It was a few days after Hela had restored the ruined church, and life in the city seemed to be smoothing itself out. Whispers about her act had spread quickly—some in awe, others in suspicion—but nothing had erupted into open hostility. Her relationship with Tessa was also blossoming quietly, a bright spot amid the chaos.

  That morning, the three siblings descended the stairs of the guild’s inn for the last time. Lokey had purchased a modest home with a smithy attached using his share of the dungeon spoils, and they were finally ready to move in. Turning the corner toward the Guildhall’s bar for breakfast, they saw him—one of the priests.

  Not just any priest, but the one who had once questioned the head priest’s judgment. He now sat beside the Guildmaster, his expression cautious yet open. When he spotted the siblings, he stood and stepped forward with surprising humility.

  “I come in peace,” he said quickly, hands raised slightly. His eyes settled on Hela. “I am here to thank you, young lady, for restoring our church. If the head priest will not give you gratitude, then it falls to me. It is my duty.”

  Hela tilted her head, studying him, then gave a simple answer.

  “Do unto others…”

  The priest blinked, repeating her words softly. “Do unto others… Is that a teaching from your God?” His brow furrowed. “They told me you twisted our holy phoenix into a cross. Is that the sign of your God?”

  “Yes, in a way,” Hela answered calmly. “It represents the cross Jesus died on. He was the Son of God, and He died on that cross for all of humanity’s sins.”

  She explained her beliefs, and the man listened in silence. His fascination was plain, his suspicion melting into wonder.

  “A God… who teaches love? Mercy?” His voice dropped, almost reverent. “Our gods speak only of wrath, chains, and punishment. They demand obedience. But yours… gives His child to die for mankind?”

  “Yes,” Hela said gently. “He was not without wrath—but it was love that defined Him, not punishment. No life is too small, no soul too lost, to be worth saving. Maybe it is the priests’ interpretation of your gods’ words that is warped. If all you teach is wrath, your followers never learn how deeply your gods might love them—if they do at all.”

  He exhaled slowly, the weight of her words settling over him. The cross she had left in the church had unsettled him days ago, but now he could no longer see it as rebellion. It was a symbol of belief—something higher, something holy.

  “Strange,” he murmured, voice trembling. “Strange… but beautiful. This world has never known such a faith.”

  “Perhaps,” Hela said softly, “but I don’t believe that entirely. My brother met a goddess who embodied love and sacrifice. She was kind. She wanted to shield him from pain and was truly happy when she knew he would survive.” Her smile was faint but steady. “This world has worthy gods. It just hasn’t been ready to hear them.”

  The two stood in silence, the Guildhall unusually hushed as nearby adventurers strained to listen. No one had heard teachings like hers before.

  The priest bowed his head—not in formality, but in genuine respect.

  “Then… I thank you,” he said quietly. “Not only for restoring our church, but for sharing this truth. Perhaps it is time I learned more—both of your God, and of how we preach for our own.”

  “I’ll share what I can,” Hela replied softly. “When you’re ready.”

  The priest returned to the Guildmaster’s side, but his gaze lingered on Hela—not with suspicion, but with budding respect.

  Lokey leaned toward his sister with a smirk. “You could have just converted a priest to Artemis’s goddess without even trying.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Artemis laughed. “I’m not sure he’d qualify as one of her chosen.”

  Hela flushed and punched Artemis lightly on the arm. “You two—stop it!”

  But even as she scolded them, a smile tugged at her lips. For the first time since all of this began, she realized her faith wasn’t just hers to carry alone. It might even change the way others saw their own.

  Lokey could hardly hide his excitement as they left the Guildhall he led them through the market district. The morning air was alive with the shouts of merchants and the clatter of carts, but he walked with purpose, turning down a narrow side street until he stopped in front of a large, two-story house.

  It was old, weathered, and in need of care, but its bones were strong. Four bedrooms, a spacious kitchen, and—what mattered most—a full smithy built into the lower floor. Lokey turned, arms spread like a showman presenting his greatest treasure.

  “This,” he said proudly, “is home.”

  Artemis whistled low. “Middle of the market? You’re serious about opening a shop? I thought that was just talk.”

  “Best place for a smithy is where the people are,” Lokey replied. “And we’ve got room for all of us.”

  Hela smiled softly, already imagining the hearth lit and the halls warm with laughter. After so much wandering, the thought of a home—their home—felt like a dream finally realized.

  The following days passed in a blur of work and growth.

  Every morning before sunrise, the three descended into the dungeon. Their levels crept higher, their techniques sharper, though progress came slower than they’d hoped. Still, each battle hardened them, their teamwork becoming second nature.

  Afternoons were for training. Lokey found an old dwarf smith named Brokk who agreed to teach him. The dwarf asked for nothing but room, board, and the promise of steady work once the forge was running again. Together, they began repairing the workshop, hammer ringing on steel until long past dusk. The old dwarf’s gruffness was a perfect match for Lokey’s, and the two could often be heard cursing at each other over the clang of hammer strikes—but it was clear they were both enjoying themselves.

  Hela and Artemis, meanwhile, studied magic under the guidance of a fiery little gnome witch named Misty. Barely three feet tall, but with a voice that could silence a tavern, she drilled them mercilessly.

  Hela adapted and learned quickly, her necromancy flowing with a quiet grace that impressed even Misty. Artemis, on the other hand, drove her mad. His fireballs were too large, too destructive, often shaking the yard with thunderous blasts.

  “Do you want to blow up your house?!” Misty screeched one afternoon as smoke drifted into the sky.

  Artemis just grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I overdid it again.”

  Lokey, watching from the doorway, muttered with a smirk, “Poor woman. He’s going to drive her insane.”

  And then there were the visits.

  At least twice a week, Brother Toby—the younger priest who had stood against his superior—came to their home. At first he came cautiously, but soon his visits grew warmer, filled with curiosity and genuine interest.

  He spent hours speaking with Hela, eager to learn about her faith. She explained how her beliefs spoke of compassion instead of wrath, forgiveness instead of endless judgment—that it was not man’s place to judge his fellow man, but God’s. Toby listened wide-eyed, his worldview reshaping with every word. His sermons began to change with this new understanding, urging his flock to look out for one another, his teachings slowly aligning with Sera’s ideals of love and sacrifice.

  Lokey often joined these talks, though his passion lay more in the myths of his own world. Over mugs of bitter tea and ale, he told Toby the old Norse tales—of Odin, Thor, and of Hela, the goddess of death who watched over lost souls.

  “She isn’t evil,” Lokey explained proudly, nodding toward his sister, “even if she looks like a mix of beauty and death. She’s the one who takes in those who don’t reach Valhalla. She cares for the forgotten dead.”

  “Remarkable…” Toby whispered. “In our world, death is always spoken of as punishment—never mercy, never honor.”

  Artemis, however, remained mostly unmoved.

  “I didn’t need gods until I met my goddess, Sera,” he said flatly one morning, crossing his arms. “I had my own strength. That’s all I ever needed. But… to be honest, the thought that she’s looking out for us makes me happy.”

  Toby didn’t argue, but his thoughtful gaze lingered, as if wondering whether the boy might be right. Sera was a lesser-known goddess, after all—perhaps she deserved more faith.

  Between dungeon dives, magical lessons, and long talks by the fire, the month passed quickly. Their home grew warmer, their bonds stronger. Hela found herself smiling more often—especially when Tessa visited. Lokey’s forge began to sing with life, earning a reputation for quality work at reasonable prices. Even Artemis seemed at peace—when he wasn’t blowing up half the yard.

  For the first time since arriving in this strange world, the siblings felt not like outsiders, but like part of something bigger. Their story was only beginning to unfold, but already the threads of destiny were weaving around them—stronger each day.

  That peace was broken one crisp evening.

  They were gathered in the workshop, laughter echoing against the stone walls, when a heavy knock sounded at the door.

  Lokey opened it to find a town guard standing stiffly in polished armor, his expression grim.

  “Master Lokey,” the guard said, voice steady but urgent. “Please—you must come with me. Lady Asra needs you.” He swallowed hard. “The baron will explain everything. Please… come quickly.”