Ruby Rose was dying.
Not literally (Hel had made her promise not to do that again), but emotionally?
Absolutely.
She sat stiffly at a wooden desk far too small for Crescent Rose’s folded form, surrounded by fresh-faced new adventurers who were all staring at her like she was some sort of exotic monster.
Which—okay—maybe they had a point.
Ruby slumped forward.
“This is so boring,” she whispered, face planting on the desk.
“Miss Ruby Rose!” the instructor snapped.
Ruby instantly straightened, hands folded, posture immaculate. “Y-Yes ma’am! Listening!”
The instructor eyed her suspiciously.
“Good. Now, as I was saying, rule number one for new adventurers: Never. Go. Alone.”
A few students nodded.
Ruby avoided eye contact.
Rule number two: Always report your floor progress to the Guild.”
Ruby tried not to whistle innocently.
Rule number three—”
“—Don’t turn the first floor into a floral explosion zone?” one adventurer whispered.
Ruby squeaked so sharply she nearly lifted out of her chair.
Across the classroom, Eina Tulle rubbed her temples. Hard.
Ruby sank lower.
Hel is gonna kill me if I mess this up.
The instructor continued:
“Now then, we’ll begin with basic combat safety, monster behavior patterns, and dungeon navigation. Everyone open your packets to page one.”
Ruby froze mid-reach.
Her “packet”… wasn’t in her bag.
Because Ruby had never even picked one up.
She raised her hand timidly. “…I forgot mine.”
Every head turned.
The instructor inhaled through her nose.
“Miss Rose. Please retrieve a new packet.”
Ruby bolted upright, turned into petals, and vanished.
Half the class screamed.
The other half dove under their desks.
Eina audibly sighed.
Petals swirled back into the room a second later and Ruby reassembled herself in the doorway, clutching a packet triumphantly.
“Got it!”
The instructor stared at her like she had personally aged five years in one heartbeat.
“Miss Rose,” she said, voice shaking, “you are not to use high-speed magic transportation inside the Guild building.”
Ruby wilted.
“S-Sorry…”
A few adventurers whispered.
“Is she even a rookie?”
“I heard she’s some kind of outsider.”
“No—no, my friend at the front desk said she’s an outside-the-city hunter.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Dunno, but she fights like a Level 4 on caffeine.”
Ruby’s ears went red as her hood.
“I can hear you,” she mumbled, sinking deeper in her seat.
The instructor cleared her throat sharply.
“Gossiping will cease. Miss Rose is a new adventurer, regardless of her… peculiar background.”
Someone in the front snorted. “Yeah. ‘Peculiar.’ That’s one word for it.”
Another whispered, “I saw her carry a scythe that’s taller than she is. Who even uses those?”
Ruby hugged her packet protectively.
“It’s practical…”
The instructor pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Moving on—let’s review the dangers of improper magic stone handling.”
Ruby made a very tiny, very guilty noise.
Half the class slowly turned toward her again.
“…What?” Ruby squeaked. “I picked up the big one!”
Eina let out a sound between a groan and a prayer.
====
Hel needed fresh air.
Or rather—she needed a moment where no one was shouting at her about Valis.
The afternoon sun washed the streets of Orario in gold, warm and annoyingly cheerful for a goddess who preferred the dim quiet of the afterlife. Still, the bustle of the city had a rhythm she found… tolerable.
She walked with her hands folded neatly behind her back, cloak trailing just above the cobblestones. Mortals flowed around her—adventurers, merchants, children weaving between carts—none realizing a goddess of death was politely navigating the crowd.
“Beginner classes,” she muttered to herself. “Ruby in beginner classes. This will either humble her or break the instructor.”
===
The room was on fire.
Not all of it—but definitely more of it than anyone was comfortable with.
Tiny flames crawled up the left wall. Smoke puffed from a desk. Someone’s chair was actively melting. Half the rookie adventurers were screaming. The instructor was trying to beat out a fire with a textbook.
And in the middle of the chaos—
Ruby Rose stood with both hands raised, eyes huge, face pale.
“I SAID I’M SORRY!” she cried as multiple students tried to put out their smoking hair.
One boy coughed. “HOW DID YOU EVEN DO THAT?!”
Ruby pointed frantically at her own chest.
“I just— I sneezed! I sneezed”
“I’M SORRY!” she cried for the eighth time. “I DIDN’T MEAN TO—IT JUST—IT JUST HAPPENED!”
A coughing student pointed at the scorch mark on the floor.
“HOW DID A SNEEZE DO THAT?!”
Who knew that cutting up magic stones to try and make dust was a bad idea?
The instructor, hair lightly smoking, wheezed:
“MISS ROSE, MAGIC STONES ARE NOT—NOT—TO BE CARVED!”
Another student whimpered, holding a bucket of water.
“WHY DO THEY EXPLODE LIKE THAT?!”
Ruby flailed.
“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THEY’D CHAIN REACT?!”
A desk popped like a firecracker.
Everyone screamed again.
Ruby covered her face, voice cracking:
“I ALREADY SAID I’M SORRY!!”
===
Orario was still warm from the afternoon sun, the stones holding a comfortable heat that seeped through Hel’s shoes as she walked. She let the city pass around her—laughing adventurers, haggling merchants, clattering armor—and allowed herself a rare moment of peace.
She didn’t expect the Underworld to tug at her senses again.
A flicker—faint, bruised, wounded.
Not the proud, cold presence she once knew.
This one was threadbare.
Hel slowed.
At the edge of the street, half-hidden behind a food stall and a shabby tarp, someone sat on a step with her knees drawn up and a tattered cloak around her shoulders.
Her hair was still golden, but unwashed and tangled.
Her clothes were frayed at the sleeves.
Her divine aura was so dim it almost flickered out entirely.
Hel’s chest tightened.
“…Ereshkigal?”
The figure jerked, startled. She pushed the hair from her face—and there she was.
Ereshkigal.
Queen of Kur.
Daughter of Nanna.
Sister of Ishtar.
Now… exhausted, hollow-eyed, and clearly hungry.
She blinked up at Hel as if not believing her own sight.
“…Hel?” Her voice rasped. “Oh. Good. Someone I don’t have to pretend in front of.”
Hel stepped closer, tone soft. “What happened?”
Ereshkigal gave a flat, humorless laugh and gestured vaguely toward the city.
“Ishtar,” she said, as if that explained everything.
And it did.
“How long have you been like this?” Hel asked quietly.
Ereshkigal shrugged, looking small in a way Hel had never seen.
“One? Two?”
“Weeks?” Hel asks
“Months,” Ereshkigal states
Hel exhaled. “You should have come to me.”
Ereshkigal’s eyes flicked up, hollow and exhausted.
“You’d… have me? Like this?”
“Of course.”
Tears didn’t fall. Ereshkigal didn’t cry—she folded inward instead, jaw tight, throat tight, shaking with the effort of not breaking.
Hel sat beside her.
Not touching—goddesses of the dead seldom touched—but close enough that warmth brushed her shoulder.
After a long moment, Ereshkigal whispered:
“…I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Then you will stay with me,” Hel said simply.
Ereshkigal stared at her.
“Your Father wont let it happen?”
“I have enough blackmail material on father.” Hel states
“…Blackmail,” she echoed faintly.
Hel nodded. “Extensive blackmail.”
A pause.
“…How extensive?” Ereshkigal asked, halfway curious, halfway horrified.
Hel tilted her head as though counting.
“Well, there was the incident with the ice giant, the three Valkyries, the mislabeled mead barrel. I could keep going but I wont.”