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Good evening everyone, here's the new chapter.
First of all... why did it take me so long to release a chapter?
Well, I haven't been feeling well lately, both physically and mentally. I think a lot of bad things piled up.
I don't want to elaborate too much on this, but in the last few months I haven't had much motivation to write chapters. I even thought more than once about simply canceling all my projects, but I didn't because... I was too lazy to cancel it XD. So it just sat there for a while, until I changed my mind and started writing again, but I think I've lost my spark. It doesn't help much to see in real time how this fanfic is slowly losing people's interest.
You can see how the interest has been decreasing over time, leaving me wondering, "What did I do wrong?" Patreon supporters are also canceling subscriptions (though I don't blame them, it's almost a vicious cycle: I'm not motivated to release chapters, the chapter doesn't come out, they unsubscribe from Patreon because of it, and the unsubscription notification makes me feel even worse, so I'm even less inclined to write XD). I don't know...
Anyway, I'm sick. After my trip (which I was forced to take), I ended up with constant dizziness, no idea why. I've been feeling bad for four days straight now and am taking prescription medication, although I'm improving little by little, I still constantly feel like the world is spinning XD.
I won't bother you any longer, here's the chapter.
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Bell was semi-conscious in a place that only his mind could call his own.
His perception of reality was still there, present, but distant. What his eyes saw in the outside world—the ceiling of his room, the light filtering faintly from one side—reached him as an alien image, similar to observing a scene through a closed window. He knew it was real. He knew that was his body lying in a bed. But he didn't feel like he was in it.
On the other hand, his body felt heavy, sluggish, as if every part of it were covered by a layer of weariness that wouldn't go away. It wasn't exactly pain, but it wasn't comfortable either.
It was more like being asleep for too long, when movement requires a will that's gone. Bell could feel his arms, his legs, his breathing… but he felt no urge to use them. Staying still was easier. Safer.
Thinking was worse.
Every attempt to organize his thoughts ended the same way. His mind returned, without warning, to images he knew all too well. Freya before him, blood trickling down her forehead. The Goddess's gaze fixed, intense, impossible to look away. Ottar advancing, raising his swords with a determination that crushed any resistance. The clash of metal. The air growing heavy. Ais being thrown far away, her body lost among the rubble. Haruhime raising her voice to invoke her spell, trembling but resolute. And then him, falling. The exact moment his body ceased to respond.
That point.
The moment he understood that he had reached a limit he didn't know had existed.
Each time those memories surfaced, something inside his mind tensed, as if it were about to break. A deep weariness built up within him, pulling him down.
That's why he stopped trying.
Bell stopped consciously thinking. He allowed himself to surrender to exhaustion and fell asleep. Or so he thought. Time passed without him being able to measure it. Perhaps minutes. Perhaps hours. At some point, he awoke, although "awakened" wasn't quite the right word. He opened his eyes in his mind and discovered he was still there, suspended in that intermediate state. Sleep hadn't been enough.
So he waited.
He waited for the weariness to build up again. He waited for his body and mind to become so exhausted that he could sleep again. It was a simple cycle. Sleep. Wake up without being truly awake. Wait again.
During those moments of waiting, quieter thoughts appeared. They didn't attack him suddenly like the memories of the battle. They came slowly, almost cautiously, as if they too were tired.
Maybe he wasn't made for this.
He remembered another occasion. The Pallum, Lili. He had promised himself he would visit her again.
He never kept that promise.
He thought he was doing the right thing; she had committed a crime, and he turned her over to the authorities. What anyone in his position would do.
Visiting her for the first (and last) time and seeing her behind those bars, as if she had surrendered to life, had deeply affected him. He was left with the feeling of having failed, even though he had acted in accordance with what should have been right.
Perhaps if he had listened to her, perhaps if he had waited a little longer, she would have had a better ending.
And it seemed almost ridiculous. But the way Lili told him her story also showed that she had suffered a great deal. It didn't justify what she did, not at all. But those people should have some chance at redemption, shouldn't they?
Then came his own reaction to that. He'd almost given up at that point if it weren't for… Syr… well, Freya.
A thought took shape, slowly but persistently.
How could he call himself a Hero if he hesitated every time something bad happened?
The Heroes, at least as the ones he had dreamed of since childhood, always got back up. They moved forward even when they were afraid. They made difficult decisions without wavering. They protected others without stopping to think about their own safety. They were steadfast. They were strong.
Bell, on the other hand, felt different.
When the weight became too much, his own instinct was to stop. To wait for it to pass. That was his natural response. He hadn't chosen it. It was simply the way he was.
The comparison didn't provoke anger towards himself. Nor open sadness. It left him with a more subdued feeling. An uncomfortable acceptance.
Maybe that was all.
Perhaps he had simply reached the point where his mind decided to protect itself in the only way it knew how: by shutting down, by turning off his reactions, by limiting the entry of the outside world. Not because he was a coward, but because continuing in the same way would have eventually broken him.
From outside, sounds drifted in from time to time. Familiar voices. Footsteps. The rustling of fabrics. Someone taking his hand. Someone adjusting the blanket over his body. Bell registered these things faintly. He knew he wasn't alone. He knew he was being cared for. That certainty remained firm, even in his current state.
But responding required more energy than he currently had.
His mind was tired of holding onto expectations. Tired of responding to glances, words, promises. Tired of having to be someone all the time. Here, in this state, nothing was asked of him. He could simply exist.
Time kept passing.
Part of Bell understood that this couldn't last forever. That at some point he would have to return. To truly open his eyes. To feel the weight of his body again. To hear voices without them sounding distant. To respond when someone called his name.
But that part was silent.
For now, all it did was float.
Exist.
Let the tiredness sustain him.
If there was anything resembling peace in that state, it was a fragile peace. It wasn't relief. It was the absence of demands. And for someone who had been pushed beyond their limits, that was more than enough.
Then a dry sound echoed in the space.
It was faint, almost imperceptible. A brief click, like the snap of an invisible piece. The sound didn't startle him, but something within that suspended state shifted slightly, as if the place where he floated had registered a change.
Then came another clack.
And one more.
The white opened slightly, not like a crack, but like an overlay. A presence slowly took shape, as if the place itself needed time to accept it.
Artemis appeared.
Her figure materialized before Bell, suspended in the same space as him. Her blue hair moved slowly, floating as if underwater. Artemis sighed, a low, weary sound. A brief, discreet smile appeared on her face, born more of relief than joy.
She had managed to get in.
Her eyes fell on him almost immediately. The smile didn't disappear completely, but it softened. Her lips tightened slightly, and her expression became more restrained.
Artemis watched him silently for a few seconds until she finally floated slowly closer.
She advanced cautiously, as if afraid of disturbing the fragile balance that held Bell suspended. When she was close enough, the Moon Goddess raised a hand and brought it to his face. Her fingers gently touched Bell's cheek, as if checking something she already knew.
"Orion…" she whispered.
Bell didn't react. He didn't turn his head. He didn't focus his gaze. His expression remained neutral, distant, as if that contact couldn't penetrate the barrier his mind had erected. Artemis didn't withdraw her hand. She left it there a moment longer, savoring the contact she had missed so much.
Then she moved.
She slowly turned until she was beside him, aligning her body with his, as if they were both suspended in mid-air. The proximity seemed almost necessary. Artemis wrapped her arms around Bell and pulled him close. The gesture was firm, yet measured, careful not to make him feel trapped. She held him like someone protecting something that has been exposed for too long.
They remained like that, floating together.
It wasn't a comforting scene. There was no obvious warmth or complete serenity. Artemis wasn't smiling. Her face showed concentration, an absolute focus on Bell. She rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes for a moment, as if organizing her own thoughts.
She wanted to fix it.
Not the world that had brought him to this point. Not the decisions of others. Not the consequences. Bell. Only him. Seeing him like this, withdrawn into his own mind, was something she wasn't prepared to accept as his final state.
Orion was her priority. It always has been.
Since the Moon Goddess's soul resided in the Spear, the opportunities to be with him like that had almost completely vanished. She had lost her body, and with it, the ability to share simple moments. To sit beside him. To hold his hand when he hesitated. To hug him after a battle. All of that was gone.
She missed that closeness, even if it had only been for a few moments.
Being a weapon bound to her beloved was a strange experience. Limited. New. She existed with him, but in a different way. Being present didn't mean being tangible. Even so, Artemis had accepted this bond because it was better than the star-gazed distance. Better than total separation. Remaining by his side, even so, had value.
But the price was obvious.
From the outside, she seemed distant. A voice that surfaced at specific moments. A piece of advice. A warning. An occasional comment. If Bell was focused, he could hear her. If his mind was occupied or agitated, her voice was easily lost.
She couldn't touch him.
She couldn't shake him to bring him back.
All she could do was talk, and sometimes even that wasn't enough.
Now, seeing it this way, Artemis clearly understood how limited that bond had been. Not for its lack of will, but because of the very conditions of its existence.
She hugged him a little more firmly.
She wasn't trying to wake him. She wasn't trying to force him to react. Her intention was simpler. To be there. To keep him company in that space where he had taken refuge. To show him, even without words, that he wasn't alone.
"I'm always with you, Orion." she murmured, without raising her voice.
She wasn't expecting an answer. She didn't need one. She knew Bell wasn't in a condition to process long words or speeches. This wasn't the time for explanations or promises. It was a time to share the silence.
Artemis opened her eyes and observed the white space that surrounded them. She perceived it carefully. It wasn't empty. It was a place built out of necessity. A refuge created by an exhausted mind seeking to sustain itself.
She wasn't going to break that refuge.
She wasn't going to push him back into the outside world abruptly. She wasn't going to demand that he should get up, that he should react, that he should be strong.
First, he had to stay.
Artemis placed a hand on Bell's chest, right where she knew his heart beat steadily, even though he couldn't feel it. She closed her eyes and asserted her presence in that mental space. Not as a distant Goddess. Not as a weapon. But as someone who shared that moment with him.
Time ceased to matter. There was no urgency. There was no invisible countdown. Artemis didn't know how long this state would last, nor how long it would take Bell to react. But she had no intention of leaving.
Wherever her beloved retreated, she would accompany him.
Not to drag him back.
Just to ensure that, when he finally does decide to return, he wouldn't have to do it alone.
A few seconds passed before she decided to start humming without thinking too much about it.
It wasn't a complex or solemn melody. It was simple, repetitive, something that didn't demand full attention to be heard. A soft sound that glided naturally through the white space, as if it had always belonged there. Her voice had no force or intention of imposing itself. It was merely a constant, steady thread.
As she hummed, Artemis held Bell close, snuggling against him. She didn't move him. She didn't adjust the embrace. She simply held him, letting the rhythm of the melody set the time for that shared moment.
Bell was the first to react.
His eyes slowly shifted to Artemis. The gesture was small, almost imperceptible, but real. His pupils barely focused on her, as if the melody had pierced that inner wall that kept everything at a distance.
It was calming.
It didn't stir up any specific memories or clear images. It didn't bring words or anything else with it. It simply occupied the space, filling it with something other than the heavy silence that had been there for so long.
Artemis continued humming, aware of the change, but without stopping or exaggerating her reaction. Inside, a part of her felt insecure. Not because of the melody itself, but because of everything else.
She didn't know how to fix this.
That thought kept repeating in the Moon Goddess's mind. She had no experience in situations like this. She hadn't learned how to support someone in a nervous breakdown. And, to complicate matters further, Bell was her first love. After millions of years of existence, of observing from afar, of fulfilling her role as a Goddess without allowing herself such connections, now she found herself here, improvising.
Even when she was in heaven, she hadn't interacted much with other Gods in that way. She'd always kept a certain distance. So now, in that shared space with Bell, all she could do was follow her intuition.
She hoped she was doing it right.
Bell closed his eyes for a moment. The humming was still there, constant. Something inside him loosened. It wasn't complete relief or clarity. But the accumulated tension, that constant pressure that had been building for hours, began to ease a little.
'I don't want to cry anymore.'
That thought came weakly, almost as an observation. He had spent so much time feeling that crying was the only possible response, that realizing he no longer wanted to do it felt strange. Even so, hearing the melody was what finally stirred something within him.
He woke up somehow.
Not in the literal sense. His body remained motionless. His mind remained weary. But that absolute disconnection began to break. Bell slowly moved one of his arms and wrapped it around Artemis, returning her embrace.
The gesture was awkward. Hesitant. But real.
Artemis felt the change instantly. Her body tensed slightly, surprised. The humming stopped for a second, but she resumed it immediately, now with a small smile forming on her face. It wasn't a broad or triumphant smile. It was calm. Relieved.
It was working.
There was no need to say it out loud. The simple fact that Bell hugged her back was confirmation enough.
After a moment, Artemis let the melody fade away. She allowed the sound to dissolve naturally, as if it had fulfilled its purpose.
Then she spoke.
"You don't have to get up yet, Orion."
Her voice was soft, without urgency. It didn't sound like an order or advice. It was an invitation.
"Stay a little longer... just be yourself."
Bell remained silent for a few seconds. His thoughts moved slowly. There was still a heavy feeling in his chest, a discomfort difficult to define. Even so, Artemis's touch, her constant presence, made that discomfort more bearable.
When he tried to answer, his voice came out low, heavy with melancholy.
"That... is not enough."
The words were simple. With a lingering sense of inadequacy. Bell felt that, even being himself, something was missing. That he wasn't enough. That he never was.
Artemis did not let him continue.
"You don't have to be enough," she said, interrupting him gently, without raising her voice. "Not now."
Bell opened his eyes and looked at her. Artemis didn't look away. There was no disappointment in his expression. Nor pity. Only a calm resolve.
"You only have to do what you can, the best you can" she continued. "Nothing more."
Bell frowned slightly. Those words clashed with how he had always understood things. Ever since he arrived in Orario, ever since he decided to become an Adventurer, he had lived with the idea that he should do more. To strive harder. To be better. To not fall behind.
Artemis seemed to read that conflict in his expression.
"I know you feel responsible," the Moon Goddess said. "For many things."
Bell did not respond, but his silence was confirmation enough.
"Maybe you ask yourself what you did wrong," Artemis continued. "What you could have done differently."
Her words were not accusatory. She wasn't pressuring him. They were careful observations, spoken with understanding.
"But not everything is your responsibility."
Bell tightened his grip slightly in her embrace. That sentence struck a nerve. Part of him wanted to believe it. But another part resisted.
Artemis rested her forehead against his, maintaining that closeness.
"You're not responsible for everything that happens around you," she said calmly. "You don't have to bear every single consequence."
Bell swallowed. His breathing became a little more uneven. He wasn't crying, but emotion was slowly building in his chest.
Artemis did not rush. She let that moment exist.
"I want you to be the same as always," she continued. "Not as an ideal Adventurer. Not as a perfect Hero."
She barely pulled away to look directly at him.
"I want you to be Bell Cranel."
Saying his name in that way, without titles or expectations, had a different weight.
"The same person I fell in love with" she added.
Bell felt a lump in his throat. Those words weren't accompanied by a demand. Artemis didn't expect him to get up immediately. She didn't expect him to resolve anything.
She just wanted him to exist. To be him.
The white space around them remained silent. Bell closed his eyes again, but this time it wasn't to flee. It was to stay. His breathing gradually stabilized, following the calm rhythm Artemis set with her presence.