"It's a pleasure to meet you, too, Arnold Norr."

Kafka cleared his throat and forced himself to stand, still holding his white cloak in his hands. "Allow me to ask you a question, if you will," he said to the Titans.

"What do you think comes first? The body or the soul?"

The two Titans turned to each other.

"Huh?" Arnold asked.

"Does the body conform to the soul, or is the soul built around the body?"

Atlas turned back to face Kafka. "Put your cloak on and show some respect."

Once again, Arnold spoke. "I'll humor you. The latter."

"Put the cloak on," Atlas repeated, his eyes glimmering with a blood-orange glow. The same eyes he flashed at Kafka the night before.

Kafka hurriedly threw the pale cloak on and slid his arms down the sleeves. He left the hoodie down, leaving his oily and shaggy hair to glisten in the pale light. "You see... Arnold Norr, you, like many others I have encountered, are wrong."

"Another question."

Atlas let out a light chuckle. "Well..." he said, patting Arnold on the back. "I already heard his entire thesis. I'll leave you two to it." He clapped his hands twice as he turned to exit.

Two wooden chairs appeared in the air, both falling in the same instant. The in front of Arnold fell perfectly onto its legs, while the one intended for Kafka toppled and fell to the side.

The simple sight of Kafka picking up his chair was enough to make a grin spread upon Arnold's lips. Atlas had left before he could say even a word of thanks, but that didn't matter. "What's the question?" Arnold asked.

Kafka once again locked eyes with the Titan of the Skies. The only way to get out of this alive was by talking. Even if Kafka agreed with the Golden Dawn, he wasn't going to stake his life on it.

"My question..." he said, his eyes scanning over Arnold's flashy smirk. "... is on whether or not you believe people have feelings. Emotions."

Arnold remained with his smile plastered against his face as he crossed his legs and clasped his hands over his lap. "You'll give me the answer even if I get it wrong, it seems. So continue. Entertain me."

"People don't have emotions. They have 'souls', but that's not the same. And in this World, I..." he said, pressing his hand against his chest, against his beating heart. "I am the only one who truly understands the composition of the soul itself. And each soul of each person I encounter."

"The soul is what feels," Kafka continued. "And it is far too simplistic to describe that concept as 'emotions'. People tend to overthink what they can't see, of course. But the soul is nothing special. Same as the body, same as the mind. It is life, but nothing more. It just... exists. You feel the same way, I'm sure. About life. It has no weight nor value. It flows... without meaning."

The smile on Arnold's face began to fade. But contrary to his appearance, he was growing more and more amused. He agreed with each word that spilled from Kafka's cracked and dry lips.

"I can see your soul, Arnold Norr. I know who you are and what you've done. I'm not going to say we're similar, but... we do share some ideals. And so, we must live however we want, doing whatever we want. You don't limit yourself. You aren't restricted by any philosophy. When you're hungry, you eat. You do as your will demands. That's why you have killed so freely."

He looked up, finally meeting Arnold's golden eyes. "I support all that you are, Arnold Norr."

Arnold twisted his neck to the side, letting its hollow crackles reverberate into the chamber. And as he shifted his neck to the other side, his eyes glanced onto the floor. More cracking and popping was to be heard. "Well, Kafka Wolfram... It seems this marks the beginning of a delightful partnership."

- - - - -

From the moment Hjálmarr left the royal palace with Gabriel, he couldn't muster a single word to Alexander. He couldn't bear to get close to him. Even as he accompanied their flight on a leaf back to Midgard's Branch of the World Tree.

Anastasia forced herself to climb aboard the living leaf powered by magic, even as she was terrified of it. And as Erling led them across the realm, even as the King powered their flight...

The Virtues all remained in silence.

Hjálmarr and his liege had separated themselves, standing on opposite ends of the leaf. Even though neither knew what the other felt, they both blamed themselves for her death.

Hjálmarr was entrusted to remain by Morgana's side. Alexander had promised to protect her no matter what. And even if both their situations were out of their control, even if they did everything they could...

'Her death... It's all my fault.'

That was the singular thought that consumed them both.

"I think... I think this is the first mission we've failed that'll lead to serious consequences," Gabriel said to Alexander.

His words interrupted Alexander's thoughts. "Yeah. How did the King react?"

"Obviously, he was pissed. But he just shouted at me, so it's fine. I've been shouted at before."

"That's actually surprising," Alexander pointed out, letting out a chuckle.

Gabriel furrowed his eyebrows as the leaf sped up, his golden blond locks streaming to the side with the wind. "Why's that?"

"Because, you're, y'know... spoiled."

He clenched his jaw and forced out a sigh. "Either way, I don't think Uncle Charles will be that angry. Yeah, we messed up, but he'll find a solution for us."

Alexander nodded with a stale, "Yeah."

"So how are you holding up?"

"Shut up, Gabriel."

"I'm sorry."

Alexander turned to Gabriel. "Did you just apologize to me?"

Gabriel's eyes remained fixed on the leaf they stood on. "Not for talking. But for what happened. I'm sorry, Alexander."

Alexander could barely feel it, but his eye twitched as he clenched his jaw. "Thanks. But it's fine."

It wasn't long after that they finally reached the World Tree's Branch. Each of the Virtues hopped off, along with Hjálmarr.

"Sir Elf," Erling called. "That Branch connects to Midgard," he pointed out, his eyes fixed on its static and ever-glowing blue light. "Not your home."

"I know. I just have to say a few words and I'll head to my Branch."

Erling nodded and remained on the leaf, still floating, just as Joanna and Patrick hopped off as well. The 'semi-gods' as Leonard put it (a joke with the term demi-god, Lumiel explained) remained with them on their voyage to the World Tree.

Patrick immediately turned to make fun of Gabriel.

Alexander stared at them as an argument broke out. "There's gotta be something about this realm that makes Vanir men far too annoying."

"Oh, that reminds me," he continued as Joanna laughed.

"Yeah, I know," she said with a smile. "I'll find Grisha. I'll tell him to go to Hell."

"Actually, I was gonna tell you to not do that. None of the blame here lands on him. He's just an ass. Still, thank you. Both you and Patrick. I would've died without the two of you."

She remained with her smile. "Of course. That's what we do. Gotta use your abilities to help others, right?" Joanna asked, her eyes glimmering as she let out a chuckle.

"Exactly right."

She took in a breath. "You're still injured. Take care of yourself, Alexander Lane."

Alexander stared at his bandaged hands. "Yeah, of course. But, uh... I haven't looked under these bandages this whole time. Is it... still healing?"

"Probably," Patrick said with a laugh as he made his way over to him.

Joanna extended her empty palm at Alexander and a dark gray coat of thick fur appeared. "This was for Morgana," she muttered, her eyes fixated on the coat, not Alexander. "I thought that there wouldn't be any use for it considering..."

Patrick interjected. "But she was wrong. There's still use for it." He picked up the sweater from Joanna's hands and passed it to Alexander. "If there's anyone else like Morgana... Anyone that you have to protect and shield from the world... you have this."

Just as Alexander fixed his sight on the coat, tears began to well up in his eyes.

"Thank you, Virtues of Midgard," he continued. "You fought well. While you may have failed, your struggles are remembered. This realm is in your debt. Without your efforts, many more would have suffered through the loss of their lives."

Alexander nodded. "Well, you should say the same to the Hunters." He paused. "Wait, where even are they?"

Hjálmarr finally spoke. "The Hunters are staying here for a day or two, they said." He laughed. "They suffered no deaths, after all. They fought well and defended greatly. They've earned the right to party, even if they didn't get the Crystal."

Anastasia grumbled out a breath. "I really wanted to say bye to Joseph and Anya. They were good people."

"Yeah, me too," Alexander muttered. "Thiago, too. He was cool. But it's fine. I'm sure we'll meet them on Midgard at some point."

She smiled. "Yeah, probably. I'm honestly glad they're all alright. Maybe they're stronger than we thought."

A black jacket flew through the air, only to be caught by Alexander. Lumiel had thrown it the instant she pulled it out of a pale cube.

'Right,' he thought to himself. The city they would soon be in was below freezing temperatures. But he would be fine in the hoodie he wore, anyway. The hoodie Anastasia gave him.

Of course, the only problem was the stench of blood it carried, even after Joanna fixed the massive holes left by the battles. Even with the hole that tore through his gut, even with Arnold's hand tearing through his entire shoulder, Joanna fixed the hoodie immediately.

"It's the least I could do," she said as she chuckled, both times she handed him the fixed cloth as Alexander repeatedly thanked her.

He passed his coat to Anastasia. And she begrudgingly accepted as soon she understood that Alexander was wearing her jacket, anyway.

And as the other Virtues prepared themselves to head home, the elf finally turned to Alexander and no one else. "My liege..." Hjálmarr began to say.

But that was all he could say before Alexander interrupted him with a dry voice and stale eyes. "Don't," Alexander said. "It's fine."

"It's not."

"Hjálmarr. It wasn't your fault."

The elf held in a breath. With just a few words, Alexander already knew what he was going to say. "But-"

"It wasn't your fault, Hjálmarr," Alexander repeated. "You can't do that to yourself. There isn't blame for you to shoulder. There's no burden for you to bear. We all did what we could. But in the end, it wasn't enough. Don't blame yourself."

Hjálmarr couldn't speak. He found himself unable to. What else was there to say, after all? Even if he wanted to cry and shout at Alexander, scream that he was sorry, plead for forgiveness not just from him but from any god in the OverWorld.

But he couldn't. All he did was stare at Alexander as he turned his back.

"I'll see you soon, Hjálmarr."

"...Stay safe, my liege."

Those were the only words he managed to choke out. And with another backward step, Alexander passed into the Branch and into Midgard.

Pure blue flashing was all he saw and felt as weightlessness took him. In the following second, gravity reappeared, slamming his feet into a bricked ground. Frosty air brushed against them immediately.

Back in the city of Copenhagen, back in a city burrowed in snow.

Before they had even left, Archibald had already left instructions for what to do upon their return. Go home.

The next day was when they would meet. After all, they were tired. Just as he expected. The Virtues were to head home and rest and eat and do whatever was needed for themselves.

For days, they each struggled. Some fought and continued to fight, some barely slept and ate. Each of the Virtues struggled.

"Well..." Leonard said, typing coordinates into his transporter. "See you guys tomorrow, right?"

Gabriel spat out a sigh, his breath turning to cold mist as he stared up at the sky. The lack of sky, that is. Dull grey clouds continued to storm overhead and drizzle the entire city in continual snow.

The only reason he could even see the clouds was because of the unending lights of the World Tree. It was already night, after all. The only other source of light was the rows of yellow streetlights, glowing like flames in the darkness of night.

A hand grabbed Alexander's back. It was Anastasia, he noticed as he turned. She nodded to him before passing ahead of him and opening a Connection before them.

"That's for you," she pointed out with a nod of her head. "I know how much you hate using transporters."

The corners of his lips arched up with a thin smile. "Thanks, Anastasia," he mumbled.

Flashes of light burst into the air behind. The others were already leaving. Without so much as looking back at them or the Branch of Vanaheim, Alexander stepped towards and into the Connection of crackling lightning and magic.

When Alexander got back from his first mission on Earth, the first thing he did was sleep. He was exhausted, after all. He did the same thing after he fought Belphegor, throwing himself onto his couch and not waking up for a dozen or so hours.

But now, even as he got home. He knew he wouldn't sleep. He wouldn't rest. Alexander wouldn't let himself rest.

He opened his door to silence.

No one else was home, it seemed. Even though it was just the start of the afternoon in that corner of the world.

It was a Tuesday, he reminded himself. His mom was working, Emilia was at school.

After he threw down his bag and his belongings into his room, he stood still. His clothes, his hair, his entire being smelled like Vanaheim. Whether that was good or bad, he didn't know, but it would be for the best if he got rid of a smell that reminded him of recent hardships.

But if anything, he was just glad the sky was blue again.

Vanaheim's purple sky seemed beautiful to him at first, but it became nauseating to look at after a while. That wasn't due to any pain, just his own opinion. That's why he couldn't help but smile as he opened his curtains and let the light azure sky flow into his room.

Still... The experiences of just the days before were already tormenting him, even as he showered.

Even as steaming water cascaded over his shoulders, his thoughts remained on Vanaheim. Now on Arnold. He replayed their fight over and over again in his head, at different speeds, and with different possibilities.

The part that he focused on the most... was driving a sword into Arnold's arm. It was a poorly constructed blade, poorly maintained and poorly used. But Alexander still managed to cut him. Alexander's strike managed to force blood out of Arnold.

Arnold was far too fast for Alexander to keep up with for an entire battle. And even then, Arnold could kill Alexander in an instant. The only crack in his entire being was his physical vulnerability.

If Alexander was strong enough, or...

'If I had hit him with White Light... could I have killed him?'

He shut off the water and sighed, his head drooping over. His wet hair curled as it dropped over his forehead and dangled above his eyes.

"I gotta cut my hair," he mumbled to himself. With another sigh, he forced himself out and got dressed.

His towel still sat above his head as he exited through the door. But as soon as he did, his eyes met Emilia in his confusion. He stared at his sister. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

She stared back. "Why is your chest so bruised?"

That was the first thing she asked him, even without answering his question.

Alexander furrowed his eyebrows and looked down at himself. Black and blue and purple marks were spread around his chest, scattered in each of the spots he suffered and bore attacks. His shoulder where Arnold tore through with his entire hand. His lower gut where Eve pierced with a wooden bullet. And the dozens of strikes he endured from the likes of Lilith and Hector.

And that wasn't even counting the gash in his thigh that still ached from Hector's blade, nor counting everything else he endured.

"I don't know, just magician things."

"So how- How did the mission go?"

"...It went. It happened. We failed, though. Golden Dawn got the crystal, so..."

"And that's bad?"

"Very."

Emilia spat out a sigh. "But you're all okay, right? In the end, that's more important. Isn't it?"

Alexander's eyes once again turned to the floor. 'All of us...' he thought to himself. He couldn't bring himself to mention Morgana. He couldn't speak of her death. "Yeah," he muttered. "Yeah, that's the important part."

Once again, she stared at him, her eyes scanning over him. "Also, how did you get more muscular over three days?"

"I had to fight for my life for like... a third of each day."

Emilia stared at his drooping curls of hair, before stretching out her hand and running her fingers through Alexander's jet black hair. "Your hair grew really fast, too. I don't remember it being this long."

"I... I guess it happens." He looked back up at her. "But you- You're skipping class, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I came home as soon as I heard you guys were back." She smiled at him.

And once again, Alexander locked eyes with his sister. His promise to Morgana rang out in his head. His promise to protect... was the same one he offered Emilia all those years ago. Amidst death and grief, Alexander held his sister.

'I promise.'

Those were the words he offered. That was probably the only promise he hadn't failed to keep, the only one hadn't broken.

'Yet.'

'Shut up,' he told his doubtful thoughts.

He once again locked eyes with Emilia. By now, she had probably forgotten what Alexander had said to her, all those years ago. She probably already forgot Alexander's promise to her. But that didn't matter, did it? Not to him.

Alexander's promise remained. He took in a sharp breath, before wrapping his arms around Emilia in silence.

That was all.

"Are- Are you okay?" Emilia asked him, confused as she began to embrace him back.

"Yeah, I'm probably fine," he muttered, burying his head into her shoulder.

"Probably?"

"Definitely."

But even as Alexander remained silent, his thoughts continued to run rampant. 'I promised. And I can't break this promise. I have to protect her.'

He spat out a sigh and separated himself from his sister. "Go shower. You smell weird."

Emilia laughed. "That's all you, Alexander. You spent half an hour in there and you still smell."

Alexander gently placed his hand atop her head and ruffled her hair. A thin smile spread across his lips. "Your breath smells like week-old pizza," he whispered to her.

"That's just cruel!" she said as he began to walk away. "It's just the school lunch!"

Alexander opened the door to his room and threw himself onto his bed.

His towel was still dropping over him as he raised his head and stared at his hand. Just a day ago, his palm was drenched in blood. Far too much blood. Even so, the touch of Morgana's smooth and small hand was engraved into his palm, still burning within his senses.

Again, words left his lips without him even realizing. "It's the duty of the strong to protect the weak," he mumbled to himself.

Alexander clenched his jaw. 'Right,' he thought, just as he understood what he had said.

"That's why I forced myself to be strong. So I could fight for anyone. So I could keep my promises... But I'm much weaker than I thought. I couldn't keep my promises when they mattered most."

There was nothing else. The Golden Dawn had won, taken the crystal for themselves. Now, the whole of the World was at risk. And Morgana was dead.

And what of the Virtues? The brave heroes of Midgard? They went home. Even as the Golden Dawn laughed with their victory... Even as Arnold smiled to himself at the blood that was shed. The Virtues, the Paladins, they did nothing. There was nothing else. Nothing to be done, nothing to fight for or against.

"But no more," Alexander continued, still staring at his palm. "I swear it. I will never be shaken. Not until the last moment. Because I'm still weak. So until I'm strong enough... Until I kill that monster named Arnold..."

Alexander clenched his fist, his nails digging into his still healing skin. Blood began to drip from his palm and down his palm. That crimson sight was as disgusting as ever, but even then, he steadied himself.

"I won't stop fighting. That's my resolve."