The Goddess Who Couldn't See
At the highest floor of Babel, a woman with the beauty of heaven itself leaned against the balcony rail.
Moonlight loved her.
It traced pale skin, silver hair, the lazy curve of a smile that had broken kings and gods alike.
Freya looked down upon Orario as if it were a jewel placed solely for her amusement.
Beside her stood a giant of a man.
Broad shoulders. Scarred skin. Presence so heavy the air itself seemed to brace.
A warlord in truth—one who could flatten the city below if he so wished.
Ottar did not look at her body.
Did not react to the way silk barely bothered to cover divinity.
Did not flinch.
His will was iron.
His loyalty absolute.
He was hers.
Freya's eyes drifted lazily across the streets far below—souls glittering like constellations. Adventurers. Gods. Mortals burning bright, dull, desperate.
And then—
She paused.
"…Hm?"
One speck among thousands. A tiny figure pulling a rough hoodie tight, head lowered, posture tense. An ant among giants.
Freya focused.
Her gift stirred.
She saw souls.
She always did.
Radiant ones. Corrupted ones. Flickering flames about to die. Even gods, wrapped in overwhelming brilliance.
She saw them all.
Except—
"…What?"
Her breath caught.
The figure below looked back.
Not worshipful.
Not entranced.
Suspicious.
Freya straightened slowly.
She looked again.
Nothing.
No color.
No glow.
No outline of desire, fear, ambition—nothing.
"…I can see a god's soul," she murmured, voice soft but sharp. "So why can't I see yours?"
A chill crept up her spine.
Ottar felt it instantly. His hand moved—subtle, ready.
"Lady Freya?" he asked.
Her lips curled upward.
Fear? No.
Interest.
Pure, intoxicating interest.
"Fascinating," she whispered, eyes locked on the street far below. "Absolutely fascinating."
The boy turned away, vanishing into Orario's side streets like he had never existed.
Freya laughed quietly.
"To hide from me," she said, delighted. "How bold."
Her fingers tightened on the railing.
"A soul I cannot see," she continued. "A presence that slipped past the gods… even past me."
Ottar lowered his head. "Your command?"
Freya smiled wider.
"No," she said gently. "Not yet."
She leaned forward once more, gaze distant, hungry.
"Let him run. Let him grow. Let him struggle."
Her eyes gleamed.
"Anything that can escape my sight…"
"…is worth breaking the world for."
High above Orario, the goddess of beauty decided something important.
She would wait.
And when the time came—
She would claim him.