The world before his eyes spun like a mill wheel torn from its hinges. A piercing, incessant ringing filled his ears, and a nauseating lump rose in his throat. Magical exhaustion—or "Mind Down," as the locals called it—turned out to be more than just a metaphor. It felt as if someone had scraped the inside of his skull with a rusty spoon.
"Rane! Rane! Just don't die! Please, look at me!"
He was being shaken mercilessly. The youth struggled to focus his blurry vision. Looming right above him, blocking out the sky, was Hestia's tear-stained face. Large drops rolled from her huge blue eyes, leaving clean tracks on her dirty cheeks. The Goddess was panicking as if his heart had already stopped.
Rane forced himself to take a slow, shallow breath, trying to quell the dizziness, and weakly grasped her trembling wrists.
"I'm... not dying, Goddess," his voice sounded hollow and hoarse. He squeezed out a weak, reassuring smile, trying with all his might to hide the agony tearing his nervous system apart. "I'm not hurt. Just... drained my mental reserves to the very bottom."
Hestia froze, peering into his pale face. Convinced that he really didn't have any fatal wounds, she let out a loud, strangled sob and collapsed against his chest with her entire body. Her small fists began to beat against his shoulders weakly, without any real force.
"Idiot! You're such an idiot!" she cried, burying her nose in his shirt. "Why did you rush in there alone?! You could have died! Don't you ever... do you hear me? Don't you ever scare me like that again!"
"My apologies," Rane replied quietly. He didn't have the strength for long excuses. He freed one hand and began to slowly, soothingly stroke her shuddering back until the Goddess's sobs turned into quiet, ragged breathing.
They had to descend from the ruined roof slowly. Hestia, completely ignoring the difference in their sizes, ducked under his arm, trying to become a reliable support for him with all her tiny weight. And, to Rane's surprise, her divine physiology actually allowed her to support him quite steadily.
Once on the solid cobblestones of the alley, the youth leaned against a surviving wall, catching his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the members of the Loki Familia jumped down from the roof one by one.
His attention was immediately drawn to the Sword Princess.
Aiz Wallenstein looked strange. Brushing off Loki, who was fussing around her and trying to wipe the dust off her chest (at least, that's what he chose to think), the swordswoman stared fixedly at Rane. In her usually blank, doll-like gaze, there was clear perplexity and a sort of timid uncertainty. Gently pushing a protesting Tiona aside, Aiz walked slowly toward him, as if afraid of startling him away.
As she approached, Rane allowed himself to look at her not as an adventurer, but as a young woman for the first time. The gold of her hair flowed over her shoulders, catching the light of the street lamps. Perfect facial features, as if carved from first-class porcelain, an elegant neck, fragile-looking shoulders. She had absolutely no business being on a battlefield. And yet, there she was.
Striking beauty, the old master noted to himself objectively, without unnecessary lust. The beauty of a blade forged deadly and flawless.
Meanwhile, Aiz stopped a meter away from him. Golden eyes intently studied his exhausted face. She parted her lips, gathering her thoughts.
"You..." she began, but her voice faltered, and the Sword Princess fell silent, clearly not knowing how to articulate the flurry of questions swirling in her head. She was confused by that wind. A wind that felt exactly like her own.
Seeing her confusion, Rane decided to take the initiative, ignoring his nausea. He pushed slightly away from the wall and, supported by Hestia, offered a short, respectful bow.
"Thank you for the rescue," he said with a faint, genuine smile, looking up at her. "Though, come to think of it, this is the second time you've bailed me out."
Aiz flinched. Recognition flared in her eyes.
"No... Please," she hastily shook her head and, to the great surprise of Loki watching them, also bowed in a deep, apologetic bow. "It is my Familia's fault. We let those monsters slip to the upper floors. Because of us, you almost died back then. I am sorry."
Rane blinked. He had expected to see the cold arrogance of the elite, but standing before him was a sincere girl burdened by a sense of duty. This straightforwardness commanded respect.
The youth laughed quietly, straightening up, and extended his hand to her.
"Rane. Hestia Familia. And I will definitely repay this debt to you, Lady Aiz."
The Sword Princess looked at the extended palm, then at his face. Timidly, as if doing something unfamiliar, she placed her slender fingers into his hand. And in that moment, a tiny, but incredibly warm and vibrant smile blossomed on her porcelain face.
"I'll be waiting," she replied quietly.
A strange, ringing atmosphere of mutual respect and unspoken interest hung around them. Hestia, still holding Rane's arm, and Loki, who had walked up, stood nearby. By all the laws of the genre, they should have intervened, separated them, and started hurling insults. But both Goddesses were inexplicably silent, as if mesmerized by this strange resonance between their children.
But time was running out. Rane's stomach did a traitorous flip, and black spots swam before his eyes.
"Please excuse me. We must go," he said his goodbyes abruptly, almost hastily. Carefully but firmly freeing his arm from Hestia's grip, Rane turned and walked quickly into the darkness of the alley, tossing over his shoulder: "Goddess, wait for me here for a minute!"
Turning the corner and making sure no one could see him, Rane leaned heavily against the wall. His body, ravaged by magical exhaustion and physical overload, took its toll. The youth violently threw up onto the stones. He spat out bitter bile, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
The old man in his soul refused to demonstrate such weakness in front of relative strangers, and especially in front of his impressionable Goddess. A veteran's pride is a stubborn thing.
Half an hour later, they were slowly strolling along the illuminated streets of Orario. The festival was gradually restoring its rhythm after the panic. Rane methodically sipped a cold, cloyingly sweet fruit juice bought from a street vendor through a straw. The glucose was slowly returning his brain's ability to think clearly, easing the throbbing migraine.
Hestia, walking beside him, kept casting anxious, searching glances at him.
"Rane... maybe we should just skip the rest of this festival? Let's go home, you can barely stand," she suggested yet again, squeezing his sleeve.
"Everything is fine, Goddess. The sugar is doing its job, I feel much better already," he assured her with a slight smile.
Hearing this, Hestia exhaled in relief, but her fear instantly transformed into anger.
"That idiot Ganesha!" she exploded, waving her free fist. "Who even thought of dragging such filth into the city?! Praising their cages too much, those masked morons!"
Rane stayed silent, thoughtfully swirling the juice in his cup. The ape was understandable—a typical mid-floor inhabitant. But that armored man-eating flower wouldn't leave his mind. The beast possessed monstrous durability and strength, and clearly didn't fit the category of "little animals to entertain the crowd." Did the Ganesha Familia really bring in something so dangerous that even the Sword Princess had to break a sweat? Something didn't add up here.
Chasing away these thoughts as having no answers for now, Rane turned his head.
"Goddess, what do you think of the Sword Princess?"
Hestia tripped over her own feet. Her blue eyes went wide, and her back straightened unnaturally. An alarm instantly went off in her mind, and that very smile Aiz had given her boy flashed before her eyes.
"Huh?! W-what do I think?!" she squeaked, spinning sharply toward him. Notes of panic and desperate jealousy rang in her voice. "Why do you ask?! Did that Wallen-whatever really catch your interest that much?!"
Rane, being not particularly well-versed in such romantic subtexts, took the question literally.
"A little," he answered honestly, remembering the performance she had put on earlier.
Hestia paled. Her twin tails drooped despondently, and her shoulders sagged. "I knew it... She stole him! Right from under my nose!" her inner voice howled tragically.
"It was extremely informative to observe a real battle of a high-level adventurer," the youth continued calmly, taking another sip of juice. "I gained a lot of useful information to think about."
Hestia froze. The processor in her divine head rebooted with a screech.
"Oh... So you meant her fighting..." she drawled, feeling a massive, heavy stone fall from her soul. The color of shame flooded her cheeks. "N-never mind that! I was just... yeah!"
She laughed nervously, looking away, and then guiltily lowered her head.
"I'm sorry, Rane. I'm a bad Goddess. I know almost nothing about her except rumors. I can't even help you with valuable advice or information," she clenched the hem of her dress. "I'm completely useless..."
Rane stopped. He looked up from his drink, stared at the drooping crown of her head, and without a second thought, raised his free hand.
Flick!
Two fingers struck Hestia squarely on the forehead—not hard, but noticeably.
"Ouch! What was that for?!" she protested, rubbing the bruised spot.
"For working yourself up over nothing," Rane said reproachfully. "I don't need any secret information. I've already seen everything I wanted to."
They resumed walking. Rane looked straight ahead, his voice turning serious, devoid of irony.
"Even though they call her a genius and the Sword Princess, honestly, I wasn't particularly impressed with her technique. There are plenty of openings in her movements, overly wide swings, losses of balance. From the perspective of pure swordsmanship—she's not a novice, but definitely not a 'goddess of the sword'."
Hestia blinked uncomprehendingly.
"But... she tore those monsters to pieces?"
"Exactly," Rane nodded. "What fascinated me wasn't her technique, but the power of her Level and her magic control. The techniques and combat styles I've studied are designed to compensate for the weaknesses of the human body. They teach you to use techniques against those who are stronger, to strike vulnerable points, because we don't have natural claws or armor."
He clenched his free hand into a fist, feeling the energy of the Falna pulsating beneath his skin.
"But high-level adventurers aren't human. Their bodies are weapons of mass destruction. They don't need complex techniques, because brute force, multiplied by speed and magic, breaks any defense. What I saw today made me reconsider my views. I need to stop thinking in the categories of an ordinary person and learn to use the Falna not as an addition to my skills, but as their foundation."
Hestia listened to this lecture, completely lost in the terminology. She looked so charmingly puzzled that Rane couldn't help but laugh quietly.
He tossed the empty cup into a trash bin, stepped closer, and gently but firmly took his Goddess's arm.
"Simply put: today I realized how to become truly strong," he smiled warmly.
Hestia, feeling his strong arm, instantly forgot all the complexities of martial arts. She nodded happily, pressing herself against his shoulder.
Soon they emerged onto a bustling street. The sounds of merriment, the clinking of mugs, and the appetizing smell of roasted meat drifted from a large, brightly lit two-story building. Above the entrance hung a sign depicting a crossed knife and fork against the backdrop of a plate.
Rane stopped in front of the doors of the "Hostess of Fertility."
"Our festival turned out a bit messy," he said, turning to Hestia. "But it would be endlessly sad to end this day on such a note. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to invite you to dinner, Goddess?"
Hestia's blue eyes shone brighter than any magic lanterns in Orario.
"With the greatest pleasure!" she exhaled happily.
And, without letting go of each other's arms, they stepped into the warm, noisy hall of the tavern.
***
In the twilight of a luxurious, velvet-draped bedroom, a quiet, trembling moan rang out.
A heavy, ragged sigh escaped wet, bitten lips. A woman with long, flowing silver hair writhed languidly on silk sheets. Her skin, usually pale and flawless, was now covered in thick, hot flushes of a blush. Slender fingers with a perfect manicure traced frantically along her own neck, descended to her collarbones, crumpled the thin fabric of her translucent peignoir, desperately seeking some physical outlet for the storm raging inside.
She couldn't look away.
Right in front of her, hovering in the air, glowed the wide mirror of a magic screen. The glass surface showed a ruined tiled roof, streets, and the tall figure of a black-haired youth.
But the Goddess wasn't looking at him, so to speak. Her divine, cursed eyes saw much deeper. She looked into the very essence. Into his soul.
"Ah..." another sensual exhale slipped from her lips as she pressed her thigh against the cool silk of the pillows. "What... what kind of..."
His soul shone. It wasn't just light—it was a blinding, roaring primal bonfire. An ancient, scorching flame that knew no boundaries, forged by pain and unbending will. Every time he exerted his strength there, on the screen, this flame flared brighter, as if licking her own exposed nerves. It felt as if this heat was penetrating right into her bedroom, scorching her skin, making her lower abdomen ache sweetly and agonizingly with an unbearable thirst.
Initially, her plan for this evening had been completely different.
It was supposed to be just a small, cruel prank. A test of endurance. She only wanted to unleash the beasts onto the streets to corner another. That charming, fussy boy with red eyes. It would have been the perfect gift for the other part of herself.
But those pesky flies from the Loki Familia ruined everything. They interfered, broke her toys, and ruined such a beautiful script.
Who knew that this annoying blunder would lead to such a magnificent spectacle?
The woman closed her eyes, throwing her head back. In her memory surfaced the very day she first saw the two of them together. Two children whose souls stood out in the gray mass of Orario like two diamonds in a pile of dirt.
One was crystal clear. A snow-white, innocent glow that made you want to stain it, claim it, hide it away in a golden cage. For the first time in eternity, she felt something strange—a contradiction within her own nature. Her "earthly" shadow had irrevocably fallen victim to this white purity.
But the Goddess herself... The true embodiment of beauty and desire... her gaze always returned to the second one. To this silent, stern boy with a soul blazing with an eternal, indomitable fire. She craved them both, but the favoritism was obvious. The purity evoked endearment. The flame evoked a primal, unquenchable lust.
A battle unfolded on the screen. The Goddess abruptly opened her eyes, greedily sinking her gaze into the glass.
The appearance of this disgusting mutant plant wasn't part of her plans. Neither was the Sword Princess's intervention. But what happened next...
When the black-haired youth, on the verge of exhaustion, consciously merged his will with the swordswoman's magic... His soul flared so brightly that the Goddess cried out.
"Yes!" she arched her back like a bow, digging her nails into her own thighs. Her breathing grew ragged, her chest heaving heavily. A violent tremor of ecstasy ran through her body. "More... shine even brighter for me!"
She saw how his flame embraced the foreign wind, how it subjugated it without breaking it. This power, this absolute control over his own and another's essence.
"Magnificent..." she whispered, licking her parched lips. Her silver eyes, in which mad, predatory whirlpools were currently swirling, did not leave the youth slumped on the roof. She raised a trembling hand and gently, with the tips of her fingers, stroked the cold surface of the magic screen, right where his exhausted face was displayed.
In her chest bloomed a love—sick, all-consuming, destructive. The very same love that started wars and doomed kingdoms.
"Soon," her voice broke into a wet, hoarse whisper, full of dark promise. Her fingers gripped the silk sheet tighter. "Grow, my sweet little fire. Become stronger. And when you burn so brightly that you illuminate this entire pathetic world... I will come. And I will take you for myself."
She laughed quietly, madly, into the emptiness of the luxurious bedroom, continuing to caress herself under the flickering light of another's soul-scorching power.