The moon over Orario was jealous tonight.
It tried to shine brighter than me. It failed.
I sat cross-legged on the roof of Hestia's overly humble home, a blanket of summoned sakura petals drifting around me, tails curling through the night breeze like curious spirits. The city pulsed below, alive with adventure and laughter, but all I heard was the faint call of the Dungeon deep beneath.
Something stirred down there. Something old. Something watching.
But I wasn't focused on that tonight.
Because someone else was watching me first.
"You've been standing there for six minutes and fourteen seconds," I said aloud, not turning around.
Behind me, a soft, silken laugh. The kind that made mortals weak in the knees and gods mildly self-conscious.
"I was admiring the view," came the reply. Low, smooth, unapologetically smug.
"And I suppose you think that line's original."
"I don't need to be original," she said, stepping into view. "Just effective."
I finally turned.
There she was — silver-haired, violet-eyed, her beauty so aggressively divine it bordered on hostile. She didn't walk so much as glide, every movement wrapped in seduction like velvet and threat stitched together with confidence.
Freya. Goddess of Beauty. Obsession. Power. Madness. Desire.
And — apparently — curious about me.
I should've felt threatened. Or wary. Or at least mildly irritated.
Instead, I tilted my head, smirked, and said, "So. You've decided to flirt with your problems."
She sat down beside me like it was her throne, utterly unbothered by the precarious angle or the fact that she hadn't been invited.
The rooftop groaned slightly beneath her weight, or maybe just beneath the presence of two entities Orario absolutely wasn't prepared for.
"You don't belong here," she said, not quite accusing, not quite welcoming.
"I don't belong anywhere," I replied. "That's the point."
Her eyes studied me — not the way predators study prey, but the way artists study puzzles. I knew that look. It meant I interested her. It meant she was already plotting a dozen scenarios in which I could be made useful… or dangerous.
Or both.
"You're not a god," she said.
"No."
"But you're not a mortal either."
"Closer to a concept wrapped in extremely good taste."
Her lips curved. "And modest, too."
"Modesty is for beings with equals."
Freya laughed — a warm, honest laugh that I hadn't expected. She leaned back on her hands, letting her long hair cascade behind her like moonlight on silk.
"You're amusing," she said.
"High praise from a goddess."
"I don't praise often."
"No, I hear you usually collect."
At that, her eyes narrowed. "Is that what you think I do? Collect?"
"Bell Cranel might say otherwise," I said, sipping from a conjured glass of spirit wine. "But then again, he's too soft to say anything that might upset you."
"You're defensive about him."
"Protective, not possessive. He brings me snacks. That's a sacred pact."
That earned another laugh.
But then she shifted forward, face inches from mine, and the air thickened with magic and perfume. Her presence pressed against mine — warm, radiant, unrelenting. Most mortals would've passed out by now.
I didn't flinch.
If anything, I leaned closer.
"I wonder," she murmured, "what it would take to make you kneel."
"Darling," I whispered back, "if I ever kneel, it's because I decided it would be dramatic."
We sat in silence for a few moments after that — not awkward, just… weighty. The kind of silence that carried meaning on every breath.
Her charm magic pulsed gently against mine, like waves against a cliff. I could feel her trying to read me, sway me, pull me into her rhythm. Most gods needed prayers to influence mortals.
Freya just needed to exist.
And yet… it didn't work on me. Not fully.
Because I didn't want to obey.
I wanted to taste the fire behind her eyes.
"You've been interfering with the Dungeon," she said, voice finally shifting from flirt to threat.
"Incorrect. I've been existing near the Dungeon. The interference is mutual."
"Your presence has upset several balances."
"Good."
Freya stood then, slowly, letting her presence bleed across the roof like a rising tide.
"Most would find that a dangerous game," she said.
"I'm not most."
"No," she agreed. "You're something else."
I stood too.
Now we were inches apart, two forces that should not be in the same plane of existence, let alone on a creaky wooden rooftop.
I reached out — not to touch, just to let my fingers hover near her cheek.
"You're not just beautiful," I said. "You're bored. Hungry. Wound tight like a beast in a cage made of silk."
Her breath caught.
"And you," she whispered, "you're chaos in a pretty dress."
"Fluff," I corrected.
She leaned forward slightly. "Would you burn with me?"
I tilted my head. "Would you beg for it?"
Our eyes locked — violet fire against starlit gold.
Then, softly, she kissed my cheek.
Not a domination. Not a conquest.
A promise.
"I look forward to seeing what you break next, Queen," she murmured.
Then she vanished into the night, leaving behind only the scent of flowers and war.
I stood alone again.
My tails curled around me like a cloak. The wine glass refilled itself.
Far below, the Dungeon pulsed once — sharp, irritated, afraid.
Not of Freya.
Of me.
Good.
Back inside, Bell was asleep on the floor again. Sword bag still clutched like a security blanket.
Hestia was snoring upstairs, occasionally muttering curses about "tall women with hypnotic boobs."
I lay down beside the hearth and stared at the ceiling.
I was drawn to her.
Freya.
Not because of her power. Not because of her beauty. But because underneath all that perfection was something fractured. Something hungry. Something I could recognize.
She was a mirror. A dangerous one.
And mirrors?
I don't run from them.
I dress better and make them reflect twice.
The next day, Orario woke up to:
Reports of moonlight surges around the Goddess Freya's tower.Rumors of a mysterious nine-tailed woman having tea with the wind.A wanted poster titled "System Error: Do Not Provoke" pinned outside the Guild.
And somewhere in the Lower Floors, the Dungeon cracked again.
Tiny. Subtle.
But deep.
Something was waking.