knock. Knock.


The sound was crisp, practiced, and utterly unafraid.


Hel turned her head slightly toward the door. "…That's new."


Mastos grimaced. "Unfortunately, that will be for me."


He raised his voice. "One moment."


The knocking did not stop.


Hel's smile sharpened by a degree.


Mastos stood and opened the door.


Two men stood outside. Both were well-dressed, clean-cut, and carrying clipboards. One wore a Guild badge, which was obviously fake. The others did not, which Hel found far more interesting.


"Lord Mastos," the first said politely, "we're here regarding the money you owe our boss."


Hel blinked once.


Then, very slowly, she leaned back in her chair.


"A god of sensible spending," she muttered under her breath, genuine disbelief slipping through her composed tone, "is in debt."


Mastos did not turn around. His shoulders stiffened. "This is… not a good time."


The second man smiled thinly. "With respect, sir, it never is."


Hel's eyes flicked to him. The temperature in the room seemed to dip—not sharply, not dramatically, but enough to make the air feel heavier.


"Your boss," Hel said calmly, "must be very confident to send you here."


The man hesitated. Just a fraction. "We're simply collecting on a loan."


"Extortion, you mean," she said slowly, rising to her feet. The movement was deliberate, controlled—the kind that carried authority without shouting. "And judging by your lack of divine insignia, you represent neither a Familia nor the Guild."

"Mastos who did you take a loan out with." Hel asks


"Filthy slavers." Mastos states

Hel stopped moving.


Not froze—stopped. As if the concept of motion itself had decided to wait for her permission.


"…Slavers," she repeated softly.


The word settled into the room like ash.


Mastos finally turned, meeting her eyes. There was no evasion in his expression. Just tired honesty. "My current captain Sarah was one of their slaves, and they gave her to me on loan."


"Okay, Mastos," she said calmly, turning her attention fully back to him, "you should have known better than to deal with a Dark Familia."


Her eyes flicked briefly to the door, as if the walls themselves might be listening.


"Oranos made that very clear to me when I descended—second thing he mentioned, actually. No tolerance. Not here. Not in his city."


She stepped forward, the air tightening with each measured pace, and stopped just short of the threshold. When she spoke again, her voice carried—quiet, precise, impossible to ignore.


"You lot," she said, addressing the men beyond the door without opening it, "are going to leave. You are going to go home. And you are going to tell your god exactly this."


A pause.


"Mastos is under my protection."


The words landed with divine weight.


"The debt is forgiven. Consider it erased. I will even forget this transgression taking place within the Great City, because I am feeling generous today."


Her tone shifted—just slightly.


"If I catch even a hint of this arrangement continuing," Hel went on, eyes darkening, "if I so much as hear a rumor of chains being rattled in Orario under your banner again…"


She smiled then. Cold. Certain.


"…I am sure my father would be delighted to get involved too."


Silence pressed in from all sides.


Behind her, Mastos swallowed hard. He knew the name she hadn't spoken. Everyone did.


Hel turned back to him once the threat had settled into inevitability.


"Your captain," she said, softer now, "is not a loan. She is a survivor. And if she chooses to remain with you, that choice will be hers alone."


She inclined her head slightly. Not forgiveness—but acknowledgment.


"Do not make me correct your judgment again, Mastos." Hel states before starting to walk away, "Sensible spending my ass."

 

[Common]

The mood at the table was… lighter than it had any right to be.

Plates were full, voices overlapped in casual conversation, and for the first time since Hel's descent, the space felt less like a refuge and more like a home. Ruby had cooked—again—and this time she'd gone all out. Spiced meat, roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and something sweet that Blake swore wasnt fish as much as it tasted like it.

Hel sat at the head of the table, posture relaxed, one arm draped casually over the back of her chair.

Taylor watched her for a long moment.

"…So," Taylor said finally, setting her fork down. "You dealt with something today."

Blake paused mid-bite. Ruby looked up immediately.

Hel arched a brow. "You could tell?"

"You only get that look," Taylor replied evenly, "when someone did something catastrophically stupid and survived purely because you allowed it."
"Yeah! Thats the I wanna stab a bitch look!" Ruby cheers
Hel blinked.

Once.

Then slowly turned her head toward Ruby.

The table had gone utterly silent.

Blake stared, ears frozen halfway upright. Taylor's expression had locked somewhere between processing and regret. Even the ambient noise of plates and cutlery seemed to have died on impact.

"…Ruby," Blake said carefully, "Who taught you those words?"

"Blake! I am 18 now, ive known these words for a while!" Ruby states back in some mock outrage.
"Anyways what happened?" Taylor asks
Hel exhaled once, slow and controlled, then rested her elbows lightly on the table.

"A god," she said flatly, "made a deal with slavers."

The table went quiet again—but this time, heavier.

Ruby's smile vanished. "Oh."

Blake's ears flattened, genuine anger flashing across her face. "In Orario?"

"Yes," Hel replied. "A Greek god named Mastos. God of 'sensible spending,' apparently." Her lip curled. "He took a loan. In order to get his first child."

"Sarah?" Taylor asks clearly disturbed
Hel inclined her head once. "Yes. Sarah."
Taylor's fingers tightened slightly around her cup. The name settled differently nowjust a frightened Renard in the Dungeon, slavery was disgusting.
"She's the captain of his Familia," Hel continued. "Or was forced into being, depending on how you look at it. He thought he was saving her. And he did—just… I hate slavery on a fundemental level, I hope to talk with the girl tomorrow when she wakes up."
Ruby's jaw clenched. "That's messed up."
"It is," Hel agreed. "But I am willing to bet her god will probably show up tomorrow, an you three be careful. Odds are I made us some powerful enemies today." Hel states standing up making her way to her bedroom.
====
Hel woke to the crackle of fire.

Stone beneath her.The air smelled of ash and old smoke, not unpleasant—familiar.
"Hello Fire Keeper!" Hel announces
The crackling answered first—steady, patient, eternal.

Then soft footsteps approached across stone.

The Fire Keeper emerged from the shadows near the bonfire, pale eyes hidden behind her dark band, hands folded neatly at her waist. Her presence was quiet in the way only something ancient and deliberate could be.

"Welcome back," she said gently. "Bearer of a… most unusual soul."

Hel smiled, a little crooked. "Since, I'm here is it safe to assume you got something cool for me?"

"Well, another lost soul has wondered in recently,an with her came an annoying chill. If you could take her off my hands I would appreciate it." The Fire Keeper states
The Fire Keeper's voice remained calm, but the bonfire behind her dipped for a heartbeat, flames shrinking as if in agreement with her words.

Hel's crooked smile widened. "An annoying chill, huh? You're really selling this."

"She is not malicious," the Fire Keeper said, inclining her head slightly. "But she does not belong. The fire weakens when she draws near, and the dead grow… restless."

Hel hummed thoughtfully. "Restless dead are usually my department."

The Fire Keeper lifted one hand and gestured toward the far side of the shrine, where broken stone steps descended into shadow and frost clung unnaturally to the edges.

"She lingers below," she continued. "She will not speak to me. She will not answer the fire. But she listens—to silence."

Hel followed the gesture with her eyes, the air around her cooling almost imperceptibly in response. "Lost soul. Cold aura. Uncooperative." A pause. "Let me guess—unfinished business?"

"Yes," the Fire Keeper said simply. "And a great deal of it."

Hel exhaled, rolling her shoulders as if settling a familiar weight. "You really should start charging for this kind of thing."

A faint, almost-smile touched the Fire Keeper's lips. "You always come back anyway."

"I'll go see if I can talk to Him? Her?" Hel states as she walks into one of the side pathways of firelink.
The air changed the moment Hel stepped off the main shrine path.

The warmth of the bonfire thinned, stretched, then vanished entirely—replaced by a biting, unnatural cold that didn't sting the skin so much as press against the soul. Frost crept along the cracked stone under her feet, spreading outward in delicate, crystalline veins.

"…Yep," Hel muttered. "That'll be her."

The side pathway opened into a shallow alcove half-swallowed by ruin. Fallen columns lay broken like ribs, and at their center—

A girl sat alone.

Her hair was white as fresh snow, long and loose down her back, catching faint blue light that didn't seem to come from anywhere in particular. She wore a simple blue dress, old-fashioned and pristine despite the ash and decay around her. Bare feet rested on stone dusted with frost.

The cold emanated from her.

Not violently. Not aggressively.

Just… endlessly.

Hel stopped a few steps away, posture relaxed, hands loose at her sides. No weapon. No authority flared. Just presence.

"Well," Hel said conversationally, "you're definitely not from around here."

The girl did not look up.

"I didn't mean to break anything," she said softly.

Her voice was calm, distant—like wind moving over ice.

Hel raised a brow. "You didn't break it. You're just… incompatible."

The girl looks up at Hel an dweiss notices the scar over one of her eyes.

"Are you Weiss?" Hel cant help but ask
The girl stiffened.

Just a little—but enough.

Her pale blue eyes sharpened, focus snapping into place as the name hit her like a struck bell. The cold around her flared instinctively, frost racing up the broken stone before settling again, restrained by sheer will.

"…I was, then my sister died and I became the winter maiden for a short while before I died… How did you know my name?" Weiss asks

"Ruby told me," Hel responds
"…Ruby," she repeated quietly.

The name did more than the cold ever could. It unmade her composure.

Hel met her gaze steadily. No flinching. No pity.

"She talks about you," Hel said simply. "Tries not to sound like she misses you. Fails spectacularly."

Weiss swallowed. Her voice, when it came, was tight. "She always did."

She looked down at her hands. Frost crept along her fingers, then retreated again, like it didn't know whether it was allowed to exist.

"So," Weiss said after a beat, "I'm dead. My sister is dead. I get dragged into… whatever this is." She gestured vaguely at Firelink, the ash, the fire. "And Ruby is still alive, still charging forward like nothing ever stops her."

Hel tilted her head. "That sound like her?"

A weak, broken laugh slipped out of Weiss before she could stop it. It startled even her.

"…Yes," she admitted. "Unfortunately."

Silence returned—but it was no longer empty.

Weiss straightened, shoulders squaring out of old habit. "If Ruby told you my name, then you've seen her. Recently."

"Daily," Hel confirmed. "She lives under my roof. Builds weapons in my shop. Eats like she's afraid the food will escape."

Weiss blinked. "…Of course she does."

Hope crept in cautiously, like a skittish thing afraid of being crushed.

"You're not here by accident," Hel continued. "You don't belong in this cycle, and Firelink can't process you. That makes you my problem."

Weiss looked at her. Really looked.

"…Are you going to send me on?" she asked. "To whatever comes next?"

Hel's expression hardened—not cruelly, but decisively.

"No," she said. "I'm going to give you a choice."

She stepped closer, the frost recoiling fully now.

"You can stay here, slowly freezing into a memory Firelink will eventually bury," Hel said evenly. "Or you can come with me. Another world. Another city. Another adventure." Hel states with a smile

Weiss pauses for awhile to think before nodding. "I think it's obvious that I would be down for a new adventure."

"Then, let us go on to the next greater adventure." Hel states with a smile taking Wiess' hand.

 

[Common]

Cold.


That was the first thing Ruby registered as consciousness crept back in. Not the normal Orario-at-dawn chill, not the drafty-stone-building kind of cold—this was sharper, cleaner. Like winter air that hadn't decided whether it wanted to bite yet.


Ruby blinked, silver eyes opening slowly.


"…Huh?"


It was still dark outside. Not night exactly—more like that deep, early-morning blue where the sky hadn't committed to sunrise yet. The shop was quiet. Too quiet. No distant street noise. No early adventurers clanking past.


Ruby pushed herself up on her elbows, blanket slipping down her shoulders.


Her breath fogged.


"…Okay, that's new," she muttered.

Ruby swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, the stone floor cold against her feet in a way it usually wasn't. The chill wasn't aggressive—just present, like the air itself was holding its breath.


"…Hel?" she called softly.


No answer.


She grabbed her cloak from the back of the chair and pulled it on, habit more than need, then padded toward the door.

When She reached the top of the stairs and paused.


Frost traced the banister.


Not thick enough to be dangerous, just a delicate white line curling along the wood grain like someone had drawn with ice instead of chalk.

Okay, Ruby thought, either something weird is happening or something really cool is happening.

Making her way down the stairs the temperature fell a significant amount .


And at the center of it—


Hel stood calmly, hands folded behind her back, looking entirely too pleased with herself.


Ruby's gaze slid past her.


White hair.


Blue dress.


Frost curling at her feet, controlled with surgical precision, never spreading farther than she allowed.


Ruby's breath caught so hard it hurt.


Her brain stalled. Her heart did not.


"…Weiss?" she said, voice barely more than air.


Weiss looked up.


For a heartbeat, the world stopped.


Then Weiss's expression broke—years of composure cracking all at once. "Ruby."


That was it.


Ruby bolted down the last few steps and crossed the room in a blur, slamming into Weiss and wrapping her arms around her as tight as she could manage without hurting her. Weiss made a startled sound before clutching back just as fiercely, fingers fisting in Ruby's cloak like she was afraid Ruby might vanish.


"You're— you're here," Ruby choked, laughing and crying at the same time. "You're actually here. I thought— I thought you were—"


"I know," Weiss said softly, voice shaking despite herself. "I know."


Footsteps sounded behind them.


Slow. Uneven. Dragging slightly, like someone who had been woken far too early.


Blake emerged from the hallway, hair loose, ears drooping, eyes half-lidded with sleep. She paused mid-step, one hand braced against the doorframe as she took in the scene.


The frost.


The unfamiliar figure in blue.


The white hair.


Her eyes widened.


Her ears snapped fully upright.


"…No," Blake said flatly, exhaustion giving her voice a hollow edge. "I'm still asleep."


Weiss turned at the sound.


For a heartbeat, Blake didn't breathe.


Then Weiss's lips curved into a small, tentative smile. "Hello, Blake."


That did it.


Blake's knees nearly buckled. She caught herself on the doorframe, ears twitching once in stunned disbelief.


"…Weiss?" Blake whispered.


Ruby pulled back just enough to look between them, eyes red and shining. "She's real," Ruby said fiercely, like she was daring the world to argue. "She's really here."


Blake crossed the room in a few slow steps, each one careful, measured—like she was afraid the floor might give way, or that the moment might dissolve if she moved too fast. She stopped in front of Weiss, searching her face, ears flicking with barely restrained emotion.


Slowly, Blake reached out and placed a hand on Weiss's arm.


Warm.


Solid.


Real.


Blake's breath hitched. "…You're actually here."


Weiss nodded once, a small, fragile smile tugging at her lips. "I am."


That was all it took.


Blake leaned in, arms wrapping around both of them at once—one arm around Weiss's shoulders, the other pulling Ruby close. Ruby immediately tightened her grip, burying her face against Weiss's chest, while Weiss froze for half a heartbeat before returning the embrace, arms encircling them both.


For a moment, none of them spoke.


There was only shared warmth, shaky breaths, and the quiet crackle of frost melting away beneath their feet.


Blake rested her forehead lightly against Weiss's. "Don't die again."


Weiss barked out a short, surprised laugh—half humor, half something dangerously close to a sob. "I'll try not to."


She hesitated, then asked softly, "Is Yang here?"


The question hit like a dropped plate.


Ruby's grip loosened just a little. Her shoulders sagged, the brightness draining from her expression as if someone had turned down the light behind her eyes. "…Not yet," she said, voice small.


Before the silence could deepen, another voice cut in—calm, controlled, and unmistakably Hel.


"Not yet," Hel said from a few steps away. "But I am working on it."


All three of them looked up at her.


Hel met Weiss's gaze evenly, hands folded behind her back, her expression serious but not unkind. "Some lost souls take longer to find," she said calmly. "And from Ruby's stories, her older sister is very much the free-spirited type. Those are always the hardest to pin down."


A beat passed.


Then footsteps shuffled in from the hall.


"This is an early morning," Taylor muttered, rubbing at one eye as she stepped into the room, a yawn breaking through the end of her sentence. "What's going on?"


Her gaze drifted lazily over Ruby, Blake, the lingering frost—


—and then locked onto Weiss.


The yawn died halfway.


Taylor stopped dead.


"…Huh. We got another one…" she said blearily, scratching the back of her head. Then, without a shred of tact, she added, "Have you given her the magic tramp stamp yet?"


Silence.


For exactly half a second.


"EXCUSE ME, A MAGIC WHAT?!" Weiss shouted, her composure detonating on the spot.


Ruby doubled over immediately, hands on her knees, laughing so hard she almost fell. "S-sorry—! Weiss—! It's not—!" She failed to finish the sentence, dissolving into giggles again.


Blake pressed a fist to her mouth, shoulders shaking, ears flattened in pure, delighted betrayal. "Oh my gods, Taylor."


Hel, utterly unbothered, turned her head slightly. "Not yet, Owl," she said calmly. "How come the outfits?"


Taylor made a vague, wobbling so-so gesture with her hand, eyes half-lidded. "Eh. Progress."


Weiss's head snapped toward them so fast it was a miracle she didn't pull something. "WHAT?!"

 

[Common]

The bell over the storefront door rang once—sharp, deliberate.


Hel looked up from the counter just in time to see chaos stroll in wearing a grin.


Loki leaned against the doorframe like she owned the place, hands tucked behind her head, red hair wild as ever, eyes already glittering with mischief. Behind her stood a much quieter presence: a dark-haired goddess with skin like polished obsidian, gold eyes steady and unreadable, her expression composed to the point of severity.


"Well I'll be damned," Loki drawled cheerfully. "Didn't even have to kick the door in. That's new for me."


Hel sighed. "You never kick doors. That was always uncle Thor."

"Semantics." Loki waved it off, then jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Anyway, delivery."


The other goddess stepped forward, movements smooth and dignified. She inclined her head slightly toward Hel—not submission, but acknowledgment.


Then her composure shattered.


"I can't believe you left me!" Eresh shouted, gold eyes blazing. "Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be pawned off on her?"


Loki grinned wider. "Aw, you wound me."


Hel didn't miss a beat.


"No," she said calmly, folding her hands behind her back, "I left you with Loki while my familia settled in. Because I knew you would be safe."


It was a flawless lie.


Hel had slept through three weeks, missed two divine meetings, and—briefly—forgotten Eresh existed.


Eresh stared at her.


"…You are lying!" Eresh shouted, composure finally cracking as her gold eyes burned.


Hel didn't even blink.


"I was going to come get you next week," she replied smoothly.


Silence.


Loki's eyebrows shot up. Then she snorted. "Next week. Bold strategy. Anyway's my Ais is back along with the rest of my familia and you promised to train her."


Hel sighs, "Weiss! We got a field trip!" Hel shouts into the house.

Silence stretched for half a heartbeat.


Then—


"…A field trip?" Weiss's voice echoed from deeper in the house, sharp with suspicion and very awake despite the hour. Footsteps followed, quick and precise. She appeared in the doorway moments later, blue eyes flicking between Loki, Eresh, and Hel in rapid assessment. "Why do I feel like I should be concerned?"


Loki grinned like she'd just been handed a wrapped gift. "Because you're smart."


Hel waved a hand dismissively. "Relax. Educational violence. My father has a kid she wants trained in the art of wielding a rapier. An I feel like you could give better pointers than me."


"Oi Oi, daughter who is this an why would a level one new adventure be better than my Ais at weilding a sword." Loki interrupts

Hel didn't even look at Loki when she answered.


"Because Weiss isn't just swinging a sword," Hel said calmly. "She's trained in precision, footwork, control of space, and fighting opponents who vastly outmatch her. Rapier work is about intent, not brute force."


Weiss straightened a fraction at that, chin lifting on instinct.

Loki blinked. "…Huh."


Then she grinned wider, clearly delighted. "Oh this is gonna be fun."


Eresh shot Hel a flat, unimpressed look. "You are outsourcing divine responsibilities to a recent new adventurer."


Hel nodded to herself, entirely unbothered. "Yes."


Then, as if remembering something important—


"RUBY!" Hel shouted into the depths of the house.


A startled yelp answered back, followed by a spectacular crash of metal on stone.


"…I'M OKAY!" Ruby's voice echoed faintly. "I THINK!"


Hel couldnt help, glancing toward the direction of the noise where at least three different workshops were.


Loki stared down the hallway, then slowly looked back at Hel. "…Hey, daughter. How big is this house?"

Hel considered the question, glancing toward the direction of the noise where at least three different workshops definitely existed in spaces that should not have fit together.


Loki stared down the hallway, then slowly looked back at Hel. "…Hey, daughter. How big is this house?"


"Pretty big," Hel replied blandly.


Weiss, who had been quietly observing the architecture with growing suspicion, adjusted her stance and spoke up coolly. "Don't bother trying to hide it, Goddess. Lady Father—" she inclined her head slightly toward Loki "—it's bigger on the inside."


For half a second, there was silence.


Then Hel broke first, laughter spilling out sharp and unrestrained. Eresh followed a heartbeat later, a rare, genuine laugh escaping her as she covered her mouth, gold eyes alight.


Loki just stood there, processing.


"…Lady Father, although for the future, kid my name is Loki" she repeated slowly.


A grin crept across her face—wide, feral, and deeply amused. "Hah. You know what? I'll take it."


She planted her hands on her hips, chest thrust forward with mock pride. "Sounds intimidating. Could help keep the brats in line."


Weiss blinked, clearly caught off guard.


Ruby appeared just then, eyes darting between the three of them. "…Did I miss something? Oh! Hi, Eresh!"


Ereshicgal made a sharp gesture toward Ruby while shooting Hel a glare. "Your captain remembered me!"


"Eresh, I didn't forget you," Hel said smoothly. "Ruby, can you show her to her room and give her a proper tour?"


"Sure!" Ruby replied, practically bouncing with excitement.


"Great," Hel said, moving past them and flipping the open sign to closed. She glanced back at Weiss and Loki, expression sharp and purposeful. "Let's go."

 

[Common]

Weiss was happy to be alive again. Happy to be with Ruby and Blake. And so, when her new goddess—the one whose mark she now bore—asked her for a favor, Weiss couldn't say no. The favor? Training someone in the art of wielding a rapier.


So here she was, sliding into her brand-new combat boots, each movement precise and careful, the leather snug against her ankles. Her hands brushed over the sleek fabric of the combat outfit Taylor had crafted, a gift from her new family member, perfectly tailored for both mobility and protection. Weiss couldn't help but admire the work; every seam, every panel, was perfect.

She adjusted the rapier at her side, checking its balance with a practiced flick of her wrist. This was going to be more than a simple lesson—she intended to school this Ais properly.


Taking a deep breath, Weiss stepped out of the front door of the home an saw Hel and Loki waiting for her.

"Ready to see what you've got, Weiss?" Loki called, voice teasing.

Weiss met her gaze without hesitation. "That depends," she replied coolly. "Is your student ready to learn?"


Loki's grin widened. "Oh, she's very motivated."


====


Twilight Manor's training grounds lay just beyond the main structure—an expansive stone courtyard bordered by towering arches

The moment Weiss stepped into Twilight Manor, she felt it.


Not hostility. Not fear.

Recognition.


The air itself seemed to tighten around Hel, like the manor was aware of her presence and adjusting accordingly. Conversations faltered. Footsteps slowed. Every executive in the Loki Familia turned, eyes tracking Hel with a mix of wariness and respect.


Weiss stayed half a step behind her goddess, posture straight, hands relaxed at her sides. She didn't need to look at Hel to know she was being watched—felt—by everyone in the room.


Finn Deimne was the first to move. Weiss noted it automatically: leader instinct, quick assessment, controlled approach. He inclined his head, spear grounded but ready.

"Lady Hel," Finn said evenly. "Welcome to Twilight Manor."


Hel exhaled, slow and faintly amused.


"Did you draw the short straw this time, Finn?" she asked. "There's no need to be so formal."


Weiss felt the tension ease—just a fraction. Finn straightened, the rigid edge to his posture softening as he allowed himself a small, professional smile.


"…Was that a short joke?" Finn asked, uncertain.


Hel tilted her head, considering. "I don't know," she replied mildly. "Maybe it went over your head."


For a heartbeat, the room froze.


Then laughter barked out from somewhere off to the side.


"Hah!" Bete cackled, shoulders shaking. "That's a good one!"


Weiss caught Finn's sigh—long-suffering, resigned—but he didn't look offended. If anything, the exchange seemed to steady him.


"Just because you're shorter than most normal humans," Finn said dryly, "doesn't mean you can make short jokes about Pallums."


A few chuckles rippled through the hall. Even Riveria's lips twitched—just barely—before she cleared her throat.


"Lady Hel," Riveria said calmly, "please stop picking on our captain's height."


Hel turned her head.


Slowly.


"I'm sorry," she replied, tone mild and utterly unapologetic, "did you say something, knife-ears?"


The room froze.


Weiss felt it instantly—the collective intake of breath, the sharp spike of disbelief.

Then Loki broke.


She doubled over, laughter exploding out of her. "Pff—knife-ears?!" She wiped at her eyes, grinning wildly. "That's an entirely new one! Oh, daughter, where do you even come up with these amazing things?"


Bete was openly howling now, slapping a hand against the wall. Gareth looked away, shoulders shaking. Finn pinched the bridge of his nose like he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him here.


Weiss stayed perfectly still.


That wasn't random, she realized. That was deliberate, is what is referred to when it is said you are shooting the shit?

Boots struck stone, hard and fast, echoing through the hall with urgency that cut cleanly through the laughter.


"Ais—" someone breathed.


Weiss turned as the blonde swordswoman burst into the room, armor half-fastened, breath sharp, eyes locked on Hel like nothing else existed.


"Lady Hel," Ais said, voice tight with restrained emotion. "You remember our deal."


The room fell silent again—but this time, it wasn't shock.


It was focus.


Ais stepped forward, fists clenched at her sides. "You said you'd make me stronger."


Weiss's gaze sharpened.


Hel didn't hesitate.


"Correct," she said calmly. Then she shifted her stance, one hand gesturing—casually, decisively—toward Weiss. "But first, you'll need to beat Weiss."


Every eye in the room snapped to her.


Weiss didn't move. Didn't straighten. Didn't react.


She simply met Ais's stare—cool, measured, unyielding.


So, Weiss thought, this is where the lesson begins

 

[Common]

Ais studied the girl standing in front of her.

Level One.

At least, that was what the falna said.

Weiss's stance looked… wrong. Too open. Too relaxed. There were gaps everywhere—space at her shoulders, her guard not fully raised, her weight light instead of grounded.

Ais frowned.

She's wide open.

Then again, Ais knew she wasn't an expert in fencing. Swords, yes. Killing monsters, absolutely. But this—rapiers, footwork, spacing—this was different.

Still, every time someone had tried to teach her proper technique, it hadn't lasted long. She always ended up outpacing them. Speed covered mistakes. Strength overwhelmed flaws.

That was how she'd survived.

Ais tightened her grip on her rapier, golden eyes narrowing as she shifted her stance, preparing to strike.

I just need to be faster, she told herself.

Across from her, Weiss waited.

Completely still.

Watching
Ais moved.

The opening was obvious. Too obvious. Weiss's guard was loose, her blade angled just enough to leave her center exposed. It was an invitation Ais couldn't ignore.

She launched forward in a burst of speed, boots cracking against stone as she drove straight for the gap, rapier thrusting with practiced force.

For a split second, victory felt inevitable.

Then the opening vanished.

Weiss shifted—no wasted motion, no strain. Her blade snapped into place with surgical precision, steel meeting steel in a sharp clang as she deflected the thrust aside.

Ais stumbled half a step, eyes widening—

—and felt pressure settle against her shoulder.

She froze.

Weiss stood inside her guard, close enough that Ais hadn't even seen her step in. The flat of Weiss's blade rested lightly against Ais's shoulder, not cutting, not striking—just there.

Controlled. Certain.

Ais's breath caught.

She hadn't won the exchange.

"You did well," Weiss said calmly. She withdrew her blade and stepped back, giving Ais space again. "I suppose I can take you on as a student."

The words weren't praise.


Ais swallowed, nodding sharply, heart still racing. "…Thank you."

Weiss lifted her rapier once more, settling back into her stance—open again, deceptively so.

"Good," she continued. "Now we start fixing everything you thought was working."

Ais tightened her grip.

This time, she didn't rush.
=====
From the edge of the training ground, Loki and her executives watched in stunned disbelief.

It didn't look like a fight.

It looked like a lesson being administered with surgical precision.

Ais attacked again—faster, more cautiously this time—but Weiss was already there. Not meeting force with force, but redirecting. Every strike Ais threw was guided away, her balance subtly broken, her footing compromised before she even realized it.

Clang. Step. Tap.

Again.

And again.

Ais was faster. Stronger. Higher level by a terrifying margin.

None of it mattered.

Weiss slipped inside her guard effortlessly, rapping Ais's wrist, her shoulder, her thigh—never hard enough to injure, always hard enough to correct. Each touch was a word in a language Ais was only just beginning to understand.
====
On the sidelines, Bete's grin had vanished entirely.

"…No way," he muttered.

Gareth's brow furrowed, arms slowly crossing. "That's crazy."
Loki said nothing.

Her grin was gone.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes gleaming with something sharp and hungry. "Hah…" she breathed. "She's utterly beating Ais."

Weiss disarmed her student again—clean, effortless—Ais's rapier clattering across the stone.

Loki's smile finally returned.

"Daughter," she said casually, eyes never leaving the field, "could I have this one?"

"No," Hel replied immediately.

Loki blinked and finally looked at her. "Huh?"

"She comes in a team of four," Hel continued evenly. "And I'm still trying to find their fourth member."

"Find?" Loki echoed, curiosity flaring.

Hel chose that moment to lie.

"You're aware of the ongoing Dark Familia and slavery problem in Orario, correct?"

The shift was immediate.

Weiss felt it even from the field—the air tightening, the humor bleeding out of the space. Loki straightened slowly. Riveria's expression hardened. Finn's eyes sharpened, calculating implications at terrifying speed.

"…Of course," Loki said, voice lighter than it should have been. "Why?"

Hel didn't look at her.
"Because people disappear," she said calmly. "And I like to try and find them. Give them hope."

That landed harder than any insult.

Loki tilted her head, interest rekindling, but this time it wasn't playful. It was predatory.
"So," she drawled, "you're saying there are even more talented children out there, and some bad gods and goddesses have tucked them away?"

Weiss parried another strike, turned it aside, and listened anyway.

Hel smiled.

It was small. Smug. Infuriatingly controlled.

"Well," she said lightly, as if discussing the weather, "for example—Ishtar has a renard. Supposedly she possesses a special skill that can boost levels on a falna."

The room went very still.

"But," Hel continued, tone unchanging, "she's being forced into prostitution at the moment."

Bete stopped breathing.

Riveria's calm fractured for half a second—just enough for Weiss to notice. Gareth's jaw clenched hard enough to creak. Finn's expression went flat, which was never a good sign.

Loki's grin didn't vanish.

It sharpened.

"…Hah," she exhaled. "Is that so—"

The words died.

The sparring ring vanished under a flash of white.

Ice screamed outward from the center of the field—frost racing across stone in a heartbeat, jagged and uneven, violent. The air crystallized. Breath fogged instantly as the temperature plunged hard enough to sting exposed skin.

Ais stood at the center of it, ice curled around her legs like living restraints.

Her blade was drawn, embedded in a frozen arc where Weiss had been a heartbeat earlier.

Weiss stood three steps to the side, boots crunching softly as she turned. Her coat was dusted with frost, but she herself was untouched.

Her eyes lit up.

"Good!" Weiss cheered, bright and genuine. "You learn quickly!"

Ais stared at the ice.

Then at Weiss.

"…You moved," Ais said, stunned.

Weiss shrugged, posture loose, almost lazy, blade resting comfortably in her hand. "Of course I did. You stopped trying to hit me—" she smiled, sharp and approving, "—and nearly hit me."

That earned a flicker of something dangerous in Ais's eyes. Not frustration.

Understanding, then eagerness. It kinda reminded her of Yang.

Behind them—

"Finn," Loki said.

The single word carried weight.

Finn didn't hesitate. "Already making a note, Loki," he replied calmly. "We'll start hunting down Dark Familias. If there are people like this out there, we won't let them stay buried."

Weiss felt it then— whatever her goddess' plan was with setting her father down this crazy path, it seemed to be working.

Hel spoke without raising her voice.

"Well, there's probably a gate guard selling information to the Dark Familias," she said mildly. "How else do you think they keep getting to them first?"

That landed harder than any insult earlier.

Weiss watched Finn's eyes narrow—not in anger, but in grim confirmation. Riveria's fingers tightened around her staff. Gareth's jaw set like stone.

Loki clicked her tongue, grin back in full force, but it wasn't playful anymore.

"…Tch. Figures," she muttered. "Rot always starts somewhere boring."

A sharp crack cut through the air.

Weiss turned back just as the ice around Ais splintered, fractures racing outward—

—and then it shattered.

Ais burst free, frost exploding from her limbs as she surged forward again, eyes locked onto Weiss with renewed fire.

Weiss smiled, lifting her blade.

 

[Common]

Hel was enjoying the chaos.


Not the loud kind—the kind no one noticed until it was far too late.


Across Orario, Dark Familias were being torn apart with surgical precision. Safehouses vanished overnight. Smuggling routes collapsed. Slavers disappeared from taverns they'd occupied for years, their names quietly crossed off ledgers that never officially existed.


And the Loki Familia had no idea why everything they touched kept working.


From Hel's perspective, it was almost adorable.


Taylor was keeping watch.


Her bugs—tiny, clever things—were everywhere. In alleyway cracks. Beneath tavern floors. Clinging to cloaks and armor plates, feeding information back through a web so vast and subtle it might as well have been fate itself.


The Dark Familias never saw it coming.


Of course they wouldn't.


A "cursed adventurer," dismissed and whispered about, wasn't something anyone prepared for. Certainly not one who didn't need to be present to be watching. Who didn't need to ask questions to know answers.


Taylor's voice reached her through the network, calm and businesslike.


"Lady Hel, it's done. The Loki Familia's aware of five more warehouses now. I'm going to shift focus back to finishing the outfits for the store."


There was a brief pause—just long enough to be polite.


"We can take Weiss down to the Dungeon tomorrow, right?"


Hel smiled.


A slow, satisfied thing.


"Of course, why do you even feel the need to ask me?" Hel asks

===

Loki was riding high.


It had been a long time since things had gone this right, this fast. Every raid hit clean. Every lead paid off. Every Dark Familia den they cracked open spilled exactly what they needed—names, routes, bribes, dirty gods scrambling like rats when the walls came down.


And that kid.


The new one.


Didn't matter that he hadn't leveled yet—Loki had already decided. Promotion. No debate. You don't ignore results like this, not when they keep stacking up like offerings on an altar.


Where he was getting the information from, she had no clue.


No spies she knew. No bribes she'd authorized. No informants on the books.


And yet—


Warehouse after warehouse. Meeting after meeting. Gods who thought themselves untouchable suddenly found their operations dismantled overnight, Familia assets frozen, reputations in ruins.


Loki laughed as another report came in.


"Hah! Ohhh, this is great," she crowed, kicking her feet up. "I don't care if the kid's got divine luck or a ghost whispering in his ear—keep it coming!"


She grinned wide, sharp, and utterly unapologetic.


Corrupt gods and goddesses had been bleeding Orario dry for years.


Now?


Now Loki Familia was taking them to the cleaners—and she didn't plan on stopping.


"I am proud of the work your Familia has done, Lady Loki. It is well done."


The voice did not come from the door.


It came from everywhere.


The air in Loki's room moved.


Tiny shapes crawled out of cracks in the walls, slipped from shadows beneath furniture, dropped soundlessly from the ceiling. Beetles. Spiders. Things with too many legs and not enough eyes. They flowed together like liquid, chittering softly as they climbed over one another—


—and then stopped.


They rose.


A silhouette formed. Roughly humanoid. Vaguely feminine. Features suggested rather than defined, eyes glowing faintly where no eyes should be.


The thing tilted its head.


"That young kid of yours did an excellent job," the voice continued, layered and echoing, as if spoken by a hundred throats at once. "Feeding you the intel I provided."


Silence.


Absolute.


Then Loki laughed.


Slow at first. Low. Not amused—thrilled.


"…Hah," Loki breathed, leaning back in her chair, fingers lacing together. Her eyes gleamed, sharp and delighted. "Well I'll be damned."


She studied the figure without fear, without hesitation, head tilting as if she were appraising a particularly interesting weapon.


"So that's what's been riding shotgun," Loki said cheerfully. "Gotta say, this is new."


Her grin widened as ideas piled on top of each other.


"What are you—some kind of Dungeon monster that gained intelligence?" she mused. "Or maybe a Skill gone completely off the rails?" She snapped her fingers. "Oh! Or did some god curse you millennia ago and this is your very patient method of revenge?"


The chittering figure didn't move, but the sound shifted—threads of amusement weaving through the many voices.


"No," it replied calmly. "None of those."


A pause.


"I am an adventurer," Taylor said. "Cursed, yes—but not by a god. And not for revenge."


Loki's eyebrows shot up.


"…Hoh." Loki's smile didn't fade—it sharpened. "I can't tell if you're lying or not."


She leaned back, one leg draped casually over the arm of her chair, eyes never leaving the insect silhouette.


"That means," Loki continued lightly, "you're not metaphysically here."


The chittering figure paused, an then the bugs scattered.

===

Taylor's awareness slid back into place behind her own eyes.


She blinked once, then turned to where Hel stood behind the counter, calmly wiping it down as if she hadn't just orchestrated citywide chaos.


"…Your father is terrifying," Taylor said flatly.


Hel laughed—bright, genuine, and utterly unapologetic.


"Oh, she's wonderful," Hel replied. "You should see her when she's actually angry."


Taylor shuddered. Just a little.


Hel glanced toward the doorway, thoughts drifting—not to Loki, not to Dark Familias—but to the children under her care.


To Ruby. To Taylor. To Blake. To Weiss, oh she loved them all

She smiled softly.

Finding Taylor had been luck.


Finding these children had been a blessing.


If only Ruby could learn to cause calmer chaos like this.


Hel sighed fondly.


But then again—


Where would the fun be in that?

 

[Common]

Freya watched Orario burn quietly.


Not with fire.


But with Loki's chaos.


Names stopped appearing at certain gatherings. Gods who once lounged in pleasure halls and shadowed taverns no longer sent invitations. Whole Familias went silent—not destroyed publicly, not disgraced in spectacle, but removed. Cleanly. Efficiently.


It was elegant.


Freya's lips curved faintly as she swirled the wine in her goblet, eyes half-lidded as she gazed out over the city from her tower.


"Loki," she murmured fondly. "You are being far more competent than usual."


The reports were unmistakable. Slavers gone. Brokers vanished. Dark Familias uprooted before they could scatter. Routes compromised before they were used.


Too precise.


Too fast.


Freya's Familia had eyes everywhere. And yet even they hadn't seen the knife until it was already buried.


Someone was feeding Loki information.


Not a god—Freya would have felt that kind of meddling.


Not a spirit.


Not a monster.


Her smile sharpened it was a mystery.


"Interesting, I love the mortal world" she whispered.

===

Finn Deimne had a headache.


Not the metaphorical kind.


The real kind—right behind the eyes, the kind that came from too little sleep and far too many problem reports.


"Again?" he asked flatly.


"Yes," Riveria replied, arms crossed. "Another group of ex-slaves wish to join the Familia. Especially after they learned about Erik."


Finn exhaled slowly through his nose.


Erik.


The first one they'd managed to pull free. Broken, terrified, but alive—and, more importantly, talking. According to him, his captors had claimed allegiance to Set.


That alone would have been alarming.


The problem was—


"Set hasn't descended," Finn said quietly.


Riveria nodded. "Still in Tenkai. Loki confirmed it personally."


Finn leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes unfocused as he pieced it together.


"So," he said slowly, "we have at least one Dark Familia pretending to belong to a god who hasn't even come down yet."


Bete clicked his tongue, pacing. "This is so dumb."


He shot Finn a sideways glance. "And why the hell is Erik such a good rogue anyway? The amount of info he's dug up for us is staggering."


Finn didn't answer right away.


Because Bete wasn't wrong.


Erik had been enslaved. Beaten. Used. And yet, within days of being free, he'd mapped smuggling routes, identified fences, named handlers, and pointed out warehouses none of Loki Familia's informants had ever flagged.


That wasn't luck.

Riveria's gaze sharpened. "Trauma can make people observant."


"Yes," Finn agreed calmly. "But not this observant."


The room sat with that thought—heavy, uncomfortable.


Then Loki clapped her hands once, loud and sharp.


"Oh, come on," she said, grinning as she leaned back against the table. "You're all thinking way too hard about this."


Finn looked up. "You have an explanation?"


"Sure do," Loki replied cheerfully. "The bugs told him."


Silence.


Absolute, stunned silence.


Bete blinked. "…The what."


Loki waved a hand, utterly unconcerned. "The bugs. You know. The creepy-crawly hive-mind nightmare fuel that popped into my room and complimented my Familia."


Riveria stared at her. "You are joking."


"I wish," Loki said brightly. "Would've been a great joke."


Finn closed his eyes for half a second.


"…You met the source," he said carefully.


"Yup," Loki chirped. "Not a god. Not a monster. Adventurer. Cursed. Likes efficiency." She paused, grin stretching wider. "In fact, she's probably here right now!"


The room stiffened.


Riveria's fingers tightened on her staff. Gareth shifted his weight, boots grinding faintly against the floor. Bete's ears twitched, senses flaring as he scanned the shadows.


"…Loki," Finn began, "if this is another one of your—"


A sound cut through the air.


Soft.


Wet.


Chittering.


It seeped out of the walls, the ceiling, the very seams between stones—dozens of tiny clicks and whispers overlapping into something almost like speech.


Then, faintly, unmistakably annoyed:


"…How did you know I was a she?"


Silence detonated across the room.


Bete spun, blade half out in a blur. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT—"


Loki burst out laughing.


"Oh my gods, that tone!" she cackled, slapping her knee. "You are here! I knew it!"


The chittering paused.


"…You guessed," the many-voiced whisper replied flatly.


Finn did not move.


Slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward, eyes sharp—not searching for a body, but for patterns.


"So," he said evenly, "you're listening. Not watching."


"Both," the voice corrected. "Right now."


Riveria swallowed. "How long?"


The pause this time was longer.


Heavier.


The insects along the walls stilled, as if the room itself were holding its breath.


"…Since my goddess saved me," the bugs replied.


That landed like a dropped blade.


Loki's grin faltered—not gone, but tightened. Gareth's eyes widened a fraction. Bete went very still.


Finn's fingers curled once against the table.


"…Your goddess," he repeated carefully.


Before he could continue, Loki leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes gleaming with sharp curiosity rather than fear.


"You're one of Hel's, aren't you?" she asked.


The chittering didn't answer.


Instead, the insects along the walls rearranged themselves—rings collapsing into spirals, spirals branching outward—patterns forming and reforming like a mind thinking in motion.


"…This feels uncomfortably familiar," the many-voiced whisper murmured. "Like dealing with Lisa all over again."


Then the bugs began to withdraw.

 

[Common]

So before I start today's chapter, I want you all to know I am going to be trying to post 10 today and another 4 tomorrow... On a side note, the rules for commissioning chapters have been changed.
You all can thank Jackolackin for this, I hope you enjoy the chapters
++++
Sarah blinked, the world slowly coming into focus. Light filtered through the windows, soft but steady, brushing over unfamiliar yet comforting surroundings. She felt heavy, as if she'd been carrying the weight of yesterday's events in her bones.


A faint ache throbbed at her temples, but it wasn't sharp—just the lingering reminder of a fight well fought, of danger survived. Her blankets were warm, the bed surprisingly soft, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she realized she was safe.


"Sarah?" A calm voice drifted in.


Sarah's eyes snapped open, already scanning. The room was unfamiliar—too quiet, too orderly. Sunlight slanted through the windows, hitting spots on the floor she didn't trust.

Window not in the direction of sun, the light makes no sense


The figure in the doorway caught her attention immediately. Short, dark hair, eyes sharp but careful—someone observing without moving too much.

Cat girl, seems standoffish ready to defend herself.


Sarah stiffened, sitting up just enough to put herself on guard. Who is this? Enemy? Ally? Observer? Trap?


"…Who—who are you?" she asked, voice cautious, controlled.


The girl gave a small, calm smile. "My name's Blake," she said. "You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you."

Sarah's gaze flicked across the room, scanning. Furniture, light, angles—nothing escaped her notice. But then something caught her attention.

Bugs moving in an unnatural pattern as if controlled.

Sarah's gaze darted to the walls, following the tiny, purposeful movements. The bugs weren't just wandering—they were coordinated, deliberate. Each one seemed to know exactly where to be, how to move, who to observe.


Taylor.


She didn't say it out loud at first, just observed. The patterns, the precision—it could only be her. Taylor's work, always meticulous, always clever, always one step ahead.


Sarah's eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. "Are… you here?" she asked, voice calm but firm.


A faint rustling answered her question. A ripple passed through the crawling insects, like a heartbeat pulsing through the room. Patterns shifted—subtle, deliberate—almost acknowledging her words.


Blake's ears twitched. She tilted her head, eyes scanning the room before settling back on Sarah. "Who… are you talking to?" she asked, confusion edging into her voice. She wasn't seeing the bugs the way Sarah was—not the coordination, not the intent. Not the thinking.


Sarah's gaze flicked to Blake, sharp and assessing, then back to the walls. "Is Taylor here?"


Blake blinked. "Ah—no. She's out at the moment, running an errand for our goddess." She paused, then scratched the back of her neck, expression turning awkward. "Actually… while we're at it, there's something we need to talk about."


Sarah's attention snapped back fully now.


"We'll need to transfer your Falna," Blake continued matter-of-factly. "There's no way you're going back to the god of sensible spending."


Sarah froze.


The door swung open before she could respond.


"Food delivery!" a bright voice announced.


A girl in red stepped in with far too much energy for the calm room, silver eyes shining, a tray balanced expertly in her hands. She paused mid-step when she noticed Sarah upright and alert.


"Oh! You're awake!" Ruby beamed. "Hi! I'm Ruby. You looked super exhausted earlier so we figured soup was the safest option. Also bread. And tea. Weiss said the tea was important."


She set the tray down carefully on the bedside table, movements quick but not careless. Her eyes flicked over Sarah—curious, not invasive. Protective, though. Definitely protective.


Sarah cataloged everything.


Weapon? Not visible—but posture suggested training. Fast. Emotional baseline high but stable. Loyal.


"Thanks," Sarah said cautiously.


Ruby grinned. "No problem! We're really glad you're okay."


Blake gave Ruby a look that clearly said we were in the middle of something, but Ruby only shrugged and adjusted the tray.


"Serious talks go better with food," she declared.


Sarah almost smiled at that. Because her power told her the redhead was being genuine.

===

Three Hours Later


The front door opened.


Sarah heard it before anyone announced it—the subtle shift in airflow, the change in footstep cadence, the way the insects along the walls reacted.


They didn't scatter.


They aligned.


A quiet wave of motion passed through the house, converging toward the entry hall.


Sarah, now seated at the edge of the bed, stilled.


Taylor's back.


And she wasn't alone.


Another presence entered with her—heavier, colder, deliberate. Not oppressive. Just… absolute.


Blake straightened instinctively.


Ruby perked up from where she'd been talking far too enthusiastically about Crescent Rose.


Footsteps approached.


Measured. Unhurried.


The door to Sarah's room opened.


Taylor stepped in first—calm, composed, eyes sharp and unreadable. The faintest shift of insects followed her like a living shadow.


Behind her came Hel.


The temperature in the room seemed to drop by a degree—not from hostility, but from gravity. Authority settled quietly into the space.


Sarah's power surged.


Details flooded in.


Posture: relaxed but coiled.

Expression: faint amusement layered over calculation.

Relationship dynamic: Taylor slightly ahead but not leading. Trusted. Not subordinate in the usual sense.


Hel's eyes met Sarah's.


And she smiled.


"Ah," Hel said softly. "You're finally awake."

 

[Common]

Taylor was getting a very specific kind of déjà vu.


It wasn't Hel's presence. Gods felt different from Endbringers, different from capes, different from warlords. Heavy, yes—but not familiar.


No.


The familiarity was standing three inches too close to her face.


Fox ears. Sharp smile. Bright, invasive eyes. An that stupid fucking smile that reminded her of a dead friend… Lisa

Entirely too close.


Taylor didn't step back.


Lisa Sarah,tilted her head slightly, studying her like a puzzle she'd already solved but wanted to watch reassemble itself.


"You're doing that thing," Lisa said casually.


Taylor's expression didn't change. "You're standing too close."


"Mm," Lisa hummed. "But you haven't moved."


Taylor's insects shifted in the walls—subtle, a pressure wave no one else could feel. Defensive geometry. Ceiling corners reinforced. Floor perimeter mapped. Not threatening.


Just ready.


Lisa's eyes flicked upward for half a second.


There it was.


Recognition.


"You always did prefer indirect pressure," Lisa murmured. "No wasted motion. No tells."


Taylor's jaw tightened imperceptibly.


"You're profiling me," she said.


Lisa smiled wider. "You're easy to read if you know what to look for. An I know you, Taylor."

Silence stretched between them.


Taylor could hear Hel's quiet amusement from across the room. Could feel Blake's confusion. Could sense the house itself breathing around them.


But this—


This was familiar.

Lisa leaned in just a fraction closer.


"You missed me," she said lightly.


Taylor's voice was flat.


"You died."

Lisa's smile flickered.


Just for a heartbeat.


Then it came back—sharper, more deliberate.


"Yeah," she said softly. "I noticed."


Taylor moved.


No warning.


One second she was standing rigid and controlled, the next she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Lisa, hauling her in with casual, effortless strength.


Falna-enhanced strength.


C-rank strength.


Lisa made a startled noise as her feet left the floor.


"T—Taylor?!" she yelped.


Taylor held her there, arms locked around her ribs in an unyielding squeeze. Not enough to hurt. Enough to make a point.


Enough to feel solid.


Alive.


Real.


Her voice was calm. Too calm.


"I am going," Taylor said evenly, "to bully your fox ears as revenge."


Lisa's eyes widened in pure betrayal.


"W-What?! NO!"


Taylor shifted her grip slightly and one hand came up—


And grabbed a fox ear.


Lisa shrieked.


"That is a sensitive area! You cannot just—Taylor!"


Taylor gently—but very deliberately—flicked one ear between her fingers.


Lisa squirmed helplessly in her grip, tail puffing out in outrage.


"This is abuse!" Lisa protested. "I demand a tribunal! Hel! Do something!"


Across the room, Hel was openly laughing.


"Oh no," Hel said pleasantly. "This falls under 'internal familia bonding.' I cannot interfere."


Blake was backing away in silent terror.

===

Lisa was annoyed.


Not existentially. Not strategically.


Aesthetically.


Her ears were slightly rumpled.


She could feel it. The right one bent at an angle that suggested indignity. The left still held the faint memory of being aggressively flicked by someone with C-rank strength and unresolved grief.


Across from her, Taylor looked… steadier.


Not softer. Not relaxed.


Reset.


Like something jagged inside her had finally clicked back into place.


Blake—the cat girl—had fled at some point during the ear assault and subsequent emotional whiplash. Not dramatically. Just a quiet, tactical retreat.


Which, frankly, Lisa respected.


Having Taylor ruffle the absolute hell out of your ears was a deeply humbling experience.


On the bright side—


With Taylor around, fleas were no longer a concern.


Small mercies.


Lisa leaned back into Hel's absurdly expensive couch and let her thoughts unspool.


Growing up poor in a medieval world had been horrible. Cold. Hungry. Dirty in ways modern plumbing had erased from memory. Besides the shit coverd streets after leviathan had hit.


Getting grabbed by slavers had been worse.


And Mastos—


She felt the divine thread of that connection thinning now, unraveling cleanly under Hel's interference.


Mastos, god of sensible spending. Predictable. Cautious. Easy to manipulate if you framed everything in terms of risk mitigation and long-term return.


She was losing him.


But in exchange—


She was gaining Hel.


Lisa's eyes tracked the goddess across the hall.


Goddess of death.


Calm. Amused. Surgical.


And, if Taylor's continued existence was anything to go on—


Capable of reaching into other worlds and pulling the dead back out.


Lisa tapped a finger thoughtfully against her knee.


That wasn't a minor upgrade.


That was a paradigm shift.


"You're calculating," Taylor said quietly.


Lisa smirked. "Always."


Taylor didn't look at her, just watched Hel finish signing off on divine transfer documentation with a faint glow of power.


"You're wondering what she wants," Taylor continued.


"Yes."


"And?"


Lisa tilted her head.


"She's not collecting tools," Lisa said. "She's building something."


Taylor was silent for a moment.


"Yes," she agreed.


Across the hall, Hel turned toward them, finished with the former god of sensible spending, who was retreating with the energy of a man who had just been fiscally audited at a cosmic level.


Hel approached at an unhurried pace.


"Feeling better?" she asked Lisa.


Lisa lifted one ear experimentally.


"I have suffered injustice," she replied dryly.


Hel's eyes flicked to Taylor.


"I see."


Taylor did not apologize.


Hel smiled faintly.


"The Falna transfer only has one thing left," Hel said calmly. "I simply need you to lie down and remove your shirt."


Lisa blinked.


Then she slowly turned her head toward Taylor.


Taylor, meanwhile, had already started to stand.


"Taylor," Lisa said sharply. "Stay."


Taylor paused mid-motion and looked at her.


Lisa's ears twitched once, expression flattening into analytical mode.


Opportunity detected.


Her powers were still there—muted, fuzzier at the edges—but enough. And more importantly… she wasn't the same Lisa anymore. The sharp edges were still sharp, but they didn't cut her from the inside out. Her own power didn't hurt her romantic interests anymore, dying and being reborn had weakend them to the point she could turn them off.


And Taylor had just, three hours ago, manhandled her ears like a stress toy.


Balance must be restored.


Lisa fought the sudden, treacherous urge to giggle.


Instead, she went completely deadpan.


"You are my fiancée now," Lisa stated flatly.


Taylor blinked.


"You fulfilled a Renard mating ritual when you assaulted my ears like that."


Silence.


Absolute, ringing silence.


Hel's eyebrows rose slowly. Before turning towards Lisa hiding her face from Taylor as she suddenly was sporting a shit eating grin, an lisa had to fight her own vulpine grin. Her goddess was smart but she seemed like the fun type.

Taylor stared at her.


"…What."


Lisa kept her face perfectly serious.


"Ear grabbing, followed by dominance display via air jail," she continued clinically. "It's binding. Very traditional. Deeply cultural."


Taylor's insects rippled along the walls, shifting in uneasy patterns.


"You're lying," Taylor said flatly, eyes narrowing.


"Husband," Lisa said solemnly, ears tilting forward, "you made me submit to you."


Hel's lips curved into a slow, amused smile, as though she'd just been handed front-row seats to centuries of chaos.


Taylor froze, staring at Lisa.


Flat. Unblinking.


"…You are not allowed to invent folklore," Taylor said finally, voice calm but firm.


Lisa gasped softly, feigning outrage. "Invent? I would never disrespect my people like that."


"You don't have a people," Taylor replied, expression tight.


"I do now," Lisa countered smoothly, "very fox-based. Extremely ceremonial."


Taylor blinked, and for just a moment, the blush that had been creeping up her cheeks became undeniable. Lisa's grin widened slightly, sensing the opening. With a practiced flourish, she tugged her shirt over her shoulders and let it fall, laying back on the bed with casual, calculated ease.


Taylor froze completely, insects along the walls stuttering mid-movement. Her hands hovered, unsure, while Lisa's tail flicked lazily in amusement.


Hel's calm, authoritative presence filled the room, though even she seemed entertained by the dynamic. "Good," Hel said softly. "That will make the Falna transfer simpler."


Lisa adjusted herself on the bed, curling an arm under her head and keeping her gaze locked on Taylor. "Don't worry," she said, voice teasing but low, "I promise not to bite."


Taylor's blush deepened, and she muttered under her breath, "…I'm not worried," even as her hands twitched toward the transfer instruments.


Hel smirked faintly. "Perfect. Now, let's get this done before anyone in this room combusts from awkwardness."


Lisa let out a soft laugh, tail curling over the edge of the bed. "Agreed. Although Taylor, I'm just teasing you."


"O-oh, I knew that." Taylor responds entirely unconvincingly.

Lisa laughs at her friends reaction an the tickling sensation of Hel messing with her falna. Everything was turning up Lisa.

 

[Common]

The air pressed down on Yang like a living weight—thick, cool, and almost viscous. This wasn't the endless black void she had expected. The purgatory stretched before her in jagged corridors, narrow alleys, and open courtyards, all washed in the same grayish twilight that blurred horizon and sky. Light seemed hesitant here, casting edges in uneven shadows that shifted when she wasn't looking directly at them.


Her boots made almost no sound on the worn stone, yet every step echoed inside her head. Unseen presences brushed past her senses—some curious, some wary, some faintly predatory. Shapes flitted at the corners of her vision, disappearing whenever she tried to focus. Ghosts? Memories? Projections? She didn't know, and she didn't have the luxury to find out. She had a goal: find her sister, find her team.


Her hands flexed instinctively. The weight of her gauntlets grounded her. She was alive, even here, even now. That was enough.


Days? Weeks? Months? Time had no purchase in this place. The last thing she remembered with certainty was the strange portal at Atlas. Weiss' sister—a girl wielding strange, precise snow magic—had been there. The memory was sharp, like a shard pressed into her mind. And then… nothing. Until now.


The silence shifted. A soft, muffled cry pulled her attention to a narrow alley. Yang's instincts sharpened. She approached cautiously, boots silent, eyes scanning.


A small figure crouched in the shadows—ears pressed back, tail tucked tightly, trembling. A catgirl, tears pooling in wide, frightened eyes.


"Hey," Yang said gently, crouching to keep herself from towering too much. "You alright?"


The girl froze. Eyes wide, voice trembling. "I… I'm Fran," she whispered. "I don't… I don't know how I got here."


Yang's gaze swept over her, analyzing, measuring. No tricks. No illusions. Just lost, terrified presence. "You're not alone. I'm Yang," she said firmly. "I can help."


Fran let out a shaky breath, small relief easing the tension in her shoulders.


Then movement drew Yang's eyes—metallic clinks, precise and deliberate. A figure in shining armor approached, posture rigid and perfect, eyes assessing Yang as much as she was assessing them.


"I am Pieta," the paladin said evenly.


"I am glad that I ran into other people," Yang said, taking a step forward—


—and the world snapped sideways.


There was no explosion. No dramatic flash of light. Just a wrongness. The air folded inward like a lung collapsing. Sound distorted, stretching thin and high. The gray courtyard twisted—


—and vanished.


Cold hit her first.


Real cold.

Yang stumbled forward, boots crunching hard against something solid and uneven. She caught herself before falling, gauntlets flaring instinctively as she steadied.


Snow.


White stretched in every direction.


Thick flakes drifted lazily from a pale sky, settling into her hair, catching in her lashes. Wind whispered across the open expanse, carrying nothing but frost and silence.


The purgatory corridors were gone.


"Another lost soul enters my land of shadows," a voice carried across the frozen plain, smooth and resonant. "What brings you here, warrior?"


Yang turned slowly.


Measured.


On a rise overlooking the snow stood a tall woman with maroon hair that flowed like dark wine against the pale storm. Her armor was form-fitting and battle-worn, elegant without being decorative. In her hand rested a long crimson spear, its blade sharp and impossibly clean despite the falling snow.


Yang didn't need an introduction.


The presence alone said enough.


This wasn't some wandering ghost.


This was a ruler.


"Depends," Yang called back evenly. "You gonna tell me where 'here' is first?"


The woman's eyes—sharp, knowing—studied her.


"You stand in the Land of Shadows," she replied. "Domain of the dead. Domain of warriors." A faint curve touched her lips. "And I am Scáthach."


Yang huffed lightly. "Cool. Love the branding. Very ominous."


The wind picked up slightly, tugging at Yang's jacket.


Scáthach descended the rise without hurry. Each step was soundless. The snow did not cling to her boots. It did not dare.


"You carry fire in your soul," Scáthach observed. "And yet you are here. That suggests failure."


Yang's jaw tightened.


"Temporary setback," she shot back. "I'm not staying."


A pause.


Snow drifted between them.


Scáthach's gaze sharpened slightly—not mockery, not cruelty. Assessment.


"You do not beg," she said.


"Not really my thing."


"You do not despair."


Yang shrugged faintly. "Takes too much energy."


A small, approving hum escaped the maroon-haired warrior.


"Then you are not meant to wither here," Scáthach said. She adjusted her grip on the spear—not threatening, but deliberate. "Prove it."


Yang blinked once.


"…Prove what?"


"That you are worthy of leaving."


The wind shifted.


Yang's grin spread slowly across her face.


"Oh," she said, rolling her shoulders as Ember Celica clicked into readiness. "You could've just started with that."


Scáthach's eyes glinted.


"This will not be gentle."


Yang planted her feet in the snow.


"Good."


She bared her teeth, golden eyes igniting.


"CLENCH THOSE TEETH!"


Ember Celica detonated.


The recoil blasted a crater into the frozen ground as Yang launched forward like a missile, snow exploding outward in a shockwave. The air screamed around her as she drove in with a fully committed right hook, aura flaring bright as a miniature sun.


Scáthach didn't flinch.


Yang's fist tore through the space where the maroon-haired warrior had been—


—but Scáthach was already inside her guard.


A sharp crack.


Not bone.


Control.


The butt of the spear slammed into Yang's ribs with surgical precision. The impact folded her sideways mid-charge, aura flashing violently as she was redirected—thrown—not blasted—across the snow.


Yang hit, rolled, skidded twenty feet.


She forced herself up instantly, boots digging trenches into the frost.


Again.


Another blast.


Another launch.


This time she feinted high, fired low, twisting midair with a recoil-assisted spin kick designed to shatter defensive lines.


Scáthach pivoted one step.


One.


The spear shaft intercepted Yang's leg mid-rotation. The force didn't block her—


It redirected her.


Yang's own momentum turned traitor.


The spear's haft slid along her limb and then snapped upward.


Her aura flickered.


A second strike landed in the same rib she'd already taken a hit to.


Aura cracked audibly.


Yang snarled and unloaded both gauntlets point-blank.


The explosion swallowed them in smoke and snow.


When it cleared—


Scáthach stood untouched.



Her spear rested against Yang's throat.


Yang's aura shattered completely with a sharp crystalline sound.


Silence fell except for the wind.


Yang's knees buckled.


She caught herself on one fist in the snow, breathing ragged.


Scáthach withdrew the spear.


"Ha!" she said, a sharp, rich sound that carried easily across the frozen plain. "You remind me of when I used to fight Norse berserkers."


Yang spat snow from her mouth and glared up at her through strands of blonde hair plastered to her face.


"Lemme guess," she rasped. "They lost too."


Scáthach's maroon hair shifted in the wind as she planted the butt of her spear into the ice.


"They raged," she said calmly. "They bled. They roared their defiance at the sky."


Her eyes sharpened slightly.


"And they died."


Yang pushed herself upright on shaky legs, refusing to stay kneeling. Her body protested violently, ribs screaming, muscles trembling from overexertion.


"Yeah?" Yang muttered. "Not planning on that part."


Scáthach studied her the way a master smith might examine flawed steel.


"You burn hotter when struck," she observed. "Pain feeds you. Resistance excites you. You believe that if you hit hard enough, fast enough, you will break whatever stands before you."


Yang's jaw tightened.


"That's usually how it works."


"For lesser foes," Scáthach corrected.


She stepped closer—not threatening, simply present. Overwhelmingly so.


"You fought me as though I were something to overpower."


Yang flexed her fingers. They trembled.


"You want to leave this realm," Scáthach said quietly. "Then understand this—strength is not force." A faint, distant look crossed her sharp features. "You almost make me wish to take up teaching again…"


Yang coughed out a rough laugh, still half on one knee in the snow.


"You taught?" she shot back. "Wow. I feel sorry for your students."


For a split second—


Silence.


Then, unexpectedly, Scáthach smiled.


Not warm.


Not soft.


But amused.


"They survived," she said. "Which is more than can be said for most who challenge me."


Yang pushed herself upright fully now, swaying only slightly. Snow clung to her jacket, her hair, her lashes. Her aura was gone, her body aching in a dozen places—but she was standing.


That counted.


Scáthach studied her for another long moment.


"I am glad pain does not keep you down," she said. "If you continue on that way… you may yet carve a path through this realm."


She turned her spear slightly and pointed toward the distant horizon.


Through the curtain of snowfall, Yang could just barely make out a darker shape far off in the white expanse. A structure. Low walls. Faint light flickering within.


"A safe zone lies in that direction," Scáthach said. "A place where the wandering gather. With luck… you may find a way out."


Yang squinted at it.

"Then you will be prepared to bargain."


Yang looked back at her.


"Bargain with who?"


The wind rose, tugging at Scáthach's maroon hair.


"You stand in a realm between endings," she said calmly. "Nothing leaves without cost."


Her spear tapped lightly against the snow.


"Be prepared," she finished, voice steady as iron, "to make a deal with death."


Yang stared at her for a long second.


Then she cracked her neck, rolling one shoulder despite the pain.


"Great," she muttered. "Always wanted to negotiate with cosmic inevitability, maybe I could ask Death to kill Salem while I'm at it." as she trudges off in the direction the spear woman pointed her.

 

[Common]

The dungeon did not roar.


But it called out to them.


Ruby felt it the moment they crossed the threshold — that subtle shift in pressure, the way the air cooled and thickened, like stepping underwater without the courtesy of getting wet.


Beside her, Weiss adjusted Myrtenaster with precise, economical movements.


Blake said nothing.


That, more than anything, told Ruby this wasn't a normal mission.


They weren't here to win.


They were here to grow.


"Okay!" Ruby clapped her hands together, a little too brightly. "New rule. No brooding. No mourning, and no whining. Hel is going to find Yang, and then from there we can have her search for anyone else after we get the team back together. BUT FIRST WE NEED TO GET TO LEVEL 2!"


Her voice echoed.


The dungeon did not echo back.


Weiss arched a brow. "Your optimism is bordering on aggressive."


"It's called proactive coping," Ruby said immediately. "Very healthy. Very productive. Extremely not spiraling."

Blake's ears twitched slightly. "You're spiraling."


"I am absolutely not—"


The torches along the wall flickered out.


Darkness swallowed the corridor in an instant.


A low grinding sound rolled beneath their feet.


Ruby's grip tightened around Crescent Rose.


"Goblins approaching from all sides," Blake muttered, ears swiveling as if they could pick up more than human hearing allowed.


"I guess the dungeon didn't appreciate your yelling, Ruby," Weiss quipped, the faint edge of a smile on her lips.


Ruby spun around, trying to catch movement in the blackness, heart hammering. A faint glow sparked from Weiss's rapier, casting jagged shadows along the walls. Blake's stance tightened, body low and ready, tail flicking in irritation or maybe anticipation.


The grinding grew louder. Shapes emerged first as shadows, then as dimly glowing, hunched forms — goblins, small but vicious, eyes glinting red in the darkness.

Ruby shifted Crescent Rose into scythe mode instinctively, feeling the familiar weight in her hands. "Level 1 style?" she asked, grin cracking through the tension.


Weiss's gaze was calm and sharp. She stepped forward, boots crunching softly on the stone. "Focus on their weak points. Don't waste Dust on the small fry—we need to conserve what we have."


Ruby didn't hesitate. She blurred into the approaching swarm, crescent arcs of steel whirling with a newfound precision as her reinforced Crescent Rose cleaved through goblins with a satisfying rhythm. Each swing was confident, controlled, and brutal in its efficiency.


Blake's eyes tracked the battlefield, every movement precise, intercepting threats before they could reach Ruby. "So," she called over, voice low and steady, "how's development on those new Dust rounds coming along?"


Weiss's fingers danced along Myrtenaster, sparks of energy flicking off with each micro-adjustment. "Almost ready. More efficient, longer lasting, hitting harder. No environmental effects yet—it's just straight force. I have an idea for Ice Dust, but fire, electricity, earth, wind, water, and gravity are beyond me for now."


Blake nodded, tail flicking thoughtfully. "That's both good and bad. We should probably avoid relying on environmental Dust unless absolutely necessary. Who knows when we'll figure out how to replenish it consistently."


Weiss gave a quick, precise nod. "Agreed. I need Ruby to make molds and presses before I can mass-produce these rounds, but for now, our weapons are still fully usable as guns. That's enough to keep us functional in the dungeon."


Ruby's grin flashed over the chaos. "Good enough for me. Let's keep clearing these little pests before they get any ideas."


The three moved as one, the rhythm of their attacks honed by trust, training, and an unspoken understanding—each strike deliberate, each step measured, every Dust round and swing of steel reinforcing the other's strength.

====

The trio moved like clockwork, Ruby at the forefront, Weiss scanning every corner, and Blake's senses night vision and hearing stretching to every shadow, every faint rustle. Ruby's previous experience in the dungeon gave them a clear advantage—turn after turn, corridor after corridor, fell away beneath their careful, deliberate steps. Weiss's sharp attention to detail an the fact she memorized the guild map turned every marking on the walls into useful cues, ensuring they never wandered into traps or dead ends.


Blake's semblance made short work of the weaker monsters that still lingered in the dungeon's depths. Each creature that attempted to flank them found itself intercepted before it could even react.

By the time they reached the 11th floor, the environment had shifted dramatically. The narrow corridors opened into a massive cavern, the air thick with curling smoke that burned their throats and blurred their vision. Shadows flickered across jagged rock formations, and the heat radiating from somewhere deeper in the cavern was oppressive.


And then they saw it: an infant dragon, its scales glinting in the smoke, wings still too small to lift its bulk entirely, but eyes bright and dangerous. It roared, the sound echoing off the cavern walls, shaking loose small stones from the ceiling.


Ruby tightened her grip on Crescent Rose. Unlike the last encounter, she felt no tremor of fear—the scythe stayed solid in her hands, its mechanisms smooth, ready. "We've got this," she said, voice steady, determination blazing.

Ruby surged forward, Crescent Rose spinning in a blur as she descended in pedal form, momentum carrying her toward the dragon. The heat of the cavern hit her like a wall, but she barely noticed, eyes locked on the creature.


"Ruby! Don't—" Weiss shouted again, but Ruby had already closed the distance, instincts honed from prior dungeon runs taking over.


The infant dragon swung its head, attempting to knock her away, and snapped its jaws in a flash of sharp teeth. Ruby twisted mid-air, the reinforced scythe holding firm as she struck at its flank. Sparks flew where metal met scale, but Crescent Rose didn't falter this time.


Weiss moved in a measured arc, her Myrtenaster igniting with a thin line of ice Dust, forming a barrier that slowed the dragon's lateral movements. "Keep it steady, Ruby! Aim for its weak points, like the joints!"


In another blur of petals, the dragon was beheaded.

 

[Common]

Hel decided she had taken enough time away from the redheaded smith goddess.


So she left her familia estate without ceremony, cloak settling around her shoulders as she stepped into the evening streets of Orario.


The city was alive in the way only Orario could be — loud, bright, restless. Adventurers fresh from the dungeon moved in clusters, armor scuffed, egos louder than their laughter. Merchants shouted from storefronts. Street performers competed with tavern music drifting from open doors.


Hel walked among them unnoticed.


People-watching was, perhaps, her favorite pastime.


Mortals were endlessly fascinating when they believed themselves unobserved.


A drunk swordsman bragged about a kill that had clearly belonged to someone else. Two apprentices argued over the correct way to polish chainmail. A child darted between legs with stolen candied fruit, grinning wildly while her pursuer shouted empty threats.


Life. Chaotic. Temporary. Determined to matter anyway.


It almost made her jealous of Taylor Hebert.


Hel's own senses were well beyond mortal limits. She could stretch them, thin them across the city like frost creeping over glass. She could artificially enhance perception until heartbeats felt like drumbeats and whispers became declarations.


But Taylor—


Taylor could watch entire city blocks at once.


Simultaneously.


Intimately.


Hel exhaled softly.


She didn't even know where Taylor was at this exact moment.


Which meant, statistically speaking, Taylor probably knew where she was.


And was likely observing through her little biblical plague.


A faint curl of amusement touched Hel's lips.


The swarm was subtle. Efficient. Almost reverent in how it obeyed. Flies clinging to rooftops. Beetles hidden in cart wheels. Spiders suspended between alley bricks.

Everything just short of Omnipresence.

If Taylor was watching, she would watch Hel walk toward the forge district with measured steps and unreadable expression.


Gradually, the air shifted.


The scent of sugar and roasted meats from food carts thinned, replaced by iron and smoke. Coal burned hot and heavy ahead. Hammer-strikes began to punctuate the rhythm of the city, steady and authoritative.


The smithing district.


Sparks leapt from open workshops as craftsmen labored late into the evening. Heat rolled across cobblestone streets. Steel rang against steel in a constant, thunderous heartbeat.


Hel inhaled the coal smoke deeply.


She found it grounding, an it was still better than the air in London.

===

The forge doors did not creak.


They boomed.


Inside, heat pressed down like a physical thing. Sparks showered in bright arcs from raised anvils. Apprentices moved in careful patterns around rivers of molten metal guided through carved stone channels.


At the center of controlled chaos stood Tsubaki Collbrande, hammer resting across her shoulder, single visible eye sharp beneath soot-streaked bangs.


A junior smith hurried toward her, nearly slipping on a patch of soot before catching himself.


"Captain, there's a guest for Lady Hephaestus."


Tsubaki didn't look up from inspecting the blade in her hand.


"Oh?" she replied evenly. "I thought Hestia already came by?"


The apprentice swallowed.


"This one isn't Lady Hestia."


That made her pause.


Tsubaki slowly lifted her head.


"…Not Hestia."


The rhythm of the forge continued behind her — hammering, roaring flame, shouted instructions — but something in the air had shifted. Subtle. Cool.


She rolled her shoulder once, setting the inspected blade aside.


"Describe them."


The apprentice hesitated. "Tall. Pale. Black cloak. Red hair. Green eyes. She didn't give a name."


Tsubaki went very still.


"…Ah."


One corner of her mouth twitched upward.


"That would be Lady Hel."


The apprentice blinked. "Hel? As in—"


"Yes. That Hel."


She adjusted her eyepatch absently, expression turning thoughtful rather than alarmed.


"And unless I'm mistaken," Tsubaki added dryly, "she is Lady Hephaestus' lover."


A pause.


"…Aside from Aphrodite, that is."


The apprentice nearly dropped the ingot he was holding.


"L-lover?!"


Tsubaki snorted.


"Gods are complicated. I try not to worry too much about it. Something something polycule. I honestly couldn't tell you."


She let the words hang in the heated, hammering forge, then glanced toward the bronze doors as the massive hinges groaned open.


"The important thing," she continued, "is she's here. And when Lady Hel shows up personally, that usually means business… or trouble."


The apprentice swallowed, eyes wide. "B-both?"


Tsubaki smirked faintly. "Probably both. Well lets go escort her to Hephastus smithing chamber."

===

Hepheastus was trying to smith, and was at the very center of her forging chamber, The second best in the city after Hel had constructed that insanity of a fabrication center for her smith Ruby… Ruby an Hel working to gether was just un fair, a slightly frantic voice rose above the noise pulling her from her thoughts.


"Hephaestus! Hephaestus!"


Hephaestus' hammer paused mid-air, sparks frozen in the brief suspension.


"Yes, Hestia?!" she called, voice sharp but tinged with exhaustion.


"I need a weapon!" Hestia exclaimed, spinning around the forge platform like a whirlwind of blue ribbons and energy. "For my child! Something special! Magical! Possibly deadly! You can just make it, right?"


Hephaestus' hands dropped to her hips. "Hestia. You haven't even told me what the weapon is supposed to do. Or what your child even wants. How am I supposed to forge—"


Before she could finish, the massive bronze doors groaned and swung open. The heat of the forge seemed to pulse with a new rhythm as the cool presence of Hel entered.


Tsubaki's hand on her shoulder was firm, guiding her forward. "Lady Hel," she announced simply.


Hephaestus turned fully this time, eyes widening in delight and surprise.


"Hel!" she exclaimed, letting out a laugh that rang over the hammering and flames. In an instant, she closed the distance and wrapped the tall, pale figure in a warm, full embrace. "You've finally come! I've been dying to see you!"

"That was a bad pun, and you know it," Hel responded instantly, voice cool, eyes scanning the forge with that same calm precision that made the heat and chaos feel almost irrelevant.


Hephaestus froze for a heartbeat, a spark of mock offense in her eyes.


"Bad pun? Hel! That was—okay, maybe slightly bad—but heartfelt!"


Hel merely raised an eyebrow, letting the heat of the forge settle only for Hestia to giggle.

"So are you two up for some food?" Hel asks

 

[Common]

The forge doors boomed shut behind them.


Heat and coal smoke gave way to evening air as Hephaestus, Hestia, and Hel stepped into the streets of Orario.


It was immediate.


The shift.


From controlled inferno to living chaos.


Lanternlight flickered across stone streets. Adventurers laughed too loudly outside taverns. A bard played something enthusiastic and slightly off-key. Vendors shouted over one another in a competitive symphony of salesmanship.


Hestia gasped like she'd been released from imprisonment.


"Food!" she declared, already scanning the street with laser focus.


"You were just demanding a weapon," Hephaestus reminded her dryly.


"I can multitask."


Hel walked between them, cloak untouched by the crowd, expression unreadable as always.


But she chose the direction.


After a few steps, she glanced sideways at Hestia.


"Does Hestia know any good restaurants?" Hel asked calmly.


Hestia froze mid-stride.


"…Excuse me?"


Hephaestus' grin widened instantly.


"Oh this should be good."


Hestia puffed up. "Of course I know good restaurants! I live here! I am deeply connected to the culinary culture of Orario!"


Hel tilted her head slightly. "Your definition of 'good' may require clarification."


"That's rude."


"Accurate," Hephaestus corrected.


Hestia crossed her arms dramatically. "First of all, rude. Second of all, I absolutely know places. There's the little noodle shop two streets over—very cozy, very affordable."


"Affordable for you," Hephaestus muttered.


Hestia ignored her. "And the bakery near the west plaza that does honey buns in the morning—oh! And there's that stew place near the Adventurer's Guild that gives extra portions if you smile nicely."


Hel regarded her for a long, evaluating second.


"You choose based on portion size."


"Yes."


"And price."


"Yes."


"And how easily they are persuaded."


"…Yes."


Hephaestus laughed openly. "She's got you there, Hestia."


Hestia huffed. "Excuse me for being fiscally responsible."


Hel's gaze softened by a microscopic fraction.


"Very well," she said. "Choose."


Hestia's eyes lit up like a child handed command of an army.


"Oh! Okay! There's a place in the artisan quarter—small, family-run, but their roasted wyvern is incredible. And they do this herb bread that's soft in the middle and crispy on the outside and—"


Hephaestus blinked. "You've been holding out on me."


"You're always busy!" Hestia shot back.


Hel turned smoothly in the direction Hestia had indicated.

"Roast wyvern?" Hel muttered, just barely audible over the hum of the street.


Hestia spun around, walking backward now, hands clasped behind her back. "Yes! It's delicious! They marinate it in citrus and mountain herbs and slow-roast it until the edges crisp up—"


Hel's eyes narrowed a fraction.


"Wyverns," she said evenly, "are draconic."


Hephaestus snorted. "They're also aggressive flying lizards that try to eat adventurers on sight."


"That is not the point? Is wyvern meat even a drop item?" Hel asked, voice calm but sharpened by genuine curiosity.


Hephaestus rolled one shoulder. "Well, yes. Technically. But this stuff is likely coming from the wyvern farms."


Hel stopped mid-step.


"…Wyvern farms?" she asked, tone shifting from philosophical to deeply suspicious. "Explain."


Hestia brightened immediately. "Oh! They're outside the northern walls. Past the third watchtower. A couple familias run them."


Hel turned slowly. "You are telling me mortals have domesticated draconic predators."


Hephaestus scratched the back of her head. "Domesticated is… generous."


"Managed?" Hestia offered.


"Contained," Hephaestus corrected.


Hel's green eyes narrowed slightly. "How."


Hephaestus shrugged. "Egg collection from wild nests. Hatch them in controlled enclosures. Clip wing growth early so they can't gain altitude. Heavy chains while young. Temperament selection over generations."


Hel stared at her.


"…You selectively bred dragons."


"They're not true dragons," Hestia said quickly. "More like large, venomous poultry with anger issues."


Hel's gaze drifted upward as if recalibrating reality.


"And these… farms," she said carefully, "function?"


"Surprisingly well," Hephaestus replied. "They're valuable. Scales for light armor. Venom for alchemy. Meat for restaurants. Controlled breeding means fewer wild packs near trade routes."


Hel was quiet a moment longer, processing the concept of agricultural draconics.


"…I suppose I am trying wyvern meat today," she stated at last, faint surprise coloring her otherwise even tone.


Hestia immediately pivoted to the important issue.


"You are paying for this, right?"


Hel looked at her.


"I mean, I could," she replied smoothly. "But we could also bill it to Loki."


Hephaestus choked.


"You absolutely cannot just send lunch expenses to Loki."


Hel tilted her head. "Why not?"


"Because she would somehow turn it into a legal contract where you owe her three favors and a prank war," Hephaestus said flatly.


Hestia gasped. "She would, too!"


Hel considered their warnings with grave seriousness.


Then—


"Nah, don't worry. I've got this," she said calmly. "Just lead the way, Dochibi."


Silence.


Absolute silence.


Hestia stopped walking.


Hephaestus froze mid-step.


"…What," Hestia asked slowly, "did you just call me?"


Hel looked at her evenly. "Dochibi."


Hephaestus' shoulders were already shaking.


Hestia's eye twitched. "That's not even an insult in a language I recognize."


"It felt appropriate. Father always calls you that," Hel answered calmly.


There was a beat.


A very long beat.


Hephaestus slowly turned her head toward Hel.


"…Father?" she repeated carefully.


"Yeah," Hel replied casually. "Loki's my dad."


The world stopped.


Not metaphorically.


Hestia's brain visibly stalled.


"WHAT!"


====

Meanwhile, across the city, Taylor walked briskly through the bustling merchant street, carrying a growing stack of fabrics and clothing.


Lisa trotted alongside her, arms full of half-packed shopping bags, cheeks flushed from excitement and exertion.


"Taylor, do you really need to buy all of this?" Lisa asked, balancing a heavy bundle of tunics in one arm.


Taylor grinned, holding up a bolt of deep purple cloth. "Do I need it? No. But these are for you, remember? You need proper adventurer's clothes—durable, comfortable, and actually stylish."


Lisa's eyes widened as she took the cloth. "Oh… wow. You really mean it. But, can't you make my clothes for me?" fluttering her eyes at Taylor and having to fight the giggle as the bugs around them start acting weirdly.

Taylor glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow as a faint smile tugged at her lips.


"I could make them for you," she said, "but it would take longer than going shopping—and you'd be wearing a prototype that hasnt been fully tested."


Lisa sighs knowing she lost but the feeling of spidersilk would be amazing. "Fine but in teh future you are all making all of my clothes. "

Taylor blinked, one brow twitching upward as her lips twitched with the barest hint of a smile. "…Including the underwear?" she repeated flatly, though the amused glint in her eyes betrayed her.


Lisa nodded eagerly, cheeks coloring slightly as she leaned closer, trying not to giggle. "Yes! Do you have any idea how nice it would be to have quality panties again? I mean, something that doesn't chafe or feel like cardboard—"


Taylor's jaw ticked. "You're purposely trying to rile me up, aren't you."


Lisa gave her a triumphant grin. "Maybe a little. But can you blame me? You can do this, and you know it."


Taylor exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You are impossible."


"Admit it," Lisa teased, wagging a finger, "you're excited to make them."


Taylor's eyes flicked to the stacks of fabric she carried, then back to Lisa, narrowing slightly. "…Excited? Perhaps. But I don't need your encouragement."


Lisa giggled again, the faint rustle of nearby bugs still buzzing unnaturally around them. "Oh, come on, Taylor. You know you'll enjoy it."


Taylor's lips twitched. "…Fine. But don't get used to that tone."


Lisa grinned and adjusted her bundles of clothing. "No promises."



=====

Hel regarded the dish carefully, eyes scanning the texture, the glaze, the aroma. Different world. Different prey. Same cycle.


She picked up her knife and fork deliberately, cutting a small piece of meat. A bite.


Her eyes flicked up.


…Tastes like chicken. Well, more like gator tail—but same difference. A little less gamey than the Hungarian Horntail she remembered from her original world.


She chewed deliberately, comparing it to the dragons she had known. The flavor was lighter, milder, slightly sweet from the citrus and mountain herb marinade Hestia had raved about.


"Yes," Hel murmured, almost to herself, "this is… acceptable."


Hestia practically bounced in her seat. "See! I told you it was good!"


Hephaestus leaned back, smirking. "You're hooked, aren't you?"


Hel regarded the plate with the calm scrutiny of someone evaluating a weapon or a battlefield. Before smiling brightly. "I hope the bill is large enough to give Loki a heart attack."

 

[Common]

Hel returned to her familia estate, the evening air cool against her cloak. Inside, Lisa's excitement was palpable, bouncing slightly as she held up another outfit to show Taylor.


"Taylor, does this one look alright?" Lisa asked, eyes bright, spinning slightly in her excitement.


Taylor crossed her arms, scrutinizing the fit and fabric with her usual precision. "Better than alright. That one's perfect for both dungeon runs and casual wear. We'll have to see how it holds up," she said, calm but tinged with amusement at Lisa's energy.


Lisa grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. "You're such a perfectionist, Taylor!"


Hel leaned against the doorway, cloak settling neatly around her shoulders, silently observing. The warmth of the room, the trust and joy between the two of them—it was… nice, she admitted quietly. After a long day and a late meal, it was grounding, a rare corner of the world that felt simple and steady.


"Hey, girls? Any clue where my captain is?" Hel's voice cut through, drawing Lisa and Taylor out of their impromptu fashion show.


Lisa tilted her head, thoughtful. "Ah… I think they were heading into the dungeon. Probably grinding. Safe to assume Ruby got them lost, and they're likely crashing on the 18th floor until Weiss can find a map to help them get back up."


Hel blinked, forcing herself to process the statement. A double take.


If Tattletale can divine that with the information she has… it's probably correct.


She inclined her head slightly, evaluating the likelihood. "Hm. Makes sense."


"Well I am going to bed, Omlets in the morning?" Hel asks

"YES PLEASE!" Lisa cheers.

"Have a good night goddess, happy hunting." Taylor states.

=====

Hel slid under the covers, letting the warmth of her bed and the calm of the familia estate settle around her. The lingering taste of late lunch—or early dinner—still faintly on her tongue, she closed her eyes, letting the quiet of the room wash over her.


Moments, hours, time itself seemed irrelevant. When she opened her eyes again, the familiar pull of the In-Between drew her out. The world of her chambers and the bustling city dissolved into a soft haze, replaced by the muted stillness of twilight and stone.


Firelink Shrine.

As Hel approached the entrance to the shrine, the soft murmur of voices reached her ears. Careful, deliberate, familiar—but not entirely.


Talking.


Her senses sharpened. The cadence, the timbre… one possibility immediately came to mind: That blond girl is back.


Or—another, more unsettling thought—someone new had stumbled across this place, drawn here by chance, curiosity, or fate.


Hel slowed, stepping lightly over the worn stones. The voices grew clearer, fragments of conversation filtering through the cool air.


"…I'm telling you, that maroon haired spearwoman sent me here." A young womans voice says

Hel's sharp green eyes narrowed beneath her hood. Maroon-haired spearwoman… that can only mean one person.

The second voice—calm, deliberate, almost soothing—answered. "And she sent you here to make a deal with death?"

The first voice—bright, impatient, tinged with frustration—snapped back, "Look, I just want to get back to my kid sister."


Hel crouched lower, letting the shadows swallow her as she took a careful peek. The young woman facing the Fire Keeper had a mechanical arm, reinforced gauntlets catching the faint light of the shrine's bonfire. That has to be Yang. Ruby's descriptions matched perfectly—the same aura of controlled chaos and protective fire.


"So," Hel's voice cut through the cavernous space, low and deliberate, carrying easily across the shrine, "you wish to see Ruby again, my sunny little dragon?"


Yang froze mid-step, eyes darting across the chamber, scanning every shadow for the source.


From across the shrine, the Fire Keeper's calm presence flared briefly, a soft laugh in her voice. "Welcome back, oh Lord of the Grave!"


The sound bounced off the stone walls, and for a heartbeat, the bonfire's flames flickered as if acknowledging Hel's presence, shadows stretching unnaturally long across the ruins.


Hel remained in the darkness, silent, watching. The Fire Keeper seemed to delight in the subtle tension she'd stirred, clearly enjoying the way Yang bristled.


"What do I have to do to get to my sister?!" Yang demanded, voice sharp, impatient.


"One only needs to ask," Hel replied, stepping smoothly from the shadows as Yang's gaze finally found her.

Yang's eyes narrowed, fists tightening around her gauntlets, but her posture relaxed slightly—cautious, measured. She had faced strange powers before; she wasn't about to get burned twice.


"Wait—hold on," she said, voice firm but steady. "Before I do… anything. Who are you, exactly? What do you mean by 'ask'? And why are you here in the first place?"


Hel's green eyes glimmered faintly in the bonfire light. She tilted her head, studying the blonde with a patient, almost predatory curiosity. "I am Hel. I observe, I… adjudicate when necessary. And I am here because your presence, and that of your sister, has drawn my attention."


Yang's jaw tightened, but she didn't move. "Drawn your attention how? Like some curse? A contract? A trick? I've learned my lesson about running into mystical powers unprepared."


Hel's lips curved into the faintest, almost imperceptible smirk. "No curse. No trick. And yes… it would be wise to remain cautious." She let the words hang in the still air, her tone even but edged with quiet authority.


Yang glanced toward the Fire Keeper, who merely tilted her head, amusement in her eyes. Then she returned her gaze to Hel. "Alright… I'll bite. What exactly do you want from me?"


"I want you Yang Xaio Long." Hel states pointing at the blonde.


"If that's all it takes to see my sister. Then you have me." Yang responds.

 

[Common]

Yang's eyes fluttered open, and for a split second, panic set in. She wasn't in her own bed—not even close. The sheets were softer, the pillows fluffier, and the mattress beside her still radiated warmth, as if someone had just risen from it.


She froze.


A savory, herbal scent drifted through the slightly ajar door. Eggs? Meat? Something richer and more complex, unfamiliar but irresistible. Her stomach growled before she could stop it.


Her head tilted, taking in the room. Clean. Quiet. Organized. Not sterile, not temporary like a hotel or a guild safehouse. Someone lived here—and they clearly knew how to do it without chaos.


Instinctively, Yang's hand went to her mechanical arm, but froze midair. Wait…


The familiar cold metal was gone. Flesh. Warm, human flesh. She flexed her fingers experimentally, heart pounding in a mix of awe and confusion. Okay… that's new.


From the kitchen, the soft clatter of pans reached her ears, and the smell sharpened, richer now—eggs sizzling with herbs, something meaty browning in a cast-iron pan. The faint hum of movement suggested someone moving with practiced, deliberate precision.


Yang swung her legs over the side of the bed slowly, toes brushing the smooth wooden floor. The lingering warmth in the mattress reminded her that someone had been here recently.


Her stomach growled again. She rubbed at her eyes and let out a low sigh. "Well… can't just stand here starving."


Stepping cautiously to the door, she peeked inside. Steam curled from the pans, catching the morning light, and she blinked.


The room was alive with motion—but not ordinary motion. Pots and pans danced as if guided by invisible hands, eggs flipped themselves neatly in skillets, spatulas hovered and turned pancakes in perfect synchrony. At the center of it all, a figure swung a simple wooden stick with the grace of a conductor, orchestrating the entire chaotic ballet.


Yang froze, mouth half-open.


"Ah, Yang, good morning!" the goddess called, voice warm, calm, and somehow… impossibly reassuring. "Your sister has been out since yesterday, but with any luck, they should be back from dungeon diving later today."


Her smile was dangerous. Not sharp, not cruel—just knowing. The kind of smile that suggested she was five steps ahead and enjoying the view.


Yang blinked. It's like Ruby's puppy-dog face… if that face could legally sign contracts in blood.


Her hands hovered awkwardly at her sides as she tracked the magical choreography of breakfast—pancakes flipping midair, eggs sliding neatly onto plates, a kettle pouring itself with perfect aim.


"Uh… wow," Yang managed. "I… don't even know where to start."


"Start by sitting," Hel replied smoothly. "The food will grow cold if we dawdle, and I do not repeat myself."


Yang edged toward a chair, still half-expecting a spatula to smack her upside the head.


"No need to be so jumpy, Yang," Hel added mildly.


Yang sat, eyes flicking from floating pan to floating pan. "So uh… what exactly is all this?"


Hel tapped the wooden stick lightly against her palm. The kitchen settled at once—utensils lowering themselves with eerie politeness, flames dimming to a steady glow.


"Well," Hel said conversationally, "I am unsure how gently to phrase this, so I shall not attempt to. You died."


Yang blinked.


"…Really?" she deadpanned. She flexed her fingers again, staring at her very-much-flesh arm. "Couldn't tell. I'm feeling pretty great, actually. So what's the deal?"


Hel's smile widened just slightly. "Your soul passed through a threshold it was not meant to cross. I intervened."


Yang leaned back in her chair, expression unimpressed but attentive. "Intervened how?"


"The In-Between," Hel continued, as if discussing weather, "is a sort of purgatory between the multiverse. A seam. A crack between pages. Realistically, no one should ever arrive there. Souls follow established routes."


She set a plate down in front of Yang with precise care.


"But," Hel added, eyes glinting faintly, "if one dies in a sufficiently strange manner—if forces collide incorrectly, if fate is… disrupted—then occasionally a soul slips sideways instead of forward."


Yang propped her chin on her hand. "So I glitched."


"A crude summary," Hel allowed. "But accurate."


"And instead of letting me drift off into the backrooms, you grabbed me?"


"Yes."


Yang narrowed her eyes slightly. "Why?"


Hel did not hesitate. "Because I promised Ruby I would."


That answer hit differently.


Yang's posture shifted—less defensive, more searching. "You promised… Ruby?"


"Yes." Hel's tone was simple, factual. "She asked that I find your team an considering you all likely died in a smilialry weird way together you were all probably there."

Yang stared at her for a long moment, emotions flickering behind her eyes—skepticism, relief, something dangerously close to gratitude.


"…Huh."


Before she could say anything else—


"OMELETS?!"


The shout echoed down the hallway with enough enthusiasm to rattle the cabinets.


Lisa burst into the kitchen like a sugar-fueled hurricane, hair slightly messy, eyes sparkling. "You said omelets this morning, right? You weren't kidding? You never kid about food but I just want confirmation because if there are omelets I am emotionally prepared—"


"Lisa?" Hel asked, one elegant brow lifting as she guided a pan to settle itself on the stove. "What has you so riled up? This level of exuberance seems… uncharacteristic."


Taylor walked in behind her, slower, already dressed, arms folded. "She's been vibrating since she woke up."


Lisa straightened slightly, trying—and failing—to regain composure. "Ah, well… your food is just that good. And do you know how long it's been since I've had genuinely good food? Try seventeen years."


Yang blinked. "Seventeen—"


"And sure," Lisa rushed on, waving a hand, "I've been in your familia for like a week now, but before that? Survival food. Institutional food. 'It technically has nutrients' food. Flavor was a myth. Seasoning was a rumor."


Hel tilted her head slightly. "I see."


Lisa trailed off mid-sentence as a plate slid neatly in front of her. She took a bite.


Her entire body shuddered.


There was a full-body pause—eyes closed, shoulders relaxing, tension melting out of her like someone had flipped a switch.


"…Oh," Lisa breathed. "Oh I love this! Thank you for finding me!"


Hel's eyes shifted, slowly, toward Taylor.


Taylor, halfway through cutting into her own omelet, looked up and shrugged. "Don't look at me. I mean I thought it would've been over after a week but apparently she's just addicted to your food."


"Taylor you try eating literal shit to survive then tell me this food is not heavenly." Lisa responds flatly, her ears going momentarily flat against her head before returning to normal as she takes another bite.

Taylor turned her attention to Yang, expression calmer, more measured. "You must be Yang. Ruby is going to be so happy that Hel finally found you. She's been searching for a while now."


That made Yang still.


"…Searching?" she asked, quieter this time.


Taylor gave a small nod. "Ruby's our familia captain. And even I can tell she's been running herself ragged. Extra dungeon runs. Extra training. Extra paperwork. Anything to keep moving so she didn't have to stop and think." She met Yang's eyes evenly. "Now that you're here? She might finally let herself breathe."


Lisa hummed in agreement around another bite, swallowing before adding, "Oh, she is absolutely going to break down when she sees you. Full system reboot. Tears, probably clinging, maybe some incoherent yelling." She pointed her fork at Yang. "That's a good thing. It means the pressure valve finally pops. She's been bottling that stress for, what, a month and a half?"


Hel tilted her head slightly. "It has been closer to two months since Ruby joined my familia," she corrected calmly.

"Oh, so whats this dungeon thing anyways?" Yang asks

"I'm glad you asked." Hel starts with a smile

 

[Common]

The summons came just after sunset.


Erik adjusted the clasp on his cloak and made his way through the upper halls of the Loki Familia manor. The lower floors were alive with noise—laughter, arguments, the heavy thud of mugs hitting tables.


They had been raiding Dark Familia holdings for nearly a week now.


And winning.


Safehouses uncovered. Smuggling routes dismantled. Leaders captured before they realized they'd been exposed.


Information had made the difference.


Precise information, the quiet chorus in the back of his mind corrected.


Erik's mouth curved faintly.


With the intel he'd been providing—timings, numbers, movement patterns—he was almost certain a commendation was coming. Not that it mattered.


Recognition was a byproduct.


Control was the objective.


He descended one staircase, boots silent against polished wood.


This world was nothing but predators and prey.


The Dungeon devoured the weak. Familias devoured each other. Gods smiled while sharpening knives behind their backs.

Erik reached the upper corridor where the noise thinned into quiet wealth and polished doors. The air felt different here—less sweat, more ink and strategy.


He paused only briefly before Loki's office.


In this city, strength ruled.


But information decided who got to use it first.


Erik knocked once.


From inside came the familiar, lazy drawl.


"C'mon in~"


He pushed the door open and stepped inside.


"So," Loki began, reclining on her couch with that ever-present smirk, "you're my new kiddo, huh? If I remember correctly, you have a skill?"


"Yes, Loki-sama," Erik replied calmly. "Shadow Walking. It allows me to meld into shadows and travel through them."


Her eye gleamed, just faintly—part amusement, part calculation. "Not bad. That'll make scouting and… certain negotiations interesting."


Erik inclined his head slightly, expression unreadable. "It's… efficient."


Loki tapped a finger against her knee, eyes narrowing in thought. "Efficient can be good. Although—" her gaze sharpened, "—is it true you only use a crossbow? A skill like that and you're playing backliner? That's kinda odd."


"It is accurate," Erik replied evenly.


Loki huffed a quiet laugh. "Most brats with an infiltration skill start thinkin' they're assassins. Daggers. Close quarters. Dramatic entrances." She made a vague stabbing motion with her hand. "You? You sit fifty meters out and poke holes in things."

"It feels right," Erik replied evenly. Then, without missing a beat, "Where are the executives?"


Loki's brow arched slightly at the pivot. "Straight to business, huh?" She leaned back into the couch. "Guild called about an hour ago. We're assembling a last-minute expedition to the fiftieth floor tomorrow."


Erik didn't react outwardly.


Inside, calculations shifted.


"Fiftieth," he repeated.


"Yeah." Loki clicked her tongue. "Short notice. Tight prep window. And before you ask—yes, that includes the big names. Finn's already in planning mode."


She snorted. "And Hephaestus is pissed. Something about rushed orders and 'do you think high-grade gear for the deep floors grows on trees?'"


"Understood," Erik said calmly. "I will prepare."


Loki studied him for a second longer, then grinned. "See that you do, backliner."


Weiss woke first.


Stone ceiling. Cool air. The soft bioluminescent glow of crystal growths embedded in the cavern walls.


Her eye twitched.


She turned her head slowly.


Ruby was face-down on the ground, cape tangled around her legs, one boot resting against a supply pack like she'd been dropped there by an irritated deity.


Blake was already upright, rubbing her temples with two fingers.


Weiss inhaled sharply through her nose.


"…Ruby."


A muffled groan. "Mmm?"


"You," Weiss said icily, "jumped down a hole."


Ruby rolled onto her back and blinked up at the ceiling. "It was a shortcut."


"It was a vertical shaft."


"It was probably a shortcut."


Blake sighed. "You didn't check the depth."


"There was wind!" Ruby protested weakly. "That means airflow. Airflow means connected passageways. Connected passageways mean—"


"—we could have died," Weiss snapped.


Ruby sat up quickly, brushing dust from her hair. "But we didn't! And we made it to the safe floor. We're on the eighteenth floor, right?"


Blake stared at her.


"…I had to drag you two past the Wall of Grief last night," Blake said flatly.


Ruby blinked. "Oh."


Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose. "You passed out mid-sprint after declaring, and I quote, 'I have a landing strategy.'"


"I was feeling tired," Ruby muttered.


Blake folded her arms. "We hit the seventeenth floor late. The Goliath had already respawned in its chamber. We avoided it."


Ruby's eyes lit up instantly.


"OH! We can fight Goliath!"


Weiss went utterly still. "…No."


"But Weiss," Ruby pressed, scrambling to her feet, "we've fought stronger Grimm. Way stronger. And we're physically stronger now." She tapped the stone beneath them. "This world buffs us. Our stats are higher. Our stamina's better. We recover faster. That's just math."


Weiss stared at her.


"You are attempting to apply math to a floor boss."


"Yes," Ruby said brightly. "Because it works."


Blake remained silent, thoughtful.


Ruby began counting on her fingers. "We've taken down Nevermores the size of buildings. A giant mech. Actual war machines. And that was without stat sheets."


"Brothers she has a point." Weiss mutters in disbelif.

Weiss opened her mouth.


Paused.


Closed it again.


Blake finally spoke. "She's not entirely wrong."


Weiss whipped her head toward her. "You cannot possibly be endorsing this."


"I'm evaluating," Blake replied calmly. "The Goliath is slow. Predictable. High durability, high strength, low agility. We've observed its patterns before."


Weiss fell silent.


She ran the scenario through her head—glyph placement, aura reserves, spacing, fallback routes.


After a long moment, she exhaled.


"…Fine. But first we go to town and acquire a proper map. I am not climbing seventeen floors blind because Ruby trusted 'airflow.'"


Ruby brightened immediately. "So that's a yes?"


Weiss fixed her with a glare.


"That is a conditional agreement."


Ruby pumped a fist. "Boss Fight!"

 

[Common]

The air changed at the seventeenth floor.


Veterans felt it first.


The humidity thickened.


And the entire floor felt significantly colder than usual.


Not the natural chill of deep stone—but something layered over it. Frost clung faintly to the edges of the cavern walls. The usual distant rumble of the Dungeon felt… disrupted.


At their head walked Finn Deimne, expression calm, spear resting lightly against his shoulder.


"Maintain spacing," Finn ordered quietly. "No overextension. We eliminate the Goliath, then continue downward."


Acknowledgments murmured through the formation.


They advanced toward the Wall of Grief.


Then—


A sound split the corridor.


A thunderous impact.


Stone cracking.


The formation halted instantly.


Another crash followed.


And then—


A roar.


Not the idle, territorial bellow of a floor boss awaiting challengers.


This was strained.


Pain-tinged.


Finn's eyes sharpened. "That's combat."


A second sound cut through the corridor—high and slicing. Metal screaming through dense stone.


Then a sharp concussive burst that rattled dust from the ceiling.


Tiona grinned. "That doesn't sound like us."


Riveria's staff hummed faintly as she focused. "…There's magic being deployed."


"By who?" Bete growled.


Another impact.


The temperature dropped further.


Frost crept across the cavern floor in a sudden spreading wave.


Gareth frowned. "That's not Goliath."


A voice echoed faintly from beyond the Wall of Grief—distant, but unmistakably human.


"Blake, left!"


Another voice, sharp and precise: "Hold it steady!"


And then—


A bright flare of mana.


The Wall of Grief trembled.


Finn raised a hand. The entire formation shifted into battle readiness.


"Unknown party engaging the floor boss," he assessed calmly. "Possibly overwhelmed."

"No." Ais states stoping the entire group as they were about to charge forward to assist.


"No?" Finn asks


"I hear teacher's voice." Ais answers


===========

The Goliath's roar shook the chamber.


Weiss stood at mid-range, Myrtenaster glowing as glyphs flared beneath the monster's feet.


"Hold it steady!" Weiss snapped as her hair began to glow and that weird blew fire appeared around her eyes.

Under the Goliath's ankle. Ice surged upward in thick crystalline layers, locking the joint in place just as the monster tried to pivot.


Ruby flashed in.


Crescent Rose carved a blazing arc across its calf. Cutting in a decent amount but with the size of goliath it might as well be shallow.


The Goliath thrashed violently, its massive body straining against the icy lock. Spiderwebs of frost spread across its leg, shimmering in blue and silver under the cavern's dim lights.


Ruby skidded backward, Crescent Rose spinning in a wide arc. Her cut glowed faintly along the Goliath's thick calf, but against the monster's sheer bulk, it barely registered.


"Ugh! That's hardly a scratch!" she shouted, flipping backward just as a retaliatory swing slammed into the stone where she had stood, sending dust and chips flying.


Blake moved with deadly precision, letting the Goliath's massive arm crash against the cavern floor exactly where she had predicted. Her semblance seemed to pull her forward, swallowing her for a heartbeat, only for her to reappear clinging to the beast's forearm. Her blades flashed, slicing along the thick hide as the monster bellowed in fury. Dust and fragments of rock cascaded around her as Goliath was desperately trying to knock the cat off, but she stayed perfectly balanced, adapting to every violent swing.


Ruby's cheer froze in her throat as the chamber temperature plummeted almost instantly. Frost curled along the walls and stones, curling in delicate patterns that crept outward like icy fingers. Mist hung thick in the air, clinging to every surface, coating the cavern in an otherworldly haze.


Where Weiss had been standing was now impossible to see. A jagged, massive spike of ice spun silently through the air, aimed at the Goliath with deadly precision.


"BLAKE, DISMOUNT!" Ruby yelled.


Blake's eyes widened, and she leapt from the Goliath, twisting midair with practiced grace. She landed lightly on the frost-slicked floor just as the ice spike hurtled downward, striking the Goliath's chest with a bone-rattling crack. Shards of ice and stone exploded outward in every direction.


The cold deepened instantly, a biting chill that seemed to crawl into the bones. Frost snaked along the cavern walls, coating every jagged stone in sparkling white, while the mist from their breaths hung thick and heavy in the air. The Goliath thrashed one final time, slowed and stiffened by the ice gripping its limbs, before releasing a final, guttural roar and collapsing onto the frost-hardened floor.


Ruby stumbled back, wide-eyed, watching the colossal beast freeze in place, the ice spike lodged like a jagged monument. "Ha that was harder than fighting Cordovins mecha, I kinda wish Yang was here blunt force wouldve done well with your Ice Weiss." Ruby states

Blake crouched as she assessed the fallen monster. "That spike… Weiss really outdid herself," she said, glancing at Weiss emerging from the swirling frost.


Weiss's glowing eyes dimmed slightly, her breath fogging the cold air as a faint smile appeared. "All done," she said softly, the chamber eerily silent except for the faint crackle of settling ice.


"Well done teacher!" A calm voice cheers from the entrance of the wall of sorrow.

The trio look over to see the Loki familia executives an alot of adventures in tow staring at them in shock.

 

[Common]

The door slammed open hard enough to rattle the frame.


"WE ARE BACK!" Ruby shouted at full volume, bursting inside like a red blur. "AND WE HAD AN ADVENTURE!"


Her voice echoed through the home.


Blake stepped in behind her, ears twitching slightly at the volume. Weiss followed more gracefully, though there was frost still clinging faintly to the hem of her skirt that hadn't quite melted yet.


There was a beat of silence.


Then—


"Why do I feel like that sentence is going to cost me paperwork?" Yang's voice called from the other room.


Ruby froze.


For half a second.


Then she launched.


Yang barely had time to open her arms before Ruby slammed into her, wrapping her in a crushing hug with enough force to stagger them both a step.


"Whoa—hey, easy, Rubes!" Yang laughed, catching her automatically. "What happened? You fight a Behemoth? Accidentally adopt another—"


Ruby didn't answer.


Yang felt it first.


The tremor.


Ruby's shoulders shaking.


Her grip tightening.


"…Hey," Yang's tone shifted instantly.


Ruby buried her face into Yang's chest.


"I—" Ruby tried to speak, but her voice broke immediately. The adrenaline was gone. The rush was gone.

"I thought—" Ruby's breath hitched. "I thought we were gonna—"


The words wouldn't come.


Yang didn't push.


She just held her tighter.


One hand came up to cradle the back of Ruby's head, fingers threading gently through red hair the way she used to when Ruby had nightmares as a kid.


"You're okay," Yang said softly. "You're home. I've got you."


Ruby made a small, broken sound, her fingers twisting into the fabric of Yang's jacket like she was anchoring herself there.


Behind them, Weiss and Blake stood back, giving the sisters space.


Blake's ears had lowered slightly, her expression soft in a way she rarely let others see. There was relief there—quiet and steady. Relief that Ruby had held it together when it mattered. Relief that they were all standing here now.


Weiss watched with a small, knowing smile. She understood that look—the delayed crash after the storm. The moment when strength wasn't needed anymore.


"Hel, thank you," Weiss said softly.


The air shimmered faintly near the doorway.


Hel stood there, composed as ever, one hand resting lightly against the frame. Her expression was unreadable at first glance—but her eyes softened ever so slightly.


"Hel thank you, you brought our family back together." Weiss states


"Now about Juniper…" Blake mutters


"I couldnt tell you Blake maybe if I run into them I mean unless they died the same weird way the four of you did there is no guarantee that they are in the inbetween." Hel answers

=======

Clusters of expedition tents ringed a wide clearing, lantern-crystals hung from poles, and at the center of the Loki Familia encampment, a controlled fire crackled within a ring of stone hauled from the upper floors. The flames reflected off armor and polished weapons, casting long shadows that danced against the cavern walls.


Finn Deimne sat on a travel crate rather than a throne or chair, boots planted firmly in the dirt. Gareth Landrock occupied a heavy log opposite him, arms folded across his broad chest. Riveria Ljos Alf sat upright on a rolled bedroll, posture immaculate despite the expedition setting. Aiz Wallenstein stood just within the firelight, quiet and still.


Around them, first-class adventurers pretended not to listen.


No one was actually ignoring the conversation.


Gareth broke the silence first. "Never seen a Goliath go down that fast. Especially to three Level Ones. They are Level One, right?"


Finn nodded once. "Officially."


A faint ripple of disbelief moved through those listening.


"It wasn't just power," Finn continued. "It was timing."


Riveria's eyes reflected the flames, sharp and calculating. "The temperature drop preceded the strike by several seconds. A controlled environmental shift. That is not standard ice magic."


"No chant," Gareth added. "No magic circle."


Riveria's gaze hardened. "Precisely."


Aiz spoke softly, almost as if to herself. "They trusted each other."


Finn glanced toward her. "Explain."


"The scythe user didn't hesitate," Aiz said. "She gave the order before the spike fell. The catkin moved instantly."


"Ruby, Aiz," Tiona Hiryute corrected from where she was leaning against a supply crate. "Her name's Ruby. She lived with us for like a week."


Aiz blinked once. "…Ruby."


"Wait," Bete Loga cut in sharply from the edge of the firelight. "That was that brat?"


Tiona shot him a look. "She's not a brat."

Bete's ears twitched, disbelief written plainly across his face. "You're telling me the loud red one who kept asking questions and tripping over her own weapon was just part of a team that skewered a floor boss?"


"She doesn't trip," Tiona huffed. "To trip you actually have to hit the ground. She just… repositions enthusiastically."


A few of the nearby adventurers coughed to hide their laughter.


"Wait a minute," Riveria Ljos Alf said slowly, turning her sharp gaze toward Aiz Wallenstein. "You called that white-haired girl teacher."


Her tone was precise. Probing.


"That was the one who supposedly beat you in the courtyard?"


The fire popped sharply.


Several heads turned toward Aiz.


Bete Loga blinked — then barked out a laugh. "Oh right! She's the one that made that short joke!"


As one, several gazes slid toward Finn Deimne.


Finn's expression remained composed.


His fingers tightened slightly where they rested against his knee.


"…It was an inaccurate assessment of proportions," he muttered under his breath.


Gareth's shoulders began to shake.


Tiona outright grinned.


"I still think the Captain's upset that Ruby turned out to be human and not Pallum," Tiona Hiryute said brightly, elbowing her sister with a wicked smile.


A low, dangerous silence followed.


Finn closed his eyes briefly.


"I was not," he said evenly, "upset!" Only to finish with a shout.


Everyone broke out into laughter.

 

[Common]

Hel stood alone in the quiet hall beneath the house, fingers resting lightly against the cool stone wall.


She had delayed this long enough.

A faint exhale left her.


"I should have updated them sooner," she murmured to the empty chamber.


But there had been other matters. Stabilizing four displaced souls. Anchoring them to this world. Ensuring the Dungeon did not reject what did not belong.


Still.


Neglecting a falna update was… inelegant.


Above her, she could hear faint movement — Ruby's laugh, Yang's heavier footsteps, Blake's lighter tread, Weiss's measured pacing.


Family.

=====

The room was warm, lit by low lantern light rather than fire a lovely futon had been set up, in truth this room wasn't even ready until earlier today.

Ruby bounced slightly on her heels. "Ooooh, status update time?"


Blake gave her a look. "You're too excited about that."

"It's basically a stat sheet," Ruby argued. "That's cool."


Weiss stood composed, though her posture was just a touch straighter than usual, chin lifted with practiced poise.


Yang leaned casually against the wall, arms folded. "So this is the part where we get stronger numbers, right?"


Hel regarded them evenly, crimson gaze steady and unreadable.


"This is the part," she corrected calmly, "where you see your growth."


That tempered the mood slightly.


The group of six glanced at one another — Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Yang… and the two quiet presences lingering near the back of the chamber, observing but not interrupting.


Hel stepped forward.


"Yang first," she said. "I need to give her her falna."


Ruby perked up immediately. "Ooooh. Initiation ceremony."


Blake gave her a sideways look. "It's not a club membership."


"It kind of is," Ruby whispered back.


Yang pushed off the wall with an easy grin, though there was a flicker of anticipation behind her lilac eyes. "Alright, death goddess. Hit me."


Hel did not rise to the bait.


She drew a thin ceremonial blade across her palm. Divine ichor welled — luminous, gold edged with something deeper, older.


The room quieted instinctively.


"Remove your jacket," Hel instructed.


Yang complied without complaint, rolling her shoulders once before turning her back.


Hel pressed her glowing palm between Yang's shoulder blades.


For a heartbeat—


Nothing happened.


Then the air grew heavy.


Not cold like Weiss's power.


Not sharp like Ruby's focus.


Heavy.


As if something vast had leaned closer. An Yang glowed.

Yang inhaled sharply.


"…Oh that's warm."


The script burned brighter for a second — not painful, but intense — before settling into her skin like ink sinking into parchment.


Ruby leaned forward on her toes. "Is it cool? It looks cool, right?"













Yang

Level 1

Strength: I – 0

Endurance: I – 0

Dexterity: I – 0

Agility: I– 0

Magic: I– 0


MAGIC

AURA

Burn

Skills

Boxing E

Unarmed Combat F


"An' done," Hel stated quietly, withdrawing her hand.


The glow faded from Yang's back, the divine script settling into her skin in faint, ember-toned lines before disappearing entirely from mortal sight.


Yang rolled her shoulders once.


"…Huh."


Ruby immediately popped into her personal space. "Well? Do you feel stronger? Faster? Punchier?"


Yang flexed her hand experimentally. A faint shimmer flickered across her knuckles — not visible light, exactly, but pressure. Density.


"I feel… primed," Yang decided. "Like, I have this well of energy behind me now, yet i cant call on it."

Blake tilted her head. "Eh already?"


Hel nodded once. "Her combat style is cohesive. Disciplined. Refined through repetition."


Yang smirked. "I've been punching things since I was, like, five."


"Clearly," Weiss muttered.


"Alright whos next?" Hel asks

Hel allowed the faintest pause before speaking again.


"Alright," she asked evenly, gaze sweeping over them. "Who's next?"


Ruby's hand shot up instantly, nearly dislocating something in her enthusiasm.


"Me! Obviously me. I want to see if I get something cool. Or edgy. Or— oh! What if I get like, 'Scythe Master Supreme'?"


Blake's ears twitched. "That's not how this works."


Hel closed her eyes.


Very slowly.


"I have failed as a goddess," she stated, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. "I have not updated you in so long that you have forgotten what your skills were."


The room went silent.


Ruby blinked. "I— I mean—" silently walking forward and getting on the futon, pulling off her shirt.

Ruby's skin shivered from the faint cool of the leather futon. She sank into the futon, knees drawn up slightly, hands twisting nervously. "Okay… do it, Hel."


Hel extended her hand once more, ichor dripping faintly from her palm, golden lines writhing as if alive. She placed it lightly against Ruby's shoulder blade.


The world seemed to hush. Even the lanterns flickered, as if holding their breath.


At first, nothing. Ruby tensed. "Uh… am I supposed to feel something?"

Ruby gasped, gripping the futon. "Whoa… it's like… my arms are all… heavier? Stronger? No, wait—more me! Like I'm… expanded."


The lines of divine script sank into her skin, ember-toned filaments visible only to the eye of a goddess. Hel's crimson gaze studied her, calm, unwavering.


"You've grown," Hel responds softly holding a status sheet infront of Ruby.

Ruby

Level 1

Strength: B – 780

Endurance: E – 420

Dexterity: D – 540

Agility: A – 800

Magic: S– 963

MAGIC

AURA

Petal Burst



SKILLS

Scythe-wielding C

Marksman Ship E

Ruby's eyes widened as she scanned the status sheet, her fingers trembling slightly. "Whoa… wait… S in Magic?! And Agility… A?!"


Hel's crimson gaze held her steady. "These numbers are not arbitrary. They reflect your growth, the refinement of your technique, and your resonance with your chosen weapons. But remember—these are potential, not absolutes. Your skill must earn its full expression."


Ruby bounced slightly on the futon, unable to contain herself. "Ohhh… this is so cool! So that means… I can level up?"


Hel nodded, her tone even but firm. "Right. We have a slight problem—for all of you. To level up, you must go on an adventure. That means pushing yourselves to your limits."


She motioned for the next girl to step forward as Ruby hopped off the futon and slipped her shirt back on, still practically vibrating with excitement.


Weiss rose gracefully, every movement deliberate, posture impeccable as always. Yet Hel could detect the faint tension in her shoulders—the subtle anticipation she would never openly admit.


"Calm yourself, Weiss," Hel said evenly. "I do not expect you to have the same degree of growth as Ruby. You have not been here as long… and you were not quite as reckless in the Dungeon."


Weiss paused mid-step.


Her chin lifted a fraction higher.


"Ah," she said coolly, "we killed a Goliath."


The room went quiet.


Ruby blinked. "Yeah! That happened!"


Blake nodded once in confirmation.


Yang stared at the three of them, incredulous. "You had fun without me?"


Ruby winced. "It was less 'fun' and more 'oh no we're going to die.'" which pinged as a lie to Hel.


Blake tilted her head slightly, expression perfectly serious. "Statistically speaking, a black cat crossed the Goliath's path. Therefore, it was unlucky."


Silence.


Everyone slowly turned to look at Blake.


Blake blinked back at them, ears twitching faintly. "What?"


Yang squinted. "Are you okay, Blake?"


Ruby leaned in, whispering loudly, "That was either a joke or a cry for help."


Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose. "I cannot believe I risked my life beside you people."


Blake's ears flicked again. "It was humor." A beat. "Dry humor."


Yang snorted. "That wasn't dry. That was sandpaper." She smirked. "Kinda like your tongue."


Blake immediately flushed, ears going rigid. "Yang!"


Ruby gasped. "Oh my gosh—"


Weiss turned sharply. "We are not unpacking that statement."


Yang only grinned wider, utterly unapologetic. "What? I'm just saying."


Blake crossed her arms, attempting dignity while still very much red. "You are insufferable."


"And yet," Yang shot back easily, "you tolerate me."


Hel cleared her throat.


The sound wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.


The air in the room seemed to straighten.


"Enough dallying," Hel said calmly, crimson gaze settling on Weiss. "Step forward."


Weiss exhaled once, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her sleeve as she regained composure. "Finally," she muttered under her breath.