A Journey Unwanted

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

The gray plains stretched endlessly around them, a bleak patch of dead grass, dead earth, and old patches of trees that looked half-starved. Rivers cut through the land in unnatural angles—rivers whose waters ran murky, carrying the soured stench of something long-rotted. And the air clung to their lungs with a decaying odor.

Against such emptiness, their small group looked painfully noticeable, dark silhouettes moving across an old landscape.

Alexander broke the silence with a groan. "Are we seriously walking this entire way? No mounts, no carriage, nothing? This is torture."

"That makes complaint number six," Tamamo-no-Mae chimed from Dante's shoulder, tails swaying lazily. "At this point, I should start counting them properly. You're becoming predictable."

"I don't wanna hear that from you," Alexander snapped, pointing a finger at her accusingly. "You're not even walking—you're freeloading!"

Tamamo flicked her ear. "It's called being efficient. You should try it sometime."

"Both of you are loud," Gretchen sighed, rubbing her temple. "Walking is bad enough. Listening to your bickering makes the journey feel twice as long." Her gaze sharpened. "My concern lies more with the eyes watching us."

That statement made everyone pause, even Dante, who turned his head slightly.

Tamamo hummed in approval. "You can sense that? Impressive. Your instincts are sharper than they look."

Ivan's brows knitted. "Wait… what do you mean watching us?" He scanned the tree line, shoulders tensing.

"Deseruit Beasts," Tamamo said matter-of-factly. "And possibly the cultists the tavern keeper mentioned. They're clever enough to hide, but not clever enough to hide from me."

Alexander grimaced. "Cultists… great. And what's their deal, anyway? Do they just vehemently worship the Goddess Iofiel and go around preaching or something?"

Tamamo shook her head slowly. "No. Iofiel is a new God. Most cultists may know this. They worship… other things. Things they wrongly call Gods."

Three confused expressions turned toward her.

"New?" Alexander blinked. "What are you talking about? People have worshipped Goddess Iofiel forever."

"Yeah," Ivan added. "Her rule is ancient—millennia old."

Tamamo tilted her head, amused by their certainty. "I suppose mortals wouldn't know the difference. But the Old Gods and the Primordial Gods have existed since the existence of the realms itself began. Deities like Iofiel were shaped much, much later."

Dante finally spoke. "I see. I wondered why I had never heard her name before. A newer deity… does she govern this realm alone?"

"That she does," Tamamo replied. "She's the first God to draw power from the withered branch of the Arbor Astrigaudium. So she has much faith placed on her."

Dante considered the words. "And would you say she is worthy of that role?"

Tamamo gave a strangely gentle smile. "She acts like she knows everything—but she's really a soft thing. Cries too easily. Naive. But she genuinely wants this realm to survive. Unfortunately, the Divine Principles don't care about her feelings."

Alexander threw his hands up. "No, hold on—what are you two even talking about?" He turned fully to Tamamo. "And why are you talking like you're personally acquainted with a Goddess?"

"Because I am," Tamamo said as if describing the weather.

The three stared at her.

"You know… a Goddess?" Gretchen asked slowly.

Tamamo shrugged. "It's nothing dramatic. I'm only a little older than she is. We've known each other a long time."

Ivan looked like he was trying to swallow a boulder. "You mean to tell me you… you just casually know a literal Goddess?" He blinked in confusion. ("She must be lying… even if she's too casual. There's no way.")

Gretchen was less shocked by that and more by something else. "You two spoke of Old Gods and Primordial Gods… what exactly separates them?"

Dante suddenly stopped walking. The rest halted automatically.

"We are still being watched," he said quietly. "We will rest here for now. It would be wise to conserve your strength." His calm tone carried weight, and even Alexander and Ivan exhaled in relief.

Tamamo landed lightly on the ground. "Gretchen dear, make us some firewood~"

Gretchen gave her a flat, tired look. "You could ask instead of ordering."

Tamamo smiled smugly. "I could, but I won't."

Rolling her eyes, Gretchen reached into her hair and plucked out five strands. Ivan and Alexander watched, confused—until the strands thickened, twisted, and transformed into solid logs that fell neatly into place on the grass.

Alexander's jaw dropped. "Okay, that's… actually really cool."

Tamamo flicked a tail, and a flame burst to life instantly, crackling intensely.

Ivan and Alexander settled on the ground, still shaking their heads in mild disbelief. Gretchen sat with grace, brushing a loose curl behind her ear before relaxing. Tamamo curled up beside Dante, tails loosely spread, while Dante lowered himself, one arm resting across his knee.

There was a momentary silence—one that allowed the oppressive landscape to seep into their bones—before Alexander quickly broke it.

"So…" He dragged out the word, staring at Tamamo-no-Mae like she had just told him the sky was green. "You're telling me you actually know Goddess Iofiel? Like… not in a 'I once saw her in a dream' way, but in a 'hey, how've you been' kind of way?"

Tamamo tilted her head, ears flicking with a distinctly unimpressed poise. "I have no reason to fabricate such things. And honestly, mortals put far too much weight on the idea of meeting a God. Back then it was an everyday occurrence. Quite tedious at times."

Alexander blinked. "Tedious. Right. Because meeting a deity is… boring."

She shrugged. "When they descend every other century to meddle in mortal affairs, it becomes less divine, more bureaucratic."

Ivan stifled a surprised laugh. Alexander didn't. "Okay, but seriously? You're telling me that you, a fox who can barely go five minutes without teasing someone, casually knew a Goddess like you're talking about an old drinking buddy?"

Tamamo's tails fanned out behind her elegantly as she continued. "Please. I have standards." She chuckled. "And as I said, there was a time when mortals meeting Gods was a common occurrence."

Before Alexander could retort, Dante spoke — quietly, but with a weight that felt like it pulled every voice out of focus.

"That era is dead. And better left so. Humanity does not need the Gods' shackles."

The heaviness of it settled over them.

Gretchen's interest sharpened. "You speak like someone who's seen those shackles up close. Not fond of the divine, I take it?"

Dante's helmet turned slightly toward her. "My reasons are my own. And irrelevant to this conversation."

Gretchen stared, waiting for elaboration. None came. She exhaled irritably. "Why do you always give answers that feel like someone cut out the middle of the explanation?"

Tamamo nudged her with a tail. "Because he's trying. This is what 'open' looks like for him." She grinned. "Adorable, really."

He glanced at her; violet lenses narrowed.

Tamamo only smiled wider.

Gretchen cleared her throat, trying to refocus. "Earlier you mentioned a hierarchy among Gods. I'd like you to continue."

There was a moment where Dante seemed to consider refusing.

Then he said, "There are three classifications of Gods."

Ivan straightened, visibly intrigued. Alexander muttered, "Here we go…"

Dante continued, tone steady and almost teacher-like despite the heaviness clinging to every word.

"The first are the Old Gods — born with the realms themselves. Beings of concept. They maintain stability through their existence. They do not simply rule over their domains — they are their domains.

Ivan whispered, "That's… incredible."

"Terrifying," Alexander corrected.

"And they," Dante continued, "are merely servants."

Gretchen leaned in further. "Servants?"

"All are shackled," Dante replied. "Gods, mortals — it matters little. Some are bound by power, some by responsibility, some by another's will. Some by fate itself."

Gretchen's breath caught. "What binds a God?"

"Explaining that," Dante said, "would take time that we do not possess, and patience that I do not claim to have."

Alexander shrugged. "At least you're honest about it."

The corner of Tamamo's mouth curved. "He's always honest. Selective, but honest."

"Selective is an understatement, it would seem," Gretchen muttered.

Dante continued, voice steady.

"The second classification: Primordial Gods. They are above the Old Gods in power, though not in number. Their strength is incomprehensible. They are not omniscient — merely overwhelming."

Alexander whistled under his breath. "Doesn't make them sound any less terrifying." A thought struck him and he squinted at Dante. "But how the hell do you know this? This isn't the kind of thing you just overhear in a tavern."

"That," Dante said flatly, "is none of your concern."

Alexander threw his arms up. "Oh come on! You can't just drop hints like this and then clamp your mouth shut!"

"We're not entitled to his past," Ivan interjected gently. "It's fine, really."

Dante inclined his head. "That is appreciated."

Gretchen was frowning thoughtfully. "And the last group… The New Gods."

"They emerged at the dawn of the realm's eras," Dante said. "I have little knowledge of them beyond the Moon Goddess and now Iofiel."

Gretchen exhaled deeply. "I never imagined the structure of divinity would be this… convoluted. It makes everything we know feel small."

"It is small," Tamamo added cheerfully. "But that doesn't mean unimportant."

Alexander muttered, "I feel like that was meant to be comforting, but it really wasn't."

Tamamo smirked. "I try."

Gretchen rolled her eyes. "You really enjoy needling people."

"It's a gift." Then to Dante, she said, "It's rare to hear you speak this much. This is practically divine intervention."

Dante ignored her.

Instead, he rose smoothly. His posture immediately shifted — tension crept into the air.

Ivan noticed first. "Dante? Something wrong?"

Dante spoke calmly.

"Our respite has come to an end."

Ivan blinked. "What does that—"

A sound cracked through the air like glass breaking. A flash of green behind Dante. Then another. Two shapes materialized fully — emerald uniforms, black gauntlets, boots, cloth masks covering their faces.

Alexander nearly stumbled back. "What the—?!"

Before surprise could even fully appear on their faces—

Dante moved.

Not fast — beyond visible. A blur of his black gauntlet crossing the space, the hiss of air parting around him.

Then—

Squelch!

A wet, horrific tearing noise.

Both attackers' torsos separated from their lower halves, their bodies falling in grotesque heaps. Blood spattered in twin arcs across the floor, intestines spilled like ropes, organs escaped, and legs twitching separately from the upper halves.

Ivan stood frozen, breath caught in his throat. ("What… what just happened? I didn't even see him move…")

Dante flicked blood from his gauntlet like brushing away dust. "It seems they have finally chosen to act."

Tamamo approached, unbothered, studying the corpses. "Cultists it seems."

Alexander swallowed hard. "How—how did you move that fast? I didn't even sense them."

"It is irrelevant," Dante said. "There are more lurking nearby. I will remove them."

"Wait—" Ivan lifted a hand, but Dante was already moving.

A gust of pressure rang out as he all but vanished in a burst of speed.

Tamamo sighed dramatically. "And there he goes."