Chapter 48: What She Deserved, What She Was Denied

The living room of Heart Manor felt warm and lived-in, touched by the soft afternoon light streaming through gauzy curtains. Felis set a tray down on the low table, steam curling up from the teapot. The scent of lemon balm and mint filled the room—refreshing, grounding.

Riveria and Ais sat comfortably on the long couch, posture poised but at ease. Hestia curled into the adjacent armchair, towel still in hand from the garden, while Felis settled across from them with casual grace.

"I wasn't expecting tea service," Riveria said, accepting a cup with a nod. "But it's appreciated."

"We don't get many high-rank visitors," Felis replied with a slight smirk. "Well—unless you count the goddess lounging in my chair."

Hestia bumped his leg with her foot. "Hush, cat."

Ais accepted her tea with both hands. "It smells nice."

"From the garden," Hestia said proudly. "We're still figuring out what survives Orario weather."

"My goddess thinks if she talks to it every day, it'll grow splendidly," Felis murmured, before adding, "which may have been… optimistic."

A light chuckle passed between them, softening the atmosphere further.

Riveria set her cup down gently. "We didn't come just for pleasantries."

His tone stayed even. "Of course."

Her gaze lingered. "The girl you escorted on the 17th floor… I heard she's now your Familia member."

"Yes. Well, maybe you've already heard what happened to her Familia," he replied. "A lot happened, and now... she's one of us."

"I did hear in Rivira. That her Familia was wiped out on the 19th floor, and she's the only survivor." Riveria's voice held steady. "A tragic event."

Felis exhaled slowly. "That's how the Dungeon is. No matter how comfortable it might seem… it's still a dangerous place."

He met her eyes, gold calm and unflinching. "So, does that satisfy your curiosity, Riveria-san?"

She nodded. "It does. I appreciate your patience in answering it. But… we came largely because Ais wants to ask you something."

Felis tilted his head. "I think I know what it is—but it's better I hear it from her. I promise I'll listen… but my answer will depend on my judgment. Is that okay?"

"That's more than enough." Riveria's tone softened. "I'm grateful you're willing to speak openly."

Ais looked up, hesitating only slightly. "I heard… seventeen days ago, you reached Level Two. And it's only been forty-three days since you became an adventurer."

She paused, searching the air for a better way to phrase it. But in the end, she simply asked, "How?"

He didn't answer right away.

His eyes lost focus—not on the girl before him, but the one etched in his memories.

A girl who despaired at the sight of losing her family.

Who held back her tears, swallowed her screams, and grit her teeth just to grow stronger.

Who always kept her head high in the face of danger—as long as it meant moving forward.

He closed his eyes, then turned to Hestia.

"Can I?"

She met his gaze and smiled warmly. "I'll always support whatever you decide."

He turned back, voice quieter now. "Can you swear, on the honor of Goddess Loki, that you won't share anything I say—without my permission? Not even to your goddess."

"I swear," Ais said, without hesitation.

Riveria gave her a brief, motherly glance, then nodded solemnly. "I swear I won't tell anyone without your consent."

A slow breath escaped him as the tension eased from his shoulders.

"My Falna has two skills. One of them is called Libertas Aeternum." His eyes lingered on the steam rising from his teacup. "It makes me immune to abnormal status—poison, curses, anything like that. But more than that… it means nothing outside of me can limit my growth. No external factor can hold me back."

Ais' fingers adjusted subtly on the cup—gentle, but no longer relaxed.

'No restrictions… not even the gods?'

Felis went on, voice steady. "And the other, Numen Aquae, is always active. It helps me heal minor injuries and fatigue constantly, as long as I have mana. Healing spells also work better, cost less. I also gained a water affinity—so I'm more resistant to water-based attacks, or magic tied to it."

She didn't move, but a faint pressure rose in her chest.

'He doesn't even hesitate… he can just keep moving forward.'

He set the cup down, letting his fingertips linger against the ceramic a moment longer than needed.

"With these, I can fight more daringly. I can challenge myself, make more mistakes and still recover. It doesn't mean I stop bleeding or falling down… it just gives me a better chance to stand up again."

Ais' breath caught, slow and deliberate.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected—but it wasn't this.

He met her eyes now, soft but certain. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you were hoping for. But… this is it. There's nothing here that can help you."

No protest left her lips. Her body stayed still, composed—but something quiet inside dimmed.

'Even now… I can't reach it.'

Riveria reached over and gently squeezed her hand, grounding her.

That was as far as Ais' thoughts reached.

Felis lowered his gaze.

What Ais needed was something different entirely. Something like Liaris Freese, or Narissa's Fulgor Familiae.

But he didn't know how to give her that.

Why hadn't the world answered her yet?

Someone so desperate… so worthy.

And still—nothing.

This world… was truly cruel to her.

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He watched her a moment longer—and the longer he did, the more it ached.

She sat quietly, the light shifting against her face, her expression steady but fraying at the edges. Her knuckles had paled against the cup. Her eyes held no anger—only quiet resignation.

She had hoped—deeply, silently—that this would be the answer.

That maybe, finally, something would break the silence.

But the world hadn't answered.

Not when her Family fell.

Not when she bled for strength.

Not even now.

And he could do nothing but witness it.

'Why?'

The thought coiled bitterly in his chest.

Why had the world gifted something like Liaris Freese to Bell—so easily, so freely—just because he loved someone?

While Ais, who had suffered in silence for years, was met with nothing?

A breath hitched in his throat, unvoiced.

Then, quietly, Felis rose.

No words. No parting look.

He simply turned and walked out, his footsteps soft against the wood as he passed through the hall.

Past the quiet kitchen. Past the hum of the main rooms.

Until he reached the staircase tucked behind a wooden door, slipped through, and descended.

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Riveria watched the him for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Not confusion. Not judgment. Just quiet understanding.

But her focus returned to Ais.

The girl remained still, her expression barely changed—but her silence spoke volumes.

Riveria reached over again, gently brushing a lock of hair from Ais' cheek.

A gesture that said, I'm here. Even when the world isn't.

Then Hestia stood.

She glanced toward the basement door, then back at the two still on the couch.

"You can stay here as long as you want," she said softly. "There are plenty of empty rooms upstairs. Just rest, alright?"

The rustle of her dress was the only sound as she turned.

"I need to check on him."

And she followed—leaving the quiet living room behind.

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The soft scent of earth still clung to Felis—soil beneath his nails, leaves brushing his sleeves. He hadn't even changed out of his gardening clothes, just sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed low.

The basement felt unusually cold.

Hestia stepped in quietly, each step featherlight.

She wordlessly climbed onto the bed behind him, her small knees sinking into the mattress. She leaned forward and gently wrapped her arms around his shoulders, tugging him into her embrace.

He didn't resist.

Felis turned slightly, eyes dull with something unspoken, and simply held her back—his arms slipping around her waist as if anchoring himself.

No teasing.

No playful remark.

Just quiet.

Just hurt.

Hestia said nothing, letting his head rest against her chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breath. It wasn't often he looked like this. No… she couldn't remember a time he ever had.

Minutes passed like that, held close in silence.

Then, muffled against her:

"…Hestia," he murmured. "Skills… they're born from the soul, right? Shaped by feelings, wishes, who we are inside."

She blinked. "That's… right. When an adventurer's heart burns strong enough, the Falna answers."

"Then why…" His voice cracked, just barely. "Why hasn't it answered her?"

Hestia froze.

He continued, voice soft, almost pained. "She's fought… longer than I have. Harder than most ever could. That girl walks the line between life and death every day, chasing something no one else sees. And she doesn't stop. Not even when she's bleeding or broken. Isn't that enough?"

He pressed his hand to his chest. "And yet… the Falna stayed silent. Not a single Skill. Not one thing to help her grow faster. Stronger. Nothing that recognizes how far she's come."

He tilted his head slightly toward Hestia's collarbone, brows furrowed.

"…Was her soul not loud enough?"

If this were just a story, he could've dismissed it—chalked it up to bad writing, plot convenience. But seeing her like this… not as a character, but a person—

—it made the world's cruelty feel real. And it made him angry.

She wasn't a trophy. She was trying. Fighting. Bleeding. And still being denied.

Why?

Hestia held him tighter.

Because what answer could she give?

"…Maybe it's not that her soul isn't loud enough."

Hestia's voice trembled at the edges.

"…Maybe it's that what she wants… hurts too much to shape into a Skill."

She rested her chin lightly on his head.

"The Falna listens to the soul. It answers when something deep inside you cries out loud enough to shape it. But some wishes… they're too raw. Too tangled in grief and guilt and silence to take form. Not yet."

Her arms folded tighter around him.

"And… maybe no one—not even the gods—can help with that. Not directly. All we can do is stay close… until something inside them finally breaks through."

Hestia held him quietly for a long moment, his breath warm against her neck, arms wrapped around her like the last thread of composure he still clung to.

She let the silence stretch, let the ache in his heart speak through every trembling sigh he hadn't voiced aloud.

Then, finally, her fingers brushed through his hair. Softly.

"…You're so kind," she whispered. "Too kind for your own good sometimes."

She pulled back just enough to look at him—not just his face, but the way his shoulders curled inward, like he was trying to shield something fragile inside.

"You carry other people's pain like it's your own. You grieve for the unfairness someone else suffered… and still try to search for an answer."

Her voice thickened, tender and firm.

"But maybe… it's not time yet. Maybe the world hasn't answered her because it's still waiting."

Her hand settled on his cheek.

"And I know it hurts, not being able to help her right now. But that doesn't mean it'll stay that way."

She leaned in, her forehead resting against his.

"This world is unfair. Cruel, cold, silent when it shouldn't be. But I believe in you, Felis. I believe you wouldn't let it stay that way."

Her hands found his once more, fingers intertwining.

"So be strong. Strong enough to make the world listen to your disappointment. To your rage. Strong enough to shake it awake."

She swallowed, voice soft and certain.

"Strong enough to help her make the world realize there's someone worth listening to. Someone worthy of its attention."

Her smile trembled, but didn't fade. A single line of his Skill flashed in her mind, but she kept it to herself—afraid it would only burden him.

'…Libertas Aeternum. A soul the world can't chain.'

"Maybe… that's why you're the one who can help her."

"Because if anyone can do that… it's you."

Felis didn't say anything at first.

His fingers gripped hers just a little tighter.

Not in desperation.

Not in pain.

But in something quieter… something more enduring.

His arms slowly wrapped around her again—not clinging, just holding her close, as if anchoring himself to something he knew would never waver.

And Hestia let him. Let the stillness stretch out between them, unbroken, unhurried. Her hands rested at his back, warm and steady, her heartbeat a calm rhythm against his ear.

The world could wait.

Even his questions could wait.

Right now, there was just the soft glow of the lantern, the quiet hush of breath and warmth and skin, and the faint smell of earth still clinging to his hair from the garden.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. Neither moved.

Until finally, with a sigh that melted into her collarbone, Felis murmured something too quiet to catch—but Hestia only smiled, brushing his ear gently with her fingers as if to say, You don't need to say it.

They stayed like that a little longer.

Two souls, one divine, one mortal—both wounded in different ways. But together, mending.

And for now… that was enough.

The silence lingered—then slowly, Felis nodded against her. Once.

Not all pain could be healed in a moment.

But some things could still be carried.

And maybe… that was enough, for now.

The light from the basement flickered once before dimming— and upstairs, footsteps waited in the stillness.

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Riveria sipped her tea with a calm that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Ais sat beside her, posture perfect, hands folded in her lap. Still. Too still. Like she was waiting for something—but didn't know what.

The hearth crackled softly in the corner. Daylight filtered through the curtains in faint beams.

Then came soft footsteps down the stairs.

Felis.

He didn't announce himself. Just entered the room, his gardening clothes now traded for his usual attire, but the tiredness hadn't left his eyes.

Golden eyes swept the room, landing on Ais—and for a fraction of a second, something faltered in his expression.

Then the smile came. Small. Gentle. Measured.

"Sorry I made you wait," he said quietly, stepping forward.

He sat across her—and the silence returned like a breath held too long.

But Felis' mind wasn't quiet.

'It doesn't make sense.'

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Perfectly still. Like a statue carved from grief and determination. Every inch of her composed, as if cracking would make her shatter.

'She's done everything right. Fought, endured, carried the weight of her past like armor. And yet… nothing.'

A soft exhale escaped him. The fire crackled, warm but distant.

'Is it… me?'

That thought came quiet. Unexpected.

'Am I the one standing in the way of that moment? Of fate nudging Bell forward like it did in that world?'

He frowned, eyes lowering slightly.

'Back then, it was a Minotaur that started it. A monster that should never have crossed his path—but did.'

His hand curled faintly into a fist.

'But this time… Bell's with me. Or Narissa. Always near someone strong. And Freya…'

His golden eyes narrowed.

'She hasn't made a move. Not one. As if she's waiting. Or hesitating. Because I'm here? Because Narissa's presence changes the script?'

He shook his head, barely.

'What if I stepped away? Just for a little while. Gave fate room to breathe. Would that push Bell forward? Would Freya act? Would the "story" try to realign itself?'

A beat of silence.

Then he scoffed softly—not bitterly, but with the weary exhale of someone who knew the question had already answered itself.

'No. What am I doing, putting all my hopes on that? On fate? On a story I only thought I understood?'

His gaze shifted—barely, but enough—to Ais.

Still unmoving. Still silent.

'She's right here. And I… I've been wasting time chasing ghosts of a story that doesn't even belong to me.'

The memory of Hestia's voice flickered in his mind.

"Then grow stronger. Strong enough that even fate can't ignore you."

His tail stilled. His breathing settled.

'It's been a while since I've gone to the dungeon for me. Since Frost Moon… it's all been for Narissa. For Bell. For others. And I don't regret that, not even for a second… but I've let myself stagnate.'

His eyes flared faintly—gold catching the firelight.

'Maybe it's time I reminded the world who I really am.'

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"You're going to break something sitting that stiff."

Felis' voice was soft—almost teasing, but never cruel. The corner of his mouth lifted, not in mockery, but in something gentler. A thread of warmth pulled through the quiet.

"Or maybe…" he continued, settling back in his seat, "you're just trying to become a statue until the answer comes to you, huh?"

The fire crackled between them. Light flickered over golden eyes, over her still frame. He didn't push, didn't press.

"I don't know how to give you what you need right now, Ais."

His voice didn't shake. It didn't rise. It just was—steady, like a tether in still water.

"But… if standing still is hurting, then maybe walking beside someone isn't so bad."

He glanced toward Riveria for the briefest moment—acknowledging the woman who had always stood beside her—and then back again.

"You don't have to carry everything alone. Not today."

"I… don't know how to stop."

The words barely left her lips. A breath, more than a voice. But once spoken, the silence changed.

Ais didn't look at him. She didn't need to. He wasn't pushing. Just… letting the quiet settle again.

But that didn't still her thoughts.

'Why does it feel like I'm the only one stuck?'

Her gaze dropped to her hands. Still. Too still.

'Riveria's been with me from the beginning. She's guided me. Helped me hold myself together when everything else was falling apart.'

Her fingers curled faintly around Riveria's.

'I've had more than most ever get. A mentor. A Familia. Support. And still… nothing.'

She exhaled, slow and barely audible.

'I should be stronger. I've chased this for years. I've bled for it. And yet… I can't break through.'

She wasn't thinking about Felis—not really. His words only stirred what had already been gnawing inside her.

It's not just about power. It's something deeper.

'Something I can't touch. Like there's a part of me still locked away.'

A soft ache welled in her chest.

She didn't lift her head. But her hand tightened—just a little—around Riveria's.

Not seeking comfort.

Just… grounding herself.

Because right now, she didn't need promises. She didn't need fate.

She just needed to feel like she wasn't falling alone.

A soft shift of cloth.

Riveria set her teacup down with deliberate care, the quiet clink drawing both Ais' and Felis' attention without demanding it.

"I've watched you grow," she said, her voice low but certain. "Since the day we found you in the snow."

Ais didn't look up—but she listened.

"You were a child carrying grief no one should bear. And even then, you stood back up. Again and again." Riveria's gaze never left her. "That strength didn't come from a Skill. It came from you."

The silence deepened—not heavy, but steady. Like the pause before a heartbeat.

"You're not broken, Ais. You're searching. And sometimes… that takes longer than we want it to."

Ais' fingers trembled slightly in hers.

Riveria didn't squeeze. She didn't need to.

Just being there—solid, unwavering—was enough.

"And no matter how long it takes," she added, softer now, "you won't walk that path alone."

Ais didn't speak.

But her eyes dropped—not in shame, not quite. More like a quiet unspooling, a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding for years.

Riveria's words echoed in the stillness, soft yet steady, and something in Ais' chest shifted. Not enough to name. Not enough to lift the weight. But enough to feel it.

Her gaze fell to her hands. Callused fingers curled slightly inward.

They had always reached forward—toward strength, toward vengeance. But had she ever reached back? To the ones who stayed? Who waited? Who carried her in ways she never saw?

Her throat tightened.

No tears. Not yet. But the heat behind her eyes was different this time. Less of grief. More of realization.

She didn't look at Riveria. Or at Felis.

But the stillness in her frame softened. Shoulders eased. Jaw unclenched. A breath passed through her lips, barely audible, but real.

And for the first time since she entered the room… she looked not toward the fire, but into it.

Not for answers.

Just to feel the warmth.

A soft laugh slipped from Felis—quiet, almost self-deprecating.

"…Now I really don't know how to help you."

The words weren't cold. Just honest.

He stood, brushing invisible dust from his pants with a casualness that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"So after today… I've decided to go back to the dungeon. Earnestly. No more half-measures or detours."

His gaze drifted—not to Ais, not to Riveria, but somewhere distant. Past the hearth. Past the walls.

"Maybe if I see more… if I stand somewhere farther than I've ever gone… I'll finally understand something I've been missing."

He turned then, as if ready to go—but Riveria's voice, calm and curious, stopped him.

"…Why?"

He paused.

"You don't owe her anything," she continued. "You barely know each other. So why go so far?"

For a moment, he didn't answer.

Then he smiled—just barely. Not bitter. Not bright. Something in between.

"It's not about Ais."

His voice was quiet. Measured.

"I think… I've been chasing an answer. Not just for her, or for Bell, or Narissa. For me."

He didn't explain further. Didn't need to.

But inside, the thoughts stirred like coals under ash.

'Is my disappointment in the world really justified? Was I wrong to accuse it of being heartless? Cruel? Was my anger fair—or just convenient?'

A breath.

'I called the world cold. But maybe… I stopped giving it a chance to prove me wrong.'

Felis didn't wait for agreement. Or understanding.

He just inclined his head politely—almost formally—and stepped away from the firelight.

Boots soft against the floor. Tail low but steady.

And then, without another word… he left.

The door didn't slam. It clicked gently shut, as if even his exit refused to disturb the quiet they'd built.

Silence lingered.

Not empty.

Not heavy.

Just… settling.

Riveria reached again for her tea—though it had long gone cold.

She didn't drink.

Instead, her gaze remained on the door he'd passed through.

"…He's not what I expected," she said softly.

Ais stirred faintly beside her, eyes flickering to the side.

Riveria continued, her voice thoughtful. Not judgmental. Merely observing.

"He's perceptive. Wounded, but not aimless. Carries himself like someone used to being underestimated… and uses it."

Her eyes lowered slightly.

"But there's more than just calculation in him. A kind of quiet… defiance. Against the world. Against the way things are."

She paused, then added, quieter still—

"People like that can be dangerous."

Ais tilted her head just slightly. Listening. Processing.

"…But they can also be the ones who change everything."

Riveria finally set her cup down.

"Whether he knows it yet or not… Felis isn't just searching for answers."

She glanced at Ais.

"He's daring the world to give him one he'll believe in."

The fire crackled again.

And this time, the warmth felt just a little closer.