Danmachi: Exception

A/N: I saw the comments about I'm guessing Cyrus' dialogue and personality so let me know if you like this version!
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Quet circled him, eyes sharp. "Martial arts will only get you so far in the dungeon. Sometimes you need..." She gestured vaguely. "More reach."

"Throwing magic fireballs isn't enough reach?"

"Dios mío, you're as bad as Miguel." She shook her head. "Magic drains you. What happens when your mind runs dry and that War Shadow's still coming?"

"I punch it hard?"

"And when it's across the room?"

"I punch it very hard?"

She smacked the back of his head. "Have you ever used a sword?"

"Define 'used.'"

"Ay." She walked to a cloth bundle near the training dummies. "Good thing I came prepared."

The bundle unrolled to reveal an arsenal - swords, spears, axes, even a wickedly curved blade he couldn't name.

"Courtesy of Hephaestus's apprentices." Quet ran her fingers over the weapons. "They need testers for their work. We need options. Perfecto, no?"

"How many am I testing?"

"All of them." Her grin turned predatory. "Let's start with basics."

She tossed him a short sword. The balance felt wrong, like trying to write with the wrong hand.

"Strike the dummy."

He swung. The blade caught fabric, barely leaving a mark.

"Terrible." Quet snatched the sword back. "You're treating it like a punch. The sword is an extension, not a replacement."

"Maybe if-"

"No." She grabbed a different blade. "Try this."

They worked through the collection. Each weapon revealed new ways to fail. The greatsword felt too heavy. The rapier too delicate. The axe kept pulling him off balance.

"You're thinking too much," Quet said after his fifth fumbled attempt with a spear. "Stop trying to calculate angles. Feel the weapon's nature."

"Its nature?"

"Sí. Each has a soul. A rhythm." She demonstrated with a graceful spear thrust. "Like dancing partners. You must learn their steps before leading."

She kicked his feet wider. "Again."

Hours passed. Sweat soaked his shirt. His arms ached from adjusting to different weights and balances.

Then Quet handed him the staff.

The wood seemed to hum in his grip. Unlike the other weapons, this one felt... right. Natural. Like finding perfect pitch in a song.

"Oh?" Quet's eyebrows rose. "Show me."

He moved through basic forms. The staff flowed with him, extending his reach without fighting his instincts. Each strike landed true.

"Finally." Quet clapped. "I was starting to worry you were weapon-cursed."

"It's different."

"How?"

He spun the staff, testing its weight. "Doesn't feel like I'm fighting it. More like..."

"Dancing?"

"I was going to say 'breathing.'"

"Romántico." She winked. "But accurate. The staff suits your style - fluid, adaptable. Plus..." She tapped his chest. "No sharp edges to overthink."

"Was that a compliment or an insult?"

"Yes." She stepped back. "Now, let's see what you can really do with it."

The next hour blurred. Quet pushed him through increasingly complex patterns, correcting his form with taps of her own staff. The training dummies suffered.

Finally, she called a halt. "Enough. Before you break all my equipment."

He collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving. The morning sun had climbed high, turning the field into an oven.

Quet flopped down beside him, close enough that her arm brushed his. They watched clouds drift across the sky in comfortable silence.

"Goddess?"

"Mm?"

He turned his head. Her eyes met his - emerald depths that seemed to hold entire worlds. The morning light caught golden strands in her hair, creating a halo effect that reminded him what she truly was.

Divine. Eternal. Powerful beyond mortal comprehension.

And yet...

"I don't think I need a third day."

Her breath caught. Just slightly. Just enough.

"Oh?" Her voice stayed casual, but her fingers twitched against the grass. "That bad, am I?"

"That good." He propped himself up on one elbow. "I know what I want."

"And what's that?"

"A Familia that feels like that staff. Natural. Right." He gestured between them. "No sharp edges to overthink."

She sat up slowly, eyes never leaving his. "You understand what you're asking? What it means to join my Familia?"

"I understand enough."

"No." Steel entered her voice. "You need to understand completely. I'm not like other gods, content to collect children like trading cards. My Familia isn't a game or a stepping stone. It's..."

"Family."

"Exactamente." She drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. "I lost one already. I won't lose another."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken weight.

"I can't promise I won't die," Cyrus said finally.

"I know."

"But I can promise to live first."

She laughed - a real laugh that chased shadows from her eyes. "Smooth talker."

"I try."

"Mentiroso." She poked his chest. "You don't try. You just are."

"Is that a yes?"

"To what? You haven't actually asked anything."

He sat up fully, meeting her gaze. "Quetzalcoatl, Goddess of the Burning Sun. Will you accept me into your Familia?"

"Hmm." She tapped her chin, pretending to consider. "I don't know. You're kind of a handful..."

"Goddess."

"And your sword work is terrible..."

"Goddess."

"Plus you keep interrupting-"

He grabbed her hand, pressing it to his heart. "Please."

Her playful mask softened. "Yes, mi pequeño sol. Yes."

The world seemed to hold its breath. Then she grinned.

"You'll need your shirt off for the ceremony… although you're used to that, no?"

"You'll never let that go, will you?"

"Never." She grinned at the sky. "It's my job to keep you humble."

"Is that in the contract?"

"Implied clause." She waved one hand lazily. "Very important. Right after the part about obeying your goddess's every whim."

"I don't remember that part."

"Trust me, it's there." She rolled to her feet in one fluid motion. "Come on. We have preparations to make."

"Now?"

"Unless you'd rather wait?"

He stood, brushing grass from his pants. "Never."

Her laughter echoed across the field as they gathered the weapons.

The third day wouldn't be needed after all.

The afternoon sun beat down on Orario's streets as Cyrus walked beside Quetzalcoatl. She'd insisted on showing him her home, claiming it was "tradition." Her exact words had been: "Can't have my first child thinking I live in some fancy temple, right?"

"It's not much," she said, leading him through quieter streets away from the main thoroughfare. "But it's mine."

A group of children darted past, chasing a ball. One stopped to wave at Quet before running after his friends.

"You know them?"

"I know everyone in my neighborhood." She winked. "Hard not to when they keep trying to steal my peppers."

"The ones from your garden?"

"Yeah." She grinned. "Though they learned quick after the incident."

"You didn't."

"Hey, some lessons stick better than others." She shrugged. "Besides, they ask now instead of stealing. Much better arrangement."

They turned down a narrow street lined with modest homes. Gardens spilled from window boxes, adding splashes of color to weathered walls.

"Demeter!" Quet's voice carried genuine warmth. "What brings you to my humble corner?"

Cyrus looked up. A woman stood in their path, radiating the same otherworldly presence as Quet. Her honey-colored hair caught the sunlight as she smiled.

"Can't I visit my favorite neighbor?"

"You live outside the city."

"Details." Demeter waved dismissively before turning her attention to Cyrus. Her orange eyes widened slightly. "And who might this be?"

"My soon-to-be child." Quet's pride rang clear. "Cyrus Valentine."

"Charming." Demeter circled him slowly. "Very charming indeed."

"Down, girl." Quet's tone stayed light, but something sharp lurked underneath. "He's spoken for."

"So territorial already?" Demeter laughed. "I'm just looking."

She completed her circuit, stopping in front of Cyrus. "Though I can't blame you for being protective. He's quite the specimen."

Heat crept up Cyrus's neck. Both goddesses noticed, their smiles widening.

"Oh, he blushes!" Demeter clapped her hands. "Quet, you've found a gem."

"I know." Quet hooked her arm through his. "That's why we're heading home to make it official."

"Already?" Demeter's eyebrows rose. "What happened to your famous three-day rule?"

"Sometimes rules need breaking."

"Clearly." Demeter's gaze lingered on Cyrus. "Well then, don't let me keep you. Though..." She pulled something from her sleeve - a small cloth bag that smelled of spices. "A welcome gift, perhaps?"

"Demeter..."

"What? I can't congratulate my friend's new child?" She pressed the bag into Cyrus's hand. "Special blend. Good for focus."

"Thank you," he managed.

"Such manners too." Demeter's smile turned sly. "If you ever need work, my fields could use-"

"Goodbye, Demeter." Quet tugged Cyrus along. "We'll catch up later."

Demeter's laughter followed them down the street. Once they turned the corner, Quet relaxed her grip.

"Sorry about that. She means well."

"Does she always..."

"Try to poach other Familia's members?" Quet snorted. "Only the interesting ones. Take it as a compliment."

They walked another block before stopping at a modest two-story house. Climbing vines covered one wall, peppers growing among the leaves. The small front garden overflowed with herbs and flowers.

"Home sweet home." Quet produced a key. "Don't judge too harshly."

The interior proved surprisingly cozy. Woven rugs softened wooden floors, and windows let in plenty of light. Various artifacts decorated the walls - masks, weapons, tapestries.

"Kitchen's through there." Quet pointed. "Bathroom upstairs. Spare room if you ever need it."

"You've thought this through."

"Five years of thinking." She ran a hand along a wall. "Feels good to finally use it."

The living room held comfortable-looking furniture arranged around a fireplace. Books filled shelves along one wall, their spines showing wear.

"You read?"

"Surprised?" She picked up a volume, thumbed through it. "Have to pass time somehow. Besides, your world has fascinating stories."

"Our world now."

"Yes." She replaced the book carefully. "Though sometimes I miss the old tales. The ones we brought down with us."

"Tell me one?"

She paused, considering. "Maybe after. First..." She gestured to the couch. "Shall we make this official?"

Cyrus nodded, reaching for his shirt.

"Wait." She held up a hand. "One last thing. You're sure about this? No doubts?"

"None."

"Good answer." She smiled.

The ceremony itself proved surprisingly simple. No fancy words, no divine light. Just Quet's blood on his back, her power seeping into his skin. Her voice stayed steady as she spoke the blessing, but her hands trembled slightly.

"There." She sat back, wiping her finger clean. "Welcome to the family."

"That's it?"

"Were you expecting thunder? Lightning?" She laughed. "Sometimes the biggest changes happen quietly."

He started to reach for his shirt, but she stopped him.

"Hold on. Let's see what we're working with."

Her fingers traced the markings on his back, reading his status. Her breath caught.

"¿Qué demonios?"

"Problem?"

"No, just..." She sat back. "Interesting."

"Going to elaborate?"

"Later." But her eyes shone with something like excitement. "First, I need a drink. You?"

"Please."

She disappeared into the kitchen, returning with two glasses and a bottle of amber liquid.

"To new beginnings," she said, pouring generous measures.

"To family."

Her smile could have lit the room. They drank, the liquor burning sweet and warm.

"So," she said, refilling their glasses. "Tell me about yourself. The parts you remember, at least."

"Not much to tell."

"Lies." She settled deeper into her chair. "Everyone has stories. Even if they don't remember them all."

So he told her what he could. About waking up in Orario with skills but no context. About helping Tessia, meeting Syr, speaking with Rose. She listened intently, asking occasional questions.

"And now here," she said when he finished. "Starting fresh."

"Not entirely fresh."

"No?"

"Well, I do have a goddess now."

She laughed, raising her glass. "That you do, mi hijo. That you do."

They talked until late night. About nothing important - favorite foods, books they'd read, places they'd seen.

The bottle sat empty between them. Cyrus traced its label with one finger, the foreign script swimming before his eyes. Something nagged at the back of his mind - an appointment? A promise? The thought slipped away like water.

"I should probably..." He gestured vaguely.

"Probably what?" Quet propped her chin on her hand.

"Something. There was something."

"Mm-hmm." She stood, stretching. "Wait here. Need to change out of these ceremony clothes."

Footsteps pattered overhead, punctuated by muttered Spanish that didn't sound entirely polite. Cyrus closed his eyes, letting the sounds blur together. The couch felt impossibly comfortable. Like sinking into a cloud. A leather cloud.

Cloud leather. Leather cloud. Why did that sound funny?

He opened his eyes to find the ceiling spinning lazily. Right. The drink. Whatever Quet had poured packed more punch than he'd expected. Divine alcohol, probably. Because she was divine. A divine goddess. Who was now swearing in two languages.

"¡Joder! Where did I- no, that's not- pinche closet-"

Something crashed.

"Everything okay up there?" His words came out clearer than expected. Years of practice, maybe. From... somewhere.

"¡Perfecto! Just- ¡ay! Just give me one more minute!"

More drawers slammed. He should probably be concerned. Instead, he found himself grinning at nothing in particular. The room felt warm, comfortable. Like home, but newer. Better.

Home.

The word triggered something. A memory trying to surface through the pleasant haze. He had... plans? No, not plans. An appointment. With...

Syr!

Their not date. He'd completely forgotten. What time was it? The windows showed dark sky, which meant... something about time. Probably.

He pushed himself up, immediately regretting the sudden movement as the room tilted.

"Goddess?" His voice carried better this time. "I need to-"

"Done!" Footsteps thundered down the stairs. "Sorry about the wait, I just realized I haven't prepared your-"

Cyrus turned. The rest of his sentence evaporated.

Quet stood in the doorway, hair slightly mussed from changing. The black crop top left little to imagination, its golden trim catching lamplight. A yellow miniskirt rode high on her thighs, emerald and gold details matching the centerpiece that drew attention to...

He jerked his gaze up to her face. Her grin suggested he hadn't been fast enough.

"See something you like, mi sol?"

"I..." The forgotten appointment hovered just out of reach. "You..."

"Yes?" She stepped closer, emerald eyes dancing. "I what?"

A distant part of his mind noted she moved differently in casual clothes. Less divine grace, more natural fluidity. The rest of his mind focused on not staring at places that would definitely get him smited. Smote. Smitten?

Focus.

"I had..." He frowned. "Something. With someone."

"Mhm?" Another step.

"At the..." The word slipped away. "Place."

She laughed, the sound rolling through the room like summer thunder. "You're adorable when you're drunk."

"'m not drunk." He straightened, aiming for dignity. "Familia captains don't get drunk."

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you swaying?"

"Tactical swaying. For... tactics."

"Dios mío." She shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

The question sparked something in his alcohol-soaked brain. Right. He'd meant to ask...

"Do you want me sleeping with you, goddess?"

The words hung in the air. Quet's eyes widened fractionally.

"I... what?"

"Because," he continued, warming to the topic, "I noticed there's only two bedrooms. And one's storage. So either I'm sleeping on this very comfortable cloud-leather, or..."

He trailed off, suddenly uncertain. Quet stared at him, expression unreadable.

"That's..." She cleared her throat. "Not exactly how I planned this conversation."

"You planned it?"

"I mean..." She ran a hand through her hair. "I hadn't prepared your room yet. I wasn't expecting an answer until tomorrow, and then everything happened so fast, and-"

"Goddess."

"Yes?"

"You're rambling."

She blinked. Then laughed, tension breaking. "I am, aren't I? Some divine being I make."

"I like it. When you're not perfect."

Something softened in her eyes. "No one's ever told me that before."

"Their loss."

Silence stretched between them, comfortable and warm. Or maybe that was the alcohol. Hard to tell.

"So..." He swayed slightly. "Cloud-leather?"

"Idiota." She stepped forward, steadying him. "You're not sleeping on the couch."

"Floor's fine too."

"You're not sleeping on the floor either." Her hand felt warm against his arm. "Come on. Up."

She guided him toward the stairs, keeping him from bouncing off walls through what had to be divine intervention. The steps proved challenging, but they managed without major incident.

The upper floor held three doors. One stood open, revealing the bathroom. Another was firmly closed - the storage room, presumably. The third...

"My room." Quet pushed it open. "Well, ours now. Until we sort out the spare room."

Cyrus peered inside. Moonlight spilled through gauzy curtains, illuminating a space that perfectly matched its owner. Woven tapestries covered walls, their patterns suggesting stories in languages he couldn't read. A large bed dominated one corner, draped in fabrics that shimmered gold and green.

"You sure?" His tongue felt heavy. "About sharing?"

"Would I offer if I wasn't?" She steered him toward the bed. "Besides, you're in no state to argue."

"Could argue." He sat heavily on the mattress. "Very argumentative when drunk. Which I'm not."

"Of course not." She disappeared into what looked like a closet. "Just divinely relaxed, right?"

"Exactly!" He flopped backward, the ceiling spinning pleasantly. "Hey, your clouds are different up here."

"My what?" Her voice carried amusement.

"Clouds. In the wood. They're more... swirly."

"Ay, Dios." She emerged wearing something that looked significantly more comfortable for sleeping. "You're going to be fun in the morning."

He meant to respond. Really. But the bed felt amazing, and his eyes seemed determined to close...

"At least take your shoes off first."

"Mm." He made a vague gesture. "In a minute."

Soft laughter. Gentle hands removed his boots, then helped him properly onto the bed. The mattress dipped as she settled beside him.

"Dulces sueños, mi sol."

He mumbled something that might have been "goodnight." The last thing he registered was warmth against his side, and a scent like summer flowers...

Then darkness claimed him, and he dreamed of clouds made of leather, and a goddess who laughed like thunder.