Danmachi: Is it Wrong to be Alise Lovell in a Dungeon?

Astraea's POV

Our home was small. Modest, even. But it held a quiet warmth — everything in its place, save for the routine sounds that gently broke the serenity: the soft clinking of dishes being put away, the linen cloth gliding slowly over still-damp ceramic. Simple gestures, repeated so often they happened by habit. My hands were busy, but my mind... drifted far away.

Barefoot, I crossed the wooden floor, which creaked softly beneath my feet. The night's warmth — a gentle blessing — was softened by the breeze coming through the kitchen window. It carried the scent of the vine that stubbornly grew outside, clinging to the stone without care or watering. I had never pulled it out. Perhaps because its persistence in blooming, despite everything, felt... admirable.

I placed the last plate on the shelf and turned my eyes to the folded cloth on the counter. Resting atop it were Alise's belongings — her sword, shoulder strap, breastplate — still marked with the pale dust of the Dungeon. I ran my fingers over the cracked leather buckles. The quality was decent. Durable material, well-suited for beginners. With proper care, they could last many years, accompany her on dozens of expeditions. But that wasn't what worried me.

The young girl they belonged to was curled up on the couch, across the room. She breathed in a steady rhythm, but her arms lay limp, surrendered in full to exhaustion. A thin line of drool slipped from the corner of her mouth, and her red hair — still damp at the tips from the warm bath she took — spread across the cushions like a scattered flame. The bowl of rice and meat I had made still sat untouched on the table. She'd passed out before even taking a second bite.

Now, finally, she was resting.

I watched. For long minutes.

A white bandage covered the cut on her forehead. Her right shoulder, carefully wrapped, the result of the story she told me — how the bone popped mid-fight, how she lost sensation in her arm. Her dominant hand was still swollen — the aftermath of the unreasonable strain her body endured today. The potion helped... but it wasn't enough. It was good, but cheap. The best I can afford with what our little familia has.

I sighed softly and stepped away from the kitchen. I grabbed a light stool and dragged it over to the couch. Sat beside her, my hands resting in my lap, and just... stayed there. In silence. Watching over the sleep of someone who, little by little, without ceremony, had already become a part of me.

The streetlamps outside cast soft shadows through the windows. Alise's sleeping face seemed peaceful at first glance — but I saw the subtle signs. Her jaw still clenched. Eyebrows slightly furrowed. Tiny traces of tension no rest could fully erase. Echoes of fear that had sunk into her skin.

"You were brave today..." I murmured, not expecting a reply. The words floated through the air like thoughts given form.

There she was. Occupying that couch with the ease of someone who had always belonged in this space. A girl from nowhere, just a normal child, who had chosen to face the living labyrinths of the deep earth — and now slept within arm's reach. A simple presence, but one that filled a void I had long pretended not to feel.

Gods cannot have children. That's one of the first things we learn and accept. But... if what I felt was anything close to what mortals call a mother's love, then perhaps this was the closest I'd ever get.

I leaned forward and pulled the blanket up to her shoulder with the delicacy of someone picking a fallen flower from the ground. I felt the faint warmth of her skin beneath the fabric. There was a fragility there she would never admit — not even under torture. A girl trying to be an adult too soon. Carrying imagined guilt and trying to make up for everything with twice the effort.

My first child was the kind who would self-sabotage in the name of responsibility. Careful, up to a point... but the kind who would throw herself into danger at the slightest hint someone might need her. She would give herself completely before realizing she was empty. And worse — she wouldn't complain. She would never complain. Not about the pain, or the exhaustion. Not even about the loneliness.

Instead, she'd blame herself for every little mistake. Return to the Dungeon even when she wasn't ready, thinking it was her duty. Believing she should already be stronger. Thinking failure meant disappointment. That rest was weakness. That asking for help was selfish.

I know her. I've seen many like her.

And those who burn the brightest... are the ones who burn out the fastest.

I'll do what I can to find allies who can share her burden. Companions who'll remind her that she doesn't have to face everything alone. Because for now, all I can do is hope she learns. That she trusts. That she chooses to share her world with others.

I glanced toward the sheet of paper on the desk — her updated status, which I recorded for the first time. The numbers had risen impressively. Far beyond what I expected. Clear signs of talent, or of pushing herself past what's healthy. If she kept climbing at this pace, she'd surpass the first four floors in less than a month. Part of me felt proud. Part... feared for reasons she wouldn't even begin to understand yet.

---

[Alise Lovell]

「Level 1」

Basic Abilities

STR: I 0 → I 9

VIT: I 0 → I 13

DEX: I 0 → I 4

AGI: I 0 → I 7

MAG: I 0

Magic

-

Skills

• X×××××××××X

---

It might sound cruel on my part... but I didn't tell her everything.

A subtle swipe of my finger across the paper was enough to dissolve the smudge I had drawn deliberately, revealing the hidden letters beneath the stain. When Alise examined her status sheet with that focused look — as if trying to decipher a riddle — for a moment, I thought she would notice. Maybe from the broken linework, or some subtle inconsistency in the lettering. But no. It was even simpler than that.

She just... didn't know how to read.

The memory pulled a soft chuckle from me. Not of mockery — never — but of tenderness. Because even so, she tried. Truly tried. She struggled to make sense of it, to understand what it meant. As if her will alone could turn indecipherable characters into meaning. The sincerity of that effort... was deeply moving.

Alise has always seemed made of gaps. She didn't know where she was. Couldn't say where she came from. Lacked basic knowledge — names of regions, daily customs, information any child would rattle off without thinking. And yet... she carried a seriousness in her eyes that didn't match her age. As if she had lived far more than she admits. As if part of her still lived in another time. Or another reality.

She handled sudden change with disconcerting ease, like someone who had long since learned that the world never stays the same — and all you can do is keep moving forward. But in contrast, she unraveled at the smallest act of kindness. An unexpected compliment. A gentle touch. A look of trust... each one made her falter. She was like a heart made of crystal — radiant and brave on the surface, but fragile at the edges where no one looks.

And sometimes, I wonder... if it wasn't precisely that dissonance — between what she is, what she claims to be, and what she may have forgotten — that gave birth to her skill.

Odyssey Voyager - (オデュッセイア冒険せよ故郷遠き旅人)

The one who journeys toward a distant home.

The awakening of a skill is supposed to be a moment of joy. A milestone. Almost sacred. Something that shapes futures, defines paths. Every god will tell you that.

Which is why, when I saw a skill manifest at the exact moment I carved her Falna, I was left speechless. It was something rare. A blessing.

But the euphoria didn't last.

No description. No effects. No hints.

Just a name — engraved like a forgotten whisper, incomplete. It was there, yet blank. An anomalous manifestation. Almost as if the skill... was still being written.

And yet, I knew. Every skill has a purpose. Even the ones that reveal nothing. Even the ones that hide. This wasn't emptiness. It was silence. A kind of power that refused to introduce itself.

And it was also the only plausible explanation for the instability I felt in her Falna.

Other goddesses warned me: when something feels strange, it's best to obscure the details. Hide the numbers. Muffle the talents. Keep the secrets. To protect them. To keep them from becoming targets too early.

But in Alise's case... her status itself seemed unwilling to be hidden.

Whenever she felt fear, or anxiety, or even excitement, the bond between us trembled as if pulled by invisible hands. They say a god can feel when that bond is severed. Well... during her time in the Dungeon, I shook endlessly. The last ceramic vase I owned hit the floor the third time the connection pulsed violently. I nearly broke the lamp, too.

Sometimes I think Alise is determined to give me a heart attack.

Since day one, I knew she was different. But skills gained during Falna bestowal cannot be refused. If it had awakened later... I might have chosen to reject it. Out of caution. But now that it's there, all I can do is walk beside her — and hope I can understand what it all means.

More than anything, I wish for her to grow in peace. To find true companions. To experience the early steps of her journey without feeling like she carries the world. To stumble — yes — but to allow herself to stand again. To get hurt — but to cry. To laugh, even when afraid. To remember she's still young.

I wish for the darker days to remain far away. That the shadows take their time finding her. That she has... time.

Because I believe — with all my faith — that this girl will bloom. She'll become an adventurer who inspires. The kind who lights up a room just by walking in. Who draws others to her through sheer courage. And like me... she'll be unable to ignore the suffering of others. Unable to turn her back on the weak. Unable to stay silent in the face of injustice.

"Fufu... Go on, defend justice, Alise," I whispered with a smile, imagining her sulky face trying to mimic some ancient storybook hero.

She already has the charm, at least.

May the heavens be kind to our familia. Because when she falls — and she will, someday — I'll be there to catch her.

She is one of my childs, after all. The first of them.

And though gods may not bear children...

we can still love them as if they were our own.

End of the Intermission.