Inside of a dimly lit room, the walls were adorned with paintings and treasures from across the world—each one a testament to the goddess's indulgent whims.
The scent of incense, light and exotic, danced through the air like a seductive sigh.
Freya, the goddess of beauty, love and fertility, lounged on her velvet-cushioned chaise with one leg draped elegantly over the other, her body wrapped in a robe of silver silk that shimmered like liquid moonlight.
She rested her chin on her delicate hand, violet eyes fixed on the city far below through the open balcony. Her beauty was ethereal, surpassing even that of most divine beings. But today, her flawless face was pensive.
Then came a firm knocking.
"You may enter," Freya said, her voice honeyed..
The heavy double doors opened without creak or hesitation.
In stepped a mountain of a man—Ottar, the King, dubbed by others and Freya's most devoted servant. He bowed his head respectfully before stepping forward.
"My Lady," he began, his tone calm. "He has entered the Dungeon."
Freya did not move, but her lips curved faintly upward at the corners.
"Zamasu," she whispered. The name unfurled from her tongue like a spell. "Again, alone?"
"Yes," Ottar confirmed. "No party. No escort. Not even supplies. Straight through the entrance and down the stairwell without pause."
Freya finally turned to face him, eyes sharp with focus.
"And did he encounter any troubles?"
"No," Ottar replied. "Though a few adventurers have taken interest in his movements. Whispers of capture are spreading among the less scrupulous factions."
Her eyes narrowed, but her smile widened.
"Fools."
There was silence before Freya got up.
Freya stood by the large open window of her chambers, the sunlight washing over her flawless skin.
Her eyes weren't focused on the city below, but on something—someone—deep in the Dungeon.
Zamasu.
Her chest rose and fell faster than usual, breath catching as she felt it again. That overwhelming presence.
Not his power. Not his strength. But his soul.
She placed a hand on her chest, as if trying to steady her heartbeat, but it only made her breathing quicker. She couldn't hold it in anymore.
She has seen the souls of mortals since the moment of her descent.
Brave souls. Greedy souls. Honest, cruel, loving… she had seen them all.
She even saw the souls of her fellow gods. Some are bright, others are deep, and some are completely twisted.
Even the gods could not boast souls so vast. Not even Ouranos, whose wisdom spanned epochs, or Loki, whose cunning ran deeper than oceans.
Their souls were divine, yes—but still contained. Zamasu's…
She turned from the window, gripping the edge of a nearby table to steady herself. Her legs felt weak.
"But his soul…" she whispered. "Zamasu's soul is something else entirely."
Her eyes widened, a faint tremble in her voice now.
"It's huge… incomprehensible. It doesn't feel like it came from this world. It's not just powerful—it's infinite. Like I'm looking into a whole universe every time I sense it. I've never felt anything like it before."
She started pacing, faster now, hand pressed against her chest as she gasped softly for breath.
"It overwhelms me. And it excites me."
Her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she struggled to control her reaction.
"I… I can't charm him. My beauty—my divinity—he's unaffected."
She stopped walking, standing completely still as her voice dropped to a whisper.
"No one has ever resisted me before."
She clenched her fists, heart pounding like a war drum.
He didn't even react.
Freya leaned back in her chair, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest as her mind drifted back to that moment in the council chamber.
Zamasu had stood before them—calm, quiet. Surrounded by gods, yet not once had he looked intimidated or awed.
Not by Ouranos.
Not by Loki.
Not even by her.
And that was what interested her most.
She had turned her gaze on him. Carefully at first.
Nothing overwhelming, just enough to see how he would respond.
Mortals usually fidgeted, blushed, stammered. Even the more confident ones couldn't fully resist.
Their eyes lingered. Their breathing changed. Their hearts betrayed them.
But he didn't budge.
She had intensified it. Just slightly. Enough that even other gods noticed the shift. She'd seen Loki shoot her a knowing glance.
Still—nothing.
No flush to his skin. No falter in his words. No glance that lingered too long.
He didn't stumble, didn't stutter, didn't even blink differently. It was like her charm didn't exist to him.
Her beauty, her presence—everything that had made kings fall to their knees and gods go to war—it meant nothing to him.
She didn't understand it.
He wasn't resisting. There was no tension in his body, no inner struggle like those who tried to fight their attraction.
There was no fear, no lust—only a tinge of admiration. Other than that, there was just… nothing.
Like he was watching a leaf on the wind. Uninterested. Unaffected.
"I need to know more. I need to understand him. I want him. That soul… that soul wasn't meant to walk this world and go unnoticed. It's too magnificent. Too perfect."
Freya stumbled slightly, catching herself on a chair as her breathing became rapid, chest rising and falling in short, shallow gasps.
"I want him… No. I will have him."
Her eyes burned with determination now, lips curling into a breathless, trembling smile.
"Zamasu, you may be beyond gods… but that doesn't mean I'll let you go."
She exhaled sharply, trembling as she and Ottar stood alone in the silence of her chambers.
"I will make you mine."
And yet, it was calm.
A cold, untouchable calm.
Ottar didn't speak. He knew his goddess well enough to let her speak her thoughts aloud when she wished.
Freya sat up slowly, one hand brushing back a strand of silver hair.
She turned her gaze back to her loyal warrior, her voice sharper now.
"Do you understand what that means?"
He bowed his head. "He is not normal."
"No. He is not," Freya said, voice low and rich with conviction. "He is something far, far greater."
"And he is mine," she whispered, almost possessively.
A pause.
"I will make him mine."
Behind her, Ottar shifted slightly.
"My Lady," he began, voice still deferent. "If he poses such promise—and danger—shall I retrieve him for you?"
Freya turned, her eyes flashing with emotion. It was not anger. Nor frustration. But something… fiery.
"No," she said, firm. "Not yet."
Ottar blinked once, though he did not question her.
"If you seize a comet before it finishes falling," she said, stepping closer, "you never see where it lands. You never learn its purpose."
She circled him like a panther, voice low, almost intimate.
She paused in front of him, tilting her head slightly.
"Let him wander. Let him grow. Let him struggle."
She looked down at her hand, curling her fingers like she could already feel his presence in her grasp.
"And when the moment comes—when the chains of this city tighten around him, when the gods bare their fangs and the mortals their knives—I will be the hand that saves him. I will be the light in the darkness. The voice that calls him home."
Ottar lowered his head.
"As you command."
Freya nodded, satisfied.
"He will be mine not by force, Ottar. But by choice. And once he chooses me, once he sees that I alone understand the vastness within him… he will never leave."
A soft laugh left her lips. It was melodic. Haunting.
"He resists charm now. But even the stars follow gravity."
She stepped back onto the balcony, eyes gleaming.
"Inform our agents to observe only. No contact. No interference. And if any of the lesser familias try something foolish…"
"I will handle it."
She smiled, and the expression was dangerous.
"Good."
As Ottar turned to leave, but Freya stopped him.
"Ottar," she called, voice smooth but faintly breathy.
Her breathing was uneven now. She felt flushed.
Damn it…
Her skin tingled. Her body—so often composed, controlled, refined—was betraying her.
There was a tightness in her chest, a low warmth spreading through her stomach and lower still.
She hadn't even noticed she was pressing her thighs together until the tension made her shift.
"Lady Freya?" He answered.
She closed her eyes.
"…Before you go, satisfy me."
There was no embarrassment in her tone.
She needed release. A distraction. Something to ground her—because that soul still danced behind her eyes and haunted her every thought.
Ottar didn't hesitate.
He never did.
And as he stepped forward, silent and obedient, Freya allowed herself, for just a little while, to forget the one man who hadn't even looked at her twice.
But even then… even in Ottar's arms…
She knew exactly who she really wanted.
He was not yet hers.
But soon.
Very soon.
Chapter 17 – End
Did i catch her personality right?