Bell ran. A building three districts away stood frozen—but the bricks under his feet were a blur of brown. A woman flickered in his left peripheral. Gone. Another man. Dissolved into speeding lines.
A carriage. Dead ahead.
Duck.
He leaned back. Spine parallel to the floor. Sparks ignited up from his soles. Stone screamed under his heel.
Bell slid between its wheels—hair whipping against wood, dust raking across his cheek—
And the carriage was already vanishing behind him.
Turn.
The corner of a building appeared and was already past him before his arm could swing for balance. His hand swept through the space where brick had been a heartbeat ago—nothing but air.
His body couldn't keep up. Three seconds ago a carriage had nearly split him. Two seconds ago stone had screamed under his heels. Now he was here. His shins were still processing the shock of there.
The blur ahead focused into stairs. He didn't climb—he charged through, each step a single beat under his feet, staircase just a rhythm.
At the top: An Onsen. A plaza. Babel in the distance, not moving.
And Bell became a still point. The plaza rushed toward him. A fountain in the center slid forward to get out of his way. Orario shifted around him.
He twisted and rolled.
Past the plaza. Past the fountain. Onsen doors filled his vision—wood, steam, the smell of shampoo—
He hit them shoulder-first.
Wood exploded inward. A cloud of steam swallowed him. His feet left the floor, and he was airborne inside a room he couldn't see, hands grasping at nothing.
Tiles.
His palms hit them first. Then his knees. Then his chest. Stone screamed under his nails as he dragged them across the surface, looking for anything to grab—and found a solid rock, fingers wrapping around it, muscles straining, body still sliding—
Stop.
He stopped.
An inch from a hot spring.
Silence.
Steam drifted across his shoulders.
An old man in the water blinked at him, soap resting on his head.
Another lowered his towel slowly.
A third continued scrubbing his back, apparently unbothered.
Bell's fingers were still locked on the spring's edge.
He rose slowly, ribs letting out low cracks.
The old man with soap resting on his head turned toward Bell and spoke.
"Child, why did you crash in with such force? You could've gotten hurt."
A faint furrow at that old man's brow suggested worry.
"Ahem... I was just really eager for a bath, as you can see." Bell gestured to his tangled, dusty hair, a smudge of dirt across his cheek.
The old man didn't quite believe him, his raised eyebrow said as much. Nonetheless, he gestured to the steaming water around him.
"You can take a relaxing bath then, no one is going to stop you."
Bell looked around, then glanced at a shadow just outside those doors he'd crashed through.
He smiled. Aunt would never step foot in a men's public bath. She'd sooner set the whole building on fire than walk into one.
His hand went to his tunic, pulling it up and over his head as he walked toward the hot springs.
My first time in a hot spring—and with some old men, no less. Would've been a hundred times better with Goddess Astraea.
A towel hit him in the face.
Bell caught it, his fantasy evaporating.
Damn!
...
..
.
After two long and relaxing hours inside, Bell walked out of the Onsen—not through the front gate, but a rarely used back one.
Who knew if Aunt has been waiting near the front, keeping an eye on it like a hawk?
In fact, before leaving, he had even met the Onsen's owner, Bartley, and apologized for any damage he'd caused—dropping Freya's name and mentioning that she would handle the compensation.
Bartley didn't quite believe him. So Bell had to bring out his trump card and share a devastating secret.
The secret?
Freya was his simp.
After hearing that, Bartley went silent for a few seconds—then directly threw him out.
What could he say? People don't believe the truth even when it's spoken right to their faces.
Bell hummed a tune, hands coming up to rest behind his head. He walked toward a nearby district, kicking a stone on his way. It struck a ball rolling toward him, pushing it right back into the arms of a child chasing it.
By the time that child blinked, Bell was already meters away, a single hand waving back without looking.
He reached a street full of people in moments—some buying groceries, others stealing glances at food stalls.
But what captured his attention were two men gossiping near a fruit cart. He walked over and started sorting through a bunch of pears.
"—came back looking half-dead. All of them."
A blue-haired man bit into a guava, unconcerned. "Freya executives? Please. They probably destroyed half of Evilus before climbing back up."
"I'm telling you, I saw them. Ottar was carrying Allen and Hogni over his shoulders like sacks of grain, and Hedin's arm was just hanging there." A black-haired man mimicked a limp arm, voice dropping.
"Whatever Evilus set up down there, it was a proper slaughterhouse."
"So what, they Level up from that?" The blue haired-man asked.
"That's how it works, doesn't it? Cheat death, Falna updates. I heard most of 'em are due for it." That black haired man spoke in a hushed whisper.
"Wait—Ottar. You don't think he's—" The blue-haired man's chewing slowed.
"Level 8?" The other continued with a sharp inhale. "No. Word is it's the others. But if he did..."
Neither finished that sentence.
Bell's grip tightened over a pear.
... That blue-haired man asked after a whole minute of silence.
"What about the Loki Familia executives out on a mission?"
"They should be on their way back—"
Bell snapped his focus back when someone tugged on his sleeve. He turned. A woman with brown hair and brown eyes was looking up at him with uncertainty.
"Um... are you by any chance Bell Cranel?"
His head tilted.
"Do I know you, miss?"
Her face lit up with a brilliant smile, voice rising.
"So you are Bell Cranel. Long white hair, red eyes. I should've realized sooner." Her words rang across the area, making every eye snap in their direction.
A burly fruit vendor blurted out.
"Bell Cranel? Who went up alone against the Rakian army?"
Another youth rushed toward them.
"Can I get a handshake, please!?"
A woman in her prime walked over.
"Bell, can you tell me what you felt when fighting a God of War?"
More people scrambled over.
"Hey, how did you create that pillar of light? It was so... divine."
"Come, child, have some fruit. You saved Orario after all."
People crowded Bell from all sides, pushing and pulling to reach him.
A hand grabbed his shoulder. Another his wrist. Someone's elbow pressed into his chest.
Too close.
Bell didn't like someone touching him without permission.
He slipped through a gap between two reaching arms, ducked under a third, and was three streets away before anyone realized he'd moved.
A moment later, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure he'd lost them.
No wonder Bartley showed me the back gate even while pissed. He recognised me.
Bell still had his head turned when he collided with someone, impact sending them both stumbling back.
His arm snapped forward on instinct to catch them, fingers curving around a slender waist. Simultaneously, a hand pressed against his chest. Not pushing. Just resting there.
He raised his head. Golden irises stared back, wide with surprise.
"...Ais?"
"Bell."
They froze. Every other noise from their surrounding street seemed to fade, leaving only their mingling breaths and tangling hair—
White and gold.
...
..
.
***
[300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter]
[8 chapters ahead on P@tr3on = [email protected]/Not_Aaryan]
...
[Authors Thoughts]
Time has come for some Ais and Bell bonding. More Alfia and Bell bonding can come later.
A good day to you all!