?? Disclaimer:

  I have no rights to this story - this is obviously fanfiction.

  I wrote this to satisfy my craving because Alise Lovell is my favorite character in DanMachi and I was sad she was dead well before the story began. I'm sorry for any spoilers I'm assuming like me you've read the whole thing.

  Chapter 1 – Dinner at the Hostess

  Bell Cranel staggered down West Main Street, his stomach growling louder than his footsteps. The Dungeon hadn’t been kind today. Goblins were one thing, but when the kobolds joined in, he’d barely escaped with his skin intact. His dagger felt heavier at his hip, coated in grime, and his pride felt lighter than ever.

  “Another failed day…” he muttered.

  “Failed?” A soft voice chimed, playful and curious.

  Bell jumped, nearly tripping over his boots. A girl with silver hair stood before him, basket in hand, smiling as if she’d been waiting for him all along. Her uniform marked her as a waitress, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “You look like you fought the Dungeon and lost.”

  “I—I survived,” Bell said, rubbing the back of his neck, face burning. “That’s something, right?”

  The girl laughed, a gentle sound that eased his nerves. “I’m Syr. And you must be the new adventurer everyone’s whispering about. The one who keeps running away.”

  Bell’s cheeks flamed hotter.

  “T-that’s—well—”

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  Syr tilted her head, then placed a folded piece of parchment in his hand. “Come by the Hostess of Fertility tonight. Dinner’s on me. You look like you could use something warm in your stomach.”

  Before Bell could protest, she skipped off down the street, basket swinging, leaving him staring at the parchment like it was a Dungeon treasure.

  The tavern was alive when he pushed the door open that evening. A wave of warmth, laughter, and roasted meat hit him all at once. The clink of mugs and the shout of adventurers filled the air, a cacophony far different from the echoing silence of the Dungeon.

  “Welcome to the Hostess of Fertility!” Syr called from behind the counter, waving him over.

  Bell shuffled inside, nerves tight, trying not to trip under the weight of so many eyes. He slid into a corner table, clutching the menu like a lifeline. Syr bustled over with a grin.

  “Sit tight, rabbit. I’ll bring you something good.”

  “Rabbit?” Bell blinked, confused.

  But Syr only winked and darted back to the kitchen.

  That was when he felt it — the weight of someone’s gaze. Heavy. Piercing. He glanced up.

  Two women sat in the far corner.

  The first, an elf with pale hair and eyes like sharpened glass, sat perfectly still, her presence cold enough to silence the air around her. Bell had seen her once before, moving through the city like a shadow. Ryu, the quiet waitress.

  But it was the second that stole the breath from his chest.

  A woman with crimson hair, vibrant even in the tavern’s dim light, tied back loosely with a ribbon. Her golden eyes smoldered like fire, but her smile was crooked, weary, as though it carried the weight of unspoken sins.

  She leaned back in her chair, mug in hand, and her lips curved.

  “Syr didn’t tell us she was inviting strays.”

  Bell froze. He knew that face — not from Orario, not from the streets, but from stories. Whispered legends of a Familia that had stood for justice, only to be slaughtered in tragedy.

  Alise Lovell. Captain of the Astraea Familia. Dead. Or so everyone believed.

  The tavern seemed to roar on around him, but Bell heard nothing. His hand tightened on the menu. This isn’t possible. She can’t be alive.

  Alise raised her mug in a mock toast, eyes fixed on him.

  “So this is the boy who keeps running from goblins. Cute.”

  Bell stammered, heat rising in his throat.

  Ryu’s voice cut in, quiet but sharp as a blade.

  “Alise. Don’t.”

  For the first time, Bell realized the two weren’t just sitting together — they were anchored to each other, two shadows bound by the same past.

  Syr appeared then, setting down a steaming plate before Bell. “Eat, Bell,” she said warmly, but her eyes flicked between him and the crimson-haired woman, something guarded hiding in her smile.

  Bell’s stomach growled again, betraying him. He picked up his fork, hands shaking.

  The laughter of the tavern returned. Plates clattered. Ale spilled.

  But for Bell, the world had shifted. Two legends of Astraea sat alive before him — not martyrs, not ghosts,

  but outlaws. Hidden in plain sight.

  And now… he was part of their secret.