Hel awoke to the soft light filtering through the high windows of her guest chamber. The air was cool — crisp, with that faint scent of morning dew that clung to Orario at dawn. For a moment, she lay still, the memory of snow and silver eyes lingering faintly in her mind. Ruby’s voice — quiet, trembling — echoed in the recesses of her thoughts.
Then she exhaled, slow and steady, pushing herself upright. “She’ll decide in time,” Hel murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The words were not meant for anyone but herself.
After dressing — a simple dark dress and fur-lined cloak this time, more mortal than divine — she stepped out into the quiet courtyard. The Loki Familia mansion was only just stirring; servants and adventurers alike beginning their morning routines. Loki herself was nowhere to be seen, likely already off causing some mischief.
Hel smiled faintly to herself. “Then I shall cause some as well.”
Hel walked aimlessly at first, letting instinct guide her. Eventually, her path led toward a familiar cluster of divine auras radiating from the inner ring of the city — a place where gods gathered in the mornings to exchange gossip, wine, and endless half-truths.
She smiled faintly. So little changes.
The first divine presence she encountered was unmistakable — radiant, vibrant, and loud enough to cut through the calm like a sunrise on fire.
“Hel! Oh-ho! Never thought you’d walk these streets again!”
Apollo greeted her with his usual golden grin, lounging near the marble steps of his Familia’s hall. His tunic glittered like he thought he was the sun, and his aura burned bright with warmth and arrogance in equal measure.
“Good morning, Apollo,” Hel replied evenly, folding her hands in front of her. “I see humility still hasn’t caught you.”
He laughed, brushing a lock of shining hair back. “Humility doesn’t suit me, my dear. But you — walking among mortals again? That’s new. Trying to poach some adventurers?”
Hel just shrugs her shoulders, “They will come to me when it is Fated to be.”
Apollo blinked, momentarily thrown off by her calm certainty. Then that radiant grin of his returned, wider and more intrigued than before.
“Fated to be, huh?” he mused, leaning lazily against one of the marble pillars. “You always did have a flair for mystery, Hel. Makes you sound like a prophet—or a temptress.”
Hel gave him a sidelong look, her tone as smooth as polished obsidian. “And you always did mistake confidence for seduction.”
That earned her a genuine laugh. “Touché! Still, I’ll admit, there’s something poetic about Death herself walking through Orario, talking about fate and heroes. I might even write a song about it.”
Hel tilted her head, amusement flickering in her mismatched eyes. “Just make sure it’s a ballad, not a tragedy. I dislike being portrayed as the villain.”
Apollo placed a hand over his heart.
“Can you two stop it!”
Both Hel and Apollo turned at the sharp interruption — a familiar, exasperated voice cutting clean through the playful banter.
Standing a few paces away was Hermes, hands on his hips, expression halfway between disbelief and amusement. His golden eyes flicked between the two deities like a man who’d just walked in on a duel of egos he definitely didn’t want to referee.
“Honestly,” Hermes sighed, waving a hand. “You two are impossible. Apollo, you flirt with everyone who so much as breathes near you, and Hel—” he gave her a sly grin, “—you’re just as bad for letting him think he has a chance.”
Hel arched a brow, entirely unruffled. “I wasn’t flirting. I was conversing.”
Apollo smirked. “And enjoying it.”
Hermes groaned audibly. “Oh, for—By the heavens, can we not turn the main street into a divine soap opera?”
Hel’s lips curved slightly. “You interrupted of your own will, god of thieves.”
Hermes placed a hand over his chest in mock offense, eyes wide with exaggerated hurt. “Thieves? I prefer the god of messengers please.”
Apollo snorted. “More like a professional eavesdropper.”
Hel’s expression didn’t change, though her tone was lightly teasing. “That too, I suppose. Your reputation precedes you, Hermes. You’re nearly as famous for being where you shouldn’t be as you are for actually delivering messages.”
Hermes gave a low whistle, grin widening. “Sharp tongue, this one. I can see where she gets it — must run in Loki’s family.”
A soft voice broke through their divine banter.
“Excuse me?”
The three gods turned in unison to see a young waitress standing just outside the small café they had stopped in front of — a tray tucked under one arm, her expression caught somewhere between polite patience and mild exasperation. “Are you three going to stand there blocking the door all morning, or are you actually coming in to eat?”
Apollo blinked, then laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Ah, my apologies, dear! We got a little distracted by divine matters.”
“Divine or not,” the waitress said, tapping her foot lightly, “you’re still in the way of paying customers.”
Hel’s lips curved faintly. “She’s right, Apollo. Even gods must obey the law of commerce.”
Hermes leaned forward, smirking. “Now there’s a statement the Guild would love to hear.”
The waitress sighed, clearly not impressed by any of them. “If you’re planning to eat, sit. If you’re planning to gossip, take it somewhere else. I just mopped.”
That earned her a soft chuckle from Hel, who stepped forward first. “Very well. I’ll take a seat, then. A quiet meal might be pleasant.”
Apollo grinned. “And here I thought you were above all of this play mortal crap.”
Hel’s mismatched eyes flicked toward him. “Why is it that people always assume that they know a lot about me”
Hermes raised his hands, surrendering with a grin. “Well, far be it from me to argue with Death herself. Lead the way, my lady.”
“Calling me Death Herself is another false assumption,” Hel states before joining them for a meal.