"Talonshearth has fallen."

Once more, Bell was dreaming. This time, however, having already this experienced this once before, and knowing that this bizarre dream was part of the Pact he had made with his Goddess, he was not afraid.

In this dream, he was standing in what looked like a wide training ground, filled with wooden posts, target dummies, and racks of armour and weaponry of all sorts. By his hip was a rapier, and unlike the confused person thrown into the midst of danger that he had been the night before, Bell could feel righteous indignation stirring within the one whose consciousness he now witnessed.

Cries of outrage broke out from the dozen or so gathered in the training ground. "What?" a human wearing a spellcaster's robes snarled. "How?"

"Dracoliches and undead, raised by a foul servant of our enemy," the commander overseeing their training spat. "The Ardent Talon stood valiantly against their forces, but eventually his men were overrun. He alone bought them time to retreat to Highpeak at the cost of his life."

"One of the Paladins of Bahamut is dead?" a woman cried out, aghast, gripping her bow tightly enough for the wood to creak. "By the Gods…"

Bahamut? Bell didn't know just who or what that was, but from the shock the declaration had caused, he could tell that everyone present both feared and respected him.

"It gets worse," the commander said grimly. "Scouts have reported necromancer activity in the outskirts of the Wyrmbog. The Silver Wings want us to be ready to move out within two months."

"Two months –" Waiting off to the side, a grizzled man whose body was marred by countless scars of battle choked. "Cato, half of this lot have never faced an undead in their lives!"

"I know, Sergeant. Still, we have been called by the Three to serve. If it means laying down our lives to stop the tide of undeath, I will gladly be the first to draw my sword." He sighed, but then straightened up, and addressed everyone. "Alright, men! As you've heard, we no longer have the luxury of sitting idly by! From today, we are doubling your training! Everyone, into your assigned pairs! We're practicing combat manoeuvres!"

Wordlessly, Bell felt himself moving toward another person, rage seething in his veins. Their enemy had already destroyed his homeland, and he had been saved only by the grace of a servant of the one he sworn his life to. He would be damned if he did nothing while the world burned around him.

"Hey," his training partner called out, offering a slight nod. Like the woman from the dream the night before, he wore simple robes, but unlike her, a talisman of a greatsword with twin suns at either end was placed around his neck. "Warlock, right?"

He nodded slowly. The other man gave a slow whistle.

"I'm a cleric serving the Balancer, myself. Don't see many of you lot around here." He cocked his head to one side. "Don't suppose you'd care to share why you decided upon such a path?"

The man was chatty. Still, Bell felt himself answering the question. "It is… difficult, to continue having unwavering faith as you clerics do after seeing my homeland destroyed." An image flashed through his mind – swathes of farmland burned to the ground, monstrous creatures rampaging across them. "A Silver One sent by the Justicemaker arrived and defeated them. I pleaded with him for the power to avenge my family, and he saw fit to seal a Pact."

"A Silver, huh? I can imagine that. Must have been an Adult or Ancient, if he could forge a Pact on his own."

"Hmm." He hadn't asked the specifics. To him, so long as his patron continued granting him power to avenge all the lives that had been taken by the accursed Undead, it didn't matter to him how it was earned.

"Not a talkative one, are you?" the cleric flashed an easy smile. "Well, let's get to it, then. You do your thing, and I do mine?"

He pointed toward a nearby group of training dummies, set up in an arrangement that their instructors had told them about just earlier that day. Bell took the rapier in his hands, and called upon his patron for strength.

A chill flooded through him, yet it was not the frigid cold of the lifeless, but a righteous storm that demanded for justice. A mere fraction of what he had personally witnessed the Silver One perform against the Undead, but in time, so long as he upheld his end of the bargain, he knew that it would only grow.

"Breath of Silver, suffuse your winds around me," he incanted, advancing toward the training dummy. He could imagine the scores of mindless ghouls approaching, and a storm of arrows descending upon their position. "Shroud me in your winds, and may your frost protect me from harm. Let our enemies freeze themselves upon my body!"

He concentrated, and though Bell was disconnected from the man's actions, new knowledge flooded through his mind. A set of arcane sigils, ones he had never seen before, but now knew precisely how they worked. Abjuration, the word came to him. A shell. A coat of armour, whose frigid cold prevented any from striking against him unless they wished to freeze themselves to the bone.

"Armour of Agathys!"

A shell of swirling spectral frost emanated from his skin, sweeping outward as a spiral. In his mind's eye, he could perfectly picture his enemies shattering as they struck him, their attacks pointless against a frost whose cold could rival Agathys itself.

He was not yet done. Behind him, as the cleric launched out bolts of light that streaked out and bent around corners to strike at unseen targets, Bell felt himself raising his free hand, calling upon a second spell.

"Fires of Gold and Brass, kin to the Pactmaker, spring to life upon my blade," he commanded. "Burn our foes in righteous fire!"

Green-Flame Blade took hold, twisting streaks of searing heat coalescing first as radiant orbs of light, that then burst into flames of green. He roared, charging forward, and buried the point of his blade into the nearest training dummy.

The fire consumed the target, but its yearning for justice was not yet done. It leapt out, streaking through the air, impacting as an emerald fireball against a second target, likewise burning it down to a crisp.

Not done yet! Snarling, he whipped out his hand, shaping the eldritch energies granted by his patron. Swirling winds enveloped his hand, a maelstrom of sleet ice likewise surrounding the target of his ire. Sigils of Enchantment danced at his fingertips, piecing themselves together into the arcane matrix of his chosen spell.

"Hex!"

The vapours condensed around his target, sinking into its wooden flesh. Narrowing his eyes, Bell maintained his concentration in keeping the energies he had unleashed upon the target. Though there was no visible effect – it not truly being a creature – he knew that when the time came that he used this against his true foes, the Hex would resonate with each strike that Bell unleashed upon his foe, bursting into flares of energies that would destroy the very substance composing his target from within.

For now, though, he had to be satisfied with more mundane methods. A series of rapid jabs to where the dummy's heart and throat were, and it toppled over.

He stood there panting, hunched over, as the cleric destroyed the last of their assigned mock foes with another Guiding Bolt. Two First Level spells was currently his limit. Any further, and his body would be overwhelmed by the force that his patron commanded.

Bell glanced over the destruction that had caused, and gave a grim smile. Soon, he would be able to do the same against his real enemies.

One day, vengeance will be mine. Know this, servants of the Deathwyrm.

-x-x-x-

"Um, hello? Are you alright?"

Bell awoke with a start. The man's emotions, which were so unlike his own, had been conveyed to him, and he needed a moment to adjust back to his own consciousness.

When at last he regained his bearings, he realised that he was sitting with his back against the ruined stone of the abandoned church where he took refuge. In front of him, looking at him with concern was a short girl dressed in white, with hair parted in twintails.

And from the presence she gave off, Bell knew that she was one of the Goddesses resident to Orario.

'Awake from your slumber at last, I see. Fortunate, because this one had thought you waylaid by passing miscreants when she found you outside her lair, and was about to leave to call for aid.'

Ah, right. Watcher was here, too.

"Sorry," he said quickly, rising to his feet. At his full height, he now stood well taller than the Goddess before him. "I didn't know that anyone stayed here. I'll find another place tonight, I promise."

"Huh?" The girl looked confused. "Wait, no! You're welcome to stay here! This isn't my place, either!"

…a Goddess was staying in this run-down church? What sort of sad times had fallen unto her?

'The deities in your lands are strange ones,' Watcher mused. 'They possess power, but seek not to use it, content in merely observing. Such neutrality is rare among the Gods I know, but I suppose that is simply another of your local oddities.'

"You look like an Adventurer," she continued on saying. "Do you have a Familia? Would you like to join the Hestia Familia, Mister…"

She trailed off. "I'm Bell Cranel," he said quickly, not wanting to disrespect a divine being such as her. "And, um… sorry, Goddess Hestia, but I already have my own Familia."

Her face fell at that, but she perked up quickly enough. "Well, feel free to come back anyway! There's no one in my Familia yet, so there's plenty of room here!"

She gestured behind her, at the dilapidated building, smiling broadly.

"Oh, uhh… thanks?" he said, uncertain of how to take the Goddess' offer. "Sorry, Goddess Hestia, but I need to head off to the Dungeon now."

Fresh from the dreams he had, he couldn't wait to start using this newfound knowledge he had gleamed. Arcane matrices of Armour of Agathys, Hex, and Green-Flame Blade had been etched into his mind, and he wanted to taste for himself with his own body how he would fare using it against the monsters of the Dungeon.

"Mmhmm! Come back anytime, okay?"

She continued waving goodbye at him, as he made his way out along Main Street.

'An odd one. Perhaps you should consider her offer, given that you have splurged most of your currency on dinner the night before, and can scarcely afford to find a temporary dwelling of your own. Doubly so, if you are to purchase adequate protection of your own.'

"Thanks for the reminder, Watcher," he groaned. Early in the morning, this side of the city was still relatively quiet, and he could verbalise aloud to his companion. "By the way, I had another crazy dream last night. I now know how to cast three more spells!"

Granted, one was what the one he had been in his dream called a cantrip, much like Eldritch Blast, but he could feel the other two being of a step further in potency. And from the way he had spoken, it seemed that this was only the very surface of what spells might come to him as he advanced the Pact.

'Progress that quickly? I had thought…' For the first time since he'd known him, Watcher sounded genuinely surprised. 'Hmm. Your progress is admirable, considering your nature as a Hexblade. Were it that you had the ardent Faith necessary for Her to call upon you as her Paladin… but I suppose that it would be impossible, given that you still do not yet even know of Her Mercy's nature. Such an Investiture is of an altogether different sort from that of a Hexblade. Besides, while there is goodness in you, you still lack the unwavering zeal and ultimate conviction for greater purpose that all Paladins must possess.'

Paladin. He remembered that word from the dream, but did not know what it meant. Were there others in his Familia who possessed that title and other abilities, rather than those of the Hexblade as he'd been given? Before he could ask, however, Watcher continued on speaking.

'Well, well! It appears that you are already reaping the fruits of your labours, little wyrmling! Perhaps soon you shall channel your power through the blade, and become a true Hex Warrior. But rest not on your laurels, Bell Cranel – I expect similar results from you today.'

He would have loved to ask more about the other details he had heard in the dream – about Talonshearth and Highpeak, of the Balancer and the Justicemaker, and of Bahamut and the one called the Deathwyrm, but he already knew that Watcher would only answer in even more riddles. He knew for certain now, though, that with each new dream he glimpsed, more pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.

The first few floors of the Dungeon were no longer posing much trouble to him. Kobolds, goblins, and Dungeon Lizards that didn't fall before his scimitar were pulverised to ashes by the lance of force that was Eldritch Blast. With each swing of his scimitar, he could feel himself connecting with the weapon in a way he hadn't felt before, during the two weeks when he'd been using previous knife. It was becoming more familiar, now, and making it past each floor with greater efficiency.

'Your proficiency with the scimitar has grown, Hexblade,' Watcher commented. 'Once you arrive at the sixth floor, perhaps it will be time for you to begin to attempt channelling the might of Her Mercy through the blade, and harness it as another instrument of Her will.'

Now almost at the sixth floor, however, new varieties of monsters awaited him. He knew from Eina's lessons that the Frog Shooters and War Shadows here were meant for Adventurers near the middle grade of Level One, and were advised to have statuses of at least G in each of their attributes as listed in their Falna before considering to venture down here alone. His Goddess, however, did not assign such scores to his present abilities, and he had no way of telling just where he stood.

As he ventured past the stairway that led downward to the sixth floor, he steeled himself for his new foes. The only way that he could become strong, and both unlock more powers from his Pact and temper his body enough to withstand such overwhelming energy, was to meet the dangers of the Dungeon head-on.

'You are right to be cautious,' Watcher spoke, guarded. 'Even this far from my true body, I can smell the stench emanating from the tainted darkness deeper within. It is laughable compared to the evils that doubtlessly dwell within the belly of the beast, but they pose a challenge to you now, even with your newfound abilities. Remain vigilant, wyrmling, for negligence has led to the deaths of greater members of our kin than yourself.'

Scimitar clutched in hand, he entered the dim caverns of the sixth floor.

-x-x-x-

It was quiet. The atmosphere on the sixth floor was chillier than the first five, but with none of the wrathful and protective nature he had felt from the Armour of Agathys in his dream. It was a cold that pricked at his skin, as though thousands of eyes were watching his movements, carefully evaluating for the time to strike. Cautiously, he glanced into the darkness.

His boots echoed with each step he took. In the silence, the most minute of sounds were amplified tenfold – the soft ringing of his scimitar each time it made contact with any surface, the cyclical waves of his breathing, and the haunting growls and screeches from enemies unseen, far in the distance. The halls were twisting and branching, and though he had only been here for minutes at best, his sense of direction was becoming thrown off.

Such was the difference in architecture of the Dungeon on this floor. And he knew that the deeper he continued, it would only become worse from here.

Movement.

He whirled around, his scimitar screeching from the speed at which he moved. It glanced off the side of a long tongue, drawing blood, but his aim was thrown off from his reflexive dodge that barely let him escape from the ambush. With its bulbous eyes, and a spear-like tongue that was deceptively far-reaching and flexible, Bell knew that it could only be a Frog Shooter.

And from the croaking heading towards him, and the cracks he could hear in the walls around, he knew that his new adversary was not alone. There were so, so many, their sounds echoing all around him –

'A new test awaits you, Hexblade. May Her Mercy guide you.'

Right. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the fight. He could not afford to be weak any longer. Being saved as he had by his Goddess from the Minotaur and later by Ais Wallenstein from the remaining monsters was a one-off affair. Next time, he only had his own strength to rely on, that he had to rightfully earn through his Pact.

He let the energy crackle to life in his hand. Faint green arcs intermixed with the radiant light orb of condensed power, as sigils found their place amidst rotating glyphs.

As the Frog Shooter leapt backward, its tongue darting out for a new strike, he reacted.

"Eldritch Blast!"

The spell reached its fruition – but he was not yet done. He focused his will, maintaining his draw on the well of power that came from his Goddess. There was more power, there, waiting to be tapped, to transform the form of Eldritch Blast into something greater –

"RARGH!"

As a razor-sharp tongue grazed his cheek, eliciting a sharp spike of pain, he forced himself to continue concentrating, thinking only of the sensation of the underlying spell work.

More power. More shaping. Condense the power – draw from the Pact –

With a second roar, born of determination and fury, the bolt of energy that had already left his hands strengthened, barrelling into his foe with unprecedented force. It was propelled backward, its slimy head caved in from the sheer force of the spell, the black liquid that was its blood vapourised in its wake.

'That is… an Eldritch Invocation…but how…' Watcher spoke, surprised once more. 'You have awoken that as well? But – no, wyrmling, stay focused on the battle, for there are more vile creatures yet approaching.'

He didn't need to be told twice. The frenzied croaking was growing louder, and Bell readied himself for a second casting of the spell. Again, power flared to life in his hand, ready to be unleashed.

And not a moment too soon, because three more were approaching from up ahead.

"Gah!"

He thrust his hand out, flinging the spell toward one of the Frog Shooters. That was about as much time as he had, before the other two leapt over, tongues snaking from either side of him, and prevented him from concentrating on his spellcasting.

He could see why Watcher had been so adamant about him practising with the scimitar in yesterday's training. As inexperienced as he was, attempting to focus on dodging while trying to cast a spell would be a doomed endeavour.

He gritted his teeth. He jumped into the air, avoiding the tongue that speared a solid inch into the stone walls of the cave where he'd been. Raising his scimitar high, he brought it down upon the head of one of the two remaining Frog Shooters.

Not deep enough. Though black liquid squirted out, and it roared with rage and agony, the tongue swept out in an arc. Unable to dodge in mid-air as he was, it slammed into him from the side, flinging him aside. Yelping, he tumbled against the floor multiple times, skidding, before finally coming to a halt.

He winced at the pain in his side. He was lucky that it had been a blunt attack from the dull surface of the tongue without the full momentum it could reach, and that it hadn't been a thrust from the sharp point on its very tip that would have speared through him with ease, unarmoured as he was.

Backed into a corner, they approached him from the front. A single bound on their powerful limbs, and they were within striking distance of him. Their tongues had coiled back in, ready to be shot forth to end his life.

No.

Never again. He would not be caught out defenceless ever again.

They had managed to hit him, true – but now, unlike before when they had placed themselves on either side of them, they made a foolish mistake.

They were close to each other.

In his mind's eye, as he called upon the spell, he saw a single image – thin shards of gold, woven together as a tessellating lattice. Oddly enough, they moved and rippled as a wave, but he couldn't spare the time to pay any more attention to the sight.

"Envelop my blade, O' wrath of the Gold," he incanted, his blade raised, even though he didn't know the precise meaning of which he spoke, simply saying what felt natural through the Pact. "Sear my enemies with your raging fires!"

Orange flames spiralled around his blade. Their glow intensified, as his scimitar swung in a horizontal arc across the face of the Frog Shooter closer to him. It was so near to him, now, he could practically feel its putrid breath upon his face.

Then orange and red gave way to green. The heat intensified, and the well of power within him flared to life.

As flesh parted beneath his blade, the fires of Green-Flame Blade leapt out toward the tongue of the other Frog Shooter, that was already in motion toward him. The flames wrapped around the appendage, coiling around it, winding tighter and tighter in an instant.

He dug his blade deeper into his current target, finally finding purchase upon its magic stone within. It gave a final weak gurgle, fading into dust. Beside it, the tongue of the other Frog Shooter crumbled into ash, disintegrated by the sheer heat of his spell.

With its primary means of attack now lost to it, the final remaining Frog Shooter was helpless to act. It tried to ram into Bell in a final ditch effort, but he bent down low, held his scimitar with one hand while supporting it at the pommel with the other, and thrust out right into its gaping maw.

There was the clink against the magic stone hiding within, and the sound of a crystal shattering, before it, too, joined the other defeated Frog Shooters.

With the danger passed, Bell gasped, leaning over, supporting himself on his blade as he dug its tip into the stone floor below. He hadn't suffered grievous injuries, but he might have bruised a rib or two from when the monster had caught him out from the side. Blood streaked down the side of his cheek where the very first Frog Shooter had grazed him, and the back of his hand came back damp as he brushed against it.

'Decent, but plenty of room for improvement,' Watcher commented. 'Stay on the alert, little one. I shall aim to be of as little distraction as possible.'

He took a moment to rest, but he knew he could not linger long. The Dungeon was very much alive, and cracks were echoing as they bounced around the Dungeon's twisting walls, signalling the birth of new monsters within.

He pressed on, choosing one path from the fork ahead to continue pursuing. The lighting was dim compared to the upper floors, and with each step he took, the sense of foreboding grew stronger.

Crack!

There was the sound of stone chipping from the wall behind him. Immediately, he turned, blade held out. The cracks continued to sound out, growing faster and faster. A dark humanoid shape grew out from the hole in the Dungeon's walls.

A War Shadow.

And from behind him, there were more yet spawning. One, two, three…

He was surrounded. In front of him, the first newly born War Shadow raised its twisted limb, three claw-like fingers that were long and sharp as daggers eager to rip away at his flesh.

He yearned to cast an Eldritch Blast, and lay waste to that first target before the others finished their spawning, but he knew that he could not afford the precious time needed to complete the casting of that spell. If he did that, the other three behind him would already be well on their way over to him, and attempting to defend himself from these monsters would be far more difficult than the Frog Shooters.

"In that case…"

He didn't dare close his eyes, but forced himself to focus deeply on the sensation he had felt in his dream. This spell was more potent than a mere Eldritch Blast or Green-Flame Blade, and accordingly, was more taxing on his body.

"Silver Breath, howling winds of frost, cloak me in your chill." Though the War Shadow was quickly cutting the distance between them, he fought off the instinctual urge to dodge, and forced himself to focus on his spellcasting, lest he interrupted it and cut it off completely. "Upon our Pact, I claim the first breath of winter!"

The power felt almost uncontainable, rivalled only by what his Goddess had performed through him unto the Minotaur. He could feel every fibre of his being tensing, struggling to contain the powers churning within. It began to crystallise, organising itself into a material form, as a symbol of Abjuration appeared before him.

Then the Armour of Agathys flared to life around him. Misty vapour at first; coalescing rapidly into an impenetrable shell that surrounded him. The knife-like points that curled out from the thick arms of the War Shadow drew close, but the barrier of frost held strong. Its currents that chilled to the bone drew the elongated and misshapen pitch-black limb inward, a sinister trap that froze even the shadowy substance that composed these unnatural creatures. The chill spread inward, the subsequent crackling of solidifying ice joining the cacophony behind him as the monsters completed their birthing.

An opening!

Though the spectral cloak of swirling vapours was thinned out, slightly expended from shielding him from the blow, he pressed the advantage. The scimitar carved through the ice that had now claimed the War Shadow's arm, that even now was still spreading deeper into its body as darkest shadows gave way to blue ice.

It shattered into chunks that clattered against the Dungeon's floors, and without pause, Bell turned to face the remaining three War Shadows, that by now were fully formed. In that instant, time seemed almost to slow down, as he judged the distance between them, the state of his icy armour, and the options he had available to him

"Eldritch Blast!"

One War Shadow was hit, flung aside by the wave of force, but the strike was off-centre. The spell blew one of its arms out of existence, but the rest of it did not yet dissipate. The other two were approaching, now, and as the last vapours of radiant energy faded from his extended palm, he readied himself for the approaching melee.

He attempted dodging, but one War Shadow still managed to hit him. Three sharp knife-like appendages dug deep into the swirling maelstrom of power that enveloped him. The silvery gust thickened where the limbs were penetrating through, rejecting that which sought to harm the Hexblade who called upon it, but its power was limited. Met with a direct strike unlike the first, the armour was only barely able to hold onto its last wisps of power by the time it froze the darkness that cut a path through it.

"Take this!" Bell roared, swinging his scimitar forcefully outward.

Like the first, it shattered into pieces. As the chill spread deeper into its form, cracks began appearing, its movements slowly. Its other arm was raised in another strike, but frost coated it, and with its sluggish speed, dodging it was easy.

An instant later, the darkness could hold firm no longer, and all that was left was a statue of ice.

But even with one War Shadow brought temporarily out of the fight with his Eldritch Blast, and the other left utterly frozen and shattered, there was still one remaining War Shadow.

With the armour thinned out, and with Bell pressing the offensive to take out his current target, the sharp limbs of the remaining monster shattered what was left of his spell. Though feeble winds blunted and partially deflected the strike, a single knife still dug deep into the flesh of his side – thankfully missing any vital organs – but it still elicited an involuntary scream as pain suddenly lanced through him, joining the exertion that came when his body was flooded by the spell's power.

It was so much – too much –

'FOCUS, HEXBLADE!' Watcher roared out suddenly.

"RARGH!" Driven by instinct, Bell raised his scimitar, parrying the next strike. He stepped back, forcing himself to concentrate on the battle.

He could not physically bear to cast another Armour of Agathys without his body being torn apart by the primal forces of the spell. With the monster as close as it was, sparing the time to cast another Eldritch Blast was out of the question.

If so, then –

"You are Cursed, fiend!" he declared. "My life, sworn to my Goddess, is not yours to claim!"

Arcane magic took hold, its form shaped and moulded not by hands and gestures, but by the power of his words themselves – power that stemmed from the oaths that bound him to his Goddess, and the exchange that sealed his Pact.

The words that made him a Hexblade.

Vapours trailed from his lips, like stardust amidst the dark of night. They drifted, carried by more than the wind, swirling and increasing in number. Specks of gold turned into a shower of stars. Then that, too, intensified, becoming a vortex that assailed his foe, the glow diminishing as they sank into the body of the War Shadow. Conversely, the entire length of his scimitar was now imbued with power, glowing faintly.

As an extension of the Pact, the Hexblade's Curse bound him to his chosen target. The well of power that came from his patron latched onto the monster, sinking beneath the skin, and though the visual effects of the curse were fading, Bell knew precisely how to strike at the creature for maximal impact.

He changed the course of his planned attack, making mild adjustments. The War Shadow, who had been intending to block his attack, seemed almost caught out by surprise when Bell had anticipated the parry, guided by supernatural precision as he was. The point of the scimitar sliced across its torso, and where shadows parted beneath it, radiant light exploded forth from the fissures within the darkness.

It roared a guttural cry, echoing through the walls of the Dungeon, primal instinct stalling any upcoming attack.

And so, Bell continued to strike, ignoring the pain growing in his side from where he had been wounded. With each crackling burst of sound, waves of radiant heat claimed the mass of darkness that was the flesh of the War Shadow.

He did not know how many times he struck – but eventually, the War Shadow was defeated, its charred body quickly burning into ashes, leaving only a lifeless stone behind.

Only one last War Shadow remained, lumbering slowly from where it had been blasted off to by a battering ram of force. Damaged as it was, with an obliterated arm, and a good chunk of its torso blown cleanly off, it could scarcely be called a War Shadow.

Despite his pain and exhaustion, and the pounding that was growing in his head, Bell forced himself to remain upright, hand outstretched toward the monster.

"Eldritch Blast."

A second casting finished the job of the first. The magic stone fell, rolling across the floor, but Bell could not bring it in himself to claim them right now. He slumped over, supporting himself on his scimitar.

'Take a breather, Hexblade,' Watcher said quietly. 'After a display such as that, I daresay your foes will think twice before approaching you, even weakened as you currently are. Excellent work.'

"Hah…"

He panted weakly, a hand clamped against his side, where the knife had pierced into his flesh. He fished around in the pouch by his waist, searching for a potion before he bled out. He held the vial between his fingers, then lifted his shirt just a little, attempting to examine how bad the damage was.

"What?"

Though it was bloodied beneath his clothes, there was no wound to be found. The flesh had knitted together, not even a scar left in its wake. How –

'You will find, Hexblade, that the Curse you now command is more than just a tool of destruction upon your enemies,' Watcher said. 'Subjected to the Hexblade's Curse, those who would seek to trample upon the sanctity of life shall in turn have their lifeforce claimed by those Pactbound to Her Mercy. Evil and darkness can become a force of healing and good in the hands of the Hexblade.'

In the thick of battle, he hadn't noticed that he had been partially healed when the War Shadow had been destroyed while the Curse was still active. It also explained why the injuries he had sustained while running from the Minotaur hadn't been present once he awoke in the Guild.

Slowly, he made his way over to the dropped stones, collecting them into his pouch. His body ached, but it was not just in the physical sense. His very soul was in turmoil after having casted even a single Armour of Agathys. He yearned to carry on and continue training and exploring, but he was physically taxed. He leaned against a wall of the Dungeon, hoping to regain some strength before continuing, while keeping an eye out for more monsters.

'A spell of the First Level is far more taxing than a mere cantrip, Bell Cranel,' Watcher's voice reverberated in his mind. 'Given that you have already achieved an Eldritch Invocation, however, I suspect that you will soon be able to bear casting a second. A Second Level spell will also not be out of the question.'

"Eldritch Invocation?" he repeated, frowning. "You mentioned that before, too."

'Warlocks that derive their power from Pacts often unearth fragments of knowledge long forgotten, whether through study, visions, or other means of divination, and a Hexblade is no different. I do not know how you chanced upon the exact intricacies of Agonising Blast, but it appears that you have already imbued the power within this unwritten knowledge into your underlying spellwork.'

True enough, Bell didn't know exactly how he had managed to enhance the potency of the Eldritch Blast as he had back there. All he knew was that it felt natural to him to twist the magics that came from his Goddess in such a way, and to condense it into the form he had chosen.

'You are an odd one, you know,' Watcher commented, as he rested against the stone. 'The previous Hexblades I bore witness to earned the power and title of Hex Warrior before discovering even a single Eldritch Invocation, and yet you break the mould that has been cast by your predecessors.'

"I'm… sorry?"

Watcher laughed. 'Do not be, little one. Take pride in your achievements. Soon, you will be able to channel power into the blade itself, and progress your martial prowess further. In fact, I daresay that it will not be long before I –'

Abruptly, he cut himself off.

"Watcher?" Bell asked, concerned.

'Do not mind me, Bell Cranel. I spoke prematurely. I shall continue observing you as you develop the Pact. Soon, though, I believe that you will know just what I had meant to say.'

Watcher was a strange one. Bell liked having him around, though. He was remarkably chatty for one who dwelled within a sword, and having company inside the Dungeon made its darkness seem less fraught with danger.

He continued to rest for some time. Thankfully, no monsters approached. When he finally felt ready to proceed deeper, it was with eager anticipation at greater powers that still awaited him.

-x-x-x-

"Oh, you again! You're back!"

"Goddess Hestia," Bell greeted tiredly at the Goddess who'd been seated at the steps leading into the ruined church. After a long day in the Dungeon, he was glad to finally have the chance to rest.

"Come on in!" she ushered quickly, right when he'd been about to lay down once more against the hard stone. "Make yourself at home!"

"Umm, are you sure it's alright?" he asked cautiously. "I mean… I'm not part of your Familia, and all…"

"Ahh, pssh! It's not like I didn't bunk with Hephaestus myself until she kicked me out!" she chimed, waving him along. "You're the first guest of the Hestia Familia, so you get a special treat today!"

'It appears that the deities of Orario also have their own share of oddities,' Watcher observed, sounding like a curious child. 'How odd. Is this a byproduct of their cohabitation with lesser mortals of the realm? This warrants further investigation on my part, I'd say.'

He ignored Watcher's musings, following Hestia into her humble abode. He meant that, too – for one person, it was a cozy little home, but for two people, it would easily become cramped.

Still, it was better than sleeping out in the open, exposed to the elements. Bell would take what he could get.

"I brought back some potato snacks today! Help yourself to them!" she chimed, gesturing lazily for him to take a seat at the table. "So, Bell Cranel, right? Which Familia are you from? Why aren't you with them?"

"Uhh…"

'Any help here, Watcher?'

'Unfortunately for you, little wyrmling, this does not relieve you of your task to discover Her Mercy's name through the merits of your own actions in widening the Pact. You may, however, answer as you wish.'

"My Goddess hasn't actually told me who she is," Bell admitted. "She saved me in the Dungeon, though, by giving me her Falna."

"Ooh, a mystery Goddess, huh?" Hestia teased. Then, abruptly, she leaned back into her seat, raising her fists into the air. "Maaan! Why can't I find anyone who wants to join my Familia?"

It was almost strange. Just two days ago, he would have done anything for the chance to be able to find a Familia of his own, after having been rejected from countless others. Now, to learn that there were Goddesses in much the same situation as he'd been was eye-opening.

"I'm sure you'll find someone soon, Goddess," he encouraged.

"Aww! You're so sweet!" She grinned, then eyed him speculatively. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone who wants to join a Familia, would you?"

"Uh… sorry, but no…"

"Mmm." She shrugged. "Was worth a shot, anyway. Keep an eye out for me, won't you?"

"I'll… do that?"

"Great!" she cheered. "Thanks, Bell!"

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence at the table – well, uncomfortable to him, anyway – as they continued picking away at the snacks. Hestia hummed under her breath as she passed the time. Then –

"Soooo," she said, stretching out the word. "Any upcoming plans, Bell? Are you planning on watching the Monsterphilia that Ganesha and his Familia are setting up?"

"I'm not sure…"

'Monsterphilia?'

'I heard some people talk about it, actually,' Bell told Watcher. 'It's supposed to be an event where the Ganesha Familia brings monsters from the Dungeon up to the surface, and tames them in front of a large crowd.'

'Intriguing. I had heard of similar practices with the slums of Athkatla, but never one officially sanctioned by the powers that hold governance.'

"What else are you going to do, otherwise?" Hestia probed.

"Probably going to the Dungeon," he admitted.

She laughed. "Really? You work hard, don't you, Bell? Don't you think you could use a little break?"

'It might not be an unwise decision, wyrmling,' Watcher spoke. 'It is all too easy to be caught up within the chase for grander power, and neglect development in other aspects. Observation of your future enemies in action may yet yield more benefit than continued efforts against the ones you have already fought against repeatedly.'

'… so what you're saying is that you want me to go?'

'What I am saying, Hexblade, is that sometimes knowledge and observation of both your enemies and your kin is power in itself.' Then, he paused, before adding reluctantly. 'If you do choose to attend this event, though, I would be most grateful. It has been long since I witnessed such peculiarities of locales as far away as Orario.'

Ah, Watcher. For all that he sounded like the old sorcerers of legend that brought fledging heroes to claim their eventual destinies – like that one about the king who took up the sword in the stone – there were also equally times when he seemed like a curious child, oohing and aahing at anything that caught his eye.

"I'll think about it, then," he said, both to Hestia and Watcher. "It will be in two more days though, right?"

"I think so? I remember Ganesha saying that at the Banquet, anyway." Hestia shrugged, then made a face, growling. "Ugh… and that no-good flat-chested snake… she keeps rubbing in that there's no one in my Familia yet!"

Uh… Bell had the feeling that she wasn't quite talking about Ganesha any longer, but didn't want to intrude upon what looked like a personal subject.

"Bah! Who cares what that slimy Goddess thinks?" Hestia scoffed to herself, then her face brightened. "Say, Bell, do you want to head to the Monsterphilia with me? There's no one from your Familia you can go with, right?"

"W-with you, Goddess Hestia?"

"Mmhmm! We both have no one to go with, anyway!"

'A rare honour, wyrmling. Few mortals are subject to a direct invitation from deities, even if it is pertaining to mundane matters such as this. You shall not disrespect Her Mercy by denying an invitation bestowed by a Goddess.' A pause. 'I can assure you, Bell Cranel, that I am absolutely not saying this merely so that you will attend the event hosted by your kin for my own benefit. Such a notion would be absurd. Truly. Absolutely. Avowedly. Even the very idea sickens me."

'…I was already planning to say yes, Watcher.'

'Ah, a most excellent and wise decision! Your young age belies your wisdom, little wyrmling!'

"That sounds like a plan," he said aloud, Hestia entirely clueless as to his own internal conversation with Watcher.

Two days. He would need to make the most of what he could in his venture into the Dungeon tomorrow.