Disclaimer: I do not own DanMachi or any of the Omori's original characters, nor do I make any profit off of my writing.
There were a few things that Bell knew to be true about the world. The first was about the gods of Tenkai and their children.
The gods descended to the lower world in search of entertainment; they were powerful, immortal beings that resided in the upper world. They were capable of a great many things, but they sealed their powers away to make their time in Gekai more enjoyable.
The deities formed familias in their own names, blessing their followers with a 'falna' and granting them great strength and vitality to brave the dangers of the world.
Bell had never met a god, though he lived in a village alone with his grandfather. It wasn't really where you'd expect to find somebody in search for entertainment in an unending life.
The second thing he knew was that he was unloved. He didn't know why, he tried and tried to get his grandfather to love him, he did everything he could think of to get him to, but it never worked.
He thought sometimes that he could see the love in the tenderness of his grandfather's eyes, but then he'd touch him, and nothing would happen. Sometimes he even believed he could see it in the way his grandfather would tell him stories whenever he asked, weaving great tales of the heroes the man seemed to adore so much.
Bell took after his grandfather in a great many ways: his love for heroes being chief among them. He thought that if he had enjoyed the thing his grandfather cared for most then maybe, just maybe, his mark would appear.
It never did.
Still, he found solace in the words of the books. The heroes were loved by everyone, surely, he could be like that one day. He could find somebody who truly loved him.
Bell would walk around the village some days and take in the other residents.
The town they lived in sat nestled between the foothills that surrounded the western edge of the Alv Mountains. It was a quaint place, grassy hills surrounded by croppings of tall pine trees; there were houses decorating the valley, stone brick masonry beneath white stucco walls. The walls were framed in the long logs harvested from the nearby forests, straight pieces of wood perfect for support beams.
It was a beautiful place, second only (in Bell's mind) to the people who lived there.
It was almost entirely populated by humans, yes, Bell had only heard of the other races that made up the world through the stories, but he couldn't wait to meet them.
They weren't beautiful because of that, no. They were beautiful because of the mosaics that painted their skins.
Their marks.
The signs of all those they love and who love them in return in the world.
They were painted in a rainbow of colors, a different one for each different person.
Each of their soul mates.
He would see kids his age walking hand in hand with their mother, father, sister, or brother. It didn't matter who it was because they always bore the mark. The same ones Bell never got.
There'd be a slash across the kid's forehead in the same amber of his mother's eyes. The side of the mother's thumb bearing its own color, one embodying the soul of her child. There'd be a handprint on the kid's cheek and the palm of the father's hand would be embraced fully by the child's affection.
That's why it made no sense to Bell.
He loved his grandfather.
His grandfather should love him.
So why didn't he have any marks?
He'd asked his grandfather once when he was younger, why it was that he was the only one who never bore the mark of a soulmate. The man just smiled sadly through his old cheeks and brushed a hand through the boy's head and said "the marks are a fickle thing. Nobody truly knows how or why they work the way they do; you shouldn't put so much thought into the workings of the world, most of the time you'll only come up with pointless words and emptiness. You are loved Bell, never forget that."
His grandfather's eyes were sad as he spoke, as if there were so many things he'd rather say to the kid, to prove it, but he couldn't.
He tried, he really tried. He wanted to believe he was loved, but everywhere around him there were physical reminders of everybody else's affection for each other. Everybody but him.
The marks were spread through first touches, it only made sense that he'd have at least one.
They didn't even have to be based on romance as many incorrectly thought. Platonic soulmates were even more common than romantic. So why?
Why does nobody ever pair well with his soul?
His mother had held him once, hadn't she? Did she not love him?
Was he even loveable?
Would he ever get a mark of his own?
…
Bell walks up to the guard at the gates of the dungeon city, Orario. The walls were massive, soaring higher in the skies than he would have thought possible. The Tower of Babel stood tall and proud at the center of the city, serving as a beacon for travelers, directing them to the 'center of the world.'
He tugged the sleeves of his brown jacket down to his wrists and his as much skin as possible and he straightened out the hair he'd been growing out to cover his forehead.
It was the height of summer, and the sun was blazing overhead, his clothes were bound to turn some heads.
He didn't want to be judged anymore for being unloved, he had enough of that at home.
His grandfather disappeared, this was his chance for a new life, one where he could find a way to love and be loved. He wasn't going to ruin his chances by admitting to the world that he'd never been loved in the first place.
So, he ducked his head and recanted his answers as quick as he could as the guard ran through them, trying desperately to move past him and continue on. The longer he stood here the more time the man would have to look him over and determine him no longer worth his time.
It's what everybody had done.
One's skin was meant to be a proof of character, people showed it openly in the city – or as openly as they felt comfortable doing. They wanted to show the proof of the love others felt for them to the world. To hide your skin unnecessarily was always met with raised eyebrows and suspicion.
Still, he made it in, and he'd have his second chance.
…
It didn't go well.
Two weeks.
He spent two weeks trying and failing to get into the door of different familias.
He never got far.
He was pushed. Thrown. Berated. Insulted.
None of it was new, but it didn't exactly make it any easier.
Sometimes he was refused because he was too small, too weak. Other times they offered to give him a shot, but when they asked about how he covered his body and why Bell couldn't lie. It wouldn't be right.
And..
People don't like liars.
They don't love them.
He never even made it to see the patrons of the familias, turned away by the underlings or sometimes by the captains. It was tiring, and he considered lying to just have a single chance to find a home.
He could lie, but he remembered the disappointed look his grandfather would give him whenever he knew he was. Bell couldn't help but think that maybe that.. maybe that was the reason he was unmarked.
Or maybe he did something else wrong?
Was that why his mother never marked him?
From what he knew, a soul mate mark can only be removed one way.
By choice.
So, did she choose to never mark him? Or did she choose she never should have?
He slumped down in an alley, holding his head between his knees as his hands rubbed mindlessly across his thighs.
A voice spoke up from his side, further down the alley. It was a small girl in a short white dress, her hair done up in two long, ravenette pigtails.
Her skin was as blank as his own.
".. umm.. excuse me.. "
…
Bell learned something new from his Goddess.
She, nor any lord or lady of Tenkai, could not have a soulmate. Gods and Goddesses did not have a soul like the children of the lower worlds, they were more so amalgamations of their powers and the aspects of the world they had dominion over.
His goddess, Hestia, was the lady of hearth, home, and family.
It was what he'd craved for his entire life, a place to belong. He was her first child, the first member of her familia. He couldn't care less that he slept on a raggedy old couch in a basement beneath an abandoned church because he had her.
The doubt still plagued him, the back of his mind always pushing him to wonder if it was even real. If she even loved him the way she thought she might. She'd come to be like a mother to him, doting on him like one would a child.
But what if it was all a lie?
What if he was just reading into things too much?
Without a mark to bear, could he ever know for sure?
He'd asked her once if she ever felt lonely. If never seeing the love she put out and took in materialized on the skin of another made her sad. He thinks she understood what he meant when she immediately hugged him.
She never asked about his blank canvas, of the lack of love in his life, she thought it might be too hard to speak on. But she promised herself that she would make sure he never thought himself unloved or unworthy. It was her duty as a goddess to provide the warmth of a family, of a home.
She may have shirked her duties in heaven, but not now.
…
His advisor was nice, she seemed to genuinely worry for his safety; seemed to care that he returned at the end of the day.
His advisor, though, was an elf. A half-elf to be exact.
Eina was very pretty, he had to admit it, her ears bore the slightly longer characteristic of her race, with the rounded points that stuck up in the back. She had beautiful emerald eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses and short brown hair that reached down to her shoulders.
She was an elf though.
Elves aren't meant to be touched.
So, he didn't touch her, and she didn't touch him.
His curiosity ate at him, all he wanted to do was to just reach out and see. Maybe, she could be the first one. He wondered what her soul mark would look like. If they brushed skin and their souls mingled, what the results be?
But he can't touch an elf.
He refused to have his first mark be extinguished because his advisor did not wish to be touched and he did so anyway. When he was finally loved, he'd make sure he was worthy of it.
…
Her words danced through his mind as he ran through the streets.
".. are you alright?"
Was he?
Am I?
He wasn't sure. Had he ever been alright?
He burst through the guild doors, a fake smile plastered on his face underneath layers of minotaur blood, and he waved to his wide-eyed advisor.
"Eina!"
She dropped the stack of papers in her arms as she took him in, it truly was a gruesome sight and she couldn't be blamed for thinking the worst. The only thing that settled her worries – even if only somewhat – was the smile on his face.
She didn't know it was fake. He'd gotten good at faking it.
It didn't help that when he did tell her what happened it was actually much worse than she thought.
Of course, it'd be her who got the adventurer who recklessly charged headfirst into the fifth floor and encountered a minotaur ten levels too high.
Naturally, she was an advisor. Her advisee needed advising.
She grabbed a hold of his ear and pulled him down to meet her as he stepped up to the desk, giving him a verbal lashing in full view of everyone in the pantheon. She couldn't see his face clearly enough under all the blood and gore that covered him, but she sincerely hoped he was flushed with embarrassment.
Bell rubbed the back of his head sheepishly as she finished, the blood that stained his hands smearing through his white locks as he did. His back had remained clean for a time, the minotaur having only bled on his front, but it would appear that it was destiny to paint him fully.
He wondered briefly if it would be wrong to paint colors on his skin so others would finally come close to him. To see him as something other than unlovable.
He shook his head, dismissing the idea. It would be no less facetious than lying when asked. It wasn't the right way to do things.
His thoughts lingered back to the cave.
".. are you alright?"
Was he?
".. do you know anything about Aiz Wallenstein?"
Eina washed the blood from her hands in the bathroom of the guildhall once the young adventurer had left. Her eyes rested briefly on the blank skin of her fingers before she gave a shrug and moved on with her day.
She would've been happy if Bell had been one of her soulmates, though she did not wish for any adventurer to ever be a romantic soulmate, having already lost too many to the dungeon. Still, if their souls did not match, they did not match.
…
Bell reached down a hand to the small chienthrope supporter with a smile, "sure! I'd love to have you help me out!"
He gave her the most convincing smile he could muster, though she didn't seem all too convinced by it. She must have a good eye for catching facetiousness, still, she warily reached out her gloved hand and shook his.
"Lili hopes she can support adventurer-san past his highest hopes."
…
He grabbed Ryuu's hand tightly within his own, profusely thanking her for finding the priceless gift that his goddess has bestowed upon him. The elfess blushed and looked away, stuttering out a response as the grey-haired waitress acted scandalized beside them.
When he finally released it, she glanced down at it and frowned.
She never let people touch her, it was a knee-jerk reaction to lash out when somebody tried.
Only three times has she been completely okay with it, just now being the third.
So why?
She stared down at her hands, her left bore a scar from her past. The silhouette of a hand, perfectly red just like the woman's hair who had held it for the first time.
Alise..
She glanced over to Syr who was smiling sadly at her.
Syr was the second.
No mark had ever appeared.
It confused her greatly. She had thought her soulmates would be those she was most comfortable around, those who her soul meshed well with. That's what it meant, right?
So, the people who could touch her would be the closest to her then, right?
But, Bell makes two.
Two people who have touched her and not left a mark.
Bell smiled sadly as he closed his eyes, refusing to look at her disappointed face. Neither person wanted to face the questions that plagued their minds.
Were they unlovable?
…
He pauses in front of Lili, heaving heavy breaths as the last embers of his magic died out from the room. She stared back at him with wide eyes framed between two handprints. One of four marks on the entirety of her body. One from each of the parents who left her behind, another two from the couple who took her in.
Even after she hurt them, they never took their marks back, even if she could never face them again.
She took Bell's hand when he finally reached out to her, her supporter's gloves long since torn to shreds.
She smiled up at him through watery eyes. He saved her despite everything she had done to wrong him, and she loved him for it.
If Lili was honest with herself, she was excited for what she expected to be her fifth mark. It'd been so long since her last one, she'd forgotten what it felt like. The sheer excitement one experiences when you find somebody who meshes with your soul so well.
Bell pulled her to her feet before retracting his hand.
Neither of them mentioned the pain in their hearts when no mark appeared, leaving behind only pale skin on either of their hands.
…
Aiz Wallenstein stood before him, looking uncertain. She had no idea how to teach, she'd never been good at it, always using too much strength when the few had tried to go to her for help. Even past that, she'd never been good with words.
Bell stood across from her, shrouded in black. He was baking in the heat, the stone atop the walls heating up as the sun rose over the horizon and began warming the air. Still, he did not consider for a second wearing less next time. The shirt and pants ensured nobody knew upon first sight. The gloves made sure nobody would ever find out.
He got lots of weird looks and he knew what they were thinking, but unless they could see they'd never know for certain. Neither would he, but that was something he could live with. He'd rather live in ignorance than be reminded of it every chance he got.
He woke up in Aiz's lap for the second time in his life.
He checked again when he got home.
Maybe the first time was a fluke.
It wasn't.
Still no mark.
…
He met many people during his days in Orario. Some he came to think of brothers and sisters, others were his dear friends.
He couldn't escape from being touched, no matter how much he tried.
It didn't help that he ended most battles either unconscious or close to it. Immediate medical attention left little room for boundaries when it came to skin contact.
Syr.
Anya.
Chloe.
Lunoire.
Mama Mia.
May.
Welf.
Mikoto.
Ouka.
Chigusa.
Finn.
Gareth.
Tiona.
Tione.
Bete.
Lefiya.
Aisha.
Haruhime.
Fina.
Roux.
Rye.
Maria.
Wiene.
Lyd.
Rei.
Gros.
Arles.
Laura.
Asterius.
Marie.
Never once did he gain a mark.
…
Freya watched from atop her tower as her Odr's brilliant soul dulled and dulled each day. She knew why, she was the only one who knew why.
She was the only one who could see souls after all.
Her divine eye was good for many purposes, but right now it only brought her pain as she watched the boy she loved continue through the motions of life without any of the exuberance somebody his age should exhibit.
It was one of the worst fates somebody in the lower world could endure.
A pure soul.
Completely transparent.
Freya had to admit, she'd never seen one before he arrived in Orario. She'd been tempted to snatch him up as soon as she did, but he wasn't perfect just yet. Taking him early would only fester the wound that already buried itself in his heart.
She wouldn't repeat what happened with Ali.
But the problem only persisted as time went on.
It was a curse, and it broke her heart just to see.
Those with transparent souls are the only inhabitants of Gekai, save the gods, who will never see the marks they make on others.
The soul marks are an expression of the binding of two souls, showing just how your soulmate has affected you through a mark on the skin.
It was beautiful and many people loved their own, Freya being chief among them. It was in her nature as a goddess of love, soulmates were the perfect representation of everything she stood for.
And Bell was suffering for it.
She couldn't stand idly by any longer.
"Ottar."
"Yes, my lady?"
"We're going out."
"Of course, shall I gather your cloak?"
"No, I care not to be seen today. I have more pressing concerns."
…
".. a transparent.. soul?"
Freya sighed and nodded sadly.
"You will never know the impact you have on people's lives through their skin as everybody else does, it just isn't possible."
".. but then.. "
"Would you like to know what I see, Bell?"
".. "
"Yours is not the only soul within these walls I watch over, I look at them all. Most are nowhere near as interesting as your own, but the way they dance around each other, their colors and intensity fluctuating constantly. It's mesmerizing."
".. "
"Would you like to know what your soul has done for the people around you? Would you like to know who loves you?"
Bell couldn't nod fast enough; it was all he ever wanted.
"Your soul is calming, peaceful, tranquil. You could have found a person whose soul was burning with more anger than anybody else in the world– "
In fact, you have.
" –and you could calm them with your presence alone."
".. but.. "
"No buts. It's true, Bell. You being here comforts people, you have the heart of a hero, and everybody who knows you knows it."
".. "
"You'd like to know who all loves you? Very well. Everybody."
"Eh?"
"Bell, think of every single person you feel even the slightest amount of affection for. Who you've kept yourself up late at night wondering if they cared for you in the same way. Think about them. They love you. Each and every one. It's frankly ridiculous just how many ladies have chosen you as the one they wish to pursue despite the lack of a soul mark."
"W- What?"
"Yeah, I mean– "
Freya mimicked an explosion with her hands as she made a noise with her mouth. It was frankly a hilarious sight for the boy, he'd never expected to see Freya of all people making the gesture.
" –so many women. Are you looking to make a harem perhaps, because you'd probably be able to."
"N- no.. "
"A shame," she shrugged her shoulders helplessly before continuing on, "Bell you know how we gods and goddesses do not make soul marks, right?"
"Yes?"
"Do you believe that to be good or bad?"
"I– "
He paused, it wasn't an easy question to answer.
Freya nodded her head delicately, "let's try this. Welf Crozzo and Hephaestus. Do you doubt their love?"
"No! Of course not!"
One silver eyebrow raised up the goddess's forehead, "what is the difference?"
"What?"
"What's the difference between you and Hephaestus? Between you and Hestia? Between you and me? Do we love any more less than you? Are we loved any less?"
".. no.. "
"Exactly right. Bell, I think you've been thinking about this all wrong. Your lack of a mark means little about you as a person. I think it's beautiful to see the changes you make in the person, rather than on them. The wonderful thing about not having a soulmate? You can be with anybody you desire if you put the work in and make it work."
Bell looked at her skeptically, what she said made sense, but could he really just take her word for it? I mean, she was a goddess, but not one he'd had a lot of experience with. Could he really flip the way he's been thinking his entire life on its–
"Oh, by the way, Bell."
He paused in his thoughts as he glanced up at the now standing woman.
"I'm throwing my own name into the hat of people vying for your love, perhaps you'll give me a chance?"
She smiled down at him, and he was taken aback by how she managed to perfectly convey both 'sultry' and 'sweet' at the same time.
He could only nod dumbly as she left, swaying her hips as she went.
Today was weird.
Still, Bell couldn't help but smile as he walked out of the restaurant, oblivious to all of the heated glares directed his way as he went.
Okay, maybe Freya lied a little about his presence calming everyone. He did have a fair number of beautiful women falling head over heels for him and most men were not very fond of that fact.
But for the first time since he learned the implications of soul marks, his smile wasn't faked and was almost blindingly bright as he slipped the gloves back off his hands.