Chapter 2: The Pact in the Flame
Bell Cranel sat alone beneath the Hestia Familia's modest altar room. The only sounds were the gentle hum of the night wind against the windows and the soft crackle of the hearth.
The firelight danced against the stone walls, and Bell's silver eyes watched it as if searching for an answer in the flickering embers.
The hand still burned in his memory.
A gloved hand, pale and calloused, extended toward him after felling a monster Bell couldn't even dent.
"Come. Be my student. I'll teach you to survive. To kill. And maybe—just maybe—how to live."
Bell didn't know the man's name. Didn't know where he came from or how he wielded that monstrous scythe like a feather in the wind. But he knew that look in his eyes. He hadn't seen it before in Orario. Not in the Guild, not in the Dungeon, not even in Aiz Wallenstein, who haunted his dreams.
It was the look of someone who had died and returned. Again. And again. And again.
That kind of pain wasn't just in his scars. It was carved into his presence.
Bell wrapped his arms around his knees.
He wanted to be strong. He wanted to protect. But today, again, he had failed.
"I didn't even move," he whispered, teeth clenched.
The Minotaur could have ended him in seconds. If not for that man...
He shivered.
---
The door creaked. Soft footsteps. Bell looked up as a familiar voice broke the silence.
"Bell?"
Goddess Hestia, short and lively and always somehow too bright for the world, stepped into the flickering firelight. Her twin-tail ribbons trailed behind her, and her small face carried the tired look of someone who worried too much.
"You haven't eaten anything since we got home. Are you okay?"
Bell looked away.
She came closer, knelt beside him, and touched his arm.
"Is it about that man?"
Bell didn't answer.
Hestia sighed, sitting cross-legged beside him. She was quiet for a while. Then:
"He scared me."
Bell glanced sideways.
"That scythe... the blood... The way he looked at the world. Like he'd already seen the worst of it."
Bell clenched his fists.
"He saved me."
"Yes. But there was no joy in it. No pride. Just necessity."
Hestia wrapped her arms around her knees.
"I've seen mortals kill monsters before. It's part of being an adventurer. But he... He moved like someone who didn't care what happened next."
Bell bit his lip.
"He didn't move like an adventurer. He moved like... like death."
Hestia nodded slowly.
"You want to learn from him."
It wasn't a question.
Bell lowered his head.
"I hate being helpless," he said, voice shaking. "Every time I step into the Dungeon, I feel like I'm one mistake away from dying. I thought if I got stronger... If I chased after Aiz, I could..."
He didn't finish.
"Bell..."
"But she didn't save me today. He did. And he didn't hesitate."
Hestia didn't answer at first.
She reached forward, touched the fire with a stick, stirred it gently.
"Do you remember the first time you asked to join my Familia?"
Bell nodded slowly.
"You said you didn't care if I had no one else. You said you just wanted to try. That you believed in something greater than fear."
She smiled sadly.
"That's what I love about you, Bell. You still believe."
Bell turned to her, confused.
"But believing isn't enough," Hestia whispered. "You want to walk through the dark now. With someone who knows how to kill, how to fight like he has nothing left."
Her eyes glistened, but she didn't let tears fall.
"So I'll let you."
Bell stared.
"Goddess..."
"But only if you promise me something."
She looked into his eyes.
"Promise me you won't become him."
Bell opened his mouth to speak. Hesitated.
Hestia touched his heart with a small hand.
"You're not a reaper, Bell. You're a flame. Small, maybe. But burning. Don't let him extinguish that light."
Bell swallowed hard. The hearth crackled louder.
He stood slowly, clenched his fists at his sides.
"I won't."
He met her eyes.
"I'll learn from him. But I'll stay me."
Hestia smiled, pain and pride mingling in her expression.
Bell walked to the door, hesitated, and looked back.
"Thank you, Goddess."
She waved him off.
"Come back alive, dummy."
Then he left into the night.
Outside, the moon was pale, and the wind whispered through the alleys of Orario.
And in the shadow of a nearby rooftop, a pair of crimson eyes watched him approach.
Black Scythe stepped forward, cloak rippling in the wind.
"So?" he asked.
Bell stopped before him, looked up with eyes no longer trembling.
"Teach me."
Scythe said nothing at first. Then he turned, walking into the dark.
"Don't fall behind."
Bell followed.
The pact was made.
And nothing would be the same again.
---
—Flashback—One Year Ago
The moon hung low over Orario's slums, its pale light sickly on the wet stones. He walked barefoot through puddles of wine and blood, the scythe dragging behind him like a tail of shadow.
He wasn't called Black Scythe then.
He was just a nameless killer. One of many.
That was when she found him.
"You reek of corpses," said a voice—cool, amused, ancient.
He turned. A woman leaned against a wall of stone. Her beauty was bone-deep, wrapped in midnight robes. Her eyes shimmered with stars that had seen too much.
"I am Hella," she said. "Goddess of the Forgotten Dead."
He said nothing. His hands were still red.
"You've escaped the loop, haven't you?" she said, tilting her head. "That smell clings only to those who've lived too long… and died too many times."
His scythe raised by instinct. But she only smiled.
"I'm offering you something simple. Sanctuary. Purpose. You are no god, but you've lived like one cursed."
"…Why?" he asked. It was the first word he'd spoken in months.
"Because even Death deserves family."
That night, he bowed his head to a goddess of endings.
That was the beginning of Black Scythe.
---
—Present Day
Rain fell in the alley behind the Church of Hestia. Bell stood beneath the eaves, soaked and panting. The training talisman Scythe had left him burned faintly against his chest.
"You're not supposed to be here," Scythe said from the shadows.
Bell turned. "I know. But I need to ask you something."
Scythe stepped forward, his cloak sweeping over the mud like smoke. "Speak."
Bell clenched his fists. "I want to be strong. I want to protect people. But no matter how fast I run… it's not enough. I've seen what the Dungeon really is now."
He looked up, meeting those eternal red eyes.
"You saved me. You fought like it was easy. I don't want easy—I want to learn how you fight. Teach me."
Silence.
A memory flickered behind Scythe's eyes—Hella's hand on his head, her voice whispering, "Teach them to live past death. That is your curse, and your gift."
Scythe turned away. "Training with me means bleeding in silence. No mercy. No second chances. I won't coddle you."
Bell didn't blink. "I don't want a shortcut. I want the truth."
A long pause.
Then Scythe drew a blade of darkness in one motion, pointing it at Bell's chest.
"Then step into the Reaper's shadow, Bell Cranel. And never step out."
---
Later That Night – Abandoned Quarry Outside Orario
The moon watched silently as steel rang out in the dust.
Bell flew backward, crashing into the gravel. His breath caught in his throat, ribs screaming. He coughed, spit, and struggled to rise.
Black Scythe stood over him like a reaper from the end of the world.
"No balance. No center. Your stance is made of fear."
Bell forced himself up, trembling, bruised, drenched in sweat. "I-I'm trying…"
Scythe's voice was ice. "Trying gets you killed. Move again."
Bell ran in. He swung a training dagger, feinted left, and slashed up.
The scythe caught his blade in one flick, disarmed him, and swept him to the ground with the back end. Bell collapsed, choking on dust.
Pain exploded across his chest, but he gritted his teeth. He reached again for the dagger.
Scythe didn't stop him. He waited.
"This is mercy," Scythe said. "Real enemies won't wait."
Bell leapt—this time ducking low, rolling under the swing, using the momentum to stab upward. The blade nicked Scythe's sleeve.
A spark of silence followed.
Then a sharp laugh—short, dry.
"Good. Better. You're learning." Scythe stepped back. "Again."
They trained until Bell collapsed unconscious under the starlight.
---
Dawn
He awoke to the smell of smoke. A small fire crackled nearby. His body screamed, but he sat up, groaning.
Scythe sat on a boulder, watching the sky lighten.
"You've bled," Scythe said. "You've broken. You didn't run."
Bell didn't answer at first. His hand tightened into a fist.
"When I started… I just wanted to be a hero. For someone. Anyone."
His voice grew stronger.
"But I've seen what real power looks like. What you can do. I can't chase after fairy tales anymore."
He stood—despite his legs shaking, despite his body begging him to rest.
"One day," he said, eyes like embers, "I'll surpass even you."
Scythe didn't speak.
But after a pause, he nodded—just once.
Bell Cranel had stepped off the path of light and into the crucible of shadows.
And somewhere far beyond the sky, Hella smiled.