Is It Wrong to Crave Love (In A Dungeon?) Chapter 6 - Hearth

Clack.

The first step was the First Floor.

Clack.

I did not care much, or any, at all, for the adventurer I encountered on my descent. Some gave me a wide berth, not wishing to provoke conflict; others glanced at my robes and attire and were dissuaded from any ideas of conflict. There were fewer monsters to encounter, and more people than monsters, but there were also more monsters than people, and when I glanced from face to face, from one to the other, I could not tell the difference.

Clack. 

My staff made heavy noises as I walked through the Dungeon, and it was for good measure, and it was intentional. The Dungeon was a Dungeon, not a labyrinth, and the positions and places did not change from the accustomed, typical norm. Thus, from the moment I entered, the moment I made it past “Beginning Road,” I already had a target destination on the First Floor, and I already had a goal I wished to complete.

Clack.

My goddess, my beloved Hestia, I wanted to hear her voice again. It had only been hours since we’d parted, but there was a longing, an ache in my soul for the comfort of her touch, and the soothing salvation of her voice. Her scent, her embrace, her warmth, her love, I yearned for it. The bottom of my soul burned for it, the depths of my spirit craved for it, the very core essence of my being demanded it.

Clack.

However, she could not accompany me here, because the rules were that Gods could not enter the Dungeon. Miss Eina had told me so. She had explained it so. However, during that explanation, I found it suspicious, given the nature of my skill, the other skill, which my goddess had deemed fit to inform me, would it be considered breaking that rule?

I hoped not. Gods, I hoped not. The darkness of the Dungeon, the encounter with monsters, descending into this abyss like I was a hapless adventurer being sent by the Curator in Darkest Dungeon to fight for profit and coin, sacrificing mind and body, sanity and dignity, it was something I could do for the sake of my goddess, but it was something I could only do with the comfort of my goddess at my side.

Clack.

The First Floor was not particularly large, nor was it particularly grandiose. The Dungeon started out narrow and small, and eventually expanded deeper and larger the further one went down. It was for this reason that Miss Eina explained that large expeditions and large parties entered the Dungeon in batches rather than all at once. 

Clack.

The First Floor was said to be fully explored, and thus, there was no area of it, no corner of it unknown and unmapped. It was for that reason I chose the first location, a small crossroads that led into four different areas, one of which I was aware was a portion of the Dungeon that spawned monsters. ‘Birthed’ was the more technical term, as though the Dungeon was an ever-pregnant beast, a Mother of Beasts, ever giving to the world more and more misshapen, grotesque spawn.

Clack.

“Here.”

I stood in the center of the crossroads. With my staff, I drew a small, gentle, perfect circle. Upon drawing the circle, I reached for my satchel for things I had prepared beforehand. They were wooden sticks and twigs, bits of small logs cut from the tree behind the Church in the small courtyard where Lord Takemikazuchi trained me.

Bit by bit, I arranged the sticks, the logs, in a circular pattern, climbing until they formed a round, makeshift circle of wood. Then I gathered stones and trailed them around the circle. It was crude, it was unrefined, it lacked the elegance befitting my goddess, but it would suffice.

I set down some leaves, and then, closing my eyes, I clasped my hands and exhaled. My goddess had told me how to use this skill, just as she had told me about the magic I had. Learning what the chant was for that magic had been a surprise in many ways, yet, not so in others. It was a poem I was very intimately familiar with, and didn't need to memorize afresh.

Sooner or later, I would have to test it out, just as I would, here and now, test out this skill.

“Pāsai Hestia.”

A whoosh of flame emerged. As the wood began to burn, as the scent of burning wood filled the air, the fires crackled and shifted from red to pure white, and as though baptized, as though cleansed, bit by bit, the wood crackled until they were white, and the stone burnt until it was akin to chalk. The crude altar changed into a blazing campfire.

A campfire was the true origin of the ‘hearth.’ Before man had homes, before he built shelters of wood and stone, when he shivered in the darkness of caves and sought warmth and comfort, it was the campfire, a flame created with any and all at hand, that he turned to. It was with the campfire that he cooked his meals, and it was with the campfire he gathered and told tales, and it was with the campfire he survived the wrath of nature, and the fury of the outdoors, of rain, of snow, of darkness and of death.

Every ‘campfire’ was a ‘hearth’ and every ‘hearth’ was a ‘campfire.’

Within sixty feet, a wafting heat, a purifying white flame swept forth from the campfire, washing me over. From the flames, from the burning campfire, a blurry face emerged, and then a voice.

“Zee…?”

Giddiness ran through my stomach.

“The skill works, my goddess.”

“There… thing… —ant…. clear… ”

The ‘connection’ was spotty. The ‘signal’ was weak. There was only one campfire, one hearth, at present, so it was expected. I could not hear her voice clearly, as I should have, as I should be able to.

Not enough. One is not enough…

“I’ll be lighting more soon. Worry not, my goddess.”

There was the Second Floor, and the Third Floor, and the Fourth and Fifth Floors. There was the Sixth Floor, the Seventh Floor, and beyond it, to Floors I had never ventured. Yet, I would do so. I would venture to as many floors as needed. The more floors, the more hearths, the clearer my goddess’ voice would become, and soon, no matter where I was in the Dungeon, no matter where I walked, I would hear her voice. Soon, I would be able to feel her hand, her touch, hear her support, her comforting words as I fought monsters and faced insurmountable odds.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy warmth and thy smile…

I pictured Hestia, cheering me on. Zee! You can do it!

They comfort me.

As the Dungeon expanded deeper and larger, I would need to place multiple hearths, multiple campfires on the same floor to increase the effects. Being able to do so would mean possibly venturing into areas that weren’t fully mapped out, and it meant that I needed to become stronger.

I gripped my staff.

Who would enforce those Laws in the Dungeon?

Miss Eina had asked me with a sad smile. Indeed, she was right. The Dungeon was a no-man’s land. Right and wrong did not matter here, not only in the Dungeon, but in Orario itself.

But because there was no one to enforce laws in the Dungeon, it meant there was no one to stop me from making it so my Goddess was the one who enforced Laws in the Dungeon. No one to stop me from doing what I wanted within the Dungeon, in accordance with her whim and will.

The first hearth has been lit.

I was no savior, nor was I any person seeking the salvation of others. I was selfish. I knew it. Even when I was talking down a young girl from a bridge, it was for selfish reasons. If I were to save others from being raped or abused, it would be for selfish reasons.

I did not talk that girl off that bridge because I believed it was the right thing to do, but because I wanted to know what love felt like.

If I save this girl from killing herself, will she love me?

If I save this person who has been abused, will they love me?

If I help this person at their lowest, will they love me?

It was a twisted, mad mentality. I hated myself for thinking that way, for acting on that madness. Yet, it was something I couldn’t help. A person fattened by the love of parents knew little of the gnawing hunger of an ever-rejected orphan. A person inhaling the air enriched with the affection of loved ones could not comprehend the man scraping his lungs for air at the bottom of a sea of solitude. They could never understand the madness that gave rise to such a thought process. A madness upon madness, wrenching madness, enduring madness, madness of solitude, madness of craving, madness of yearning, madness of wanting.

I craved beyond craving and yearned beyond yearning, I craved and craved until my craving gave way to self-disgust and detestation, and as I grew disgusted with my craving, and detested my craving, I came to be disgusted by my disgust and to detest my detestation. Trapped in that cycle of disgust and detestation, I craved and yearned harder and greater.

I tried to soothe myself by saying it was better to do the right thing for wrong motives than to do the wrong thing for the right motives. I told myself that, regardless of the selfishness of my motivations, I saved a life. Even if she had not loved me afterwards, I would not hate her. I would only feel then that what I had done was not enough to be loved.

It was ingrained in my bones. I would probably try to save people, even at the risk to myself, because I wanted them to love me. I would probably get into stupid fights, do stupid things, become a ‘Hero’ because, despite how much love my goddess showered on me, there was still a part of me, an insatiable, blasphemous part of me, that screeched for more.

More.

More. More. More!

A greedy, disgusting pit in my heart still screamed for love. For all the love. For as much love as I could handle. My goddess’ love was Divine, and because it was so, because I dared not take it as anything else but so, I thus hungered for worldly love, I thus yearned for filthy love, I thus desired stupid love, I thus coveted forbidden love, I thus sought wretched love, I thus longed for sinful, manic love.

The love of Romeo and Juliet, the love of Anna Karenina and Count Vronsky, of Cleopatra and Mark Anthony, of Odysseus and Penelope, of Pygmalion and Galatea, of Orpheus and Eurydice.

The campfire’s flames flickered and grew white and bright, and I continued, with my staff striking the ground, deeper into the Dungeon.

More than anything, more than everything—

Clack.

I wanted to know what love felt like.

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

Ouranos opened his eyes.

That was…

There were only a handful of individuals aware of that particular goddess’s particular ability, but just now, at that moment, within the Dungeon, Ouranos sensed it. He could not mistake it for anything else.

…The Flame of the Eternal Torch?

A fragment of the Eternal Torch, of Olympus’ Sacred Flame, had just been summoned in the Dungeon. It was a small fragment, not even enough to be considered a flicker of an ember of a spittle of it, not even enough to be considered one percent of it, perhaps not even zero-point-one percent of it, but it was undoubtedly the true divine, sacred flame that was summoned. There was only one Goddess who possessed authority over it. Only one goddess, whose duty had been to guard and protect that sacred, purifying flame in Olympus. A goddess who had descended recently.

If it was the Goddess herself who used it directly, using it in the Dungeon so flagrantly would mean flouting the rules that made it forbidden for gods to enter the Dungeon, and flouting the rules that prevented gods from using their Arcanum.

No, this would not count as a use of Arcanum.

Summoning and using the Divine Flame would be no different from the ‘charm’ of the Goddess of Beauty or the Smithing Prowess of the Gods of Smiths. It was within her right and within her authority to do so. 

However, Ouranos could sense that this was not used by the goddess. It was far too weak to have been used by her.

A mortal? A mortal child summoned the true Sacred Flame of Olympus?

Ouranos summoned the Divine Mirror and turned his gaze upon it, wishing to peer deep into the Dungeon.

There, he saw it. A brilliant campfire, planted on the one and only crossroad located on the First Floor. For sixty feet in all directions from it, the purifying flame lingered in the air. Monsters approached, curious, cautious, drawn to the light, to the lit white fire that burned without fuel and without end, and as they did, as they reached close, they caught ablaze instantaneously. White hot fire that burned them to ash and burned the ashes to nothingness. Not even a drop item was left behind, nor a single magic stone lingered behind as proof that they were there.

The monsters instinctively began to fear the flames and to retreat from them. They began to avoid the area. The Dungeon itself told them ‘Do not approach the flames.’ 

This…!

Ouranos sat up straight. He drew a sharp, unspoken breath.

It did not count as the use of an Arcanum, but it was unmistakably the Divine Flame that no monster could approach. It did not break the rules of the Dungeon, and it did not break the rules of the Gods. The Dungeon could not reject it, nor could it resist it, but it could not quench it, nor could it attack it.

Rather, it accepted it.

That hearth, that campfire, had just become a permanent fixture in the Dungeon.

The moment his eyes wanted to lock on the child responsible for placing it—

It parted.

Ouranos sat up straight.

Again?

The same occurrence happened whenever he sought to identify the mysterious ghostly figure that tormented the Upper Floors. When his attention turned towards this matter, his vision was ‘parted.’ The ‘parting’ was an instinctive, automatic response provided by his Divine Intuition, a response that told him: 

Do. Not. Look.

His intuition told him something would be taken from him if he looked directly at the culprit, the ‘Upper Floor Ghost.’ His intuition also told him the same thing would happen if he looked at the child that had summoned the Divine Flame.

The same person?

The one who had just used a fragment of the Eternal Torch was the Upper Floor Ghost? 

Before, he had assumed the ‘Upper Floor Ghost’ was one of them, but now that he was aware that it was a human, and an adventurer at that, his vision and understanding expanded.

A skill.

Merely looking at the child would trigger it, merely registering that child’s existence would activate it, and no one, not even gods, was immune?

If it was as Ouranos suspected, such a skill could only be born of utter obsession. What sort of obsession it was, the Great God himself could not fathom.

Ouranos rubbed the bridge of his nose. Children with skills that could affect even the Gods were not entirely unheard of. There was that one child he was aware of in Freya’s Familia.

If it is Hestia’s child… 

He understood that goddess well enough and knew her sense of judgement was keen.

If Hestia’s child is the ‘Upper Floor Ghost’, there is no reason to continue this farce. It seems my worry was unnecessary.

He gave the order to be handed down to Royman to dismiss the bounty issued on the ‘Upper Floor Ghost’ immediately.

If that child can truly alter the Dungeon permanently...

I’ll have to speak with Hestia as soon as possible.

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

Was it a sin to exist?

“Get her!”

Was it wrong to have been born?

“Don’t let that damned prum bitch escape! Hurry!”

Was it a mistake to have come into this world, as she was, as Liliruca?

“Come back here, you bitch! I’ll fucking kill you! You’re fucking dead!”

What great tragedies had she committed in her past life, for the gods to have determined this farce of an existence was befitting of her current one? Who had she wronged? Who had she offended? Why was this happening to her?

Why?

Gods… what did Lilly do wrong?

Gods! Lilly is sorry! Lilly is sorry! For whatever she did, Lilly is sorry!

What did Lilly do wrong?! 

Lilly held the bleeding gash in her stomach with one hand and covered her exposed chest with the other as she ran, gasping and wheezing. Her clothes were ripped and torn, and the decency of her bottom half was being held on by literal rags. The clatter of footsteps behind her followed in droves. Enough people to make two full parties. The sound of arrows whizzed by her, and one nicked her leg, drawing a sharp gasp of pain as she almost stumbled. She couldn’t afford to stumble here. She couldn’t afford to stop. She kept running, moving as quickly as she could, alone, through the Fourth Floor.

Many times her gaze caught on to one or two other adventurers or parties on the floor. Of those who saw her, most snickered, others whistled, one or two catcalled, and a few gave her pitying gazes. Regardless of reaction, all of them gave her a wide berth. No one was going to stick their neck out for Lilly, because that was how Adventurers were. That was how they had always been. No one ever stuck their neck out for others. Even that old couple, the ones who took her in, even them—

Why? Why? Why? WHY? WHY?! WHY!?

They were cruel and greedy and foul and heartless! But they were the ones at the top! They were the ones who took from others, who abused Supporters, who robbed and cheated those weaker than them! Why? Why was it fair?

Why?

She bit hard into her lower lip, blinking away the blurriness that overwhelmed her vision. She turned down a corner, almost stumbling as she did, and the uncomfortable slick wetness of her bloodied clothes sticking to her flesh made her shiver.

She was always careful. She made sure she was extra careful with her transformations. No one could ever be allowed to know her secret, and the magic that she possessed could never be allowed to be discovered. It was her only guarantee. It was the one mercy the Gods saw fit to grant her, Cinder Ella. 

The power to stop being Lilly. 

The power to be anyone but Lilly.

Why?

The Upper Floor Ghost was to blame. There were too many adventurers moving on the upper floors. Everyone who had a debt, everyone who was desperate for the massive reward, everyone’s eyes were red with greed and desire for the bounty out on the monster. She had seen the frenzy it kicked up in adventurers. There had been a larger, greater demand for Supporters as a result. More and more adventurers had flooded the upper floors in search of fortune and profit, and even Lilly, despite knowing the risks, could not afford to simply decide to avoid the Dungeon; she could not avoid acting as a Supporter.

Even if it was risky, she had no choice. She needed to keep entering the Dungeon.

However, she had underestimated the number of people she had swindled. 

With as many adventurers moving through the floors as they were, more and more of them meeting more often, encountering each other more frequently, word of a ‘thieving prum’ and a ‘stealing chienthrope’ and ‘swindler Supporters’ spread faster and faster.

She had always been careful to ensure that the people she targeted did not know each other, and had no relations to each other, to slow down the spread of information about her activities. She never killed any of the people she swindled. She was a thief, but she wasn’t a murderer. Some of them were scum, some of them had done truly horrible, awful things, but Lilly still didn’t kill them. And yet—

If all had gone well, these adventurers who ran in different circles would never have had a reason to meet each other, or speak with each other, or exchange information. It was the one thing she feared. They were all alive, they all remembered her, and all held a grudge against her, and one person cursing a ‘thieving prum’ would lead another to say ‘You encountered one? Me too!’ and a third to say ‘what are the odds, me as well!’ and a fourth to put together the dots. 

When the mode of operation was almost perfectly identical, the height was almost identical, the clothes were almost identical, because Lilly couldn’t afford too many clothes, and her magic couldn’t quite properly change clothes—

Adventurers were greedy and selfish and cruel, but they were not stupid. All the stupid ones were killed by the Dungeon early. They didn’t survive in the Dungeon. They couldn’t.

With Cinder Ella, she should have had nothing to fear. 

If it were not, for the ‘Upper Floor Ghost.’

Lilly gritted her teeth as she glanced at the flecks of white powder still visible on her bare feet.

The Guild information was that the Upper Floor Ghost was completely invisible, so everyone came into the dungeon with methods intended to find, track, and hunt down invisible monsters. Specially trained hounds that tracked by scent, potions that amplified senses, a special powder that once sprinkled on something or someone would linger for days and react when exposed to a counter-agent—

Many of the methods designed to hunt an invisible creature were also effective at exposing and detecting a shapeshifted one.

Coupled with the added suspicion against every single Supporter that was either a prum or a chienthrope, be they male or female, despite how careful Lilly had been, she had not known when she had been marked. When the surprise attack came, when the blade pierced her stomach and undid her transformation, when she saw the party she had been acting as a Supporter for start to snicker as a previous party she had swindled stepped out of the shadows, Lilly still had not understood when she was exposed.

The only reason she was still alive was because adventurers were always cruel, it was because they dragged her somewhere private because they wanted to have ‘fun.’

If it weren’t for that wandering group of goblins chancing on the area as they began to tear at her clothes, if it weren't for her taking the opportunity to stab the ring leader in the crotch— 

Why?

GODS, WHY?! 

Why do you keep doing this to Lilly?!

Why?!

Lilly was tired. They knew, now. Those adventurers. They knew about Cinder Ella, which meant they would spread information about it. Her only salvation, her greatest hope, her only hope—

It was gone.

Why?

Lilly was tired. She couldn’t keep running. As a Supporter, she didn’t have anywhere near as much Endurance as they did. Their Statuses were greater than hers. Despite all being Level Ones, there was a difference, a gulf in abilities. The only reason she managed to escape at all was due to pure chance. The fact that she was ahead of them now wasn’t going to matter soon because they would outlast her stamina, catch her, and this time, they wouldn’t care about ‘fun.’ 

Lilly was tired. She had lost too much blood, either way. Returning to the surface on her own was an impossible task as it was.

Lilly… was tired.

She was tired.

She stumbled on a rock and crashed forward, falling and rolling down a steep slide. Jagged pieces of rock cut her skin and slashed at her body, and she could no longer care to cover her chest, nor could she apply the needed pressure on her wound.

Why?

As she tumbled and fell, she asked that question several times. When she finally got to her feet, her vision was stained red with blood, and she heard loud, grumbling snarls. Thick, hairy dog-headed creatures surrounded her in the dozens.

More and more monsters had been spawning at faster rates to keep up with the number that was being killed by the adventurers wandering the Upper Floors in search of the ghost.

She had stumbled right into a horde of kobolds freshly birthed by the Dungeon.

A croaking, rasping laugh came from her lips as she clutched her chest tight and screamed until her voice went hoarse.

WHY? WHY? WHYYYYYY?! 

GODS WHY?! WHY DO YOU HATE LILLY?!

Why…?

What did Lilly do wrong?

Lilly closed her eyes.

Clack.

A large sound reverberated from afar. It sounded like something repeatedly hitting the ground at intervals.

Clack.

The kobolds turned their attention towards it, as did Lilly. A man, dressed like those from the Far East, wearing odd sandals and wielding a long staff, stepped forward, the bottom of the staff hitting the ground as he walked.

“Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole.”

Clack.

“I thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul.”

The man approached, the staff in front of him connecting with the ground as he walked.

“In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud.”

A chant…? Lilly’s mind could not understand it. Chanting, while surrounded by so many enemies?

“Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody, but unbowed.”

The kobolds rushed at him, one by one, but he avoided them, evaded them, kept them at bay with nothing but slight, minimal movements, as though he were water, moving softly, smoothly, between and through the trajectory of monsters as he continued to chant, as he continued to approach her.

Concurrent… chanting?

“Beyond this place of wrath and tears… Looms but the Horror of the shade.”

He wasn’t attacking, only evading and chanting. Evading, flawlessly, evading perfectly, as he chanted at the same time.

“And yet the menace of the years, finds, and shall find, me unafraid.”

Avoiding slashes, charges, snarls, cuts, claws, moving through a storm of teeth and fangs and rabid fury, he moved as though he had parted through a sea without getting the tiniest bit of water upon him.

“It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll.”

The strange boy with blue hair stood before her. A warmth settled in her stomach.

“I am the master of my fate.”

He smiled.

“I am the captain of my soul.”

The stranger lifted his staff into the air—

“Invictus Vesta.”

And Lilly's world was ablaze with white fire.