Morning light filters weakly through the broken window.
Liliruca Arde wakes to the smell of mold and unwashed bodies, the familiar scent of Orario's slums. Around her, other Soma Familia members sleep—sprawled on thin bedrolls, pressed against walls, seeking warmth where none exists.
This is home. Has been for as long as she can remember.
A dilapidated building on the edge of the city, where Soma Familia warehouses its least valuable members. The supporters. The failures. The ones who exist only to earn money for others.
Lili sits up slowly, careful not to wake anyone. Her small corner of the room holds everything she owns—a worn bedroll, a change of clothes, her supporter pack. Nothing else. Nothing worth keeping, nothing worth losing.
She counts the coins hidden in her sleeve. Five thousand valis from yesterday's dive with Leon.
The amount still feels unreal.
Five thousand. A third of the earnings. Fair pay, he said.
Lili clutches the coins tightly, then hides them again. If anyone sees this much money, they'll take it. Steal it, demand it as "Familia dues," beat it out of her if necessary.
Same as always. Earn, hide, survive.
But as she prepares for the day, wrapping her concealing cloak around thin shoulders, Lili's mind drifts backward. To memories she usually keeps locked away. To the question that's haunted her since yesterday:
Why was he kind?
Childhood - Twelve Years Ago
"Lili! Get up!"
Her mother's voice, sharp and impatient. Small hands shake her awake roughly.
"Lili's tired..."
"I don't care. Your father and I are diving today. You need to earn money while we're gone."
Lili—barely four years old—sits up in the cramped Familia quarters. Her parents loom over her, already in their armor, weapons strapped to backs. They're adventurers. Level 1, barely competent, but adventurers nonetheless.
She's just a child. Small even for a pallum. Useless for combat.
"What does Lili do?"
"Beg." Her father tosses a small bowl at her feet. "Go to the market. Look pitiful. Bring back at least five hundred valis or don't come home."
"But Papa—"
"No buts. You're part of this Familia. You earn your keep."
They leave without another word. Without breakfast. Without checking if she's warm enough, fed enough, safe enough.
Earn your keep. That's all you're worth.
Little Lili clutches the bowl and goes to the market. Sits on a corner. Holds out the bowl with trembling hands.
"Please... Lili is hungry..."
Some people ignore her. Others drop a few copper coins. One kind merchant gives her an apple. By evening, she has three hundred valis.
Not enough.
When her parents return, her mother slaps her. "Useless child. Can't even beg properly."
No dinner that night. Just the apple she hid, eaten alone in the dark.
This is family. This is what love means.
The lesson sinks deep into small bones, settles into a heart still soft enough to break.
Tragedy - Ten Years Ago
The Guild messenger arrives at dawn.
Lili is six. She knows what the messenger's somber expression means before he speaks.
"Your parents didn't return from their dive. The Dungeon claimed them on floor seven. Their bodies couldn't be recovered."
Dead.
Both of them. Gone.
Lili should feel something—grief, loss, sadness. But all she feels is a strange emptiness. Like a weight lifted from shoulders too small to carry it.
They're gone. No more beatings. No more demands.
The messenger looks at her with pity. "Do you have other family?"
"Soma Familia."
"I mean blood family—"
"Soma Familia is Lili's family."
The messenger leaves. Lili stands in the empty room—their room, now just hers—and waits for someone from the Familia to come. To offer condolences. To ask if she needs anything.
No one comes.
Days pass. A week. Two weeks.
The Familia members step around her like she's furniture. Occasionally someone mentions her parents—"Weak fools, dying on floor seven"—but never to her. Never acknowledging she exists.
At the funeral, such as it is, no one speaks to her. She stands alone at the edge of the gathering, small and overlooked, watching as two coffins—empty except for personal effects—are burned.
I'm alone. Truly alone.
The realization doesn't hurt. It clarifies.
She has no one. Will have no one. Survival is individual. Always has been.
The six-year-old girl standing at that funeral dies something inside. Hardens something necessary. Learns the first real lesson:
No one will help you. Help yourself or perish.
Struggle - Eight Years Ago
At eight years old, Lili decides to become an adventurer.
Not out of ambition or dreams of glory. Just survival. Adventurers earn more than beggars. Adventurers have value.
Lord Soma barely glances at her when she requests his blessing.
"Fine. Whatever."
The god is always like this—distant, uninterested, focused only on his wine-making. His Falna is a formality, nothing more.
Lili's initial stats are abysmal:
Strength: I-0
Endurance: I-0
Dexterity: I-0
Agility: I-0
Magic: I-0
All zeros. Completely average for a new adventurer, but devastating for a small pallum child.
Still, she tries. Trains with a borrowed dagger. Practices forms shown by indifferent Familia members who see teaching her as a chore.
Her first Dungeon dive is a disaster.
A single goblin on floor one nearly kills her. The creature is bigger than she is, stronger, faster. Lili's dagger barely scratches it. Her attacks are clumsy, weak, ineffective.
She runs. Barely escapes. Returns to the surface crying and bleeding.
"Weakling."
"Useless pallum."
"Should have died like her parents."
The comments follow her through the Familia home. No sympathy. No encouragement. Just contempt.
Lili tries again. And again. Each time, the same result—barely surviving floor one, accumulating injuries, earning nothing.
After a month, reality sets in.
I can't be an adventurer. I'm too small. Too weak. Too pathetic.
The dream dies. But survival doesn't.
Supporter Life - Six Years Ago
At ten, Lili becomes a supporter.
It's the only option left. Can't fight, but she can carry. Can navigate. Can make herself useful in other ways.
Her first party treats her like a pack mule.
"Carry this. No, not like that—properly! Are you stupid?"
"Why is she so slow? Hurry up, pallum!"
"Don't touch my supplies with your dirty hands!"
They work her until she collapses, pay her a fraction of what they promised, then leave her lying in the Dungeon while they return to the surface.
Lili crawls back alone, pack still on her back—they didn't even let her abandon their extra supplies.
This is supporter life. This is your worth.
Over the next two years, party after party reinforces the lesson.
Adventurers treat supporters as less than human. Objects. Tools. Things to be used and discarded.
Some are merely neglectful—ignoring her, forgetting to feed her, leaving her to fend for herself.
Others are cruel—beating her when she's too slow, stealing from her meager pay, forcing her to work beyond exhaustion.
A few are worse. Much worse.
Lili learns to avoid certain adventurers. Learns which Familias have the worst reputations. Learns to spot danger in a smile, recognize predation in "kindness."
Trust no one. Expect nothing. Survive.
By twelve, she's hollow. A shell moving through motions. Earning money that gets taken by Soma Familia as "dues." Working jobs that destroy her body. Living a life that barely qualifies as living.
Then she meets the old couple.
Betrayal - Four Years Ago
Their names are Marco and Fina.
An elderly human couple running a small general store in Orario's middle district. Not wealthy, not poor—just honest people selling honest goods.
Lili meets them when she's scavenging for cheap food. Marco sees her—tiny, malnourished, clearly struggling—and offers her an apple.
"Here. You look hungry."
Lili stares at the fruit suspiciously. "What does the old man want?"
"Want? Nothing. You're a child. Children shouldn't go hungry."
"Lili isn't a child. Lili is a supporter."
"You're both." Marco's smile is gentle. "Take it. No strings attached."
Lili takes the apple and runs.
But the next week, hunger drives her back. Marco gives her another apple. And a small loaf of bread.
"My wife made too much. Would be a shame to waste it."
Week after week, Lili returns. Week after week, they feed her. Ask how she's doing. Treat her like she matters.
It's the first kindness she's known since her parents died. Maybe the first real kindness ever.
Slowly, carefully, Lili starts to trust them.
She tells them about her life—the abuse, the exploitation, the loneliness. They listen with kind eyes and sad smiles.
"You deserve better than this," Fina says softly.
"Lili doesn't deserve anything. Lili is just a pallum supporter."
"You deserve dignity. Respect. Kindness." Marco's voice is firm. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
For six months, Lili visits them regularly. They become the closest thing to family she's had. A sanctuary in a cruel world.
Then Soma Familia finds out.
Lili never learns how. Maybe someone saw her visiting. Maybe they were watching. Maybe it was just bad luck.
But one morning, Marco and Fina's store is gone.
Not closed. Gone.
Burned to the ground. Ashes and rubble. Yellow tape marking it as Familia business—a message to anyone who might ask questions.
Lili stands in front of the ruins, small hands clenched, tears streaming down her face.
A Soma Familia member—a cruel man named Zanis—appears beside her.
"Shame about that store. Apparently they were caught selling to our members without paying proper Familia dues." His smile is vicious. "Lord Soma doesn't tolerate theft."
"They weren't stealing! They were just—"
"Just what? Helping a Familia member for free? Everything you earn belongs to Soma Familia. Everything you receive is taxed. Those merchants knew the rules." He leans down, breath reeking of alcohol. "This is what happens when people forget who owns you."
Lili learns later that Marco and Fina survived. Barely. They left Orario the same day, never to return.
She never sees them again.
Never gets to say goodbye.
Never gets to thank them for being the only people who showed her real kindness.
That day, standing in the ashes, twelve-year-old Liliruca Arde makes a vow:
Never again. Never trust. Never open up. Never let anyone close enough to hurt you.
Use others before they use you. Take what you can. Survive at any cost.
Kindness is a trap. Trust is suicide. Love is a lie.
The girl who wanted to believe in goodness dies in those ashes.
What remains is a survivor. Nothing more.
Bitterness - Two Years Ago
At fourteen, Lili perfects her survival strategy.
She steals from adventurers—small amounts, never enough to provoke serious retaliation. She lies about her capabilities to command better pay. She uses her innocent appearance to manipulate when possible.
Every trick, every scheme, every tiny advantage she can get.
They use me. I use them. Fair exchange.
She curses Soma—the god who ignores his Familia's suffering, who cares only for his wine, who lets monsters like Zanis run free.
She curses adventurers—the ones who treat supporters like objects, who abuse and exploit, who see kindness as weakness.
She curses the gods—all of them, for descending to this world and creating systems of power that crush the weak.
Most of all, she curses herself—for being weak, for being small, for being a pallum in a world that values strength above all.
I hate them. I hate this city. I hate this life.
But I'll survive. Even if I have to become as cruel as they are, I'll survive.
The bitterness settles into her bones, becomes part of her. Colors every interaction, every thought, every breath.
She's not a person anymore. Just a collection of defense mechanisms. Armor made of pain and anger and refusal to ever be vulnerable again.
This is who I am now. This is what they made me.
And she believes it. Completely. Utterly.
Until yesterday.
Present Day - Morning
Lili finishes her preparations and steps out into Orario's streets.
The city is waking—merchants opening shops, adventurers heading to Babel, the daily rhythm beginning. Same as always. Same as it's been for years.
But Lili's thoughts keep returning to yesterday.
To Leon Fury.
Why was he kind?
The question gnaws at her. She's analyzed it from every angle, searching for the trick, the manipulation, the hidden cost.
He gave her a sandwich. Fed her without asking anything in return.
Maybe he wanted me grateful. Easier to exploit someone who feels indebted.
He paid her fairly. A full third of the earnings.
Maybe he's trying to gain trust before betraying me. Make me lower my guard.
He called her a partner. Treated her with respect.
Maybe he's just naive. Young and idealistic, hasn't learned how cruel this world is yet.
Every explanation feels hollow.
Because the truth, the thing Lili doesn't want to admit, is simpler and more terrifying:
Maybe he's just genuinely kind.
The thought is dangerous. Accepting it means opening herself up again. Means trusting. Means risking the pain she swore never to feel again.
No. I can't. I won't.
But even as she thinks it, Lili's hand touches her sleeve where the coins are hidden. Five thousand valis. Fair pay. Honest work.
The warmth of that sandwich still lingers in her memory. The way it tasted—not just good, but infused with something more. Energy. Care. Like someone put actual effort into making food for her.
No one does that. No one cares.
Except he did.
Lili reaches Babel Tower and sees Leon waiting at the entrance. He's early, standing calmly in the morning light, bow on his back, twin blades crossed behind him.
He spots her and nods. No smile, no excessive friendliness. Just acknowledgment.
"Good morning."
"Good morning."
They stand in awkward silence. Lili wants to say something—thank you, maybe, or ask why he's being kind. But the words stick in her throat.
Say nothing. Feel nothing. Just work.
"Ready for today's dive?" Leon asks.
"Yes."
"We're going deeper than yesterday. Floor ten, possibly floor eleven if time allows. Can you handle it?"
"Lili can handle anything."
Leon looks at her—really looks, like he's seeing past the defensive walls, the careful mask. His eyes are calm, steady, completely free of judgment.
"I believe you."
Three words. Simple. Direct.
I believe you.
Something cracks inside Lili's chest. Something she thought was dead.
Hope.
No. She can't afford hope. Hope is dangerous. Hope gets you hurt.
"Let's go," she says quickly, before the feeling can grow. "The Dungeon is waiting."
They descend together into darkness.
Conflict - Descent
As they move through the upper floors, Lili watches Leon fight.
His movements are precise, economical, deadly. No wasted motion. No unnecessary flourishes. Just perfect efficiency.
He's strong. Really strong. Could exploit that strength easily.
But he doesn't.
When they rest, he offers her water. When she stumbles under her pack's weight, he pauses without complaint. When a monster gets close, he positions himself between it and her without being asked.
Protecting a supporter. Treating me like I matter.
The confusion grows with every floor.
By floor seven, Lili's internal conflict is almost physical. Part of her—the broken, cynical part—keeps searching for the betrayal. The moment when he'll show his true colors.
Another part—small, fragile, nearly destroyed—whispers different possibilities:
What if he's real? What if this kindness is genuine?
What if not all adventurers are monsters?
What if you could trust someone again?
"Lili?"
Leon's voice pulls her from her thoughts. He's looking at her with slight concern.
"You've been quiet. Are you okay?"
"Lili is fine."
"If you need to rest—"
"Lili said she's fine."
The sharpness in her voice surprises them both. Leon nods and continues forward without comment.
Why isn't he angry? Most adventurers would hit me for talking back.
But he just accepts it. Respects her space.
Stop it. Stop being kind. Stop making Lili hope.
They reach floor ten. The pressure is heavier here, the air thick with dungeon presence. Lili's breath comes harder, but she forces herself to keep pace.
Leon defeats a Dungeon Lizard with three precise strikes. Lili collects the magic stone, storing it efficiently.
"Good work," Leon says.
Two words. Casual acknowledgment.
Good work.
When was the last time someone praised her? Recognized her effort?
Lili can't remember.
They collect loot for hours. The pack grows heavy, but Lili doesn't complain. This is her job. Her value. The only thing keeping her from being completely worthless.
As evening approaches, they return to the surface. The exchange clerk appraises their haul—eighteen thousand valis.
Leon counts out six thousand and hands it to her.
"Your share."
Lili stares at the coins. Combined with yesterday's pay, she has eleven thousand valis. More money than she's held in months.
"This is... Lili doesn't understand."
"What don't you understand?"
"Why Leon keeps being kind. What does Leon want from Lili?"
"Nothing."
"That's impossible. Everyone wants something."
Leon is quiet for a long moment. Then he speaks, his voice gentle but firm:
"I want you to have fair pay for fair work. I want a reliable partner who isn't constantly waiting for betrayal. And I want you to realize that not everyone in this city is cruel."
"But they are. Everyone is."
"Some are. Not all." He meets her eyes. "Give me time to prove it."
Lili's hands tremble around the coins. The tears come unbidden, streaming down her face before she can stop them.
"Lili doesn't know how to trust."
"Then don't. Not yet." Leon's voice is surprisingly kind. "Just keep working with me. Trust will come if it's going to come. No pressure."
He turns to leave, then pauses.
"Liliruca."
"Yes?"
"You did good work today. Thank you."
He walks away, leaving her standing in the evening light, crying silently, holding coins that feel heavier than any pack.
Give me time to prove it.
Lili clutches the money to her chest and makes a decision—not to trust, not yet, but to allow the possibility.
To let a tiny crack form in the armor.
To see if maybe, just maybe, one adventurer in this cruel city might actually be decent.
Just this once. Lili will give him a chance.
But if he betrays me... if he's like the others...
The thought doesn't finish. Can't finish.
Because deep down, in that broken place that used to hold hope, something is stirring.
Something that feels dangerously like belief.
Lili walks home through Orario's streets, past the familiar squalor of the slums, carrying money earned fairly and a question she's afraid to answer:
What if Leon really is different?
What if Lili could trust again?
What if there's still good in this world?
The questions follow her into sleep, into dreams, into a restless night where past pain wars with present possibility.
Tomorrow, she'll work with Leon again.
Tomorrow, the test continues.
And somewhere in the ruins of a heart that thought it died years ago, something small and fragile begins to grow.
Hope.
Terrifying, painful, beautiful hope.