The aroma of roasted meat and fresh bread greeted Hel as she entered the Loki Familia’s dining hall. The long table was already set, candles flickering in the early evening light, and several members were already seated, chatting idly while waiting for the rest of the family to gather.
“Ah, there you are,” Loki said, rising from her chair with a playful smirk. “Don’t tell me the goddess of death wandered off before dinner. We’d all starve waiting for you.”
Hel smiled faintly, sliding into an empty seat near the middle of the table. “I wouldn’t dream of missing it,” she replied softly.
Riveria gave a small nod of acknowledgment, Lefiya peeked at her over the rim of a book, and Tiona elbowed Bete, whispering something that earned a snort of laughter. The chatter was lively but comfortable—a family, united not just by power, but by bonds forged in the dangers of dungeon life.
Hel quietly took her place, observing them all with her usual composed demeanor. She picked at her food delicately, savoring the taste of a meal she hadn’t expected to enjoy this much.
The conversation ebbed and flowed around her, tales of dungeon exploration, heroic feats, and minor misadventures filling the air. Loki occasionally teased a familia member, and Hel found herself smiling at the rhythm of it—the warmth, the noise, the sense of belonging.
Eventually, the meal drew to a close. Plates cleared, conversations softened, and the flickering candlelight lent a cozy glow to the hall. Hel rose, stretching slightly.
“I believe I’ll retire for the night,” she murmured, her voice calm but carrying a subtle weight.
Loki’s smirk softened. “Already? You must be exhausted from all that sparing… How did you manage to do that anyway?”
“Not all of my strength is tied into my divinity, I am fairly skilled and adept at multiple types of magic, yet that has nothing to due with my divine nature so I am able to use it to strengthen myself.”
Loki’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of curiosity—and a hint of pride—crossing her expression. “Ah…So it's just one hell of a loophole, huh? Clever. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You are my kid.”
Hel inclined her head lightly, a small, polite smile playing on her lips. “I have centuries of practice. Strength alone rarely wins battles; timing, precision, and knowing what to use—and when—makes all the difference.”
Riveria, still seated at the table, frowned thoughtfully. “So even without divine power fully active, your combat skills remain… extraordinary.”
Hel nodded, letting the scythe rest by her side in a subtle display of calm mastery. “Experience outclasses raw might most of the time. I have lived long enough to see countless fights, countless deaths, and countless outcomes. That knowledge is something no level alone can teach.”
Ais suddenly stands up and slams her face completely blank the table “Train me.”
Hel arched an eyebrow, glancing at Ais with the faintest smirk. “Train you? Straight to the point, I see.”
Ais, cheeks flushed with determination, didn’t back down. “I want to get stronger. I want to surpass my limits. You… you fought like that earlier. I need to learn how.”
Hel’s silver-green eyes flicked to Loki, who leaned back with a knowing smirk, clearly entertained. “You really mean it?” Hel asked, calm yet carrying that subtle weight of inevitability in her presence.
Ais nodded furiously. “I mean it! I’ll do whatever it takes!”
Hel let out a soft, amused chuckle, the sound carrying lightly across the dining hall. “Very well. But understand this—what I teach cannot simply be learned in hours or days. Strength comes from experience… from understanding not just your body, but timing, the flow of battle, and knowing when not to act. We will start tomorrow. I feel the call of sleep at the moment.”
===
The moment Hel’s consciousness drifted into sleep, the warmth of Orario faded away.
When she opened her eyes, she stood in a silent clearing blanketed by snow. The trees around her were bare, their skeletal branches creaking softly in the wind. The sky above was a dull gray, neither day nor night — just endless twilight.
Snowflakes drifted down lazily, settling across the quiet battlefield. Shattered weapons, cracked armor, and the remains of long-forgotten battles lay half-buried beneath the frost.
At the center of it all sat a lone figure.
A young woman, cloaked in red, knees drawn close to her chest. Her scythe — or what was left of it — lay in fragments beside her, the broken blade jutting out of the snow like a gravestone.
Hel stepped forward, her breath misting in the chill air. “Ruby Rose,” she said softly.
The girl flinched at her name. Her silver eyes, dulled and empty, turned toward the sound. “...You again,” she whispered. “Why do you keep showing up?”
“Because you keep calling out,” Hel replied, her voice calm but not unkind. “Even when you don’t mean to.”
Ruby gave a bitter, broken laugh. “I don’t remember calling anyone. I don’t even know where I am anymore.” She looked around the clearing, at the endless stretch of lifeless trees. “It’s quiet here. Too quiet. Maybe that’s what I deserve.”
Hel’s gaze softened. “You think this place is punishment.”
Ruby didn’t answer. She just stared down at the snow, her fingers trembling faintly.
Hel approached slowly, boots crunching lightly against the ice. “It isn’t. It’s memory. The echo of what’s left in you. Loss, guilt… exhaustion.” She stopped a few steps away. “You’ve been sitting here a long time.”
Ruby let out a shuddering breath, her voice almost a whisper. “I couldn’t save them. My team… my friends… even the world. Everything just… fell apart. And I kept fighting, but—” Her voice broke. “It wasn’t enough.”
Hel tilted her head slightly, the faintest ghost of a smile touching her lips. “No,” she said softly. “Not unless that’s what you want.”
Ruby blinked, confusion flickering through the grief clouding her expression. “Then… what are you?”
“Someone who knows what it’s like to lose everything,” Hel replied softly. Her tone was calm, but beneath it lingered a weight — a sorrow tempered by centuries of endurance. “Someone who once sat where you sit now, surrounded by the echoes of the dead, believing the silence was all that remained.”
Ruby’s gaze dropped to her hands. Snowflakes gathered on her gloves, melting against the faint tremor in her fingers. “Then… why are you here?” she asked, her voice breaking into the still air — fragile, pleading.
Hel’s expression softened. She reached out, brushing a bit of frost from Ruby’s shoulder with a tenderness that contrasted her title. “Because,” she began gently, “though your mission failed, your will did not. You fought until the end. That spark — that refusal to stop — it calls to me. I can offer you a second chance.”
Ruby blinked, confusion flickering through the exhaustion in her silver eyes. “A… second chance?”
Hel nodded, the faint shimmer of divine light dancing along her cloak. “A different world. A different enemy — one that twists monsters to its will. But also a world filled with heroes… mortals who fight against the unrelenting darkness. Whether it be for power, money, or hope for a better future. They dive into the dungeon.
Ruby’s eyes lifted to meet hers — dull silver searching the goddess’s mismatched gaze. “I don’t… I don’t think I can keep going.”
For a long moment, Hel said nothing. Then she knelt in the snow beside her. “You sound like someone who’s forgotten what it means to be alive.”
“Are you death here to help me pass on?” Ruby asks
Ruby swallowed, her voice small. “And you’d send me there? Just like that?”
“Not as a gift,” Hel said, her gaze meeting Ruby’s. “As an opportunity. The chance to stand again. To remember what it means to live… and to choose what kind of person you wish to become this time.”
The snow around them began to stir, rising like drifting embers caught in the wind. Ruby’s broken weapon glimmered faintly beneath the frost, the shattered edge reflecting her wide eyes.
“Why me?” she whispered. “Why not my team?”
“Because they haven't reached out to me yet, if they are lingering about in this purgatory… I plan on finding them and offering them the same thing I am you.” Hel states
“Can I have some time to think about it?” Ruby asks
Hel inclined her head, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across her lips. “Of course,” she said softly. “This choice isn’t one to be made in haste. You’ve borne enough burdens for a lifetime… you deserve the time to rest, and to decide for yourself.”
Ruby looked away again, her gaze drifting to the snow-covered treeline. The flakes fell in slow, steady silence — a rhythm that felt almost peaceful after the chaos she’d endured. “I don’t even know if I can go on,” she admitted quietly. “I tried so hard… and everything still ended. What if it happens again?”
Hel’s voice was calm, steady — like a winter wind that carried warmth beneath the cold. “Then you’ll face it again. Failure isn’t the end, Ruby Rose — it’s merely a chapter.”