Chapter 853: Do you want to help Frey?

The portal opened inside Salem’s palace, but not in the main square. Seris had the good sense to direct them to a protected room, away from curious eyes, away from witches too adolescent not to turn Freya’s arrival into gossip, and, most importantly, away from the living grimoires that could sense emotional vulnerability the way dogs sensed fresh meat. Even so, Salem noticed.

The entire dimension seemed to have an irritating talent for noticing when something interesting entered it. The candles on the walls tilted their flames toward the portal. Old portraits stopped whispering among themselves. A stuffed raven on a shelf turned its head on its own, analyzed Freya for three seconds, and then pretended it had always been able to do that. The room itself seemed to breathe, evaluating the new visitor with the natural suspicion of a kingdom of witches facing a former Norse goddess turned succubus.

Freya crossed last, holding maps, notes, and small runic cylinders against her chest. As soon as she stepped into Salem, her expression closed.

"I hate when places look back," she muttered.

Sapphire looked around naturally. "You get used to it."

"That is not reassuring."

"It was not meant to be."

Vergil passed through the room with the metallic fragment’s box in hand, observing the runes Seris had already prepared. There were containment circles on the floor, three layers of dimensional isolation on the walls, and ancient symbols engraved into the ceiling in dark ink. This was not an ordinary meeting room. It was a room made to study things that tried to study back.

Seris stood at the center of it, beside a circular table covered in black cloths, blue candles, silver instruments, and six chained books. Morgana stood to the right, holding a clipboard with an expression that made it clear she had already regretted waking up that day. Alice was near the door, and her gaze went straight to Freya with immediate coldness.

Freya noticed.

"Is she going to kill me?" she asked quietly.

Sapphire observed Alice and answered honestly. "She has not decided yet."

"Wonderful."

Seris turned, assessing Freya from head to toe without any embarrassment. The Queen of Witches had the look of someone who was already separating a person into magical, emotional, and functional components before even saying good morning.

"So you are our new unstable Norse succubus."

Freya closed her eyes for an instant. "Is this how we are going to start?"

"Would you prefer ’former fertility goddess with urgent energy-control issues’?"

"No."

"Then we will stay with unstable Norse succubus. It is shorter."

Vergil placed the box on the table. "Seris."

"I know, I know. End of the world first, diagnostic humiliation later." Seris pointed to a chair in the corner. "Freya, sit there and try not to seduce any enchanted furniture. Some of them are needy."

Freya looked at the chair.

The chair seemed to move a little.

Freya took a step back. "Was that a joke?"

Morgana answered without raising her eyes from the clipboard. "Unfortunately, not entirely."

Sapphire laughed softly and walked to the table. "Before Salem tries to flirt back with her, perhaps we should start with the fragment."

"Agreed." Vergil opened the box.

The small piece of dark metal was exposed beneath the blue candlelight. The instant the fragment touched the room’s air, all the chained books shuddered. One of them tried to open on its own, but the chain tightened around its cover with a creak, stopping it. The flames dimmed. The stuffed raven on the shelf slowly turned toward the wall, as if it preferred not to look.

Seris lost all trace of amusement.

Morgana also stopped writing.

Alice frowned.

Freya clutched the maps against her chest. "I told you it was dead."

Seris approached slowly, without touching the object. She raised two fingers, and a line of violet magic left her hand, circling the fragment. The energy touched the metal’s surface and, in the same instant, went out like a candle plunged into water.

The Queen of Witches went still.

"This is not ordinary death," she said.

Vergil looked at her. "Explain."

Seris raised another line of magic, this time thinner, almost transparent. She approached again. The result was the same. The magic simply vanished when it touched the field around the fragment, not destroyed, not repelled, merely deprived of continuity.

"A dead thing still leaves a trace," Seris said. "A broken blade carries the memory of the metal. A cursed weapon carries corruption. A destroyed divine object carries residue of authority. This fragment... is not only without life. Someone removed its permission to participate in the cycle of vitality."

Sapphire narrowed her eyes. "As if it had been excluded from the concept of life."

"Yes."

Freya grew paler.

Vergil stared at the metal. "Could this have happened to Frey?"

Seris did not answer immediately.

And the delay was already a bad answer.

"If this is part of his weapon, then it was touched by something capable of denying its nature," Seris said. "Frey is associated with vitality, growth, fertility, sunlight, and prosperity. A weapon of his should not become like this. Even destroyed, it should try to regenerate, bloom, warm, emit some residue. But this is empty."

"Empty like the Outer Sepulcher?" Sapphire asked.

Seris looked at her. "Worse. The Outer Sepulcher is ancient, but it is still structure. This feels like a signature of something trying to imitate what exists before structure."

The room grew heavier.

Morgana placed the clipboard on the table. "Outer Gods?"

"Perhaps indirect influence," Seris replied. "Perhaps a cult, a tool, a derived creature, a fragment of rule imported from outside our sector. I will not state it before examining."

One of the chained books whispered something.

Seris immediately turned her face. "Repeat that and I will rip out your index pages."

The book went quiet.

Freya looked at the grimoire with concern. "Did it speak to me?"

"Yes," Seris said.

"What did it say?"

"That it knows where your brother is."

Freya took a step toward the book.

Vergil placed a hand on her shoulder before she could advance.

Freya froze.

His touch was firm, but controlled. Her energy stirred, not in a lascivious way this time, but with pure anxiety. She looked at the book, then at Vergil’s hand on her shoulder, and breathed with difficulty.

"Does it know?" she asked.

Seris looked at the grimoire with contempt. "No. It knows that you want it to know. That is different."

Freya closed her eyes.

Vergil did not remove his hand from her shoulder until he felt she had steadied herself.

"Control," he said quietly.

"I know," she answered, her voice tight.

Sapphire watched the scene without open jealousy, but with attention. Freya was still far too vulnerable, and Salem was the worst possible place for someone vulnerable. Everything there listened, tested, offered. Witchcraft was not merely magic. It was negotiation with limits, and Freya’s limits were far too cracked in that moment.

Seris snapped her fingers, and the book that had whispered was pulled into an iron drawer in the wall. The drawer closed with three locks and a small offended scream from inside.

"There. One less idiot."

Morgana sighed. "There are five more on the table."

"Yes, but these are still being educated."

One of them opened an eye on its cover.

Seris pointed at it.

The eye closed.

Vergil returned to the subject. "The fragment."

Seris picked up a silver instrument similar to tweezers, but with spiral runes around the tip. She approached the box and carefully lifted the piece of metal without touching it directly. The entire room reacted. The runes on the ceiling glowed. The chains on the books grew tighter. A cold wind passed beneath the door, although there was no opening there.

Freya hugged her own arms.

"That was his," she murmured.

Alice, who had been quiet until then, looked at Freya with a little less hostility. It was not quite sympathy. But perhaps it was the beginning of understanding that the woman had not entered there only as a threat. There was real pain in her.

Seris placed the fragment on a circular plate. The plate lit up in concentric circles, but the innermost circle failed and turned black.

"There is a direction," Seris said.

Vergil came closer. "Direction?"

"The emptiness in it is not uniform. Something pulled the vitality from one side to another. Like a current. If I trace the conceptual vector, perhaps I can tell where the extraction came from."

Freya immediately raised her eyes. "Can that lead to Frey?"

"It can lead to where the weapon was wounded," Seris replied. "Do not promise yourself more than that."

Freya pressed her lips together, but nodded.

Sapphire placed a hand on the table. "How long?"

"For a rough trace? A few minutes. For a safe trace? A few hours. For a trace that does not open a window for something horrible to look back through? I need a day, perhaps two."

Vergil answered immediately. "Safe."

Freya looked at him. "Vergil—"

"Safe," he repeated.

She fell silent.

Seris smiled faintly. "Look at that, someone here has common sense."

Sapphire crossed her arms. "Sometimes."

Vergil looked at Freya. "While Seris examines this, you will write down everything you know about the blacksmiths. Names, locations, temperament, demands, debts, enemies, and what each one is capable of forging."

Freya took a deep breath. "Fine."

"After that, you will undergo a control evaluation."

Her expression soured.

Seris opened a very satisfied smile. "Is that part with me?"

"With you and Aphrodite," Vergil said. "Maybe Sapphire."

Sapphire smiled dangerously. "I am available."

Freya looked at the three women in the room, then at Vergil. "You realize that sounds more frightening than fighting a monster, right?"

"Yes."

"And you are still ordering it."

"Yes."

Freya made a frustrated sound, but did not argue. She walked to the chair indicated by Seris and sat carefully, as if she still distrusted the furniture. The chair did nothing. At least, nothing visible. Morgana placed paper, quill, and ink before her.

"Write," Morgana said. "And try to be specific. Ancient blacksmiths tend to have nicknames that are far too similar."

Freya picked up the quill. "Eitri of White-Ash. Sindra Ivory. Hrafn League. Brokkr Huld, if he is alive. There is also a woman named Alva Cold-Forge, but she tried to kill three gods in the same negotiation, so she may be complicated."

Vergil turned his face to her. "Good."

Freya blinked. "Good?"

"Complicated works. As long as she is competent."

Sapphire smiled. "He likes difficult people."

Freya looked at her, then at herself. "That explains a lot."

Alice made a low sound, almost a laugh, before disguising it.

Seris continued working over the fragment, now surrounded by threads of magic so fine they looked like hair. Each thread touched the absence around the metal and returned trembling. Her expression worsened with every attempt.

Morgana noticed. "What is it?"

Seris did not answer immediately.

Then she raised her hand, and one of the magical threads transformed into a small image over the table. It was not clear. It looked like a shadow dragging light into a hole. Around it, Norse runes spun backward, as if trying to undo their own writing.

Freya rose from the chair.

Vergil looked at the image.

Seris said, voice low, "I recognize this inversion."

Sapphire became serious. "From where?"

Seris stared at the fragment.

"From the forbidden texts about the Outer Sepulcher. More specifically, from a passage that speaks of doors that do not open, but convince the world that they have always been open."

The silence returned.

This time, no one joked.

Freya walked slowly to the table. "Does that mean Frey found a door?"

Seris looked at her, and the answer came carefully. "It means his weapon was touched by something that operates like that kind of door."

"And Frey?"

"I still do not know."

Freya closed her hands.

Her succubus energy rose again, this time mixed with fear and anger. The candles in the room trembled, and one of the book chains snapped as if responding to her emotion. Vergil immediately turned.

"Freya."

She breathed once.

It was not enough.

Sapphire took a step forward. "Freya."

The second voice helped. Freya closed her eyes, held her own breath for a few seconds, and then slowly released the air. The energy around her retreated, still irregular, but contained.

Seris observed with clinical interest. "Good. Unstable, but not lost."

Freya opened her eyes. "You talk as if I am an experiment."

"Today, you are."

"I hate witches."

"Everyone says that until they need one."

Vergil looked at Seris. "Can you trace it without using Freya as a component?"

Seris raised an eyebrow. "I can try."

"Trying is not an answer."

"Then the answer is: yes, but the trace would be stronger with her."

"No."

Freya turned to him. "Vergil."

"I will not let them use you as an emotional amplifier to trace something that feeds on bonds."

Seris raised both hands. "I had not even suggested it yet."

"But you thought of it."

"Of course I thought of it. I am a witch. Thinking of dangerous options is part of the process."

Sapphire agreed. "And discarding the worst ones is part of survival."

Seris pointed at her. "Exactly. That is why I like having armed people in the room. It helps remember limits."

Freya looked at Vergil for a few seconds. Her frustration was clear. She wanted to do something. Anything. Waiting while others studied the only real clue to her brother felt like torture. Vergil understood. That was exactly why he would not yield.

"You want to help Frey?" he asked.

"Of course I do."

"Then stay whole."

Freya did not answer.

The phrase was too simple to refute.

Morgana approached with a less severe expression. "Writing the contacts is also helping. If we can bring blacksmiths capable of understanding this sample, perhaps they will see something Seris does not."

Seris looked at her. "I heard that."

"I know."

"It was offensive."

"I also know."

Freya let out a short laugh despite the tension. Then she returned to the chair and picked up the quill again. "Alva Cold-Forge. She lives on a mountain that does not appear twice in the same place. She hates Odin, hates Loki, hates clients who haggle, and hates when people call cold iron dead iron."

Vergil looked at Sapphire.

Sapphire smiled. "I like her."

"Of course you do."

Freya continued writing. "There are also the brothers Varr and Vetr, specialists in containment weapons. One of them only speaks in rhymes. The other tried to sell his own shadow to a forge spirit and now casts no reflection."

Alice frowned. "Are all Norse blacksmiths like this?"

Freya answered without stopping writing. "The good ones, yes."

Seris returned to working over the fragment, but the tension had eased enough for the room to breathe again. There was still danger. A great deal of it. The dead metal remained on the plate like a small conceptual wound, and the image of the impossible door still hovered in everyone’s memory. But now there was direction. Blacksmiths. Safe tracing. Freya’s control. One more front opened, one more problem connected to the same abyss.

Vergil remained standing near the table, observing the fragment.

Sapphire approached beside him. "One more piece."

"Yes."

"And one more person you will try to protect."

He looked at Freya, who wrote with forced concentration, her fingers still trembling a little.

"She needs control," he said.

"She needs help," Sapphire corrected.

Vergil was silent.

Sapphire touched his arm. "Both."

He nodded slightly.

Seris then raised her eyes from the plate, her expression serious again. "Vergil."

He turned to her.

"I still need to confirm, but I can already say one thing." She pointed to the fragment. "This did not come from Tartarus."

Freya stopped writing.

Sapphire went still.

Vergil narrowed his eyes. "Where did it come from?"

Seris stared at the dark absence at the center of the metal.

"From Helheim."

The entire room seemed to sink a few centimeters into silence.

Seris continued, lower: "And, if the signature is correct, Frey was not taken to an ancient passage."

She took a deep breath.

"The ancient passage was opened using him."