And while the joyous babel of sounds sizzled up through the room, Helial inexplicably sensed an unusual lump down his throat. He felt the presence of someone extraordinary. It wasn’t Comodus, though; he had already glanced away to focus back on the women standing around him.

It felt like… a call.

The presence seemed to block him somehow.

Helial looked about himself to try to spot where the feeling came from. His eyes met those of Circe, who waved her hand at him, then the grumpy gaze of little Lumia. Though, he couldn’t divert his attention from what had just stolen his focus.

People were laughing and having fun. The party was at its height. Caesar was talking to Orma’s big shots and let out wild laughs. The day had no room for politics. People were chuckling, feeling unburdened as they hadn’t afforded to for a long time. They were all taken by the banquet in spite of any difference between their Clans, Guilds or Sects. Aure seemed to enjoy the cheerful atmosphere too as Caesar and Big constantly poured him some posh wine extracted from demoniac essences - the proper nectar for Immortals.

And yet, all around Helial light had been stolen.

Iblis was sitting at one end of the table, the recipes book on his thin legs. His dainty feet were swinging back and forth. Unconcerned by the cheerful atmosphere on the outside, Iblis was whistling and reading recipes, a melancholy expression on his face.

All of a sudden, the Devil gazed up as if he had sensed something too. He immediately swung his head. He looked as upset as if someone were worming their way through Helial’s Soul.

“What the hell…” whispered the Devil as he ran a hand over his face, to make sure it wasn’t a paranoid.

The world around Helial began to grey. It looked as though a path had been carved out that led to the one tall silhouette seemingly alive amongst that colorless blur.

Sitting on a corner, Pseudonym was pouring a pitcher of beer down the lower breach of his dark armor, in solitude. He looked as if his only wish was escape that place.

A jolt of electricity ran through Helial’s body as if he were struck by lightning.

He took a few steps towards Pseudonym and everything lightened up again, as if he had just walked through the gate to another world.

Air seemed to thicken. It was heavy and unbreathable.

Pseudonym glanced up and saw Helial approach him.

Helial smiled as he sat down in front of Pseudonym.

“I still need to thank you for stopping me form killing Medusa. We wouldn’t have been here throwing a party if I had. Most likely the Sect of the Worthy would have sparked off a riot,” Helial said, paying tribute to what Pseudonym had done.

Meanwhile, Helial’s Soul seemed imbued with unspeakable electricity. Iblis was gaping at the sight as he pondered: “This crazy phenomenon occurred as soon as he approached Pseudonym. Pseudonym is the heir of Jeanne’s legacy and boasts no lesser talent than Helial. Might make one of the fellows who’ll side with Helial against the forces of Life?”

Pseudonym coldly remarked: “If it weren’t for you, I would be staked alive for having killed her myself.”

Having said this, he raised the pitcher towards Helial, then swallowed it up and slammed it violently on the table.

Helial vaguely caught a glimpse of Pseudonym’s lips from under the armor, but nothing more. Judging from that big hunk of metal, that one really seemed to care about not revealing his face.

Strangely enough, those lips didn’t seem those of a grouch like Pseudonym. They looked like the lips of a gentle person. This was quite silly a thought; you can’t interpret the character of someone through one insignificant anatomical detail. Nonetheless, Helial could not but think this.

“Don’t you like parties?” Helial asked. He was curious to get to know Pseudonym better.

“Parties?” asked Pseudonym with his hoarse voice, taking a look around them. “How many people in Orma take in part in a banquet like this, and how many will die before the party is over?”

“So you’re an idealist?” Helial was slightly puzzled. He couldn’t imagine that Pseudonym had such line of thinking.

“I’m more of a materialist, really. I’ve roamed through the suburbs of Orma many times, trying to help those on the ropes. Some kids are so skinny that no one could tell the difference between them and a skull,” Pseudonym’s tone grew extremely serious. The atmosphere suddenly felt gloomier due to the metallic clangor of the armor echoing the pain through his Soul.

Helial took a sip from the pitcher he was holding and glanced behind his back at the lushness of the room.

“So what?” he asked, shrugging and glancing at Pseudonym once again.

The answer seemed to irritate Pseudonym. “So what what? Doesn’t seem like a problem to you?”

Helial slightly yawned for the excess of alcohol in his body, then fell silent for some seconds.

“Like, why should we worry about that now? What do you think will change if we sit here and think about the suburbs? If that worries you, you can give all the money you earn in the Colosseum to the kids in Suburra. You can’t be penniless, you’re the big champ here. How many kids could you feed with the supplies we get into our Interspace Rings?” asked Helial, an eyebrow raised.

“Nice words for one who’s never lifted a finger for those people. Why don’t you follow me down to the suburbs instead of stuffing yourself at this banquet?” Pseudonym asked sarcastically.

A trace of smile played across Helial’s lips as his expression turned complicated.

Having stood up without further ado, Helial began to walk back to his seat.

Another useless one. One does not change the world overnight. Ones does not change the world through a couple of nice speeches. You don’t turn people from poor into well-off just by wishing it happened. You can’t always bring potentiality into actuality in the blink of an eye; these were the thoughts running through Pseudonym’s mind as he scornfully gazed at Helial walk towards the banquet.

In fact, Pseudonym was no idiot. Given the lack of a true formal education, Helial must have come from a tough family situation. However, once on top of the world, it’s easy to forget what it means to live down low. Or rather, people tend to forget that willingly.

A sigh, Pseudonym gave a sigh. He was frustrated by how no one seemed to care about what happened outside the walls. They simply took their mind off misery to drown these thoughts in expensive wine.

However, his gaze was quickly stolen by a scene which made his eyebrows furrow.

Helial was now kneeling in front of Caesar and Aure. His lips were moving in the act of telling them something, which the hubbub made impossible for him to catch.

In that very moment, Pseudonym experienced the most singular sensation.

The world seemed to grey all around him as Helial slowly stood back up among the laughter of Caesar and Aure, who waved their hand in response.

As Helial’s steps took him closer, Pseudonym heard every sound muffle as nothing existed in the world but him and the boy.

Some sort of elective affinities was just created between the two kindred spirits. Now, Helial and Pseudonym could perceive no one but each other. None of the guests was aware of the enigmatic mystique lingering on the two, yet neither of them could have ever forgotten.

Stepping in front of Pseudonym, Helial said: “You’re so interested in the suburbs? Let’s go then.”