The Hostess of Fertility was a cacophony of clashing mugs, raucous laughter, and the savory, heavy scent of roasted meats and aged ale.
It was the kind of establishment that held the pulse of Orario within its stone walls...a neutral ground where the exhaustion of the Dungeon was washed away by the barrel.
Draco sat in a booth toward the back, his posture relaxed but his eyes never truly idle.
The bell above the door chimed, a thin, silver sound that struggled to compete with the roar of the crowd.
Bell Cranel stepped inside.
He looked like a lost lamb in a storm, his white hair messy and his large, ruby-colored eyes darting around with a mixture of awe and intimidation.
He was small, frail-looking, and carried the unmistakable scent of a rookie who hadn't yet learned how to scrub the iron-tang of monster blood from his skin.
Draco watched the boy's eyes wander.
They lingered on the waitresses…..hard-working, women who navigated the crowded floor.
Bell seemed paralyzed by the sheer scale of the place until a shadow detached itself from the pillar behind him.
Syr, with her playful smile and calculating eyes, snuck up behind the boy.
With a mischievous glint, she extended a finger and poked him sharply in the side.
Bell jumped nearly a foot into the air, a strangled yelp escaping his throat.
He spun around, face flushing a deep crimson, but his shoulders slumped in visible relief the moment he realized it was Syr.
The two exchanged a few hurried words...Bell looking bashful and helpless, Syr looking like a cat that had successfully cornered a particularly interesting mouse.
Without giving him much choice, she grabbed his sleeve and steered him toward the long, L-shaped counter that dominated the room.
She deposited him in the crook of the building, a small corner seat at the very end of the bar.
It was a good spot; the wall was flush against his back, and because of the angle, there was no room for any other patron to sit beside him.
He was effectively isolated, only facing the Mistress of the house, Mia Grand, who was busy thumping heavy mugs of ale onto the wood.
"Hey, why are you staring at that child so intently?"
The voice to Draco's left was smooth but carried a razor-sharp edge of amusement.
Aasterinian leaned back, her blue scales catching the amber light of the lighting.
She had been picking at her meal with boredom, but Draco's redirected focus piqued her interest.
She followed his gaze to a white-haired boy, who was currently trying to make himself as small as possible.
Draco didn't look away immediately.
"He is an interesting kid," he answered.
Aasterinian tilted her head, her pupils narrowing.
"Interesting? He looks like he'd collapse if a goblin sneezed in his direction" Aasterinian said, but Draco said no more.
He knew better than to try and deceive a deity.
Deities possessed an innate sense for the ripples caused by a mortal lie.
Denying his interest would be futile, but explaining the 'why'....would only lead to a web of explanations he wasn't ready to weave.
Lying to the two goddesses at his side would be a breach of a bond he valued greatly.
To his right, Bahamut who had listened to their conversation, looked up from her plate.
She briefly scanned the pub before her eyes landed on Bell.
A flicker of recognition crossed her face.
"Isn't that Hestia's kid?" Bahamut said, her tone shifting from boredom to mild surprise.
Aasterinian's eyebrows shot up.
"You know him? The mystery deepens."
She looked between Draco and Bahamut, her curiosity now fully ignited.
'Draco seems interested, that suspicious girl called Syr is hovering around him, and now Bahamut recognizes him too? This boy must be special' Aasterinian mused.
"Hmm. Hestia came to brag about him some time ago," Bahamut replied, taking a slow sip of her fruit wine.
"She was quite insistent. Said she finally found a soul that wasn't tainted. I didn't think much of it at the time. She's always been… prone to exaggeration."
"I see," Aasterinian muttered.
She hadn't been close with Hestia back in the Heavens, but she remembered the goddess of the hearth well enough.
At the counter, Bell Cranel was failing miserably at being inconspicuous.
He kept stealing glances toward their table, his eyes wide.
It was clear he had never seen a dragon goddess or dragon-kin before, so he was curious.
After several attempts at sneaky glances, Bell felt three pairs of cold, vertical reptilian pupils lock onto him simultaneously.
The poor boy visibly shuddered.
It was as if a physical weight had dropped onto his shoulders.
He whipped his head back toward the counter so fast his neck likely protested, his face going pale.
"Who are they?" Bell whispered, his voice trembling so much that his heart seemed to be hammering against his ribs in an attempt to escape.
Syr appeared at his elbow, sliding a steaming plate of pasta in front of him.
She had a keen ear, and the boy's panicked muttering hadn't escaped her.
"Oh, you seem interested in Draco," she said, her voice a lyrical tease.
"Draco?" Bell repeated the name as if it were a forbidden incantation.
"Yes. The one you were peeking at is Draco, Captain of the Bahamut Familia."
Syr leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that nevertheless carried. "Others know him as the Monster of Orario. Surely you've heard the ghost stories, Bell?"
Bell's face went through a rapid succession of colors.
He had indeed heard the stories.
While the 'Sword Princess' Ais Wallenstein was the current idol of the city, the older adventurers still spoke in hushed tones about the man who had erased an entire district.
They said he was more beast than man, that his rage could level a city block.
'Good thing I didn't stare too long,' Bell thought, his hands gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned as white as his hair.
He tried to focus on his pasta, but the gaze of the Monster felt like a storm front humming at his back.
Syr continued her impromptu lesson.
"The one to Draco's right is Lady Bahamut herself, and to his left is Lady Aasterinian. They aren't exactly the types you want to be on bad terms with." Syr warned.
Draco, sensing the boy's distress, finally looked away, focusing back on his own plate.
He didn't need to stare to keep watch; his enhanced senses picked up the vibration of every footstep and the cadence of every whisper in the room.
He could hear the heavy thud of Mia's footsteps, the clinking of Syr's tips, and the racing pulse of the boy in the corner.
Bahamut and Aasterinian, sensing the conversation had moved on, signaled for Anya.
The ditsy cat-person waitress bounded over, and they ordered several more rounds of the pub's signature fruit wine.
It was expensive.
The Hostess of Fertility was notorious for its prices…..but Draco had the Valis to spare.
He had come prepared to spend thousands, a small price for a peaceful night out.
But peace in Orario was a fleeting thing.
Draco's fork paused halfway to his mouth.
His ears twitched.
Footsteps, and a chaotic blend of familiar voices were approaching the pub entrance.
He felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
The double doors didn't just open; they were practically thrown back on their hinges.
Around ten individuals marched in with the confidence of conquerors.
They didn't need to look for a table; the largest in the pub had been reserved for them.
The Loki Familia had arrived.
The energy in the room shifted instantly.
It was as if the air had become pressurized.
Draco's sharp eyes tracked them all: their patron goddess Loki, Finn, Riveria, Gareth, Lefiya, the Amazon twins Tiona and Tione, and the surly werewolf Bete Loga.
And there, walking like a ghost amidst the noise, was Ais Wallenstein.
Not long after his entourage had entered the pub, Bahamut and Aasterinian had suppressed their divine auras, seeming no different from a mortal, at least in presence.
Draco too had done the same, to ease the other pub patrons.
So it was hard for the Loki familia to spot them in their little corner of the pub.
"Geh. Loki," Bahamut hissed under her breath.
She slumped slightly in her seat, her expression souring.
To Bahamut, Loki was a headache wrapped in a loud, red-haired package.
Any encounter between the two usually ended in a shouting match, so Bahamut didn't let her presence be known.
Aasterinian on the other hand merely watched, unbothered but observant.
The pub, which had momentarily fallen silent at the sheer prestige of the newcomers, soon exploded back into life.
"Whoa! Are they royalty?" a young adventurer whispered to his companion at a nearby table.
"Better. Look at the emblems, kid. That's the Loki Familia," the older man replied, his voice thick with caution.
The whispers spread like wildfire.
Giant-killers.
First-class stars.
Is that the Sword Princess?
Gareth slammed a fist onto the table, standing up with a grin that could have split a mountain. "Yaaass! Great day out there in the Dungeon today, people! Time to cut loose! Drink up!"
The Loki Familia cheered, a wall of sound that drowned out everything else.
They began to feast with a ferocity that matched their combat prowess.
Mugs clattered, food vanished, and the air filled with the boastful tales of their recent expedition.
Ais, however, remained a pocket of stillness in the center of the storm.
She sat with a small plate in front of her, her expression unreadable.
Syr leaned over the counter toward Bell, who was staring at Ais with his heart in his eyes.
"Loki Familia members are regulars here," she whispered.
"Lady Loki herself seems to have a fondness for our cooking."
Bell looked as though he had been told he was sitting in the middle of a miracle.
To him, this wasn't just a pub anymore; it was a sanctuary where he could breathe the same air as his idol.
Draco, observing from the shadows, could practically read the boy's thoughts: If I come here every day, maybe I'll get to talk to her.
It was a sweet, naive dream.
One that Orario usually took great pleasure in crushing.
And the crushing began sooner than expected.
The boisterous atmosphere at the Loki table took a sharp, jagged turn.
Bete, already several drinks in, slammed his mug down and leaned back, his eyes scanning his comrades.
"Oh right, Ais!" Bete barked, his voice cutting through the general din like a saw through bone. "Can you tell us that one story again?"
Ais blinked, her golden eyes drifting toward the werewolf.
"That one story…?"
Bete's grin was cruel, fueled by alcohol and a natural disdain for the weak.
"You know the one! About those Minotaurs that got away on the upper floors!"
The table went quiet for a heartbeat.
"Remember?" Bete continued, his voice rising so the entire pub could hear.
"You finished off the last one on the fifth floor, and the kid was standing there, shaking like a leaf, covered head to toe in monster blood. What did we call him again? Oh, right!"
Bete threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, jagged sound.
"Tomato boy!"
A/N: Hello readers, just so you know, I will be focusing a.... little bit on Bell.
Just until the other members of the Bahamut familia return from their expedition.
It will not all be direct, but through Draco's observation, as he reconnects with friends and acquaintances on the side.