The warmth and buzz of the tavern grew louder as the evening wore on. Members of the Loki Familia had claimed a large corner table—half of them were already laughing, the other half drinking like it was the end of the world.
Bete Loga, slouched near the end, took a long pull from his tankard. His yellow eyes drifted lazily across the room—until they landed on Bell.
His lip curled.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered loud enough for nearby tables to catch it. "Isn't that the white rabbit who got stomped by a little girl?"
A few chuckles rippled through the nearby Loki Familia members. Bell tensed, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling in his chest.
But he wasn't the only one who heard.
From the seat beside the Riveria, Lyra slowly turned her head. Her fork clicked against her plate.
She stood, hands on her hips.
"Who are you calling little? I'm telling you, I'm forty-two!"
Bete's eyes gleamed with mischief.
"If forty-two isn’t little for an elf, then I guess Riveria here must be a grandma. I mean, she’s—"
Thwack!
Before he could finish, Riveria’s staff shot out like lightning and smacked Bete's head to the side.
He blinked, stunned, rubbing his sore head.
"What the hell—?"
"I am teaching you not to be rude," Riveria said calmly, retrieving her staff.
At the sight of Bete’s scowl, the Loki Familia table erupted into laughter. Lyra grinned from ear to ear.
"Well, that was satisfying," she said, arms crossed.
"Maybe next time, Bete, you'll think twice before making fun of an elf."
Bete growled but wisely stayed silent, his pride temporarily deflated.
While everyone laughed, Bell groaned and slumped over the table, burying his face in his arms.
"I should’ve just stayed home..."
Luthar watched him for a moment, then said quietly,
"Are you thinking about running away without paying?"
Bell froze.
"It’s not that..." he began, then trailed off.
Did he really seem that unreliable? He just wanted to leave this place as soon as possible.
The rest of the meal passed in relative peace—no more flying insults or staves. Bell managed to eat most of his food, though his appetite wasn’t fully there. Every now and then, he’d glance toward the Loki Familia’s table, but after the earlier embarrassment, they seemed to lose interest.
Luthar didn’t speak again. He sat quietly, sipping through the straw beneath his mask, seemingly unbothered by the noise around them. Bell found that oddly reassuring.
By the time they left the Hostess of Fertility, the streets were darker, lit by warm lanterns and the fading glow of twilight. Bell, still processing everything Bete had said, followed a step behind Luthar.
But when they reached the church gate, a familiar figure stood in the doorway—arms crossed, foot tapping.
"Hestia..."
The tiny goddess squinted at them.
"You’re late! I was starting to think I’d have to come looking!"
Bell laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Sorry, Syr invited us for dinner…"
Luthar walked past the gate without a word. Hestia glanced at him, then back at Bell.
"Who's Syr? You shouldn’t go with strangers!" she began, fuming.
"She’s not a stranger," Bell tried to explain, but completely failed.
Hestia stepped aside to let him in.
"I’ve told you multiple times—don’t go with beautiful girls! Now come inside so I can update your status!"
Inside, the church was quiet again. The fire crackled low in the hearth. Bell slipped off his boots and glanced toward the dark corner where Luthar had already disappeared.
He looked down at his hands. Still trembling slightly.
He clenched them, recalling the earlier embarrassment.
Later that night...
Bell sat on the edge of the bed, shirt off, his back to Hestia as she gently traced her finger down the middle of his spine.
"Still thinking about earlier?" she asked softly.
He didn’t answer.
Hestia sighed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
"You don’t have to carry it all, Bell. People say dumb things. That wolf guy? He’s always like that."
"It’s not just him," Bell whispered, staring at his clenched fists in his lap.
"Everyone looks at me like… like I’m a joke. I just… I want to be someone who can stand on his own."
His voice trembled.
"I feel like I’m completely useless. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even be an adventurer. And if Mr. Luthar hadn’t helped me yesterday, I probably would’ve died."
Hestia’s hand paused. A faint warmth pulsed beneath her fingertip—steady and growing.
She blinked, noticing the change.
He didn’t.
"I want to be like the Sword Princess… or Mr. Luthar," he continued, voice rising.
"I want to be strong and able to help the people around me."
A sudden glow lit up Bell’s back. Intricate symbols, ancient and alive, shimmered beneath Hestia’s touch. They pulsed like a heartbeat—his heartbeat.
Her breath caught.
"Bell…"
He blinked, turning slightly.
"Did something happen?"
Hestia hesitated.
"Nothing," she said carefully.
"Let me just copy your status first. Can you stay still for a bit?"
She retrieved a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill from the nearby desk, her heart pounding. Sitting down, she began transcribing Bell’s current stats—but when she reached the skill section, her hand trembled.
The name glowed on his back with divine weight:
[Realis Phrase]
A skill that evolves with desire. Grows stronger the more he longs to reach someone.
She glanced back at Bell, who was sitting quietly, still watching his hands.
"…Hestia?"
"I-it’s nothing," she said, forcing a smile.
"All done. You’ve grown stronger again."
She folded the status paper, keeping the skill portion covered with her hand. It wasn’t the right time—not yet.
"You really want to protect everyone, huh?" she whispered, eyes soft.
Bell nodded, unaware.
"Yeah."
Hestia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind.
"Then just keep chasing that dream. One step at a time."
He closed his eyes, leaning back slightly. For once, the shaking in his hands had stopped.
When he finally fell asleep, Hestia remained seated near the bed, staring down at the copied status in her lap. Her fingers hovered over the words.
"...[Realis Phrase]," she murmured.
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