Chapter 277

The soft morning light of Orario, usually a vibrant tapestry of bustling life, felt muted, almost solemn, as Adi made her way along the northeastern main road.

Not long after her visit to the Astraea familia’s ‘Stardust Garden’ – a place where some of her worries seemed to dissipate like morning mist – she had donned her familiar dark cloak.

Its hood was up today, it offered a small shield against the city’s underlying tension.

The war against the evilus, now in its fifth brutal day, had cast a long shadow over the metropolis.

Shops that once thrived now had boarded windows, adventurers moved with a grim purpose, and even the air hummed with an unspoken anxiety.

Adi roamed for a while, letting her thoughts drift, observing the wary faces and the occasional hurried whispers that spoke of new skirmishes or losses.

The aroma of stale bread from a half-open supply station mixed with the metallic tang of the distant Hephaestus workshops.

Eventually, her casual stroll gained direction, her steps quickening as she turned towards where she knew the Bahamut familia currently resided.

The Bahamut familia, by the grace of their goddess Bahamut’s friendship with Hephaestus, had been provided a small, unassuming house.

It nestled comfortably amongst the more robust, smoke-stained brick buildings of the Hephaestus familia workshops in the northeastern district.

From a distance, it looked like any other dwelling, a quiet corner in a loud city, but as Adi drew closer, a prickle of unease rippled through her.

There, on the dusty ground just outside the house, huddled like discarded rags, were three familiar figures.

Michalis, Clair, and Vasiliki.

Adi’s heart gave a lurch.

Their postures spoke volumes before she even saw their faces.

They looked utterly spent, their usually vibrant youthful energy replaced by a deep, bone-wearying exhaustion.

Michalis was sprawled out, his head resting awkwardly on a rolled-up cloak, his breathing deep and even, clearly in the throes of deep sleep.

Clair was similarly slumped, her face pale, a quiet snore escaping her lips.

Vasiliki, however, was different.

She sat rigid, leaning against the rough wooden wall of the house, her eyes half-closed but fluttering open every few seconds, battling against the insistent pull of sleep.

‘What happened to them?’ Adi wondered, a knot tightening in her stomach.

Her approach became slower, more cautious, her soft-soled boots barely disturbing the loose pebbles on the path.

The sight of her friends in such a state brought a wave of genuine concern, washing away the last vestiges of her own recent troubles.

Crunch!

A solitary, unfortunate pebble, caught beneath Adi’s foot, betrayed her presence.

The sudden, sharp sound, amplified by the heavy silence that had settled over the trio, immediately jolted Vasiliki.

Her extremely active senses, honed by many ambushes by the evilus and a hyperactive mind, tingled with an urgent warning.

Sleep, a tenacious enemy just moments before, was instantly banished, replaced by a surge of adrenaline and a cold spark of caution.

Her eyes snapped open, no longer blurry with fatigue but sharp and piercing.

With a movement fuelled by instinct, she slowly, deliberately, raised her staff.

Its shaft, worn smooth from use, trembled slightly in her weary grip as she pointed its tip directly at the cloaked intruder.

Her gaze, usually bright with mischievous intelligence, was now narrowed, a warning, silent and deadly, hanging in the air.

“Relax, it’s me, Vasiliki,” Adi immediately spoke, her voice low and calm, raising her one arm in a gesture of peace while simultaneously reaching for her hood.

The last thing she wanted was to add more stress to her evidently strained friend.

She pulled back the dark fabric, revealing her own worried face.

“Adi…” Vasiliki’s tense posture visibly relaxed, her shoulders slumping.

The staff, still clutched in her hand, lowered a fraction, the warning gaze softening into exhausted relief.

The name was barely a whisper, a stark contrast to the earlier alertness.

“Yes, it’s me,” Adi confirmed, stepping closer, her hand still slightly raised.

“Just what happened to you guys?”

The question hung in the air, thick with genuine concern, her eyes sweeping over the sleeping figures of Michalis and Clair.

“Sigh!”

Vasiliki let out a sound that was less a simple exhale and more a deep expulsion of pent-up weariness and frustration.

Her eyes closed again, but this time not in a battle against sleep, but in an attempt to gather her scattered thoughts as she recalled the harrowing events of the past night and day.

“It started… after the factory district,”

Vasiliki began, her voice raspy, recounting the ordeal.

After their goddess, Bahamut, had finally brought Draco’s furious rampage to an end, she had gathered all her children, and brought them to this small, temporary haven.

A collective sigh of relief had travelled through the familia; they had finally thought they could rest, their bodies aching and minds frayed from battling against the evilus throughout the night.

But their hopes for repose were cruelly dashed.

Not long after they had settled, the devastating backlash from Draco’s immensely powerful, level-boosting skill hit him.

It had been – and still was – a living nightmare.

“His body… it just kept breaking down, trying to heal itself all at once,” Vasiliki recounted, a shiver running through her despite the memory’s grim familiarity.

“Blood leaked from every pore, and he just… screamed. Constant, gut-wrenching screams.”

The words were delivered in a flat, dispassionate tone, a coping mechanism for the horror she’d witnessed.

At first, they had managed somewhat, frantically administering the few precious elixirs they had stored for emergencies.

But as predawn approached, Draco’s condition had deteriorated rapidly, escalating into something far more terrifying.

They had been forced to seek help from healers in other familias, sending urgent pleas across the beleaguered city, but even with their aid, things hadn’t gotten much easier.

To ease his excruciating pain, they had resorted to knocking him out, but even unconscious, the muscle spasms continued, his body writhing, and the bleeding remained relentless.

Draco required constant, vigilant watch, not only to apply more healing but to ensure he didn’t choke on his own blood in his vulnerable, unconscious state.

The damage from boosting himself by nearly four levels above his natural limit had wrought truly severe, life-threatening injuries.

When the first fragile rays of the morning sun finally pierced through the eastern windows of the small house, painting the floor in pale gold, Bahamut had made a difficult decision.

She believed updating Draco’s status might ease the tremendous stress his body was undergoing from the backlash.

She had been hesitant, a flicker of worry in her eyes, because Draco wasn’t in a state to pick a development ability himself, a crucial requirement to complete the process.

So, with a heavy heart, she had chosen one for him, pushing him from a level four to a level five. His level-up, she’d reasoned, had been long overdue anyway, a natural progression halted only by their current circumstances.

After the level-up, the backlash did seem to ease, albeit only slightly, offering a mere glimmer of hope.

Witnessing their older brother and captain in such a state of agonizing helplessness, had left the rest of the Bahamut familia feeling utterly useless.

The inability to truly help him, to prevent him from having to employ such a dangerous skill to protect them, gnawed at their souls.

Their goddess had comforted them, of course, her gentle words attempting to soothe their guilt, but it did little to quell the burning desire for more strength, for the power to protect themselves and their family.

After each of them had updated their own status sheets, it was discovered that their stats had all grown significantly, almost halfway to the next level.

It was the 5th day of war against the evilus, a brutal conflict that had, ironically, forced unprecedented growth within the adventurers of Orario – at least, those who had survived the daily relentless onslaught.

So, while remarkable, such speedy advancements weren’t entirely strange to witness in these desperate times.

When Draco’s condition had finally stabilized enough for them to breathe a collective sigh of relief, the Bahamut familia thought, once again, that they could finally rest.

But around noon, another unwelcome missive arrived.

A message from the Loki familia, requesting their goddess’s immediate presence for an emergency meeting amongst the gods, specifically regarding Draco.

The news had put the entire familia back on edge, their brief respite cruelly snatched away.

It was understandable, Vasiliki grudgingly admitted internally.

Although the city was engulfed in war, having a variable like Draco, whose extraordinary skill had brought such devastation, without knowing the specifics of his power, was indeed too much of a risk for the city’s leadership.

For all the city knew, he could go on another rampage at any moment.

Vasiliki, however, felt a surge of annoyance.

Despite her meticulous contingency plans and swift actions, rumors about Draco had already begun to spread like wildfire throughout the city – insidious whispers twisting truth into fear. Where the rumors had originated, she didn’t know, but she suspected the evilus’s insidious touch, or perhaps even rival familias looking to capitalize on their vulnerability.

All she could do was hope that Bahamut, with her divine wisdom and diplomatic prowess, would figure something out.

To add yet another heavy plate onto their already overflowing burden, they had also learned that Draco’s opponent, Mors, the champion of the evilus, was still alive, albeit also severely injured. This news did not ease the pressure one bit.

They didn’t know if the evilus possessed the means to heal Mors quickly, or if he would be sent to finish Draco off.

So, despite their crushing exhaustion, they had instituted a constant patrol around the house, taking turns to watch out not only for the cunning evilus but also for any opportunistic rival adventurers who might view their brother as an easy target in his current, vulnerable state.

And as if all these problems weren’t enough, their goddess, Bahamut, was now set to face a dragon god on the evilus side in a direct battle – a confrontation with immense ramifications.

If, for some reason, she lost, then the Bahamut familia might very well be over, perhaps Orario too.

If Orario survived, they could be banished, or worse, killed by rival familias hungry for power and territory in the chaotic aftermath of war.

All these compounding problems, these terrible, relentless pressures, had created an unbearable weight for the young children of the Bahamut familia.

Adi just kept staring at Vasiliki as the story unfolded, her own face mirroring the growing horror of the narrative.

When Vasiliki fell silent, her gaze drifting off into the hazy sky, Adi watched her, a hollow, distant expression on her friend’s face.

She looked so small, so burdened.

Adi wanted to voice her sympathy, to offer words of comfort, but before she could formulate anything, Vasiliki started speaking again, her voice softer now, almost a murmur.

She began to outline their immediate predicament, carefully, instinctively omitting any details she felt Adi didn't need to know.

Though they were friends, Adi was still a member of another familia, and certain information, especially concerning familia secrets, remained unsaid.

Upon listening to all of Vasiliki’s terse, clipped complaints and the sheer weight of what she and her familia had endured, Adi found herself speechless.

A deep sense of helplessness washed over her, quickly followed by a sharp pang of guilt.

While she had been wallowing in her own anxieties, relatively safe within the Ganesha familia's abode, so many terrible things had happened to so many of her friends.

Her own worries, which had felt so immense just hours ago, now seemed trivial, almost selfish.

Without another thought, driven by an overwhelming surge of empathy and a desperate need to offer some comfort, Adi used her one good arm – the other lost – to approach Vasiliki.

Gently, she pulled the smaller girl into a tight hug.

The contact was immediate, the warmth a stark contrast to the coolness of the air.

Adi buried her face into Vasiliki’s shoulder, struggling valiantly to stifle the tears that welled up, hot and insistent, behind her eyes.

She could feel the tremors in Vasiliki’s slight frame, the tautness of her muscles, the sheer, crushing stress radiating from her.

This wasn’t the kind of pressure, the kind of terrible responsibility, that a kid like Vasiliki, brilliant and capable as she was, should ever have to shoulder.

Vasiliki, for her part, didn’t resist.

She simply leaned into the unexpected embrace, a shuddering breath escaping her.

It was a silent acceptance, a moment of relief.

In that tight, comforting clasp, it was nice, in a way she hadn't realized she desperately needed, to have someone outside her immediate family cry on their behalf, to acknowledge the crushing weight that she and her siblings had been carrying alone.

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