—
Good evening to the few readers who are still here. It's been a tough time for me, and I honestly don't know if I can continue with regular updates to this fanfic. I think it's mainly because I've become so saturated with Danmachi content that I now prefer to watch or write about something else. It's like I'm subconsciously rejecting any Danmachi content.
I know it's not my writing because I have drafts from other fandoms that will never see the light of day, and I do feel like writing those.
I apologize if anyone is bothered by this, and especially if I've disappointed you, but there's not much I can do if I just don't feel like writing this. I already have a lot planned for this fanfic, including the final arcs; I just don't feel like writing THIS right now.
But I do apologize to my supporters because they gave me their money, and I couldn't do more than give them mediocre chapters.
I'm sorry.
I used that money to buy Hytale (and it really wasn't enough for much else XD).
This isn't a cancellation, it's just a heads-up that updates will be quite sporadic. I might not post a chapter for a month or two, possibly. It depends on my mood. Again, my apologies.
Thanks to Gemini for replacing my previous beta readers XD
—
Bell opened his eyes very slowly.
The light in the room bothered him at first, and he had to blink several times before focusing properly on the ceiling. His body felt heavy. When he tried to move his shoulders, the pain appeared immediately,firm and constant, like a reminder of everything that had happened.
He tried his legs. The sensation was similar. It wasn't a sharp pain, but a widespread one, like when he pushed his muscles too hard during training. It reminded him of his first days working the fields with his grandfather. It also brought back the memory of the stiffness and pain that had appeared in the days following.
He breathed carefully and looked around.
He was in his room, lying in his bed. Nothing was different, except for a chair placed next to the bed.
And sitting in that chair was Lena.
The Amazon was asleep, leaning to one side with her arms crossed and her head slumped toward her chest. The posture didn't look comfortable. She had dark shadows under her eyes and her hair was slightly disheveled, as if she had spent hours without moving from that spot. It took Bell a few seconds to process it. If she was in that state, it meant she had been watching over him.
He tried to sit up with more determination. He propped himself up on his elbows and pushed his torso up. The pain shot through his chest and arms again, forcing him to move slower than he wanted. Even so, he managed to sit on the edge of the bed.
That small movement changed the rhythm of his breathing. Lena stirred slightly in the chair, but she didn't wake up.
Bell watched her for a few more seconds. The scene felt strange to him. He remembered fragments of what had happened, scattered images, voices. Then everything became a blur. He didn't know how much time had passed since then.
He leaned slightly toward Lena and carefully extended his hand. He hesitated for an instant before touching her shoulder; he didn't want to startle her.
He grazed her arm.
And the reaction was immediate.
Lena raised her hand in a swift motion and slapped at him without even fully opening her eyes. Bell quickly pulled his hand back, dodging the blow in surprise. However, the pain flared up again, making him regret even moving.
The amazon frowned, still half-asleep, and murmured something unintelligible.
Bell couldn't help but let out a small smile.
Slowly, she seemed to be on the verge of waking, until finally, she opened her eyes.
She blinked several times, trying to focus. Her gaze moved from the wall to the bed… and stopped on him.
She froze.
Her eyes snapped wide, more than usual, as if she needed to make sure that what she was seeing was real. For a full second, she just stared. Then she rubbed both eyes hard, as if the gesture could clear her vision.
She looked at him again.
Bell was still sitting there in front of her.
"Hello…" she said, her voice still thick with sleep.
Bell held her gaze and answered calmly.
"Hello." His voice came out somewhat muffled.
The exchange was simple, almost awkward. Lena took a deep breath, as if only then was the air fully reaching her lungs. She leaned forward in the chair, studying him intently: his shoulders, his face, his posture.
"How long have you been awake?" she asked.
"Just a little while."
He tried to settle himself better on the bed. The movement tensed his muscles again, though this time he managed to hide the grimace.
Lena noticed anyway.
"Stay still," she said, more out of instinct than a real command.
Bell nodded slightly.
Lena suddenly stood up. The movement was so fast that the chair scraped against the floor.
Bell looked up at her.
The Amazon was already halfway to the door.
She grabbed the handle and pulled it open forcefully. Before stepping out completely, she looked back at him for a second, as if needing to confirm it once more. Her eyes scanned his figure and lingered on his face.
Bell held her gaze without looking away.
She nodded to herself and stepped out into the hallway.
"Hestia-sama, he's awake!" she shouted clearly, without worrying about the volume.
The echo of the announcement rang through the corridor.
Hestia, Haruhime, and Mikoto entered the room almost at the same time.
Hestia was the first to react. As soon as she saw him sitting on the bed, conscious and with his eyes open, she crossed the room in a few strides and threw herself at him without thinking.
"Bell-kun!"
She wrapped her arms around him and pressed him against her chest. The impulse was natural, without measuring strength or caution. Bell let out a low, involuntary groan as the pain in his ribs protested the contact.
Hestia pulled back immediately.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, smoothing his hair with trembling hands. "I'm being too rough."
Bell shook his head, though the gesture was small.
"I'm fine," he replied, his voice still somewhat weak. Though the reason wasn't clear, he didn't know if it was because he hadn't used his voice in a while or because he saw his Goddess so worried about him.
He suspected it was more the latter.
Haruhime remained a few steps behind, her hands clasped in front of her chest. The tension she had carried for days was evident in her shoulders. Seeing him awake, her expression changed completely. Her eyes welled up instantly.
"Bell-sama…" she murmured.
The relief on her face was undeniable. She was smiling and crying at the same time, making no effort to hide it.
Bell looked at her and then noticed a detail he hadn't seen before. Both Hestia and Haruhime had deep bags under their eyes, similar to the ones he had seen on Lena. The skin around them looked weary, as if rest had been scarce.
The only one who didn't show those signs was Mikoto.
She stayed near the door, watching him closely. Her posture was straight and firm, but her eyes also searched for signs: clarity in his gaze, stability in his breathing, coordination in his movements.
"It is good to see you conscious," she said calmly.
Bell nodded.
"Thank you."
What he didn't know was what those days had been like for them.
While he remained "unconscious," the Hestia Familia had reorganized themselves without needing much discussion. Hestia and Haruhime immediately assumed the role of watching over him. They took turns by the bed, monitoring his temperature, checking his breathing, and waiting for any change. The hours passed slowly, marked by the constant sound of his breathing and the silence of the room.
At first, they tried to stay active, talking in low voices or tidying things that were already in order. As the days went by, exhaustion began to accumulate. Sometimes one would fall asleep in the chair, her head resting on the edge of the bed. The other would cover her with a blanket without waking her up.
Lena watched that routine closely.
She took charge of something more discreet but equally important: watching over the two of them. When she noticed Hestia had spent too long without moving, she forced her to get up. If Haruhime spent hours staring fixedly at Bell, she distracted her with some small task or a simple conversation. They didn't always accept willingly, but they eventually gave in.
Even so, none of them strayed too far from the room.
It was common to see them asleep in the chair next to the bed. Sometimes they exchanged places without realizing it, moving automatically. They also tried to keep the room tidy: they changed the sheets, aired out the space, and arranged the table. It was a way to feel useful while they waited.
Lena, for her part, also began to show signs of exhaustion. She spent time accompanying one or the other so they wouldn't stay awake alone watching Bell. That same day, noticing that Hestia and Haruhime were near their limit, she offered to stay and watch alone.
They accepted more out of a lack of energy than conviction.
Mikoto took a different path.
While the other three concentrated almost all their attention on Bell, someone had to handle the rest. The mansion still needed food, cleaning, and order. Mikoto assumed those tasks without making a sound.
She got up early, prepared breakfast—even if it often went untouched—did the laundry, and went out for groceries. She checked the accounts, cleaned the hallways, and kept the place in good condition. She also stopped by Bell's room, of course, but her visits were brief. She confirmed everything was stable and then returned to her obligations.
It wasn't that she cared less.
She simply understood that if no one held up the rest, the exhaustion would end up affecting them all.
Now, gathered in front of the bed, that balance was laid bare.
Hestia approached again, this time more carefully. She sat on the edge of the bed and took Bell's hand in hers.
"You scared us," she said in a low voice.
Bell lowered his gaze for a moment.
"I'm sorry."
Haruhime approached as well, wiping away her tears with her sleeve.
"We thought… it would take you much longer," she added.
Bell noticed how her fingers squeezed the fabric of her clothes, still nervous.
Mikoto stepped forward.
"Lord Miach said that your mind needed time to recover," she explained.
Bell absorbed the information in silence. He looked at each of them in turn. The dark circles, the fatigue, the way they stayed close without moving too far away.
Hestia could no longer contain herself.
The tears began to fall more freely. She leaned toward him and hugged him again, this time with her arms encircling him gently, being careful not to exert pressure on any sensitive areas.
"My child…" she murmured between sobs.
Bell felt the tremor in her shoulders. He raised a hand with effort and placed it on his Goddess's back.
"I'm here," he said, simply.
Hestia nodded against his chest, still crying, but now without desperation. It was a cry of relief, held back for days.
Haruhime smiled through her tears. Mikoto maintained her composure, though her lips relaxed a bit at the sight.
The room, which had been silent for so long, filled with voices, breathing, and movement. The atmosphere was still heavy with weariness, but it was no longer the same as before.
Bell was awake.
It really seemed like everything was getting better.
…
It really seemed like everything was getting worse.
Ouranos had been carrying that sensation for hours, like a pressure at his temple, a constant weight that never quite turned into physical pain, but didn't disappear either. He remained seated, his back straight and his hands resting on the armrests of the stone throne, keeping his concentration fixed on a single task: containing the Dungeon.
For centuries, that had been his function.
The Dungeon was restless. It wasn't a vague perception or an intuition that was difficult to explain; the changes were clear even to someone accustomed to reading minute fluctuations of energy, provided they paid enough attention. The amount it generated had increased, and not in a gradual way. It was a sustained, constant increase, as if something in its interior had changed its rhythm.
That made the suppression more difficult.
Ouranos used his arcanum almost permanently to keep the Dungeon under control. That interference prevented its energy from overflowing toward the surface. For a long time, that labor had been stable. Exigency, yes, but predictable.
Now, not anymore.
To explain it in a simple way, the Dungeon had always been like a great living entity, aware of its existence, but submerged in a state close to sleep. It reacted to clear stimuli: intruders, grave damage, or profound alterations in its layers. When that occurred, it responded by generating monsters, modifying internal structures, or releasing defensive energy.
Without those stimuli, it remained relatively stable.
For that reason, in the layers situated below the deep floors, where no mortal or god had ever reached, it did not send monsters toward the surface in a natural way. As long as no one provoked them repeatedly, the balance was maintained and Gekai, the surface world, remained isolated from those more dangerous layers.
Ouranos was a key part of that balance.
His arcanum acted as a seal, reinforcing that separation. It didn't nullify the Dungeon, nor could it, but it did keep it contained.
The problem was that seal was weakening.
The energy that the Dungeon generated now was not only greater, it was different. It had a more active quality, less reactive. Ouranos could feel it even without going too deep into his perception. It was as if the Dungeon were adjusting, reorganizing itself internally.
As if it were waking up.
That idea, he did not like.
A truly conscious Dungeon, capable of acting on its own initiative, would be something completely different from what the gods had faced until now. History was full of crises provoked by monsters or calamities, but the Dungeon had always been a passive factor to a certain point.
A hostile environment, yes. A deliberate enemy, no.
Ouranos maintained his concentration, adjusting the pressure of his Arcanum. Each small change required additional effort. Before, it was enough to maintain a stable flow. Now he had to correct, compensate, and reinforce specific points where the energy tried to leak through.
And that was not all.
The planet was also reacting.
That was a variable that very few gods took into account, and even fewer truly understood. Ouranos did. Not because he was more powerful than others, but because he had been present when that knowledge was still relevant.
Gaia
The planet was not a simple inert body floating in the void. It was conscious. It always had been. Its existence preceded even many of the deities that now populated the sky. In its prime, its presence was overwhelming. It did not act like a god in the traditional sense, but its power rivaled that of primordial entities.
It didn't need to move, nor communicate in a direct way. Its influence manifested through the energy that circulated through the world, maintaining a profound order that went beyond the surface.
When the Dungeon appeared, all of that changed.
Its arrival altered the natural flow of the planet. Part of Gaia's energy began to divert, absorbed or interfered with by that unnatural structure. With time, Gaia weakened. Her presence became less perceptible even for the gods. Many assumed that she had disappeared or that she had never been more than an exaggerated theory.
Ouranos knew that was not so.
Gaia was still there, but in a reduced state. She conserved consciousness, although limited. Her capacity to influence the world directly had been diminished in a considerable way.
For that reason, during centuries, her releases of energy had been sporadic and soft. Weak pulses that passed almost unnoticed. Ouranos had noticed them, of course, but they had never represented a problem. They were not harmful, nor did they interfere with his labor.
Until now.
Recently, those pulses had increased in frequency and in intensity. The majority were directed toward Orario, as if something there were acting as a point of attraction. Ouranos had observed that phenomenon with caution, prepared to intervene if it were necessary.
He had not done it.
There were no signs of immediate damage. The energy was not corrosive or chaotic. Blocking it without understanding its nature would have been imprudent.
But now the situation was different.
Even in her weakened state, Gaia was releasing a massive amount of energy toward the sky. Much more than habitual. Ouranos could feel how the general balance of the world was tensing.
It seemed like a response.
The problem was that he did not know what it was responding to.
The Dungeon was increasing its activity. Gaia was releasing energy. Both phenomena were concentrated around Orario. The coincidence was too clear to ignore.
Ouranos frowned slightly.
If the Dungeon was waking up, Gaia could be reacting in an instinctive way, trying to recover control or defend the planet. But if both continued escalating at the same time, the inevitable point of conflict would be the surface.
And there were the mortals.
That was the part that concerned him the most.
The gods could afford to observe, analyze, or retire if the situation became unsustainable. The inhabitants of Gekai could not. They would live the direct consequences, without fully understanding the origin.
Ouranos adjusted his arcanum again, forcing himself to maintain the suppression. The effort was starting to take its toll. Not physically, but in terms of concentration. Maintaining an act of that level during so long was not something he could sustain indefinitely.
And even so, he could not stop.
If he lowered his guard, even for a moment, the Dungeon could take advantage of it.
His mind went over options. Intervening in a more direct way would imply risks. Informing other gods didn't guarantee a solution either. Many would not understand the gravity of the matter, and others could react in an impulsive way.
Besides, Gaia was not an entity with which one could negotiate in conventional terms.
She did not speak. She did not give clear signals. Her communication was the flow of energy itself.
Ouranos breathed deeply, maintaining the calm.
He had lived through enough eras to know that forcing precipitated answers usually made things worse. He needed time. Observation. Comprehension.
But time was precisely what seemed to be running out.
…
On the other hand, there was Freya.
Since the incident in the Dungeon with Bell, her thoughts had found no rest; they seemed like background noise she couldn't silence. Even now, in the stillness of her tower, her mind kept returning to the same point.
To Bell.
She wasn't even sure about calling him her Odr anymore.
Not because Bell was unworthy. That idea didn't even cross her mind. The problem was different, more uncomfortable to accept. She didn't feel worthy of him. Every time she reviewed what had happened, the conclusion was the same: much of the misfortune that had fallen upon Bell was linked to her.
She couldn't ignore it.
Her influence, her presence, her desires… everything had ended up pushing others to act. And the result had been Bell, wounded, dragged into a situation he should never have faced.
She still found it hard to accept what had happened with Ottar.
For a long time, she had considered him the firmest pillar of her Familia. Not only for his strength, but for his judgment. She believed she knew him better than anyone. That was why, when she learned that even he had gone against her intentions and participated in the attack against Bell, the disappointment was profound.
It wasn't just anger. It was a bitter sensation, difficult to define.
She had trusted that Ottar would know where to draw the line. That he would understand that Bell should not be treated as an obstacle or as prey. Discovering that she had been wrong forced her to rethink many things, including her own responsibility.
Because, in the end, Freya did not see the members of her Familia as individuals completely separate from herself.
They were an extension of her will.
That idea had always been there, though she rarely analyzed it with care. Her executives acted because they wanted to fulfill her desires, protect her interests, and anticipate what they believed she expected. Even if she didn't give direct orders, her mere attention could become a dangerous impulse.
And this time, that impulse had hurt Bell.
That was why she had isolated herself.
During the days Bell did not leave his house, Freya did not leave the suite at the top of the tower either. She received no visitors. She attended to no pending matters. The outside world continued its course without her, and she didn't care.
Hedin remained outside the door.
He was the only one allowed to interact with her, and even then, that contact was minimal. Brief messages. Necessary reports. Nothing more. Not because she trusted him completely, but because she needed someone to keep a certain structure functioning.
With the rest of her executives, her anger was clear.
She had not called them. She had not reprimanded them directly. She had simply pushed them aside. For Freya, that was already a form of punishment. They knew they had crossed a line.
Hedin was a different case.
She herself had asked him for an explanation regarding his intentions in accompanying Allen and the Gulliver brothers. She wanted to understand what had led him to involve himself in something that clearly went against what she wanted for Bell.
The answer had been direct.
Hedin was not there to attack Bell. His objective had been to prevent the others from losing control. He knew the situation could escalate and decided to be present to contain them as much as possible. Furthermore, he had facilitated the Renard's intervention to reinforce Bell.
That did not absolve him completely.
Freya was still upset with him for failing to stop the others. But she recognized that, within a situation that was poorly planned from the start, Hedin had tried to reduce the damage.
With Ottar, however, the wound was deeper.
But even that conflict stayed in the background compared to what truly occupied her mind.
The ideas that were accumulating were not chaotic. They were dangerously clear.
If she was the cause of Bell's misfortunes, then the solution seemed obvious: she had to stay out of his life. Permanently.
The mere possibility forced her to sit in silence for hours, analyzing every implication.
If she never saw him again, Bell could move forward without being dragged down by her influence. Without being watched, desired, or pushed by forces he didn't fully understand. He could develop at his own pace, surrounded only by those who cared for him without hidden expectations.
That idea made sense.
If she died, she would return to heaven.
Her existence in the lower world would end, and with it, all direct interference in Bell's life. From heaven, she could observe without acting. She could prepare something for the future.
Perhaps, when Bell's soul arrived after many years, she could receive him in a different way. Not as someone who had caused his suffering, but as someone who had waited patiently to offer him something else. A gift. An apology that needed no words.
The idea took shape with a disturbing logic.
She only had to walk to the balcony.
The tower was high. High enough so that there would be no doubt about the result. It required no preparation or intervention from others. It was enough to take a few steps and let herself fall.
Freya stood up from her seat more than once, thinking about doing it.
But she always stopped before reaching the door.
She wasn't afraid of the pain. It was something simpler and more shameful in her own eyes: she didn't have the courage to do it.
Letting go of the life she had built in the lower world was proving more difficult than she had anticipated. Her memories, her routines, even her errors, kept her anchored. Despite everything, she had lived there. She had felt, desired, and made decisions.
Renouncing that was not so easy.
That contradiction irritated her.
In a moment of uncomfortable lucidity, Freya let out a brief laugh. It was not joyful or bitter, just dry. An almost automatic reaction to realizing her own indecision.
Thinking that she had faced countless conflicts, manipulated wills, and challenged other gods, but now found herself paralyzed by a personal decision, seemed almost ridiculous to her.
Even so, the laughter died out quickly.
She knew she couldn't go on like this indefinitely.
Either she found a way to assume her responsibility without destroying herself in the process, or she would end up making a decision from which there would be no turning back.
For now, the only thing she could do was stay there, in silence, facing thoughts that would not leave her in peace.
…
And while the three of them were focused on their own worlds, no one paid attention to the greenish hue the sky was taking on.
Soon... they will have to take up arms under the Burning Sky.