Is It Wrong To Crave Love (In A Dungeon)? Chapter 10 - Illumination

She had heard of the Pauper’s Orator before his fame skyrocketed overnight.

Working at the Benevolent Mistress, word of any changes, even the tiniest of them, made to the city of Orario did not stray far from her ears. Rye was the one who told her about him. That boy, always running about the Orphanage, giving Maria a headache, had endlessly enthused about one of the Orator’s many tales when he and Maria came by the pub for a brief lunch.

Fina and Roux, too, those little runts, said that the tales the Orator spoke of were unique, gripping, thrilling, and unlike anything they had ever heard. When she asked them, in jest, whether they were better than the tales she told, they had all gone quiet and tried to avoid answering the question. She grew curious. Even before she learnt of his name, his identity as Moses Vanderzee, she was curious about his storytelling. What sort of tales could this so-called Orator truly possess that would outshine hers? What sort of stories could he possibly tell that had gripped the hearts of these children so much?

“Long ago in a distant land…”

Approaching the Orphanage as she always did, she came to a pause as she slowly opened the door, overhearing a male, older voice waft from within, along with the excited chattering of children.

“I, Aku, the shapeshifting master of darkness, unleashed an unspeakable evil!”

She peered through the door, seeing only the back of a figure with blue hair and a skinny, malnourished form. It was a back that stood oddly straight, as his hands moved about, and he gestured wildly, his voice taking on a comical, deeper tone.

“But a foolish Samurai warrior wielding a magic sword stepped forth to oppose me!”

Rye stepped forward, holding a stick to his side in the manner of those from the Far East, and stood tall. He lunged forward with his hands swinging. “Hiya! Hiya! Aiyaaa!”

Her lips twitched at the scene, as the blue-haired man feigned defeat, collapsing comically to the ground.

“Before the final blow was struck,” he announced. “I tore open a portal in time and flung him into the future, where my evil is law!”

He tossed a circular piece of white string at Rye, who comically collapsed. “Noooo!”

“Now the fool seeks to return to the past…”

The blue-haired boy rose. 

“And undo the future that is AKU!”

“Nananananana—”

“Previously, on the Tales of the Legendary Samurai, Jack!”

She couldn’t help it. She had to cover her mouth and hold her breath to stop herself from laughing. No one, not a single soul, would believe that the man, the person whose name was currently on the lips of every God and every Adventurer in Orario, could be here, in an orphanage, telling such ridiculous stories. 

What Samurai would ever be named Jack?

The Orator paid no heed to such a clear inconsistency in his story, and not a single child pointed it out. Rather, they were all engrossed, completely enthralled, surrounding him as he began narrating a long story, speaking of fantastical, impossible, but great adventures. A time-displaced Samurai that fought for justice, that struggled against evil, fighting myriads of monsters and imaginative futuristic golems all sent his way by the evil Aku.

There were, without a doubt, the most unusual tales she had ever heard. Beetle-like golems made of steel, firing crossbows that shot tiny bullets hundreds of times per second. Carriages that flew in the sky, driven by no creatures, and grander and greater fantastical elements that were beyond her wildest imagination.

He narrated the tales with confidence, with assuredness, as though they were self-contained, chronological adventures, as though they were records he himself had seen or witnessed time without number. The vividness of details to which he told them, the order and structure, all of it had her unwittingly standing at the door, peeking through it, listening, completely absorbed in a story of a make-believe time-traveling Samurai.

“...then Aku screeched, in horror, ‘You can fly?’ and Jack replied. ‘No. Jump Good!’”

The tales did amuse her. They were riveting and they were unusual. Every last one of them. The oddest thing about them was the absence of any mention of gods or divinity, beyond the forging of the Samurai’s sword, a weapon created and given to the hero to slay the evil Aku. It went against conventional storytelling and was more akin to the stories of the heroes of old. 

However, there was a part of her that doubted, that felt the tale would not be so engaging if it were not him narrating it.

“Whoa!”

“Can I really jump good if I tie rocks to my back and hands, Moses?”

“No way! There’s no way it’ll work!”

“But Jack did it!”

“Jack is a Samurai. You’re not a Samurai!”

“Am too!”

“Are not!”

“Am too!”

“Are not!”

“Now, now,” the Orator, Moses Vanderzee, Captain of the Hestia Familia, stepped between the children. “If you eat your vegetables and drink your milk, and listen to Maria, once you grow big and strong, you too can learn to jump like Jack.”

For most, such a thing would be a convenient, innocent little white lie. Yet, Moses wasn’t lying. Or, at the very least, he did not believe he was lying. Footsteps came from behind her. Slowly, she turned, finding the owner of the orphanage for which it was named, standing there beside her, holding a basket of freshly baked bread.

“Syr?” Maria blinked. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Rye kept telling me to come by so I could meet his favorite new storyteller,” Syr replied with a huff. “I fear I’ve been replaced, Maria.”

Maria laughed. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t think there’s anyone in Orario who can compete with Moses’ imagination. Some of the tales he spins, I’ve never heard anything like it.” 

The woman offered her a piece of the fresh bread, which she gratefully accepted.

“Syr, you’re often around adventurers. I hear Moses is suddenly famous for one thing or another regarding the Dungeon?”

Syr slowly nodded. “He is. Very famous.”

“That’s a relief to hear. It’s good to see him so much better off now…”

Syr was curious. Very curious. She slowly blew on the steaming bread. “Better off?”

“You should have seen him when we first met him. Stumbled here in the dead of night, looking like he’d been dragged through the dungeon. At first, I thought he was a monster.”

That threw her for a loop. “Why?”

“He was like a ghost!” Maria exclaimed. “So quiet. So hard to notice. He appeared out of nowhere, mumbling under his breath about ‘shelters for the homeless.’ Covered from head to toe in dirt and grime, he stank as though he hadn’t bathed for months, and had a crazy look in his eyes. I was so startled, I grabbed a broom and threatened him.”

Maria held her cheek in her palm with light embarrassment.

“The commotion woke the children. When he saw them, I think he understood that this was an Orphanage. The children were scared, so he lifted his hands in surrender and said, ‘No, my greatest weakness! Children’s laughter!’”

Her lips twitched as she bit into the hot, steaming loaf, using the act of biting to stifle her laughter. Her gaze shot back through the small gap in the door to the skinny, blue-haired boy who had two children on each arm.

“He got all the children to start laughing, and he pretended to collapse from it. After that…”  Maria chuckled. “They’re children, but they aren’t stupid. They knew he was acting, and they called him out on it. He doubled down, started telling all sorts of tales about monsters being beaten by joy and the power of friendship… from there, the rest was history.”

One of the children, Fina, opened the door. “Syr?”

All of the children’s attention turned towards the door.

“Syr? It’s Syr! Syr’s here!”

“Syr! Syr!”

“Moses, Moses, come meet Syr!”

The children all but dragged the hapless Orator out the doors with an excited fervor that Syr had never seen any of them possess before. The blue-haired man was brought before her and Maria before he even had a moment to protest, being dragged by the hands and fingers by four different children.

Maria chided them. “You children shouldn’t trouble Mr. Moses any more than you already do.”

“No, no, it’s no trouble at all, really, Maria,” Moses shook his head. Moses finally turned towards her, giving her a lookover, before he cleared his throat. “I’m Moses. Moses Vanderzee.”

He offered a hand, as though he was somewhat unaccustomed to, or uncertain of, the social norms. Standing before him now, he appeared ‘older’ than her, by at least two or so years. He looked plain and unassuming, clearly thin and waiflike, and his eyes… 

Those eyes—

“So I’ve heard,” Syr didn’t take his hand. “The Orator, is it?”

“I wouldn’t consider myself an Orator, really…” he denied, waving his hands. “I’m just someone who selfishly told stories that I was afraid I'd forget.” 

Stories you're afraid to forget? It was an odd thing to say. 

“I’m Syr. Syr Flova.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Syr.”

They stood, staring at each other for a few seconds in silence, when Rye, ever the mischievous one, began to nudge the other children. “Maria! Loux spaced out and fell into the outhouse again!”

“That child!”

Maria legged it as swiftly as she could, giving a loaf of bread to Moses as she left. The other orphanage children shot knowing looks at each other as they began entering the Orphanage.

“I’m tired!”

“I’m feeling sleepy!”

“Me too!”

“Guess it’s time for a nap!”

“Syr, we’ll all be taking naps today! If you don’t have anything you’re doing… maybe you could take Moses somewhere!”

These children…

They were blatantly attempting to play matchmaker. Rye gave her a thumbs up as the blond boy and the other children returned to the orphanage and shut the door behind them. Leaving only herself and Moses, standing there, each holding a loaf of freshly baked bread in their hands.

Moses scratched the back of his head. “Would you believe me if I said I had nothing to do with this?”

“Only a little,” she mused.

Moses chuckled.  “It’s odd being on the receiving end instead of the planning end for once.”

She tilted her head. “Receiving end?”

“We used to do the same thing, in my orphanage, St. Kizito’s,” Moses explained. “We’d find two volunteers, two people we really liked, male and female, and all the orphans would pitch in a plan to get those two people together. We called it Parent Trapping.”

It was the first Syr had ever heard of such a thing. “Why? Was it a game?”

“The idea in our minds was that if we were able to get them together, they would become a family, and as a family, they would be able to adopt all of us… so we could finally leave the orphanage and be a happy family together.”

The thought had never come to her. She was aware of the obvious attempt at matchmaking, but she had seen it only from her viewpoint, from the viewpoint that it was merely innocent children being mischievous innocent children. She hadn’t given much thought to why they were doing so. She had not considered it.

“Did your orphanage ever succeed in parent trapping?”

“We did.”

“Oh?” Syr lifted a brow.

“But reality is never as simple,” Moses’ gaze went to a faraway place. “Most people, especially young people, don't adopt orphans, especially when they can have children of their own.”

Moses stared at his loaf of bread. He gently squeezed it.

“We were so excited when we saw the wedding pictures of the couple. When they never came back, for weeks, for months, we thought it was because they were on honeymoon. We held on to hope they would come back for us. Come to adopt us. So we would eventually become a big happy family.”

He broke the bread in half, slowly nibbling on the edge.

“When next we saw them, it was with the woman pushing a baby stroller. They came to introduce us to their newborn daughter.”

Syr’s lips fell into a thin line. Tasteless. That was the first word that came to her. Cruel was the second.

“Seeing how much affection they had for that baby, how much care and love they showered that baby… I remember being jealous,” he chuckled. “It’s embarrassing to say it now, but there really was a time when I was envious of a baby. I thought, how is it fair? How was it fair that a baby just brought into existence could be loved more than us?"

He smiled.

"As orphans, were we truly that unworthy... of being loved by someone?”

Syr, for the first time, looked at him. She truly, genuinely ‘looked’ at him. Upon doing so, her breath hitched, her eyes went wide, and she recoiled, backing away.

“Ah, but… that was a long, long time ago,” he said hurriedly. “I’m sorry, that was probably too personal to have shared.”

Disoriented, dizzy, she barely held her bearings together and couldn’t reply.

“I should get going. It was nice meeting you, Syr.”

“W-wait—”

Syr clutched his hand, breathing fast and hard. He had mistaken her reaction as a result of the words he’d said, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. The thing that made her recoil in horror was something much, much greater.

“Syr…?”

What sort of…?

A black hole.

A bottomless, all-consuming, all-feeding, ever-hungry blackness that drew in everything and created an accretion disk of pure, blinding light. A blackness that throbbed and shuddered with an ineffable gravitational force, and a light that dwarfed the sun in intensity and brilliance, and parted everything in half.

The consuming blackness screamed:

“I WANT LOVE!”

The parting light roared:

“I WANT TO BE LOVED!” 

That was the color of Moses Vanderzee’s soul.

Some deity had thought it a twisted joke to have his soul connected to his emotions, and in turn, to his physical body. It meant that such a terrifying soul, such a dreadful color, such a maddening craving, could create physical and physiological changes to him, and affect not only him, but his skills, his Falna, and even the world around him. 

It was horrifying.

Holding his hand as she did, she felt as if he was trying to swallow her. Engulf her in complete totality. He would drain her if she let him. Consume her, feast on her body until her flesh was reduced to bones, and then lick the bones clean. It was her very antithesis, a being that craved endless love and sought to consume even the tiniest amount of love given in his presence.

And he would use it to empower himself.

Moses Vanderzee was growing stronger just by her holding him.

His Status was skyrocketing, just by her touching him.

This... A skill...? What sort of monstrous skill…?

He would greedily devour even the tiniest flecks of love, all love he received, and become stronger from doing so, and he would be rejuvenated from doing so. Every second she held on to him was a second she felt an indescribable suction force from him.

If one loved him just a little, just enough, everything about them, skills, attributes would be…

Parted.

Halved.

Shared.

She slowly bit her lip, attempting to abate her dizziness. They were watching, and if they misunderstood, if they believed her to be in danger, they would attack him without a moment’s hesitation, loyal and devoted as they were.

Yet, Syr could not help but feel dizzy, because touching him, she could feel something. An essence, not of his Goddess, which existed in spades, but that of another God…  A God of War.

Even… Authorities...?

She let go of him, slowly, resisting the urge to do so as if burned. It was perhaps the most blasphemous skill imaginable. She looked into Moses Vanderzee’s eyes, deep into those stormy eyes, and found herself almost lost in a stormy sea.

Slowly, she summoned something from deep within her and asked, “Do you have plans for this evening?”

“Plans?”

Where others would already have entered into a trance, slipped into a state beyond their control, he only blinked owlishly at her. 

Using that on him was like trying to set fire to the sun. There was too much craving. There was too much. His all-consuming desire for love was too great for it to be shackled to one person, to be bound, to be swayed, to be commanded.

She wanted to laugh. How utterly insatiable.

Yet, that insatiability meant he was the first one. Other than Mia Grand… no, he was the first, the only one genuinely and truly... 

“There’s a pub I work at…”

Immune.

“Called the Hostess of Fertility.”

=====)+(=====

Soma had not expected it.

When others had come, stating their desire to leave, they had, all, one after another, rescinded it, upon tasting of his liquor. All, without fail. He had almost thought this to be a waste of his time, however infinite it was, and nothing more than a distraction that prevented him from pursuing his true purpose. At least, until one particular child stood before him. Her. This particular child he had watched over her for a long time. He was aware of her, perhaps more than others. Born into his Familia, he was aware of the fate that befell her parents and even the fate that befell her. 

Yet, Soma was a god, and the wishes and whims of gods were their wishes and whims, and his interest had always been in wine, and nothing else. Thus, even though he had been aware of her, aware of her plight, his interests kept him busy. They kept him occupied.

Thus, when she stood before him, amidst the line of others who claimed their wish to leave, it had surprised him, but only for a moment. In the end, the draw and allure of Soma was too great. He was keenly aware of how this would end, as she slowly drank of the divine liquor.

Or so he thought.

“Lilly… Lilly wants to leave!”

She was the first.

The only one.

Soma blinked, once, twice, three times. Zanis, who’s been standing there, did not, and could not believe his eyes either. Someone had managed to resist Soma. Someone had imbibed of it, and retained their senses, and refused its call, rejected its allure.

“Lilly… has found… a place…” the girl rasped. “Where Lilly belongs! Lilly has found… people… who can love… wretched Lilly! Lilly… Lilly… wants to leave! Lilly… wants… to be… with them…”

Soma said nothing.

“Please… Please… Let… Lilly… Go…!”

The process, the entire process of removing his Falna, his imprint from her, was done in silence. In quiet. When he had set down his rule, he had not foreseen anyone being successful, but, as a god, it would be beneath him, indeed, below him, to not abide by the rules he himself set.

Thus, Liliruca Arde was set free from his Familia.

“...You are free to go wherever you wish.”

She had trembled as those words were told. Whether in excitement, whether in disbelief, Soma could not say. However, Soma also could feel the stirrings of something within her.

A craving. A desire. A longing for something that even the lethargy and bliss brought by divine liquor could not provide. Something grander than oneself, something rawer and far more intoxicating than heavenly ambrosia.

Love… is it?

The Goddess of Love, Freya, was the most terrifying of all Goddesses in Orario, because she could bewitch anyone, everyone, with a glance. Even he, even other gods, even those ensnared under Soma, not a single one of them could resist.

Love.

A craving for love.

A yearning for love.

Liliruca Arde had tasted perhaps only a sip of that craving, and she had found it sweeter than Soma.

Love…

Soma’s gaze lingered as he watched her leave. He thought of himself, and of his Familia, and of the first days when he started, when the Soma Familia was a vastly different entity from what it was now. Creating liquor, drinking liquor, was done so it could be shared; his wine was meant as a social lubricant, so he could connect with others, with the mortals, to know them, laugh with them, mourn with them, celebrate with them, and jubilate with them.

“Lord Soma, this is our daughter. We've named her... Liliruca. Isn’t she beautiful, Lord Soma?”

Soma smiled.

Love.

"I see."

What a terrifying thing.

=====)+(=====

Hestia always surprised him.

“When last did you see the sky, Ouranos? Being a shut-in isn’t good, you know.”

“The weight of my responsibilities scarcely leaves me with such freedoms. My prayers must be offered to the Dungeon. For the sake of all of Orario.”

“I can help with that.”

“Help?”

Witnessing her lift her hand, witnessing the white dome spread out from her, Ouranos was aware that this was not the use of an Arcanum, but of an Authority. Concentrated, more potent, more direct. No different from the use of a Beauty Goddess’ charm, one which could ensnare mortal and monster and even gods alike, and no different from a Smith God’s handcraft, forging weapons beyond mortal compare.

Thus, deep under the Guild, where there should have been but a single throne room with a Great God sitting above, there was, instead, a vast and open sky, complete with clouds, ambling and drifting, and flocks of birds, migrating and flying. Hestia stood on air, he sat on clouds, and below them was clean, clear water, pristine, that displayed their reflections. 

Below them, at their feet, was the entirety of the City of Orario, with its people, bustling, moving, living, and breathing. The air was the cleanest it had ever been, the freshest it had ever smelled, the purest Ouranos could recall inhaling. 

“Isn’t this much better than a cramped, dark, broody place?”

Ouranos reached out for a bird flying beside him, a white dove, which landed on his index finger, which he could feel, touch, and gently pet. At the same time, he confirmed, to his senses, that it was only an illusion. Hestia was not conjuring anything, nor creating anything with her Authority; she had merely manifested the home in his heart around him, around them. Brought it into being. It was both real and not real, real as thoughts and feelings, but as unreal as dreams and wishes. Regardless, it brought him no small amount of comfort. 

It brought him a true feeling of being home.

“Thank you, Hestia.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Hestia huffed. “Compared to what you do for everyone, this isn’t really much. Besides, someone needs to make sure you’re doing okay as well.”

Hestia pointed accusingly.

“Are you?”

“Am I?”

“Doing okay?”

Her words gave Ouranos pause. The Great God had been here for a long time. Yet, he could not recall the last time anyone, any deity or mortal, had done so much to seek to question his well-being.

Only Hestia would stand before him, after being summoned regarding an issue with her Familia, and complain about him being in the dark underground, saying it wasn’t good for him. Only she would recall he liked blue open skies and relished vast stretches of the atmosphere, the stratosphere, from where everything could be seen, and where one could travel as free as a bird. Only she would probably think to ask him such a question.

“I am,” Ouranos chuckled. “I have been well.”

She stared at him for a long time before nodding. Ouranos leaned back in his cloudy seat, bathed in the blue skies, as he slowly stroked his chin. It had been a long time since he and Hestia had spoken, and his concerns, whatever concerns he’d had that time, that pitiless thing, may have changed her, had faded. If anything, Hestia was more… Hestia than ever.

“The reason I called you here is for…”

Ouranos paused.

Is there truly a need?

Ouranos was prepared with a barrage of questions and concerns, ready to ask about the nature of Hestia’s child’s skill, his ability to use her Authority, that other skill he felt, and more, but, enjoying the softness of a cloud chair, seeing Hestia stand before him, Ouranos had a change of heart, and a change of mind.

There were few gods Ouranos could ever say he could truly trust, as gods all had their secret motives, schemes, plots, and desires. Hestia was an exception. One could claim she was too air-headed to scheme and plot and see it as a negative on her character, but others could say she was too open, too transparent, too earnest. Of all the gods of Olympus, Hestia was amongst the incredibly select few who got along with everyone, and had no considerable quarrels with anyone, nor vindictive actions against other gods or mortals.

“Ouranos?”

“I have a proposition, Hestia.”

If it were any other goddess with a child setting up such things in the Dungeon…

“I would ask your Familia…”

If it were any other goddess… 

“To form an Official Partnership with the Guild.”

Ouranos would never make this offer.

“A partnership?”

“The Hestia Familia will have access to the Guild’s resources and exclusive privileges, be treated three levels above your current Familia Rank, be exempt from taxes, and all members will be paid a significant monthly stipend.”

“E-eh?! E-exempt from— monthly… stipend?!”

“In exchange, I ask only for the free and guaranteed impartiality of the use of your campfires by all in Orario,” Ouranos continued, smiling. “And, following this, the Hestia Familia will be given an Exclusive Quest, undertaking a singular task in the Dungeon. An Expedition.”

Ouranos gently let the dove on his hand fly off into the blue sky.

“The Dungeon Illumination Expedition."