Chapter 15: Stay With Me
[ Calamity of Greed ]
Grants the skill [ Word of Greed ].
Her brow furrowed.
Seriously? That’s it? Such a pompous title, and it boiled down to a single skill. Thinking back on what had happened a little earlier, though, she understood it was no ordinary skill either.
"System. The Word of Greed — how does it activate, exactly?"
She waited. A window, a line, a word. Nothing came.
...Of course. The system had that infuriating habit of going quiet right when her questions got interesting.
Since no one would answer her, she worked it out herself. Twice, the skill had woken on its own: when she’d blurted out "death," and when she’d dangled the title of General. Twice when she hadn’t merely spoken, but stirred a want. A promise of conquest, a promise of power.
So that’s the trigger. Greed. A smile escaped her, halfway between relief and unease. Theirs, when I stir it with my words. And maybe mine too, come to think of it, when I want something a little too much.
It remained to be confirmed — she’d have to learn to wield it, to switch it on and off at will instead of being at its mercy. But as a first lead, it wasn’t bad.
And it was right then, as she closed the window, that a bright voice rang out in the corridor.
"Mistress! We’re back!"
Freya turned around, and the weight of the past hours lifted all at once.
Laïa barreled in first, cheeks flushed, out of breath, a large bird with blazing plumage in her arms, blue, red and gold, nearly as big as she was. She brandished it like a trophy. Naïa followed, more composed, buried under an armful of vegetables and wild fruit. And behind them, bringing up the rear, Aria.
"Look at everything we found!" Laïa called out.
"Did you leave any for the other beasts, at least?"
"Aria said we needed enough for a real feast! So we took everything!"
A feast, huh. Freya slid a glance toward Aria, who tilted her head, quietly pleased with herself.
And honestly, the idea didn’t displease her. A good quiet evening wasn’t something to turn down. Well — quiet... as quiet as dinner could be at the bottom of a dungeon, between a demon, two orphans and a pack of mushroom-foxes.
"Perfect. To the kitchen, then." She swept the bare room with a glance. "Although... we’d need a kitchen first."
"Leave that detail to me, Mistress."
Aria stepped to the center of the room and raised a hand. The stone answered her. The floor rippled, rose, bent to her will, and within seconds an entire kitchen sprang from the rock. A long smooth counter, a stove where bluish flames already danced, utensils lined up, as if the room had always been there.
Laïa nearly dropped her bird.
"Wooow... How did you do that?!"
"A Maid’s secret," Aria replied with a knowing little air.
Freya nearly choked. Hey! Don’t catch me off guard with lines that cliché.
Aria led the dance, her movements clean, precise, the blade flying through the vegetables at a speed that made Naïa turn pale.
"Is... is it normal to go that fast?" the elder sister ventured.
"With a few centuries of practice, you’ll see, it comes on its own."
Naïa decided not to touch the "few centuries."
Freya, for her part, had taken charge of teaching Laïa, which was closer to comedy than to a cooking lesson.
"No, Laïa, you’re holding your knife upside down."
"Ah! Sorry!" The little one turned it around, looking earnest.
"There. Now you cut. That’s all there is to it."
Laïa complied, tongue between her teeth, so focused on her carrot that Freya had to hold back a laugh. Naïa, meanwhile, learned fast. She watched, asked few questions, and corrected her grip on the first try.
It was a strange feeling. Guiding these two kids, joking with them like a big sister. Not something she’d expected, and it pleased her far more than she would have admitted.
The bird ended up roasting over the flames, and a rich, spiced aroma gradually filled the room. It drifted into the corridors. One by one, curious little muzzles appeared at the kitchen entrance, luminescent caps quivering, drawn by the smell.
"Kyu...?"
Freya turned around and melted at the hopeful little faces lined up in the doorway.
"You smelled the feast, didn’t you?" She laughed. "Come on, then. There’ll be plenty for everyone tonight."
It was a stampede. A dozen foxes rushed in squealing with joy, jostling around her legs, caps flushing bright pink. Freya caught one mid-leap and slipped it a still-warm piece of meat, then another, unable to resist their delighted little faces.
"Easy, easy! There’s enough for everyone, I said!"
Laïa burst out laughing at the sight of the little pack swarming her, and joined the hand-outs, one blissful critter perched on her shoulder.
When everything was ready, they sat down to eat in the luxury chamber. Truth be told, the word "chamber" was almost misleading, the place was so vast. It felt more like a palace suite: high ceilings, a soft golden light, a long table of solid wood set at its center. A luxury that clashed cheerfully with the raw rock of the dungeon all around.
They took their seats, and the warmth settled in on its own.
"So?" Freya watched the girls dig into their plates. "Verdict?"
"It’s..." Laïa searched for words, mouth already full. "It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in my whole life!"
"Naturally." Aria brushed at a lock of hair, faux-modest. "You’d never tasted my cooking before."
Naïa snickered, Laïa demanded a second helping, and Freya, at last, brought a bite to her lips.
And she went still.
The taste hit her, warm, savory, real. Her mana body had no need for food. She hadn’t felt hunger or fatigue since arriving in this world. But this... this, she had almost forgotten.
The feeling of a true meal, cooked, shared. The kind of silly little pleasure you stop noticing, until the day it’s gone.
It’s been so long...
A gentle warmth rose in her chest, unrelated to the food. She chewed slowly, savoring each bite like a recovered treasure, and a sincere smile eventually bloomed on her lips.
She felt good. Simply, stupidly good. This table, this laughter, this little troop around her, this taste she thought she’d left behind in her old life.
Then, between two bites, a thought resurfaced.
"By the way, girls. The mithrite. Were you able to dig around a little, back at the village?"
Naïa set down her cutlery, her seriousness returning at once.
"Yes, ma’am. But it’s not that simple. You can’t buy or sell mithrite freely — apparently you need a special authorization. And not just any... the king’s own."
"The king himself?" Freya raised an eyebrow.
"That’s correct," Aria confirmed. "The crown locks down the mithrite market from end to end. An ore that precious, that vital to enchanting and smithing, they can’t afford to let it slip through their fingers. So everything goes through the king. Or doesn’t go at all."
A royal monopoly. Freya turned the information over in her head. It closes doors... but above all, it means an entire vein of the stuff, right under my feet, is worth a small fortune.
"Good to know. Fine work, both of you."
The conversation picked back up, lighter. Laïa told of some mischief from the village, Naïa corrected her, laughing, and the meal stretched on, soft and peaceful. Little by little, the laughter grew quieter, and the two sisters’ eyelids, heavy with fatigue and full bellies, began to droop on their own.
Laïa was the first to nod off, nearly tipping into her plate. Naïa caught her with a fond little laugh.
"I think it’s time we slept, ma’am."
"I think so too." Freya smiled and rose. "Rest well. You’ve earned it, both of you."
"Thank you for everything. Truly." Naïa hesitated, then added, lower, like a confidence: "It’s been a long time since we had an evening like this."
"Good night, ma’am~" yawned Laïa, already half asleep against her sister’s shoulder.
Freya gave them one last smile, then stepped out with Aria and gently closed the door behind them, leaving the two sisters to their night.
The silence of the corridor welcomed them. But it was no longer the same silence as before dinner. What remained was something more hushed, more intimate.
Her. And Aria.
They walked back together toward the Heart, unhurried, shoulder to shoulder. The demon walked a step behind, as always, and yet Freya felt her there, close, a warm presence in the half-dark.
It was Aria who broke the silence.
"May I tell you my honest thoughts on those two?"
"I’m listening."
"Naïa is sharp. Far more than her age suggests. She watches, she retains, she anticipates. Properly trained, she would make a remarkable steward." A pause. "As for Laïa... she’s something else. That she pierced my illusions was no accident. That child holds a rare gift for pink magic. Raw, immense. It only asks to be awakened."
"And you intend to see to it?"
"I will train them both as they deserve. You can count on me, Mistress."
Freya nodded, touched more than she would have thought. She stopped at the threshold of the Heart’s chamber and turned toward the demon, half bathed in the pulsing crimson glow.
"Thank you, Aria. Truly." She hesitated a second. "Thank you for welcoming them. Without... without taking offense, I mean."
The silence that followed lasted only a heartbeat. But something in the air pulled taut.
"Do not misunderstand, Mistress."
Aria’s voice hadn’t risen a single note. That was precisely what was most unsettling. That perfect, smooth calm, with something else surfacing beneath it.
"If I accept them, it is solely because I have seen with my own eyes the way you treat them. As children. Nothing more, nothing less."
She took a step. Just one. The space between them shrank, and her gaze, that violet gaze usually so controlled, had grown deeper, more fixed.
"But had a single one of them tried to slip between you and me..." Her voice dropped a notch, turned softer, and colder still. "Had she coveted so much as a crumb of the place that is mine... I would have let them bleed out in that village. Without a flicker. Them, and the whole village with them, if it had come to that."
Another step. They were close now. Too close. Freya felt the warmth radiating from the demon, her scent, the weight of a gaze that would not let her go.
"No one will take you from me." It was no longer a threat hurled at the world. It was an oath, murmured inches from her face. "Not those girls. Not a Dungeon Lord. Not a hero, not a god. You are mine, Mistress. Mine alone. And I would burn this world to ashes before I let anyone lay so much as a finger on what belongs to—"
Freya raised her hand and laid a finger on her lips.
Aria fell silent.
"You know, Aria..." Freya held her gaze, a slow smile on her lips. Not a trace of fear. "Right now, you’re the only one I’m looking at."
The effect was immediate. The demon’s fine composure wavered, cracked, collapsed all at once.
Her cheeks flared a deep red, her eyes went wide, and every threat died in her throat. This creature who, a second earlier, had vowed to burn the world to ashes suddenly didn’t know where to look.
"M-Mistress, I..."
"Shh."
Freya hadn’t withdrawn her finger. Slowly, very slowly, she let it glide from Aria’s trembling lips to her burning cheek. The demon shivered from head to toe at that simple touch, a short breath escaping her.
The air between them seemed to thicken.
Freya took her time. She savored this rare moment, the most dangerous being she knew standing before her, trembling, entirely at her mercy. Her thumb traced the line of her jaw, lingered at the corner of her lips.
The demon’s eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted on a ragged breath. She wasn’t pulling back. On the contrary, she was tilting her head, ever so gently, closing what little space remained on her own, offered, suspended.
So Freya closed the distance.
Their lips met. Barely, at first, a hesitant caress, a shared breath. Aria froze for a fraction of a second, incredulous, as if she didn’t dare believe the moment was real.
Then she yielded. Entirely.
The kiss deepened, slower, hungrier, and days of contained devotion overflowed into that single contact. The demon’s hands found her mistress’s waist, clung to it, drew her closer, as though she refused to ever let her slip away again.
Freya slid a hand into the long mauve hair, and Aria let out a muffled sound against her lips, something between a whimper and surrender.
When they finally parted, breathless, Aria’s forehead came to rest against hers. Her violet eyes, usually so cold, now burned with another flame entirely, feverish, brimming with a desire she no longer even tried to hide.
"Mistress..." she breathed, voice trembling, almost pleading.
Freya felt her own heart hammering against her ribs. The warmth of Aria’s body pressed against hers, that gaze devouring her, that tension waiting for nothing but a spark.
She wound her fingers into the mauve hair, drew the demon to her once more, heart pounding, and murmured against her lips:
"...Stay with me tonight, Aria."
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