32 The Unknown

Asta had initially been exploring how to move as ghost with Leviathan keeping watch, before Jörmungandr had appeared and the world had almost been swallowed.

Faced with the unknown, she curiously moved and swayed in the grass and the wind, a smile blooming on her face from the odd sensations she experienced.

It was unusual; she could feel and even touch the world, but she couldn't truly grasp it, nor affect it. It was like she was on the receiving end of a line, but received no feedback in return—it was an extremely odd feeling, but she tried her best to adjust.

While she could smell the flowers, she couldn't pick them; while she could walk on the grass, feeling the fibers and textures, they would not bend beneath her weight. The only one whom she could touch was her dear Leviathan, who curled up her arm, their head gently nudging against her cheek.

Clearly, Leviathan wasn't normal; though she'd never had a pet, let alone a pet snake, she could tell that there was something familiar and human within its actions. Still, she smiled with content at Leviathan's attention—this little guy had helped her keep her grounded when she was alive, and even now when she was...

Slowly, Asta's smile slipped away, her expression turned a bit dark, and her aura became tainted with gloom.

"...I'm... I'm never... never going to see... my... my grandma again... am I."

Asta was someone who'd never really held any strong worldly attachments to begin with; she had no friends to speak of, and was given no care from anyone aside from her grandmother in her family due to the circumstances of her birth. If it hadn't been for her grandmother's affection... she probably would've never entered this death game.

She'd have been pushing asters out of the ground if it weren't for the existence known as "Grandmother".

Asta did not want to go home for the sake of her future—she wanted to go home for the sake of her grandmother.

But... as she is now...

Leviathan's cool body curled around her arm, slithering up her shoulder before resting on her neck, as if to hug her; though she was overcome by emotion, she did not cry—she'd done enough crying as of late.

So she smiled.

It wasn't a happy smile, nor was it one of grief or anger, but rather of melancholic resignation. She'd always known she'd die someday, and truth be told, she'd expected it to be by her own hand when nothing kept her in the world, but dying in a "video game" like some cliché in a novel wasn't what she'd expected.

She could imagine it now:

-Here Lies-

-Asta Alfsdotter-

-2045 — 2068-

-Beloved by none, and dead from a video game-

Perhaps it was morbid, but she smiled at the thought of her cause of her death being a video game; at least it was memorable, no?

Sighing, she'd settled down in the slick and smooth grass, the the breeze tickling her face, but unable to move her hair, nor her white gown. With Leviathan curled around her neck and her eyes closing, Asta murmured, "I'm tired..."

Then, the world shook, and the shadow of a serpent covered the entirety of the sky.

———

"So, let me get this straight—you want to find Hela, so she can resurrect your priestess? Are you sh!tting me right now—"

"Lord Fenrir!"

"Sorry, sorry; are you KIDDING me? You're serious?"

The exchange retrieved Asta from her thoughts, and back to reality. Her mismatched eyes swiveled to see her Patron's response to his brother's ridicule; Jörmungandr, like a child, nodded quietly, his unusual yellow eyes staring curiously at the stick Asta had picked up.

Subtly, his hand held her own, and again like a child that had found something precious, he refused to let go from his own volition. Though Asta was embarrassed at the sudden yet somewhat possessive intimacy, it was comforting for her to be able to be touched by someone other than Leviathan.

She loved the little snake, but a nudge on the check is different from a hug or holding hands.

Meekly, she peeked up to see Fenrir's eyes burning a hole through her, and she hurriedly looked backed down, floating to hide behind her Patron; perhaps she was being infected by Jörmungandr's childishness, but she really didn't want to face those pale and frosty eyes if she could help it.

The reminder of her father was never a welcome one.

Fenrir sighed while rubbing his temple, and he could sense a headache beginning to build; this brother of his was really a handful!