They entered the castle ruins only to be greeted to two parallel lines of skeleton guard in broken and dented armor, lining the path straight to where a tall, graceful figure adorned in black with a crown upon her head standing at the keep's entrance.
This strange welcome and sequential arrival to a parlor room led to tea and crumpets no one was in the mood for at the moment, but was still served out of 'etiquette'.
To be fed tea and crumpets by a skeleton was something Ain had not ever considered could happen in her lifetime—or rather, her time in 'Limbo' as she was calling it—and as such, she was doubly surprised when she was actually able to eat and taste the food offered.
'Well, I suppose since Hela is someone who rules over a part of the dead, it's only natural for her to understand what materials can be eaten by us. Although,' her eyes darted around, anxiety spiking at the unspoken tension in the air between her Patron and his elder sister, 'what will happen next? It would take more than a whack on the head to disrupt this tension... what should I do...?'
Should she throw a crumpet at Hela? Pour tea on the carpet?
'Wait, why am I even considering those options?' she realized after analyzing her train of thought. Asta groaned inwardly, 'Oh no, it's happening again... why are you so mischievous by nature, Jörmungandr?'
Ever since they made contact with one another, she found many of her behaviors either being heightened or even changed; for example, most days she was relatively calm as her emotions slowly began to mirror her Patrons, leaving her more prone to quietly watching over the group beside him, taking in the life and vitality they exuded.
Occasionally, she felt amused; other times, annoyed, and most of the time, she was simply observant and neutral, neither feeling nor requiring any emotion as she processed various situations. Thoughts that the old her would never think would come to her mind, inciting a mischief bone she never realized she had possessed.
She was slowly becoming like him, and she was scared to the non-corporeal bones about it; attraction from the natural bond between Priestess and god kept her close to him, but worry and anxiety held her at bay from advancing any further.
And Hela could see it; sense it; observe it; use it.
Yes, she could use this weak-willed, hesitant girl in order to create the perfect story.
"Dearest brother, there is no point in raising your Priestess from the dead."
Fury immediately dilated his eyes into slits, the sickly yellow that foretold a hunger and hatred so great the Aesir and Vanir could not help but cast away and tie down the boy he was; even so, she was not afraid. For all of her younger brother's faults and apathy, he would never harm his family—he was simply incapable of it.
Even now, after uttering a phrase so cruel and so simple, he held back from violence, pulled back the fury, crushed down the wrath rising from the depths of his soul.
'Because he knows that without us, he has no one who would love him...'
"...Why do you say that, Hela?"
"It's simple, really," she shrugged, seemingly nonchalant and poised as always.
"I cannot resurrect a soul that does not wish to come back, and even then there are limits; if I were to raise her from the dead, her soul would be broken into fragments and her consciousness lost, making her nothing more than a part of my hoard; I have no power nor authority to breath life into her, as I am a judge and nothing more.
"Furthermore," she leaned forward, pointing her finger at the specter, "it would not be in accordance with natural law if she were raised with no issue—she is a murderer after all," Asta winced at that, pulling into herself further, "and would as such become a beacon of misfortune and ill will for vengeful spirits. As such," she leaned back into her surprisingly clean and new sofa, "there is no point in wasting my power as such, little brother."
Dead silence hung in the air, deep contemplation setting itself over the company of Patron's and Priestess's expressions, darkening them significantly. Some were marred with anger, others with worry, and all with a sense of despondency, until one person spoke up—the only true god in the room.
"...If it's authority you require, I can supply some of mine to you."
"...!"