The corridor bore the mark of intent.
A sharp impact scarred the stone where the round had struck. Cracks spread outward from a narrow point of entry, small fragments scattered across the floor. The shot had been precise. If it had been anyone else, they might already have met their end.
Freya stood a short distance from the impact site, her eyes resting on the damaged stone with idle interest.
She reached into her pocket and drew out the device, turning it once between her fingers. It was simple. Silent. Now completely still.
Moments earlier, it had vibrated—brief and unmistakable. A warning triggered only when one of Luthar's firearms was aimed in her direction.
It was not a magical device, merely the result of an extra sensor embedded in every weapon Luthar allowed into the world.
Freya glanced back at the impact site, then at the device again.
"I suppose I should ask Luthar for a proper shield," she murmured. "It would be rather pathetic to end up back in Heaven because of a random shootout."
Beside her, Alfrigg remained rigid, one hand still half-raised as if the danger had not yet passed. The other Gulliver brother beside her had not relaxed either. None of them had.
Footsteps echoed from the far corridor.
The remaining two brothers emerged moments later. Their expressions told the story before they spoke.
"Forgive us, Lady Freya," one of them said.
"We couldn't catch the culprit," the other added. "It must have escaped after firing."
They knelt immediately, their hearts heavy with shame.
"Don't worry," Freya said softly. "He wouldn't be able to run far. If I cannot find the person, I will simply find the gun."
The brothers' shoulders tightened. Not from fear of punishment, but from something closer to failure. They had been present. They had reacted correctly. And still, the attempt had nearly succeeded.
Freya finally shifted her gaze from the ruined stone.
"I suppose I am lucky," she said. "If that had struck properly, I would already be back in Heaven."
The words landed strangely.
The brothers looked up despite themselves.
"To be clear," she continued calmly, her tone almost instructional, "there are many ways for me to return from Heaven."
She smiled faintly. "But that would have been inconvenient."
Her eyes sharpened, a cold silver light replacing her idle curiosity. In a world where mortals were meant to play the role of children or worshippers, it was rare to find a mortal soul brave enough—or broken enough—to commit the greatest taboo.
"Maybe they are only testing," she said.
The brothers exchanged glances.
Alfrigg was the first to rise, though his head remained bowed. His voice was low, vibrating with restraint.
"Lady Freya… we will scour every inch of Orario Street. We will bring you the hands that held that weapon."
"And the eyes that aimed it," Dvalinn added, his grip tightening on his weapon until the leather wrap groaned.
They were not merely angry. They were terrified. Within the hierarchy of the Freya Familia, allowing Freya to be "sent back" was the ultimate sin. Had that bullet connected, the Familia would have ceased to exist in an instant.
Freya turned toward the far end of the corridor, already moving.
"Do as you wish," she said. "I still need to attend the Denatus."
One of the brothers stepped forward before the others could stop him.
"Lady Freya," he said carefully, "you cannot."
Her steps slowed.
Not stopped. Slowed.
She looked back at him, surprise flickering for a fraction of a second before being buried beneath calm curiosity.
"Explain," she said.
"It would not be safe," he continued. "The shooter escaped. That means the threat is still active."
Another brother joined him, his voice steadier.
"It would be better if you remained here while we search for the culprit."
Freya studied them. She understood their reasoning. She simply had no intention of becoming a house cat.
She considered it briefly before speaking.
"If I remain behind closed doors after a single failed attempt," she said evenly, "everyone will assume I am afraid."
She turned fully toward them.
"They will say I was shaken. That I lack the courage to step outside."
Silence followed.
Freya stepped closer, near enough that her presence alone pressed against them.
"I am not a little girl who needs to be sheltered," she said. "I need to attend the Denatus and determine which idiot is responsible."
Alfrigg did not move aside.
Instead, he lowered his head and spoke with quiet finality.
"Lady Freya," he said, his voice steady despite the tension, "if you insist on leaving now, we will use force to stop you."
A heartbeat later, Dvalinn stepped forward as well, mirroring his brother's stance.
"We cannot allow you to be exposed to danger," he added. "If you believe we have overstepped, you may punish all four of us afterward."
Berling and Grer shifted in unison behind them, closing the corridor without drawing their weapons. It was not defiance. It was resolve.
Freya stared at them.
For a long moment, the tension balanced on a knife's edge.
Then she exhaled softly.
"…Very well."
Relief rippled through the minds of the Gulliver brothers.
Without another word, Freya turned and walked back toward her chambers. The doors sealed behind her.
The corridor did not relax.
The Gulliver brothers remained standing, posture rigid, eyes sharp. The failed assassination burned in their thoughts—not as fear, but as error. A threat had reached this far. That alone was unacceptable.
Around them, the rest of the Familia told a different story.
Several members stood frozen where they were, eyes unfocused, movements sluggish or absent altogether. The echo of the gunshot had barely registered. Their minds were elsewhere, buried beneath the weight of Freya's marriage announcement.
Their eyes were empty.
When danger appeared, they had barely reacted—not because they did not care, but because they were no longer fully present.
Alfrigg noticed immediately.
His gaze moved past his brothers and settled on the others. Irritation hardened into something colder.
"I think we should clean the house," he said quietly. "There is no need for the useless ones."
No one responded.
The words were not meant to be heard. They were meant to be weighed.
His eyes shifted to Dvalinn.
"You will remain here," Alfrigg ordered. "Guard Lady Freya. If anyone causes trouble, remove them."
Dvalinn nodded. He had expected the assignment.
Alfrigg turned away, already moving.
"Berling. Grer. With me."
They followed without hesitation.
As they advanced down the corridor, Alfrigg spoke without looking back.
"We will inform only those who can still think," he said. "As for the rest, lock them in their rooms until they regain their senses."
Inside her chamber, Freya took out her phone and sent a message to Luthar, asking whether he had any spare personal shield generators.
After a short while, a brief reply arrived, detailing the available units and the place where they were stored.
Freya set the phone down and stood. The room felt unnaturally quiet. For the first time, she found that she did not wish to remain there.
She moved to the mirror and adjusted her appearance with practiced precision. Calm expression. Composed posture. Nothing that suggested an attempted assassination had occurred.
She retrieved a thin writing slate from the desk and wrote only a few lines before setting it upright where it would be immediately noticed.
> I have gone to the church.
No need to worry.
She placed the slate at the center of the table and stepped back. Anyone who entered would understand where she had gone. More importantly, they would understand that the decision had already been made.
She activated the device on her wrist.
The space around her shifted instantly.
One moment, she stood within her sealed chamber.
The next, she was gone.
The room was empty. The doors remained closed.
Only the letter waited in silence.
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