The Hostess of Fertility was louder than usual tonight. The place always got rowdy when the Loki Familia took it over, but this… this was something else.
Jorren wiped the foam from his mug and leaned toward his friend across the table. “You hear who the guest of honor is?”
His buddy, a burly spearman named Varek, grunted. “Some new goddess. Another one of Loki’s drinking buddies, maybe.”
Jorren snorted. “Doubt it. Word’s she descended today. Straight from Tenkai.”
Varek scoffed, about to retort—then the room shifted.
The warmth didn’t fade, not exactly, but something colder settled over it. Like a breeze from a crypt had brushed across the hearthfire.
Every conversation quieted just a fraction. Enough for Jorren to notice.
And then he saw her.
The new goddess sat beside Loki, laughing at something Tiona said, her hand resting lightly on a mug that hadn’t yet lost a drop of its ale despite her constant movements. She was beautiful in a way that wasn’t quite human—too still, too sharp. Her eyes were the green of a deep forest after rain… but when the light hit them, he swore they flashed silver, like moonlight on a blade.
“Who… is that?” Varek muttered.
“Hel,” someone answered nearby. “They say she’s a goddess of death.”
That earned a few nervous glances. Even among adventurers, who laughed in the face of monsters, that kind of title wasn’t tossed around lightly.
Hel’s smile didn’t help. It was warm enough, polite enough—but when her gaze passed over Jorren, he felt his heartbeat skip. Just once. Like it had forgotten what it was supposed to do.
Loki, on the other hand, seemed delighted, chatting and teasing as usual—though Jorren noticed how often she refilled her own mug.
The other gods that frequented Orario could feel odd sometimes—like fire, or storms, or trickery. But this one… she felt like endings. Not cruel ones, not violent, but quiet, inevitable ones.
The tavern roared again, tension dissolving into laughter and music. Adventurers went back to drinking and boasting, though every so often, eyes still drifted toward the new goddess sitting among them.
Hel didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she didn’t care. Her expression shifted easily between amusement and thoughtfulness, offering the occasional dry quip that had even Bete snorting into his drink.
But Loki noticed everything.
The way Riveria’s posture was too rigid, the way Finn kept studying Hel with that strategic gleam of his, and the way every mortal who came too close to her shivered slightly before backing off.
Hel fit in too easily—and that, more than anything, made Loki’s skin crawl.
“Alright, alright!” Loki said suddenly, standing up and clapping her hands. “That’s enough gawking! Let the new goddess breathe, yeah? Party’s for fun, not for an interrogation.”
There were laughs and playful groans, and soon the attention drifted away. As chatter resumed, Loki leaned down, grabbing Hel gently by the wrist.
“Walk with me for a bit, kid,” she said, her tone light but her eyes sharp.
“Whatever you say Pops,” Hel responds, setting down her drink and getting up.
Outside the Hostess of Fertility
The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of ale and woodsmoke from the tavern behind them. Music still drifted faintly from within, but the two goddesses had long since stepped into the quiet alley beside the building.
Loki leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching the other goddess with sharp eyes.
“Alright,” she said, her voice low but edged with something uncertain. “Drop the act. What are you doing here, Hel?”
Hel tilted her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Can’t a daughter come to visit her father?”
Loki’s smirk faltered. For a heartbeat, something older—something raw—flickered in her crimson eyes.
“You died,” Loki said finally, the words barely above a whisper. “A long time ago. I felt it. I watched the whole damn pantheon tear itself apart after…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “After, Fen ate Odin… Freya still hasn't forgiven me, and she is constantly searching for my father's reincarnation.”
Hel’s smile softened, and for once, it wasn’t the sharp, teasing grin she wore inside the tavern. “I did die. Several times, in fact. Death tends to have a sense of humor.”
Loki exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders shifting from sharp alarm to something heavier, older. “So… you really are her. My little Hel. The girl who ruled the dead and made even the Valkyries nervous.”
“I suppose,” Hel said softly, brushing a strand of black hair from her face. “Though these days, I’ve had a lot of time to think. To… grow past what I was.”
Loki snorted faintly. “Past being the terror of Asgard? Or past being the only one of my children who didn’t scare me?”
Hel’s lips curved. “Both. Although I will confirm I have a love of pranking now.”
Loki stared, the truth slowly settling in. “You… didn’t just become a goddess of death.”
“No,” Hel admitted quietly. “I was death’s servant for a very long time. Centuries. Millennia, maybe—I lost count after the first few apocalypses. But she released me. Said I’d earned my peace.”
“And peace means dropping into my lap?” Loki muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
Hel chuckled softly. “Always you the most entertaining option.”