"You know, when I made the request for the place to be a café, I was really hoping you would take it to heart. Ah well."

Abel reached forward for the cup of coffee that was courteously placed on the table in front of him. Lifting it from its coaster counterpart, Abel brought the beverage to his lips. He waited a moment for the heat to settle down and for the taste to simmer on his tongue. He nodded a bit as he set the cup back down.

"I will say the coffee is pretty good though."

Sitting across from Abel, behind his desk, was the captain of the Loki familia. His goddess was seated on top of his desk, while the familia's top executives stood on either side of the desk; the elf to the right, the dwarf to the left. The princess stood firmly by the door, her posture poised for action. Abel slumped back into the coach he was seated upon.

"How do you know about my Aizu?" Loki asked. On this particular occasion, both her eyes were open. Her posture was looser than her children, though her voice reeked of a goddess' natural inclination towards authoritative comportment. She asked a mortal—no, demanded an answer from him. And he was expected to obey.

"Oh," Abel shrugged. "Lucky guess." He delicately traced the rim of the cup with the tip of his finger. "I mean, who else has matching golden hair and eyes? Not to mention her natural talent for wind magic and…" Abel paused for a moment and stared up at the ceiling. "Oh yeah, an avenger skill."

Ais' body tensed ever so slightly at the mention of her skill. It was like a violation of her person, her identity. Abel simply smirked at that.

"Oh, I guessed that one right too. I'm on a roll today!"

Finn's thumb had not stopped twitching ever since Riveria and Ais had introduced him to Abel. It was so sudden, Riveria barging into the Twilight Manor and gathering them to discuss the strange man. If only it were so simple to chalk up her antsy behavior for her supposed maternal propensities towards Ais, but this was different. This was personal, to an extent.

Whether Abel was a friend or a threat had yet to be seen. Regardless, his knowledge of Ais made him someone not to be trifled with.

"How do you know about her skill?"

Loki's voice was still stern but quieter—a vain attempt to conceal her shock.

"I just put two and two together." Abel took another sip from his coffee. "A child at the age of seven entering the dungeon, and reaching level two in the span of a single year; the fastest recorded level up in the guild's records, up until recently. No child would ever dare venture into the dungeon, unless of course, circumstance deemed it so."

He looked down at the cup, his beverage dwindling each time he glanced at it. He looked directly at Loki and smiled, though the smile did not reach his eye.

"Vengeance is a powerful motivator, particularly in a child's mind. Pair up with the fact that she was rumored to have soloed most of the floors, and it would be safe to assume you had a skill to lean on as a crutch. Hence why the avenger skill seemed like a safe bet."

Riveria silently swallowed. She remembered those days. How they had to drag Ais out of the dungeon just to eat. How her only questions about the world revolved solely on the dungeon, and how to kill the monsters that dwelled within it. The bloodlust was palpable from her.

So young, so filled with hate.

"But of course," Abel continued. "I'm just rambling about things you already know. What you really want to know about is Aria."

Ais immediately clenched her fists and barred her teeth. In her mind, little Ais was running around frantically. All the walls she so desperately made for herself were beginning to crack. Little Ais tried desperately to patch the cracks, but they simply kept expanding. For the first time she could remember, she felt utterly vulnerable. But her curiosity demanded that she must know what Abel knew about her mother.

"She was a kind wind that could bring happiness to anyone."

"—!"

A memory flashed in Ais' mind as Abel spoke. A crisp summer afternoon. The soft shade of a white oak tree. A warm lap where she seated herself upon. A smile that told her that everything would be alright. But of course, that was all burned away. What remained of that memory was just the black flame.

"It's a shame what happened to her." Abel chuckled. "An eye for an eye, isn't that right, Ais?"

Ais moved instinctually, her hand gripping her blade once again. She thrust it towards Abel's neck. His tone irked her to no end. His words seemed to mock the memories of her mother. Two millimeters. She pointed the tip of her sword two millimeters away from his trachea.

"Ais!" Finn yelled sternly. "Lower your blade," he ordered.

Ais didn't move. The black flame that dwelled within her heart roared for her to kill him. It wouldn't take much effort. A single flick of her wrist as his blood would be spurting out onto the couch.

Kill him, the flame beckoned. Kill, kill, kill—

"My, what a temper. What would your mother think?"

Abel slowly turned to face Ais, his lips curled into a sadistic smile. His scarlet eye deadened as he stared at the teenage girl.

"Are you going to try and kill me for the second time today?"

Still smiling, he pressed his throat against the cold steel of Ais' blade.

"Go on, kill me."

Ais could feel her grip on the blade tightening. Her hand began to shake as a result of the added pressure she put on it.

"Come on, hurry up."

Ais shook uncontrollably now. The steel audibly chattered as she tried to maintain her stance. The black flame flickered as her humanity fought for control.

"Here, I'll help."

Abel stuck out his neck and placed it against the blade. There was no longer any distance separating his flesh and the steel. He felt its cold edge brush upon his skin. So lethal, so minacious, so thrilling. Ais' shaking demeanor caused the blade to graze and gnash at his skin, but not enough to draw blood.

No longer able to stifle herself, Riveria made her way to the girl whom she raised. She taught her better. At least, she thought she did. With each stride, memories of her supposed daughter flashed in her mind.

Step. She was gently brushing through Ais' golden blonde hair with a brush.

Step. Bodies… mountains and mounds of minotaur corpses.

Step. She was reading Ais a bedtime story—a fairy tale. A prince and a princess, filled with love and hope.

Step. Another empty potion bottle chucked to the ground, shattering into hundreds of tiny shards. It was the tenth potion Ais had consumed since stepping into the dungeon. Vitality and stamina are so easily cured by the concoction. Perfect for enacting her hatred upon the monsters.

I'm sorry, Aria. I tried to fill that void in her heart with my love. But I could never. Not like you did.

She reached out to grab Ais' hand but was interrupted by Abel.

"Do you wish to see your mother, spirit child? Let's go see her then."

In a single instant, Abel flicked his neck against the sharpened blade of Ais' blade. Blood immediately erupted from his flesh. It fizzled, and burst, and splattered all over the couch, smearing its once olive wool a deep crimson. Ais and Riveria could only stare in horror as his body slowly slumped backward. But what haunted them the most was how Abel still had that sickening smile sprouting on his face. Desperate clattered to the ground. Little Ais screamed as the black flame burst forth into a mighty roar—a triumphant victory for it. With each gallon of blood spilling from Abel's throat did the fire grow in volume.

He's dead! The silly little fool is dead! We don't need him to go save mother! We only need each other! He's dead, he's dead, he's—

"Quiet, little flame."

Suddenly, the blood that had splattered on the couch and the wooden floor spread throughout the room, covering every corner and furniture and window. Though, Finn, Gareth, Loki, Riveria, and Ais remained untouched. Abel's body was swallowed in its entirety by his blood. No light shone into the room. Finn bent down and touched the blood with his gloved finger. It felt like ink before it coagulated and became more sloppy, muddy, almost in texture. Riveria raised her staff upward to cast a spell that would perhaps free them. However, as she began to chant, she realized that she did not have a voice. It was as if someone had made her vocal cords into reigns that they pulled back. Gareth clenched his hands into fists, and he attempted to punch through the wall of blood, but it simply absorbed his blows. Loki's eyes darted around the room before looking back at Finn for confirmation. They were trapped. There was no conceivable way of escaping. Ais fell onto her knees, the sheer shock of it all too much for her to bear. She had witnessed many unseemly horrors during her time in the dungeon. Yet this—this was far too much for the young girl to handle.

Mother… mother… I want my mother…

"Very well. If that is what youwish."

The door of the room flung open. But instead of being a hallway of the Twilight Manor, the door seemingly became a portal that led them to the bank of a stream. Everyone ceased what they were doing and looked to the door.

"Come," a voice beckoned from beyond the door. "She is waiting."

Ais slowly stood up and began to walk towards the door in a trance.

Mother? I can see her? She's waiting for me?

Step, step, step—she inched herself closer and closer to the door. Riveria outstretched her hand to try to seize the young girl, but she slipped through her grasp. Ais crossed over onto the other side. Riveria, fearful for her, followed suit. The rest, seeing no other option, too began to make their way to the door. When they all had stepped beyond the veil, the door shut behind them. Finn scanned around them. Aside from the small ditch that housed the stream, they were surrounded by green, open plains that stretched on towards the horizon. He looked down at his hand and noticed that his thumb was no longer twitching. Hearing a gasp, Finn redirected his attention forward.

There, sitting by the bank, crouched down, knees to her chest, her back turned to them, was Ais. No, not Ais. This woman seemed more mature, more feminal. She showed no reaction to their arrival, seemingly content in her reflection given off by the water.

"Who's that lass o'vr there?" Gareth asked aloud. "Ain't she look like—"

"...mother." Ais murmured.

Everyone stared, their eyes increasingly widening as they did so. A cool summer breeze softly blew over them, but they did not react at all. All they could do was stare. Loki felt her jaw tighten. This was a trap. All of the commonality irked her and screamed out that it all reeked of peril, yet she sensed no hostility from Aria.

Mother… she's there, right over there. Just a few feet away from me. Should I approach her? What should I say? What would she say?

After spending so long dreaming of rescuing her mother, she never once thought of what to say or what to do after. Doubt slowly crept into her mind as she stared at her mother.

Would… would she be afraid of me…?

Would she hate me for what I've become…?

A tear slowly fell from her cheek as the word crossed her mind. Hate.

Mother… please… please, don't hate me.

Right as she was about to take a step forward, Aria's voice rang out.

"It's been quite some time, hasn't it?"

"Guess it has been."

The voice replying belonged to Abel. He emerged from behind the group, seemingly out of thin air. Everyone stood in shock as he casually strolled past them and towards Aria. Just like her, he gave no response to their presence. He looked different. (Aside from the fact that he no longer had a gash over his throat) he wore an elegant black robe that slung over his left shoulder and draped down onto the grass. His hair was slightly longer, with tangles strewn all about his scalp. The bangs that framed his face were braided and tied with small black ribbons. But the bandages he wore on his forearms and over his eye remained.

He stopped a foot away from Aria. She continued to stare at her reflection.

"So, how was the play?" Abel asked.

"The Tempest? Oh, it was fine. Not my favorite play he's written, but it was still good."

"That's nice to hear."

Another pregnant moment of silence. Ais opened her mouth to call out to her mother but found that she had no bearing on her voice. Loki slowly approached Abel from behind. With her brow cocked, she reached out to touch him. She wanted to make sure of a thought that sprouted in her mind. Instead of her hand meeting the fabric of Abel's robes, her hand phased right through him, causing his figure to become distorted and hazed, like a distant mirage. When she removed her hand, his body refocused back into reality.

An illusion she mused. A memory.

"Where is he?" Abel continued.

"Oh, he's out and about. Probably fending off some monsters from a small village, I'd imagine."

Aria reached out and gently poked her reflection, causing it to become distorted by the subsequent ripples.

"You really love him, don't you."

"...yes."

Abel sighed as he stared up at the sky. The clouds had shifted by a hair and the wind had faintly picked up. He knew that this would inevitably happen. She was so filled with love and wonder—an incidental byproduct of his design.

"You wish to bear his child."

"...yes."

Child… child… me…? Ais felt her lips tremble as her mother's words registered to her.

"You're not the first to make that request, and you won't be the last…"

"Is it wrong to wish to birth the child of the one you love? Is that not the most extraordinary act of showing one's love to another?"

"...I wouldn't know…"

Abel's voice sounded distant, unsure. He thought he knew what love was, but he never truly grasped how cruel such a thing was. He didn't want Aria to suffer the same fate. If he was being honest, he didn't plan this far ahead, and it irked him to no end. He sighed, knowing full well there was nothing that could be done that could change her mind, at least, what could be still within reason.

"You are aware of the consequences of your actions, yes? The fate that will befall the child."

"Yes."

"Yet you still wish to bear it."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Aria stood up and faced Abel. She was a few inches shorter than him. She tilted her head upward and smiled the kindest smile in the whole world.

"Because, I know that she will be saved."

Another tear from Ais' eye. It was not birthed from sorrow, but from the pinnacle of her humanity that called out from the depths of her soul. She felt relieved, overjoyed, loved, all at once. This feeling—her heart had never experienced before. It was as if her heart became glass, so fragile, so delicate, and her mother was holding it tenderly in the palms of her hands.

"How can you be so certain?" Abel asked.

Still smiling, Aria closed the distance between them, and outstretching her index finger, she poked Abel's chest, right where his heart was.

"Because, I have hope."

"Hope…"

Such a fickle thing. It was either the most extraordinary fulfillment or the greatest of disappointments. It could either take one to soaring heights or harrowing depths. But the true sinister trap of hope is its cost. You are blinded by hope—you only see the prize, your heart's desire, your wistful wish. You become so infatuated with that dream that you somehow convince yourself it could never fail. But this naivety could not be helped, especially in a world so clouded by uncertainty and risk, and failure.

"I suppose it was my fault that you'd have such a thing."

Aria giggled at that. "Yes, that is the madness you have given me."

Abel frowned before he sighed once again. He forced a smile on his face as he looked at Aria. He did his task. He did what he did because of who he was. And he did the best he could. Yet, he could never feel content about it.

"Very well. Give me your hand."

Aria outstretched her hand, offering it to Abel. Abel delicately held it in his own. So soft, so delicate, so fragile—so filled with hope. Perhaps with her, something would change.

"Let us hope you are right."

Suddenly, the blackened ink returned. In an instant, it consumed the fields, the stream, Aria and Abel, and the Loki familia in its gaping maw. Darkness swallowed them whole. After a moment, it dissipated, melting away, revealing the veil of reality once again. They were still in the executive office of the Twilight Manor; their positions had seemingly not changed. Finn was still seated at his desk, Loki atop of it. Gareth was standing next to the desk. Riveria was reaching out towards Ais, who was still standing over the couch, over the corpse of Abel. His blood still splattered on the couch and table. Desperate laid flat on the floor, its blade inches away from Abel's feet.

Ais could hear the sound of her ragged breaths. Her mother. She was right there. There, with Abel. They talked about a child. They talked about her.

Too much. It was too much to comprehend, too much to bear. She needed comfort. She wrapped her arms around her body to hug herself. She could feel herself shivering and shuttering. Her arms vainly tried to stifle her quivers. She shut her eyes tightly, failing to notice Abel's body twitch.

Loki was the first to notice. Her eyes narrowed on his body, specifically, his blood. It was moving once again. However, unlike before, it was slowly receding from the coach and the table. It was as if time was being reversed around it. Drop by drop, the blood began being siphoned back into Abel's throat. When the last drop of blood was returned to its proper place, his flesh sutured the wound itself. Abel gasped aloud, his eye shooting open.

"Ahhhh. Been a while since I've done that. Doesn't get any less painful though." Abel said, rubbing his neck. "Certainly does loosen any kinks or knots though."

He stood up and cocked his neck three-hundred and sixty degrees. He shook his head, rattling his brain back alive. Looking down, he noticed Ais' sword next to his foot. He bent down and picked it up. He looked closely at its blade. Shimmering, polished, no traces of scratches on it. But beneath the glamour and glint of silver, Abel could see that the blade was bathed deep in blood. Aside from his own, the weapon was horrendously smeared and stained a sickening crimson. Despite being cleaned each night, the stains of battle remained on it. He looked at Ais, who was still hugging herself tightly.

Aria, the hope of your heart is dwindling. It will not be long before that fire in her heart consumes her, and razes everything around her. If that does happen, I hope that you will not be there to see it or see what I will do about it.

Smiling, he extended the hilt out towards Ais. "Here, try not to cut me again in the near future. Or try to stop me from cutting myself."

Ais shakily accepted her blade back.

"Just who or what are you," Loki shakily asked.

Finn had never seen his goddess so unsettled. But given the circumstances, it was justifiable. The only that could have shaken her so much was the deaths of familia members, her children. She masked it well under the loss of sobriety, but Finn knew well enough that she was grieving deep down. But this man so easily made a god cower at his mere presence.

Still smiling, Abel replied.

"A messenger. I'm here to tell you that a great calamity is coming very, very soon. Your conflict with Evilus pales in comparison to this. If it cannot be stopped, then all of reality will cease."

He tucked his hands into his pockets and made his way to the door. Gripping the handle, he turned to face Loki and her children one last time.

"Again, thanks for the coffee. I really needed some caffeine in my bloodstream."