Amidst the rowdiness of Orario's most famous pub, the air around the Bahamut Familia's table remained thick with a lingering, acidic tension.
The spectacle of the two goddesses…..Loki and Bahamut...screaming at one another like fishmongers in the marketplace had left a sour residue that even the finest wine couldn't quite wash away.
As the Loki Familia retreated to their corner to nurse their goddess's bruised ego, the other patrons slowly resumed their business.
However, the rowdiness was gone, replaced by a feverish, low-frequency buzzing.
It was the sound of gossip in the making.
Eyes darted toward Bahamut, then toward the red-haired trickster across the room, as seasoned adventurers and novice dungeon-crawlers alike began claiming bets on who had truly "won" the verbal sparring match.
Bahamut, looked thoroughly miserable.
Her silver hair seemed to lack its usual luster, and her eyes were narrowed into slits of pure venom.
She stared down at her lap, her knuckles tight as she crushed the edge of the wooden table.
"That... that harlot," Bahamut hissed, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and humiliation. "That flat-chested, needle-nosed excuse for a deity! How dare she? On this night, of all nights!"
The evening was supposed to be a celebration.
Instead, it had devolved into a playground spat.
"Oh, come now, Bahamut," a melodic, teasing voice chimed in from across the table. Aasterinian, the whimsical and often troublesome dragon goddess, leaned back in her chair with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"You have to admit, your face went a very impressive shade of red. I didn't know goddesses could produce such a vibrant hue of embarrassment. It was almost poetic."
Bahamut's head snapped up, her gaze lethal.
"Astaaaa..." Bahamut warned.
"I'm just saying," Aasterinian continued, undeterred by the threat.
"You always let her get under your scales. You went full 'street-brawler' on her. Very un-regal. Very... entertaining for the mortal folk."
She gestured vaguely at the surrounding tables, where several adventurers were snickering behind their hands.
The sound of those muffled laughs was like salt in a wound.
Bahamut slumped further into her seat, her mood darkening into a deep, abyssal pout.
Draco sat quietly beside her, watching Aasterinian's antics with a deep sigh.
While Bahamut's behavior had indeed been a bit embarrassing, and she had certainly allowed Loki to drag her down to a level of petty bickering, Draco couldn't help but find the display somewhat endearing.
There was something about seeing his goddess lose her cool.
He found her cute when she was flustered, though he was wise enough not to voice that particular observation.
To call a brooding dragon goddess "cute" in the middle of a public tavern was a sure-fire way to have the entire building leveled.
Searching for words to soothe her, Draco found himself at a loss.
When words failed, he relied on action.
He caught the eye of Anya, the cat-person waitress who was currently weaving through the crowd with an impossible number of plates balanced on her arms.
"Anya," Draco called out.
"Nyah? Yes, Big Dragon Man?" Anya chirped, skidding to a halt by their table.
Draco winced at the title, but quickly composed himself.
"Every type of meat dish on the menu. The smoked pork, the honeyed ribs, and another bottle of the fruit mead," Draco requested, sliding a tip across the table.
"You got it, nyah!" Anya swept up the money and vanished into the kitchen with a blur of speed.
Draco began to systematically move the existing platters of food closer to Bahamut.
He picked up a skewer of seasoned meat and placed it gently on her plate, nudging it toward her. 'Good food always seemed to cheer her up' he mused.
It was a simple remedy, perhaps even a bit primitive, but in his experience, the stomach was often the fastest route to the heart….
The smell of the freshly roasted meat began to waft up, rich and savory.
Bahamut's nose twitched.
She resisted for a moment, maintaining her stony facade of fury, but the lure of the feast was too much.
Slowly, tentatively, she picked up her fork.
As she began to eat, the tension in her shoulders began to dissipate.
The "dragoness" was being tamed by food, though she still threw an occasional glare toward the other side of the room.
Draco, seeing that his goddess was somewhat stabilized, allowed his gaze to wander.
His eyes drifted across the sea of heads, landing on the Loki Familia's table.
It was a chaotic scene.
Loki was currently in the midst of a drunken, incoherent tirade.
She was chugging ale at an alarming rate, her face flushed a bright, unnatural red.
Her arms were wrapped tightly…..almost suffocating…..around Ais.
Loki was wailing about "arrogant dragons" and "stuck-up lizards," her words slurred and interspersed with dramatic hiccups.
Ais, for her part, was a statue of endurance.
Normally, the golden-haired warrior would have found a way to politely, or perhaps forcefully, detach the touchy goddess from her person.
However, tonight, Ais's usual focus was compromised.
Her eyes were locked onto Draco.
There was a deep, unspoken weight in her gaze.
It was a look of longing, of questions unasked, and of a shared history that felt like it had been paused in the middle of a sentence.
She wanted to speak to him...that much was clear even from across the room.
But with Loki clinging to her like a limpet and the icy, watchful presence of Riveria by her side, the distance between their tables might as well have been a vast, un-crossable canyon.
'Ugh, this might be our cue to leave' Draco thought.
The environment was becoming increasingly volatile, and the longer they stayed, the more likely another confrontation would occur.
"But before that…." Draco's voice trailed off.
He didn't just want to slink away into the night like a defeated dog.
He was the Captain of the Bahamut Familia.
He had a reputation to uphold, and more importantly, he had a goddess whose honor was currently being debated by every drunkard in the room.
Draco rose from his seat.
The motion was fluid and deliberate.
His tail gave a sharp, powerful flick, pushing his heavy wooden chair back with a dull thud that resonated through the floorboards.
He took a deep breath, and then, he did something he rarely did in public.
He released a small, controlled portion of his draconic aura.
It wasn't an attack.
It was a command.
The effect was instantaneous.
It was as if a sudden, heavy blanket of silence had been dropped over the Hostess of Fertility. The air grew thick, simmering with a primal, predatory heat.
The rowdiest of the adventurers, men and women who had faced down monsters without blinking, suddenly felt their skin crawl.
Their instincts screamed at them to pay attention.
This was the presence of a predator that stood at the very top of the food chain.
Draco stood tall, his silhouette imposing against the dim light of the tavern.
He let the silence linger, ensuring that every single eye…..from the waitresses at the bar to the gods in the corners…..was locked onto him.
"Ahem. First of all, I apologize for interrupting your meals," Draco began.
His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a rich, baritone resonance that carried to every corner of the room.
He adjusted his crumpled shirt, his gaze sweeping across the room with a steady, confident calm.
"For those who don't know, I am Draco Black, Captain of the Bahamut Familia. Sadly, I have been away from the city for a few years and only returned home yesterday."
"Today, I celebrate my return to this glorious city"
He paused, allowing that information to sink in.
"Orario is a city built on the grit of those who brave the depths," Draco projected, his voice gaining a certain poetic cadence.
His gaze briefly locked with the Loki familia elites once more.
"We fight, we struggle, and we often forget the value of the quiet moments between the blood and the steel. My lady and Lady Loki are both goddesses of immense pride, and I, too, understand why they may have gotten carried away in the heat of the moment. But tonight, let us bury the hatchet beneath a tide of ale."
He turned his head toward the bar, gesturing broadly toward Anya and the other waitresses.
"To the Loki Familia, who stand as one of the major pillars of this city… may your blades never dull! To the patrons who keep the spirit of this city alive… may your luck in the Dungeon never dry up!" Draco's smile widened, appearing both generous and dangerously confident.
"Tonight, the bill for every drop of wine, and every mug of ale, is mine. Do not hold back, for I would see this room filled with the sound of life, not the murmurs of judgment!"
For a heartbeat, the tavern was held in a state of utter, breathless stillness.
The sheer audacity of the gesture…..and the staggering cost it implied…..stunned the crowd.
Then, the dam broke.
A roar erupted that was so loud it threatened to shake the very foundations of the stone building.
"DRINKS ON THE MONSTER!" someone bellowed from the back, and the tension that had gripped the room evaporated in a flash of ecstatic chaos.
Bahamut, who had been trying to hide her crimson face behind a particularly large piece of smoked meat, looked up in genuine surprise.
She looked at Draco's back…..broad, steady, and unyielding…and felt a wave of warmth that had nothing to do with the spicy food.
He had turned a moment of public humiliation into a legendary display of wealth and dominance. She didn't just feel cheered; she felt cherished.
Aasterinian let out a shrill, delighted whistle, clapping her hands together with childlike glee. "Oh, he's a show-off, isn't he? A complete and total peacock! But I suppose I can't argue with the results. Look at them scramble!"
Across the room, even Loki was affected.
Her drunken tirade sputtered to a halt as she processed the announcement.
She blinked, swaying dangerously in her seat as she tried to focus on Draco's figure.
A lopsided, mischievous grin slowly spread across her face.
"Well, well! A generous dragon, huh?" Loki cackled, clutching a fresh mug of ale that had appeared as if by magic.
"Maybe you're not so bad after all, ya big scaly bastard! To the dragon! Drink up, kids! Run his pockets dry!"
The atmosphere shifted from a den of gossip to a frenetic, celebratory festival.
Anya and the other waitresses were suddenly running laps, their arms loaded with barrels, flagons, and pitchers.
The patrons, who minutes ago were whispering about the "crazy goddesses," were now raising their glasses in a thunderous toast to the Captain of the Bahamut Familia.
Draco walked back to his table, the heavy pressure of his aura vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
He sat down, his tail flicking with a quiet sense of accomplishment.
Before he could even settle into his chair, Bahamut reached out.
She didn't use her divine power; she simply grabbed his collar and pulled him down until his face was inches from hers.
"You really are a foolishly dramatic man, Draco," she whispered.
Her voice was soft, the venom entirely replaced by a gentle, shimmering heat.
Her eyes sparkled with a light that was far more intoxicating than the mead.
"Just making sure my cute dragoness is satisfied," he replied with a subtle wink.
Bahamut turned a shade of pink that rivaled her earlier embarrassment, but this time, she didn't look away.
"Hmph. I suppose I can forgive you for the theatrics. Just this once."
The night stretched deep.
The air in the Hostess of Fertility grew thick and heavy with the scent of roasted meat, spilled spirits, and the sweat of over a hundred celebrating warriors.
Alcohol, the great equalizer, did its work.
Rows of adventurers who had been glaring at each other earlier were now leaning across tables, sharing exaggerated tales of the lower floors and comparing scars.
In her corner, Loki had finally reached the "affectionate" stage of her intoxication.
She had collapsed into a pile of laughter and sloppy, off-key singing, her head resting on a stoic, long-suffering Ais.
The Sword Princess had accepted her fate, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips as she watched the revelry.
Finn sat nearby, nursing a single mug of ale.
He caught Draco's eye and offered a short, respectful nod…..a silent acknowledgment from one captain to another.
He knew exactly what Draco had done: he had salvaged both their reputations, well mostly Bahamut's, Loki was always....Loki.
It had started as a ruinous evening.
But under the golden glow of the magic lamps and the promise of a full cup, it had become a night that none of them would soon forget.