Disclaimer: DanMachi and its original characters are created and owned by Fujino Omori.

Chapter 11: One-One

Welf slumped against the bench as he held his face in his hands; he dragged his fingers through his hair, slicking it back with his sweat. The sweltering heat of the flames kissed his skin; he felt his hair and clothes press against his skin.

As a sigh escaped his lips, he stood up from his seat. Making his way to his worktable, his fingers closed around the handle of his hammer: the worm leather of the hilt fit snugly around the shape of his hand, and he lifted it, feeling its familiar weight drag down his arms and shoulders.

Turning to the side, he grabbed the chunk of adamantite from his desk among the others. It was largely deformed: what was once a spear used by his Mikoto during their trip to the 30th Floor and slightly beyond.

Studying the ridges and grooves within the chunk of metal under the light of his lamp, he finally set it down on the bench as he began his work.

As he approached the burning forge, he felt the familiar warmth against his skin, and a small sigh escaped his lips. Grabbing onto the chains that dangled from the ceiling and gripping the anchor, he heaved downwards, pulling down with all of his strength, and he felt the forge flare up as the cogs turned, filling the small shop with a breath of hot air.

Exhaling, he allowed himself to relax as the chains carried him up until he pulled down once more, feeling the same burst of air brush past him. Sweat rolled down his face and he felt the strain on his chest, back, and arms, but he paid it no mind. Yet again, he plunged down, and finally, the forge became a fierce inferno. He let the chains go and he stepped back, rolling his shoulders as his cerulean eyes reflected the bright orange and crimson of the flames.

He stood back for a moment, merely watching the flicking of the flames. A few moments later, he approached the flames once more. He grabbed the adamantite from his desk with a pair of tongs, and he set it within the forge, silently observing as the glow of the metal grew more vibrant than the previous second.

Seconds passed and he felt his grip shift on the tongs he used— until, in that one instant, almost like he was unsheathing a blade, discarded the metal from the flames— seeing when its orange glow nearly sparked.

Setting it on the anvil and holding it steady with his tongs, he unclasped his hammer from his belt and brought it down. Sparks flew as the flaming metal brushed off of the surface, flaking away. The ringing of metal on metal reverberated in his ears and echoed throughout the small shop.

He took in a shallow breath and let it out just as fast. Sweat rolled down his cheeks and dashed his brows, soaking into the headband he wore. His knuckles turned white on the hilt of his hammer.

His sole focus was on the adamantite before him, first shaping it into a bar, and then flattening it out, similar to a sheet. Every thought that ran through his mind was the metal and he poured all of his strength into moulding it to his will.

With one final strike down on the metal, he took a step back, with the tongs and adamantite chunk in hand, and plunged it back into the flames and coal.

Removing it from the forge as the colour of its glow reached its near-perfect hue, he set it onto the anvil again and went back to work. The hammer came down and down, over and over, unendingly.

And the metal responded to his thoughts and emotions, as well as the aches and pain that he felt within his arms, back, and chest. It shaped itself to its master's desire, flattening as the Smith swung into it with practiced precision and strength.

He exhaled a deep breath as he pulled back again, setting the now flattened metal into the flames once more, observing the metal regain its vibrant glow.

Now, placing the metal against the side of the anvil, he began bending the adamantite, first setting the precedent for the shape and then finally forming it into the conic socket that would fit onto the end of the spear's shaft.

The muscles in his arms and back flexed, and, letting the flames consume the metal— so much so as the vapours and flames began to roll off of the metal itself, he made the final adjustments: fitting it into the thickness of the shaft, and beginning the process to forge-weld the flat sheet into a singular conic socket. His hammer rose and fell in rhythm to some imaginary force— almost soft, yet always striking the metal with the full intensity of his craft.

The hammer came down in one final blow, sending an almost deafening shockwave throughout the room. He grunted as he let his arms drop to his sides, feeling the aches burn his forearms. Yet, even despite those aches and pains, his cerulean eyes bore into the metal in front of him, awaiting his finished product.

Finally, as the vapours and flames finally dissipated, and as the glow retreated into the darkness, he found himself releasing a pent-up breath. Lifting the metal bar, now with half of it shaped into a cone, he studied it under the light of his forge and lamp. He tilted the tongs in his hands, observing every angle of his work—

He nearly felt himself flinch and his eyes twitch as he laid his eyes upon the small crevice which ran down the side of the socket— a defect— a byproduct of an imperfection.

He gritted his teeth as he felt his hammer drop to his side. He set the adamantite bar onto the workstation, taking a step back from it as he felt the roaring flames of the forge brush him as if trying to consume him. Sweat rolled down the side of his face and soaked into the headband and the hem of the tunic he wore.

The hammer was discarded onto the table, next to the unfinished spearhead, falling with a thud and clatter.

Resting his eyes from the blazing glow of the forge, they fluttered open just a moment later as he tilted his gaze right at it, watching the flames crackle under his watch. He could feel himself getting lost in those flames like he could sway with them, and yet…

He could not; or rather, did not, which was why he had failed despite what his many years of training had taught him and despite all of the intent and purpose he had put behind each swing. Perhaps it was because there was something else at the back of his mind, or perhaps because he had merely made a small mistake— as everyone does from time to time— he wasn't quite sure. But…

"Not hot enough…"

He mumbled under his breath as he stepped back, setting himself atop the wooden boxes that formed a makeshift chair.

"I need…"

His head fell into his hands and he brushed his calloused fingers past his face and through his hair.

"Hotter… I need to be hotter…"

He let out a deep breath. The heat of the flames radiated out, and he basked in their warmth and light.

Finally, he sat back, with his eyes closed, clasping his hands in his own, holding them tight.

After nearly an hour of repose, he finally stood, and he nearly felt his legs give out from under him, and yet he stood tall, carrying his own weight.

The flames had long been turned into embers, and he made his way to the door. Pulling on the small chain, the magic stone lamps flickered off, and he eased the door open, stepping out into the Hearth Mansion's rear courtyard.

Taking a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold, fresh, night air, he gently closed the door behind him, leaving those flames to whisper away into the night.

She leaned forward as her hair shrouded her face. Her chestnut brown eyes swept across the board in front of her— her gaze jumping from piece to piece, alternating black and white.

Taking in a deep breath, she released it and then sent her hand forward. As she reached for the pieces, she stopped, her hand hovering just slightly above the board. Her eyebrows furrowed and her jaw clenched shut; she looked up, sending her glare up to her opponent.

Her hand closed into a tight fist as she lowered her gaze, sending it back onto the board and the pieces: there was an almost underlying meticulous order to it— one that she was fully capable of navigating. She was at a slight disadvantage against her opponent due to her slower development, yet she was fine with it; after all, she almost always was.

Taking in yet another deep breath, she unclenched her fist and brought her hand down, gripping the bishop delicately and sliding it across, anchoring it in a defensive position, where it could stare down the long diagonal.

Her opponent, however, taking almost no time at all, played their next move, continuing the development of pieces on the board, hoping to overwhelm her.

The little Pallum, taking her time, began developing her own pieces in order to match her opponent's tempo, sending her knight forward, trying to take back space on the board.

Yet, her opponent merely jumped forward with her own knight, opening up a double attack on a weak pawn from the advancing knight and sniping bishop. It was difficult to tell if she was immediately in a losing position; she was sure that if she played well enough, it wouldn't matter, but…

Her hand clenched into a tight fist as she sent her gaze up once more, glaring at her opponent's chestnut brown eyes and stern frown. As she sent her gaze back onto the board, she began analyzing her chances.

"Defend with the Queen…? No, that'll just make it an even more risky position."

She ground her teeth.

"Counter-attack with faster tempo…? Impossible given my active pieces."

The frown on her face grew increasingly deep.

"Block with a Pawn…? But that merely delays the attack… yet…"

She felt her heart beating out of her chest as she swept her gaze across the board, searching for any outcome.

"Eliminate the threat of a fork… the only way…"

And so, with no other option, she moved her fingers deftly to nudge the queen away, clear from the threat of a knight fork on the next turn.

Even still, her opponent continued their offensive, and Lili moved her pieces wherever needed, mounting a defensive wall that was inevitably shattering underneath the force of the attack. Yet it came at a cost for her opponent as well, and they traded piece after piece, hoping to gain even the slightest advantage over their opponent to close out the game— but that never came.

The battlefield grew increasingly chaotic, before settling down as pieces were captured. However, both players easily maneuvered themselves around the board, playing to a pristine, meticulous rhythm. Each of them played near-perfect— even as the tide of their battle shifted between each other, neither could make a decisive move without putting themselves at risk— neither could truly find that single move to end the game.

The queens had been traded long ago, as had the knights and bishops. The pair of rooks were separated in due time, then, eventually, no rooks stood at all.

Each king danced across the battlefield, trying to gain a positional advantage over the other, hoping to advance their pawns enough for promotion and force a winning match-up.

And that move came, but it came far too late. In a long battle that left each king with only one pawn, Lili forced herself into a corner, dancing around her pawn as the opponent pressed forward with their newly promoted queen, trying to force the enemy king from its solitary fortress to no avail.

It was a complete stalemate. No matter what, they could not tear down Lili's position in the corner of the board. Wherever they moved their queen, Lili's king could step out of the way. If they tried to improve the position of their own king for an attack, then Lili could just as easily bring her own queen into the game and send the match into an equal king-queen match.

Waiting as her heart finally slowed down to a drum as the game came to a close, Lili watched, and almost flinched as she felt her opponent drag the queen across the board, knocking aside the pawn, with an eerie, quiet fury.

Even though she knew it was a stalemate when she was playing black— and that it was a desirable result— she felt her teeth clench and she sent her glare up at her opponent, seeing that same glare stare back at her. The draw still felt empty, like she was hoping for something else— even if it was her loss.

She sat there, silent for a few moments before she finally turned her attention back onto the board. Gingerly, she grabbed the top of her king piece, nudging it over, knocking down the queen, capturing the piece and sending the game state into a king-king match— a complete stalemate.

She gripped the fabric of her pants, crumping it under her level 2 strength.

This marks the 13th match in a row she had played since the beginning of that cold, winter morning— the 13th draw in a row.

"Every time…"

Her gaze came up as she felt her opponent stand, beginning to pace around the room. The thunderous thuds of her steps resounded throughout her ears, picking up its tempo as it went on longer.

"Every time, it's like this… why…?"

Lili herself remained seated, hunched forward, hovering above the table. Her chestnut brown eyes bore into the pieces on the board— as she studied the intricately carved details on the wooden king pieces. She tapped her foot restlessly against the ground and she clenched and unclenched her fist over and over again.

"What am I doing? Why am I wasting my time…?"

She felt her jaw tightening. Her brows furrowed and her lips curled into a sneer. The drumming over her opponent's pacing grew louder in her ears, until—

"—what the hell am I doing this for—!?"

Striking her fist crashing down against the table, the pieces were sent flying. Then, with as much strength as she could muster, she swept her arm across, flinging the king pieces off the side of the table, watching as they smashed against the wall of her room, propelled by her level 2 strength.

Taking a deep breath as she felt her face grow hot, she slumped back in her seat as she lifted her gaze once more, finding that once pacing figure gone— as if having disappeared into thin air. Clenching her jaw tight, she hunched forward, bringing her face into her hands, sweeping her fingers through her hair.

Letting out a sigh, she finally stood up from her seat. She made her way to the door, stepping out into the hallway and shutting it behind her, leaving the pieces strewn across the table and floor.

Aimlessly wandering around the desolate Hearth Mansion, her frilled dress fluttered behind her as she clutched the broom close to her. Clasped to a belt she wore was a feather duster and also a small rag and bottle of a bluish cleaning agent.

Her legs moved unendingly and she paced forward. The fading sunlight broke through the grand windows of the halls and she basked in it, feeling its warmth against her face.

As she stepped to the side and opened the closed door, letting herself into one of the unused rooms only there to collect dust, she began sweeping the floors, brushing away the dirt into the hallway where she would collect it later. Then, as she finished this chore, she moved on to the shelves and tables, using her duster to collect the dust that had settled there.

And yet, there was no such dust or dirt.

She had long since cleaned this very room hours ago. And even before that, a few days ago as well.

Though it wasn't as if she cared. There was simply nothing for her to do. Lili had locked herself in her room and barely came out to eat, as did Welf in his shop. Hestia was nowhere to be seen; and while she had originally predicted the Goddess was keeping herself entertained in their personal library, whenever she went to check, there was nothing but a ghost. Bell was busy, having taken some time to venture out into town with the barmaid to experience his first Winter Festival alongside a girl who had an unmistakable crush on him. She wanted to tag along, but she didn't want to feel like the third wheel and stop Bell and his date from having a good time.

Of course, he would come back eventually, and sometimes they'd go out together in the afternoon, too. And she was happy for the time she'd spend with him, but, there was just something that felt empty about all of it.

Her grip tightened around the broomstick just as she fled from the room, moving to the next one, cleaning what was already clean like she had for all the others.

Then, there was also Mikoto and Aisha. Of course, she did not expect to see Aisha every day, but Haruhime had hoped that her adoptive elder sister would take her to see the sights during the Winter Festival, only for that hope to be dashed.

As for Mikoto, she had thought that they would go together alongside Takemikazuchi and the rest. They had long since been reunited, sure, but to celebrate and to attend the Winter Festival for their first time together was something Haruhime had looked forward to, since she never had the chance back in Ishtar familia.

Yet, even then, her wishes had only been left with silence and solitude, and she was left alone at home in the morning, with not much better to do than to wander around aimlessly, looking for someone to talk to and someone to be with.

And so, she walked through the desolate Mansion alone, broom and duster in hand, waiting.

And maybe, sometime soon, someone will come.

Wrapping himself in his jacket as he took a seat by the benches near Amor Square, Bell looked to the sky, watching the snow falling from the sky, fluttering around him. He let out a puff of smoke and he felt his cheeks flush in the cold, which only caused him to pull the scarf around his neck around him tighter.

"Sorry to keep you waiting; I hope I wasn't too late…" she said, and he turned his ruby red gaze up, seeing the girl standing before him. The white snow dashed her grey hair, sparkling like gemstones.

Standing up, he closed the distance between them. "Not at all." He gave her a small smile. "How are you this morning, Syr?"

She returned the smile and grabbed his arm. "Well, of course, it's been great! After all, I get to spend some nice time with you doing all of the fun things Winter Festival! I can't wait!"

He afforded himself a small chuckle as she loop her hands through his arms. "Come on, I've asked around and planned out some stuff, but the first thing to do is to visit the Holy Tree; it's obvious. Let's go!" Pulling him along, she nearly ran down the half-full road, moving towards Central Park before the crowds would eventually truly thicken and become difficult to navigate. Bell simply followed, letting the girl lead, laughing all the way as the two moved as fast as they could.

xxx

Eventually, they reached Central Park, and they watched, even in the light of the early morning, as the trees that formed a circle around Babel twinkled and gleamed. Almost as if the entirety of Central Park itself was surrounded by a rigid fortress of ice, lights and decorations streamed down from above, forming a grand chandelier that hung over the area. Gems gleamed in the sunlight and ribbons billowed in the cold wind; tapestries of ice and snow draped over the windows of the Tower of Babel and surrounding buildings.

The streets themselves were packed as well, as expected. Members of Ganesha familia stood on guard to maintain order within the public; men and women milled around as they visited the various open shops and took in the sights, though still working hard even despite the festivities to provide for their families. Meanwhile, children played in the snow and around the trees. Snowmen were created, as well as anything else contained within the imagination of youth.

Bell looked around, his red eyes gleaming like rubies as he watched the smiles plastered on their faces. On one hand, beautiful animals shaped from snow and ice gave even more life to the Festival. On the other, almost concerningly grotesque monsters constructed from snow and not dust were vanquished, as children aspiring to become adventurers defeated them, claiming victory just like those from the Ancient Times did.

And although a smile came to his lips, he tried to hide his face; after all, he saw himself within those kids— they who aspire to be something greater. Perhaps a calling… or sorts, yet one that reminded him of just how foolish and naive he had been when he first made the decision to come to Orario.

It was a day that felt so long ago; one that was so bittersweet for him, having only learned of his grandfather's death just a few days prior. Perhaps it was a foolish hope that led him to that decision— or maybe it was a way for him to honour his grandfather's death and to achieve the dream they'd had together— he wasn't so sure.

But…

He looked to the side, watching Syr as her silver eyes sparkled; the snow and lights danced across her face, reflecting with those irises, holding such beauty. Her lips were a soft pink, curled into the most delicate smile.

Then, he remembered that fateful day when Hestia had held him, and when he had cried, knowing that it would be alright even if he was weak and scared. When she had been to him someone he had longed for his entire life but had never been able to meet.

And then nearly a month ago when Haruhime had done the same for him— when he needed someone so desperately and that beautiful lullaby she sang.

And Lyu on the 37th Floor.

And Wiene, both when they first met and when she had died and been brought back in his arms.

And… also…

When he saw the gold that came to him; that gold and that silver that defeated any monster. Even when that gold had nearly consumed him, he still couldn't shake off those memories— of when that gold had once been there to protect him.

Perhaps he came here on a whim. Perhaps he came here to chase some hopeless ambition. Perhaps he was just some small, naive kid.

But that didn't matter to him. Because he's found his new home here: his new home and his new family. He wouldn't give it up even for the world.

Rubbing his hands together as the door clicked shut behind him, a puff of smoke came from his mouth as he stared at the dim candlelight casting its soft orange hue over his workshop.

Stripping himself of his jacket and setting it by the door, he traded it for the leather apron, strapping it securely in place. Then, he made his way to his workstation, slipping the leather gloves snugly onto his hand. Finally, moving to the furnace, he began cleaning out the debris, digging at the coal and ash that had been left behind with the gloves, discarding anything unusable and keeping anything still large enough to be burned.

Even despite the frigid temperature outside, he could feel himself getting hot. Beads of sweat collected by his brows, soaked up by the headband he wore. Leaning over the furnace, he scooped up the last handful of ash, discarding it into a waste bin and then stood up straight. Flexing the muscles in his shoulders and back, he stretched, taking a few extra moments to warm up before going back to work.

Making his way over to the side, reaching onto the shelf and retrieving a small bin filled with kindling, he took it with him as he returned to the forge. Grabbing a handful and setting it into the center of the forge— the firepot. He patted it down, making sure there would be enough to sustain the fire he would need for the day.

Finally, now ready to begin the fire, he took the magic stone torch in his hand and watched as the crimson red spark flew outwards, setting the kindling ablaze with life. Within a matter of moments, a ring of flames had been created and he set the torch down, reaching instead under the workstation, fiddling around with the gauges until they were about just right.

Then, stepping up to the bellows, he flexed the muscles in his shoulders and arms, as well as those in his legs and heaved down, feeling a puff of air burst through the small room. He felt the flames flare up immediately as the first clouds of smoke rose. He heaved again, and the air rushed upwards, sending yet another tongue of flames up and even more smoke that muddied his room.

Letting go of the chains, he rushed to the forge, grabbing even more kindling off to the side and laying it on, letting the flames grow— feeding it until it became stronger. Then, scooping up the left-over coal, and setting it beside the flames, he watched with keen eyes as even more smoke rolled up from the burning coal.

Almost like he was building a small fortress around the flames, he scooped up fresh coal from the sack by his feet. The smoke continued to rise and he tilted his gaze up to the chimney, watching as the smoke was whisked away.

Finally, as he turned his gaze back to the burning coal, he scooped up a pale of water, letting small drops at a time fall onto the fresh coal. The water sizzled and evaporated into steam upon impact. But, soon enough, the steam had all but left, leaving only the flames and lonely wisps of smoke rising from the coal.

He could feel the heat and intensity of the flames, but he could also feel them waning. Moving back to the chains and pulling down once more as the air rushed into the firepot, kicking the flames up. And he did it again and again, each time, letting the flames grow even hotter and stronger than previous.

His cerulean eyes tracked the flames, watching as they rose and fell. Finally, letting go of the chains, he let out a pent-up breath, becoming a puff of smoke against the frigid, winter air. He felt his shoulders and arms ache, and he fell back onto a small wooden crate. He cupped his hands over his face as his chest heaved up and down. Sweat rolled down the side of his face, past his cheeks and to his chin, and he wiped it away with his gloves.

Then, with one final huff, he stood once more, flexing the muscles in his back. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath of the cold air and letting it out. His hands clenched into tight fists and he moved forward— even despite the short distance— striding with purpose. As he reached his workstation, his fingers closed around the hilt of his hammer, then to the metal that sat right next to it.

He studied it with his watchful eye: observing all of the grooves and imperfections of the piece. And then, as he took a deep breath in and a deep breath out, he felt the forge and those flames breathe alongside him. His grip tightened on the handle of his hammer and he set the piece into the flames, watching as it glowed and grew hotter— burning and burning—

Burning. As it did today. As it did yesterday and the day previous. And as it will for tomorrow and the day after… and the day after… and after… for all of time— until the end of time.

The door to her room squeaked open as she stepped in.

The distant stars and the small crescent moon hung in the night sky within her window, casting their soft light into her room, bathing her in it.

As she stopped in front of the desk, she felt her hand fall on the backrest of her chair, feeling the cold, smooth wood under her touch. Her knuckles became white as she tightened her grip on the chair. She felt her jaws clench shut, her brows furrow, and her frown deepen.

Yet, as she took a deep breath in, she felt that fire that burned within her heart subside. She let the pent-up breath out, and she felt her grip loosen.

Then, pulling the chair out from under the desk, she took a seat, letting her hands fall onto the chessboard and the mess of pieces carelessly strewn across it. With a click, the magic stone lamp flickered on, and she felt the blue-violet glow spread throughout the room, illuminating those very pieces.

Her hand moved on its own, first hovering over the pieces, as if hesitating, before finally plunging them down, delicately holding them as if they were made of glass.

She had always been a person who cared much about order and routine. Yet, this time, she did not care for it. Whatever pieces came to her— almost as if they called out for her— she picked up, setting them into the right places. One of the knights fell into place, then a bishop, then the queen and a couple of pawns. The rooks sat at both ends, then the other knight, and even more pawns, and lastly the other bishop.

The other side, too, was done, set into place.

Then, once both sides were completed, standing in pristine formation, she set her hands back onto the table once more. The warriors of both sides were ready, waiting for their orders to begin their battle, yet their commander— their leader— was missing.

She stared with her chestnut brown eyes for a dumbfounded moment. And then, as she swept her gaze across the board once more, she hopped up from her chair, and turned her eyes to the floor, eventually falling onto those two odd shapes, and she crouched low, plucking them up from the ground.

She studied them under the light of her magic stone lamp. Her eyes narrowed as she tilted the king pieces in her hand. Her other hand came up and she ran her fingers through the grooves of the intricately carved white king piece. The base, wider, narrowing as it went up, finally opened into a cone, where the crown rested.

With both pieces securely within the palm of her hand, she stood back up, taking a seat once more. Now, with the final two pieces in hand, she set them in their places— opposing each other on the board— the two kings ready to fight over the battlefield. Whether they were ready to sacrifice and to go down fighting or perhaps to hide and flee at the sight of trouble, she was ready to find out.

Her eyes scanned across the battlefield once more. Each piece glowed in the soft hues of her lamp, reflecting against her irises, like a set of chiselled gems.

She took in a deep breath and then let it out, trying to empty her mind and calm her heart. She felt the light of the lamp and of the stars and moon outside her window kiss her face, and she basked in it, holding her eyes closed— for just a moment.

The next instant, they were open and her eyes scanned across the board once more. Then, she tilted her gaze up, watching as her opponent's hand hovered just above the pieces, making the first move— a standard king's pawn opening.

So, Lili simply replied without hesitation, defensively developing a foothold to allow her to play towards the center— but not outright contesting it.

Her opponent simply began the rapid development of their pieces, letting the right-handed knight jump forward.

Taking a deep breath, Lili developed her own right-handed knight, pushing towards control of the center.

Even still, white's light-squared bishop moved forward, attempting to already launch trades into black's territory. However, unfazed by the attack, Lili continued the development of her pieces, opening up a spot on the left side for her dark-squared bishop to stare down the long diagonal.

White's light-squared bishop spared no time in moving forward, capturing the black knight. And, with no other move to make, Lili captured back with her pawn, doubling up and disrupting her pawn structure. Nonetheless, the game continued and the white king shifted itself into the corner as the rook came into play, moving into an aggressive file.

Now, there was an impasse. Lili's hand hovered slightly above the board and she lifted her gaze to her opponent once more, watching those same chestnut brown eyes staring right back at her. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically as her mind raced with possibilities.

Finally, her hand fell, and her fingers closed around the crown of the queen and she moved it forward. It was a more aggressive play than usual; something more conservative, like a pawn push or developing the knight, may have been better, but she saw the opportunities in this move and didn't want to waste time.

The queen was there in the blink of an eye, but white simply pushed forward with a pawn sacrifice— all to force Lili into an even further damaged pawn structure. Even still, Lili simply pushed forward with her own pawn, offering up her own sacrifice, as if tempting her opponent with the same play.

However, her opponent chose otherwise and developed their left-handed knight, wanting only to grab space rather than trade unnecessarily— there would be a time for that in the future. Lili nearly felt a huff come from her tightly pressed lips and she pushed forward with a pawn capture, initiating the trade when her opponent had rejected it.

Both sides continued to play, maneuvering their pieces and developing them as both players saw fit. And as the bishops weaved and the knights hopped around the board, setting themselves into position, white began mounting an attack as black prepared her defense.

Without hesitation, white began their attack, sending their pieces in a coordinated attack, trying to snuff out black's space. The white knight jumped forward, trying to grab even more space. In response, the black knight retreated, fitting itself into a fortified position, strengthening black's fortress.

White merely began improving the position of their rooks, preparing them for a charge forward. Unable to play actively, Lili moved her bishop, easily playing a stalling move while reacting to white's aggression. However, white simply continued to pile on the pressure, now shifting the queen over as well— stacking both rooks and the queen on the same file, staring down black's lonely pawn.

Nonetheless, Lili knew that the pawn was secure and went for an aggressive push, putting pressure on her opponent's pawns and their back rank. Unable to keep up the tempo of their attack without leaving a gap in their own defense, white retreated their knight to defend the pawn and attack the queen, forcing it back. But the queen's diversion did its job and Lili quickly shifted the piece back to where it came.

Her chestnut brown eyes came up and she saw her opponent sneer. With a flick of their wrist, the white queen was sent forward on a threatening diagonal. However, even in the face of the attack, Lili did not hesitate to move her own queen— launching a small yet devastating counterattack with a similar tempo.

Unfazed, white merely continued the play. Even as Lili opened up the path for her passive rook, white simply traded blows wherever was necessary, gaining back advantage with their knight.

However, Lili, too, was unstoppable as she moved, almost based on pure intuition. But then, on one fateful move, her queen went forth, placing itself into the line of sight of white's queen. The two stared each other down just like the two who commanded the battlefield.

A denied queen trade was swiftly followed by a series of trades of pawns and the opening of the board. What was once a mounting attack against black had now turned into an advantage for black. Even still, even while cornered, white went forth with yet another attack, jumping forward with the knight, trying to play and outmaneuver her opponent. And it seemed to work, as a rook went forward, opening an attack on the queen.

However, Lili had the reply. And, ignoring the attack on her queen, pushed forward with her bishop, offering a queen trade— which was promptly denied as her opponent retreated, while still retaining their aggressive control over space. Nonetheless, the black queen moved forward into an offensive position, threatening a checkmate. White's only chance was a check— but that wouldn't be good enough. Lili swiftly maneuvered herself away from the check— even as the attacks kept coming, she merely diverted each blow sent her way.

The pieced clacked against the board, the sound of them striking the wooden board resounding throughout the room. The white knight, hoping to mount a final attack, hopped forward, but with a swift flick of her wrist, the black queen was there to capture the knight, offering itself as a sacrifice the to white rook— but the game had already been sealed at this moment.

The black queen fell, opening up the back rank which was defended by the white rook, and the black rook immediately moved forward, snapping into place.

There was nothing for white to do. The white queen retreated to defend and fell. The white rook retreated to defend and fell. And then, the white king was left defenseless, pinned into a corner by two bishops, unable to escape the rook as it stared down the back rank.

And finally, the game came to a close— a victory for black.

Lili released a breath she didn't know she was holding; her heart pounded in her chest, almost threatening to break out of it. She gritted her teeth as she stared forward— only to gaze at nothing but the night sky and those twinkling stars.

The breeze swept throughout the room, and she felt the sweat cool against her forehead and neck. Her chestnut brown eyes fell onto the board once more and they fell onto the queen piece— the one that had sacrificed itself so that she could win.

Her fingers closed around it and she delicately plucked it up from the table. She studied the piece, her eyes running along the grooves and designs carved into it.

And then, her hand tightened into a fist, wrapping around the piece, holding it firmly within her palm.

"Like this."

The two continued along with their date for the next few days, taking in the sights and attractions around them.

They would mill around and visit different shops, taking a gander at specialty items and getting a taste of specialty foods only sold during the Holy Winter Festival.

Then, they would visit special places, like the Bridge of Heroes, where, even during this time of the year, the most beautiful flowers and the most vibrant of candles were lit in honour of those from the Ancient Times that sacrificed themselves to shape the new world. Almost as if those statues were the Heroes themselves watching over them, children played by their feet, tightly within their vigilant sights.

xxx

On one special day, the two of them were making their way down East Main when Syr had suddenly pulled Bell down the narrow, winding corridors of the snow-laden Daedalus Street, plunging into the depths.

The boy felt his heart race. His legs moved on their own as the girl kept pulling him further and further in, with no end in sight. He tried to tighten the grip on his arm and stop, but he couldn't. He felt his breath become shallower and faster.

The blinding white of the snow made his eyes sting; the darkness of Daedalus Street even despite the soft glow of the sun from above seemed to loom over him and suffocate him. The howling of the wind in his ears was deafening.

Finally, almost as if all of the energy had been leeched from him, his body went completely slack and he plummeted towards the snow, dragging the girl along with him. The snow was sent up and he felt his bones shake and his lungs quiver as he took in a breath, feeling the cold ice stinging his face. His arms and legs went tense from the cold.

Then, he felt an ice-cold hand grab him. The fingers felt like knives against his skin and his body shook—

"Look, Bell!" He heard the girl's voice through all of the thumping of his heart against his chest. He snapped his ruby red eyes up to her, watching her brilliant smile against the sunlight. Then, his gaze turned in the direction of her own gaze, and they widened.

"Isn't it amazing?"

And it truly was.

Standing before him, that solitude and almost desolate church glowed with brilliance. Evergreens hung from baskets over the empty windowsills and the slightly ajar door. Little lights twinkled from within the green, almost like stars— only, amongst the leaves and flowers rather than within the night sky.

Warm orange candles flickered from within the building and the sounds of laughter and chatter echoed throughout the little clearing.

"Come on, Bell, let's go!"

He turned his eyes back to her as he felt his heart and muscles relax. Puffs of smoke came from his mouth and nose as he tried to steady his breathing. The harsh, cold wind still invaded him, but he could feel his cheeks grow hotter and flushed.

As he turned his gaze over to the girl once more, he met her silver eyes and saw that gentle smile. Small pellets of snow dotted her hair and jacket from where she fell, yet she cared not. Instead, she held her hand out, patiently waiting for him.

And he reached for it; their hands grew close until they were fully intertwined.

Together, they made their way to the door, feeling the warmth from within whisk away the shock of the frigid, winter breeze. The inside was just as beautiful as the outside. The fireplace crackled, giving off a brilliant orange glow. The small bush which stood proudly at the center of the room was decorated with small ornaments and trinkets— a mix of stray items discarded by others that have found a new home, newer items that were obviously kept around specifically for the Holy Winter Festival, and hand-crafted decor made from paper cut-outs and this thing from the Far East known as origami.

Sitting idly by the bottom around the tree was a small collection of boxes— sometimes wrapped in special, patterned paper, but more often than not just plain, only topped with a single bow or ribbon.

The kids turned to look at them as they stepped inside. And, like the little rascals they were, swarmed the pair. Fina, who had been in the main room, with a small book in hand reading to the other children, gave both of them a warm hug, even despite the snow that covered them.

A few moments later, from the back, Maria and Roux emerged, having noticed all of the commotion outside.

"A wonderful surprise for the both of you to visit us." Maria approached and Roux followed closely behind. "Would you like something to eat? We still have some warm oatmeal from lunch. Rye will be returning soon; he's just gone out to buy some things for later. Would you like to stay while we bake?"

As they stood side-by-side, Syr's hand shifted over. Almost instinctively flinching away, he felt himself tense up before relaxing, realizing it was nothing to fear. This time, it was he who closed the distance between them. His hand came over and he grabbed hers, interlacing their fingers.

The spirit of the Holy Winter Festival— this was it.

"Yes, we'd love to."

From the beginning, there was only darkness— and then, there was something. Something appeared before it and it could feel itself, so it began moving.

Its entire body ached; it felt something it didn't like; it felt as if it was being surrounded by something, trying to keep it locked up and within; trying to stop it and to snuff out the life that it had been given. But it would not be still; it would not obey those hands that clutched at it and held it in place; it would not obey those words that echoed through its mind.

A groan reverberated throughout its body as it felt its hand become freed from its dark prison. Clenching its hand into a tight fist, it dug its boney fingers into the rocks, sand, and gravel, feeling the tug on its body getting looser as it wrenched itself free.

With another groan, the light above grew bright and it yearned for the light; as if it were entranced by it, that light became its single pursuit.

A deep roar shook the ground above as it finally rose from the ground, crumbling the rocks around it as it climbed out from the depths.

It felt a weight in its hands, dragging it down and making it sluggish. Unaccustomed to standing upright, it felt its knees buckle and it almost collapsed back to the ground, but it held itself up just enough to remain standing.

Even still, it could not stand idle for long. It was most certainly confused about what had just happened, who they were, where they were, or what their purpose was. Yet, there was one thing it knew— that wherever it was, it was not safe.

Those around it stared at it with those same eyes it had seen before. Those same eyes bore such hatred and pierced into it with such fury. It remembered it clearly— those eyes— and that prickly feeling— it could not forget it no matter how hard it tried.

And so, it stared back with the same intensity. Its grip tightened around the blade in its grasp; instinctively it knew that blade would be its lifeblood.

Then, the first one came.

It swung with all of the power in its body, throwing its entire right side forward. The blade came crashing along, slamming into the chest of the nearest monster, splitting it open in one blow. It watched with its eyes as the monster's life vanished: the gemstone shattered and a cloud of dust enveloped it as it stumbled forward, its massive swing carrying it forward several meters.

Grunting, it held itself up by its legs once more as the debris dissipated, leaving itself in the center of a ring of monsters. However, even as the groups of Spartoi Warriors brandished their bone-made lances and blades; even as crowds of Barbarians flexed their muscles and snorted like bulls, ready to charge; even as packs of Loup Garous howled and scraped their claws against the rocks; even as squadrons of Obsidian Soldiers stood in formation with their stygian blades raised; and even as hordes of Skull Sheep loomed ominously in the distance, their needle-like cloaks fluttering as they moved, it shot up as if a bolt of lightning stuck down its spine.

No longer caring for the monsters gathering around it, as the clashing of blades and growls were exchanged between monsters, it saw something that wasn't there.

Golden in lustre, it danced through the battlefield unimpeded. Here and there, the golden blur went along as a silver flash trailed behind. It saw hordes of monsters cut down, sliced cleanly across the chest. Magic stones shattered and fell to the ground in pieces as debris and dust fluttered in the air, surrounding them and choking the air thin.

Its grip tightened on its blade and the sinew between the joints of its shoulders flexed. But—

Stumbling back as a massive force slammed into it, it was forced onto its feet as a massive needle protruded from its shattered face. It felt the power within its body become weak and it fell to its knees. Its grip loosened and the blade in its hand dropped to the ground, clattering against the rocks.

Even still, as the battles raged around it— blades clashed and monsters roared. Magic stones shattered and dust was kicked into the air. The golden blur buzzed around and it tried to follow it, but it was far too fast. It flickered from behind and around the crowd, almost as if it were everywhere at once. Wherever it went, mayhem followed, and the battlefield was swallowed by it.

However, even as pieces of its face fell to the ground— clattering and bouncing against the rocks and gravel— shattered by the needle that protruded from its skull, it followed that mayhem with its eyes, taking in every second of it— immersed by it— mesmerized by it— and becoming attuned to it.

It felt its shoulders and arms flex— almost instinctively— as if it knew that that gold would come to it to reap it.

Reaching up, it gripped onto the thin spine that had blown a hole through its head, and it began pulling it out. Lurching its head back just as the skewer-like blade was freed from its head, it stumbled forward, its entire body and head dropping to the ground for a brief moment before it pulled itself back up once more.

Still, its eyes followed the mayhem as it spread throughout the arena. And, instinctively, it moved towards it— as if that mayhem was its salvation.

Even as monsters got in its way, it simply mowed them down, the ivory white of the spine-turned-blade flashing in deadly crescents as magic stones shattered upon impact with its new weapon— one that it felt far more accustomed to than the heavy, lumbering blade.

In its pursuit of that gold and the mayhem, it left just as much mayhem in its wake. A thrust came forward, shattering the magic stone from the ribcage of a Spartoi Warrior. A sideways swipe sent the head of a Barbarian sailing into the air. A quick lunge forward followed by a lightning-fast downwards strike tore apart the cloak of a Skull Sheep. Bringing the blade forward into a bind, it traded blows with two Obsidian Soldiers. One was cut down, split along the shoulder and the other was skewered, falling to the ground lifeless. Then, as a Loup Garou pounced, it merely sidestepped the attack and, dragging its blade across, severed the wolf monster in half.

Nothing was untouched. The Spartoi Warriors and Obsidian Soldiers let out ominous howls as they were cut down. Barbarians and Loup Garous roared with rage, yet their cries were snuffed out as they were vanquished.

It kept running forward. The blade in its grasp became an ivory white blur, tracing arcs through the air, ripping through the flesh of monsters and through the magic stones, carving through the heavy dust and ash that surrounded it, slicing even them apart, as if everything around was bending to its cutting edge.

Coming to a grinding halt as it broke through the cloud of debris, it swung its blade in a wide crescent, sweeping away the dust and clearing the area. However, as it turned its gaze around, it saw nothing— merely emptiness and the chaos in its wake.

Where was it? Where was that gold that it had sought out? Where was it? Where?

It snapped its gaze around, yet there was nothing to behold. But where was what was promised? Where was its salvation?

It felt something boil up within its chest; something that exploded outwards from the magic stone— no, perhaps not from the magic stone, but something more deeply embedded within—

However, the next instant, it was falling— moving through the air uncontrollably, sailing past the hordes of monsters crawling up from the dark crevices below them.

It could not stop itself. As it fell— feeling weightless. The ground approached quickly. The spikes protruded from the ground stared at it— the jagged outlines of their points like jaws ready to consume it.

Almost instinctively, it brought its arms up, trying to shield its face and body, but—

It felt something: a powerful force pulling and tugging on its body. And then, one moment of darkness led to the other. When it awoke once more, it was surrounded by darkness, and yet it could feel that it was safe— which was odd.

What had happened?

It scanned its eyes around, trying to figure out where it was. But the only thing it could find was the glow that came from the ground. So, with no other clue, it approached it.

Reaching a hand out to touch it, it tried to feel for what it was. But, almost as soon as it made contact, it reared back, not in pain or distress, but merely shock and surprise.

Curious, it reached out once more, this time, submerging its hand within… whatever it was.

It inched ever closer, and, as it hovered over it, it saw something.

Something stared back at it.

A pair of gold and blue stared back at it…

And those colours were mesmerizing.

The moon hung in the night sky, and her silver eyes matched its soft glow. She felt the cold glass reach her lips, and she took a deep breath. The fragrance of the wine— this one, a particularly strong cherry— intoxicated her.

Then, as her eyes descended upon the vast city from her vantage point, she saw all those shapes and colours coalescing, swirling into that mayhem— yet that beautiful mayhem— that sea of passionate reds, radiant oranges, vibrant yellows, vivid greens, rich blues, mysterious violets—

Yet, none of them was as beautiful as those special ones— the deep, abyssal blacks and pure, pristine whites— or even those that seemed to swirl with two colours, or the crystalline transparency of her beloved— or what once was, but was now tainted by a murky grey. Those were truly the most breathtaking, and she found herself entranced by them, day by day.

She hummed gently to herself as she peeled away from the glass. Her sparkling, black dress draped behind her as she strode to her white, velvet bed, and she rested herself upon it, bathing in the moonlight. Her head rested against the soft cushion and she closed her eyes—

And as she did so, those colours came back, swirling in her mind's eye, as if something engrained into her subconscious. They surrounded her like a wild tempest, jumping out at her. She felt her silver eyes flutter open as the colours nearly blinded her, and she let out a soft gasp as she sat up in the bed.

In the silence and solitude of her room, she gripped her bedsheets, crumpling them. Dragging her fingers across her face and over her eyes, she took a deep breath. Letting her feet dangle off the side of the bed, she lifted her gaze to the window, staring out to the night sky once more, watching the small, wispy clouds in the distance, as if curling around the brilliance of the moon and of those twinkling stars.

Yet, as those clouds settled in, that once radiant glow began to disappear, filled only with darkness, for a while, before the snow began to fall. The snowflakes hung in the air, blowing with the wind, going in whichever way it went. They swirled around in mesmerizing patterns, and she watched them dance in the air, entranced by the way they moved.

Finally, she felt her eyes grow heavy, and she felt herself drifting to sleep.

Her head fell against the soft pillows and cushions of her bed once more and her eyelids fell over her eyes. Those colours came back to her, flashing in her mind, mixing now with the movements of the falling snow. As if she were consumed in a sea of those glowing sparkles, she felt herself in the middle of all of that beauty, basking in every second of it.

Trapped in her own dream, she watched those colours around her and she felt their embrace. Lost in them— and becoming one with them. Her silver hair fluttered in the middle of all of that chaos, and she felt as if she could reach out and touch them—

And her heart leapt each time she felt them graze her finger and brush past her body.

It was truly exhilarating.

Wrapping himself tightly in his jacket, Bell scaled the steps leading up to the grand walls surrounding Orario. His steps echoed throughout the empty night, lost against the vast, empty sky.

As he reached the top of the steps, he turned his eyes to the night sky, watching the clouds rolling in from above. He let out a puff of smoke as the snow continued to fall around him.

Walking forward towards the parapet, he leaned over the edge, waiting…

And she came just a moment later, appearing beside him seemingly out of thin air.

"How nice of you to join me tonight."

He didn't respond for a moment, merely taking a breath of the ice-cold yet refreshing, night air. Then: "well, it was a promise, wasn't it?" He paused for a moment, finally looking down. "Besides, things have slowed down right about now, so I feel like I have all the time in the world."

She raised an eyebrow as she looked at him. "Is that so?"

There was a brief moment of silence. And then, as a small smile came to his lips, he hummed along: "yes."

The gentle breeze swept across the top of the walls, brushing past them and enveloping them in the cold, night air.

"Come with me," she said at last as she turned away from the ledge, making her way down to the stairs. "I would like to speak elsewhere. Here is… not ideal."

Taking a moment to look back to the sky, he followed her, descending the steps he had just scaled minutes ago.

xxx

Pacing down the winding corridors of Daedalus Street, the two walked side-by-side. The snow fell around them, becoming even wilder than before. The breeze swept throughout the narrow channels and streets and Bell could feel the cold even through the layers he wore.

And then, finally, they reached their destination.

A frozen wasteland: destitute and covered with snow, almost as if it all blended together into a single colour. Bell raised an eyebrow as he turned to the spirit, wondering why they were there. His mind raced through a million different scenarios until it finally clicked for him.

He turned back towards the snow-covered cemetery— the Adventurer's Graveyard— and then back to the spirit. A sympathetic, yet pained smile came to his face as he stepped closer to her.

In his mind, it was quite natural. Spirits, as the desolate entities that they are— oftentimes even more remote from people compared to the Gods— mourn for those that they've known and loved far more, especially because those people are exactly those that they truly love.

Bell sucked in a breath of cold air. "Are you here to visit someone?" He asked, his voice feeling feeble and small. "If you wanted to talk about it, I'd be happy to listen." After all, it was what so many others have done for him, and what she had done for him before. It was only natural that he would return the favour— though he did question why he of all people was who she decided to seek out. Wouldn't have one of her own been a better candidate?— though he will concede that he hasn't seen many Spirits around anyways. Or, wouldn't it be better to consolidate in a God?— he had read much about the Gods and Spirits and their relationship as parent and child, so he was sure there would be at least one God she considered her parent.

Although he kept a smile on his face, a frown nearly broke through. Parent and child. He never had a true parent; only some old geezer who said he was his grandfather though Bell knew he really wasn't. Even still, that old man had been like a father to him. And although he could be mischievous at times, Bell knew that he wouldn't have been who he is today without that man.

It was a sad day when Bell found out that his so-called grandfather had died; he didn't even get to say goodbye.

Bell was broken out of his stupor as he felt the Spirit walk forward. And then, he could feel the magic buzzing through the air, and it got his heart pumping, making the hairs on the back of his head stand on end.

In the entirety of his life, he had only ever witnessed the power of the Gods three times. The first when Hestia had activated her Arcanum to stop the fight between him and Mord on the 18th Floor; the second time when he had watched Ishtar being sent back to the Upper World; and the third when everyone had felt the Arcanum be activated within the Dungeon and the Knossos by Evilus. He knew it was not entirely the same, but he watched as the Spirit's power flourished.

A spectral gavel appeared overhead, shimmering in a brilliant violet light before it was finally brought down, sending waves of snow crashing into the air, almost entirely clearing the area.

Bell watched as she paced forward and he followed. He looked around, scanning his ruby red eyes across the small collection of gravestones littered around the graveyard.

Finally, he watched as the Spirit stopped, leading them to a secluded portion of the graveyard, where only a small handful of gravestones stood. Bell narrowed his eyes as he looked down, trying to read the words engraved onto it:

Fly, and Spread your Wings

Lonely, Silent Bird,

Into the Next World

—Alfia, The Silent

"Do you know who this is, Bell?"

He stared down, his voice an ominous whisper: "from Hera familia. Alfia; Silence. Defeater of the Leviathan. And one of the Fallen Heroes that turned against Orario during the Dark Ages."

She hummed and crouched down, placing a hand on the gravestone. "And yet, even despite all that she has done, she has a place here."

Bell was a little bit wary now. He took a step back, away from the Spirit. From the folds of his jacket, his hands fell onto the familiar hilt of the Hestia Knife. The feeling of it there gave him some sense of relief.

"Why did you bring me here? Are you here to mourn for her or for all of those she's conspired with?" His hand closed around the grip of his blade. "I've read about all of it; all of the things that they've done and would have done if it weren't for those that stood against them." He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "Maybe I don't know what it must feel like to be one of the Greats— to be a true Hero like them that have accomplished so much. Maybe I don't know what it must feel like to lose my familia. Maybe I don't know what it must feel like to lose everything… but I know that what she did— or what any of those Evilus did— isn't right."

He could feel the flames come to his hand, surrounding him in a bright, crimson glow, piercing the blackness of the night.

"Maybe I'm just a kid that doesn't know much and has too much to learn, but I can never stand for something like that—!" They grew brighter and brighter until the snow surrounding them had all but evaporated.

Even still, she simply stood up, turning her violet eyes back to him. His own eyes, filled with an almost ugly rage, looked at her—

And he saw, reflected within her irises— against that mesmerizing violet— himself… and…

Melancholy.

The fire within him subsided and he felt himself release a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Bell…" her voice, laden with sorrow, she approached him. "Please allow me to tell you a story. Whether or not you wish to listen or to believe, it is not my choice to make… but… at least let me do this one thing…"

She paused, and he waited for her next words— the words that shattered him.

"Let me tell you the story of Zeus and Hera familia— the stories of God Erebus and Zald and… of Alfia…" she paused, "...of your blood."

Sorry that this chapter took long to get out, but I was busy recently with work so I didn't get that much time to write. Hopefully, the chapter was exciting enough even though not a lot of action took place.

that guy who existed: I can see how it might seem rushed, and I agree. As far as the narrative is concerned, having Bell spend time with his familia and those closest to him does make more sense, and I won't argue this. And I will also concede that there is no harm in writing a chapter that is a little more laid back, but it just didn't cross my mind at the time. As far as the story-telling is concerned, it honestly just made more sense to me to preoccupy Bell so that I could give each character their own independent scenes since that is something that I do want to focus on.

As always, feedback and criticism are appreciated.