The merchant wagon waiting outside The Thirsty Rabbit was a flat wooden platform with raised sides, it was piled high with sacks of grain, barrels of what I assumed was beer, and crates stamped with the emblem of various merchants. Two large draft horses stood in their traces, tails swishing lazily at flies.
The wagon driver, a balding human secured the last of the cargo. Behind me, the tavern door opened, and Rumi emerged carrying a small pack that looked pathetically inadequate for someone supposedly moving to a new city.
Her father followed, his face once again that perfect mask of neutrality. But I'd caught that slip. Someday soon, when I had actual leverage, I'd find out what it meant.
Rumi stood awkwardly before her father, her usual sharp demeanor replaced by something almost childlike. Her ears drooped slightly as she looked up at him.
"I'll write," she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.
Mr. Finn nodded once. "See that you do." He placed both hands on her shoulders, looking directly into her eyes. "Remember what I told you. Trust your instincts."
"I know," she replied.
"And if you change your mind—"
"I won't." Her chin lifted, that familiar stubbornness returning.
He sighed, then pulled her into a brief, tight hug. When they separated, he turned his attention to me.
"Mr. Valentine."
I straightened instinctively under his scrutiny. "Sir."
He approached until we stood eye to eye, close enough that I could see the fine silver hairs mingling with the brown of his beard. His voice dropped, pitched for my ears alone.
"My daughter has more heart than sense sometimes. She believes in heroes." His eyes bored into mine. "I've lived long enough to know better."
"Yet you're letting her go," I observed.
"Yes," he said simply. "With you."
"Why?"
Why me, a stranger with no history, no credentials?
Mr. Finn's expression shifted, just slightly. "Let's just say... I've seen your type before."
Before I could press further, he stepped back, raising his voice to normal levels. "One month, Mr. Valentine. I expect prompt repayment of our debt."
I nodded, filing away our exchange for later analysis. "You'll have your money."
"All set, folks!" The wagon driver called out. "We're burning daylight!"
Rumi approached the wagon, eying the jumbled cargo with uncertainty. The driver, noticing her hesitation, pointed to a small cleared space among the sacks.
"Made you a spot, miss. It ain't the royal suite, but it'll get you there."
She thanked him and clambered up with surprising agility, settling herself between a crate of vegetables and what looked like a roll of tanned hides. I followed, finding space on the opposite side. The wooden planks dug into my backside immediately. Three days of this. Wonderful.
Mr. Finn raised a hand in farewell as the driver flicked the reins. The wagon lurched forward, wheels creaking in protest. Rumi twisted around, watching her father and the tavern grow smaller as we pulled away. Her hands fidgeted with the straps of her pack, opening and closing the buckle repeatedly.
"Checking to make sure your underwear didn't magically disappear in the last five minutes?" I asked.
Her head whipped around, ears standing straight up in alarm. "What? No! I'm just—" She realized I was teasing and her ears flattened. "Shut up."
I grinned. She was so easy to rile up.
"You know, most people would consider traveling with me an honor. I'm told I'm excellent company."
"By whom? The voices in your head?" She rummaged through her pack again, pointedly ignoring me.
I watched her, amused. For all her prickly exterior, she was transparent. The nervous energy radiating from her was almost palpable. Her fingers trembled slightly as she checked and rechecked the contents of her bag. Her eyes darted around, taking in the passing scenery with poorly concealed excitement. Her long ears twitched constantly, swiveling toward every new sound.
She caught me watching and bristled. "What are you looking at, snow-top? Haven't you ever seen someone prepare for a journey before?"
"I'm just admiring your cool, collected demeanor," I replied.
"I am perfectly calm," she insisted, her right ear twitching violently in contradiction.
"Of course." I leaned back against a sack of grain. "The very picture of serenity."
She scowled, but didn't respond. We lapsed into silence as the wagon rolled on, the village falling away behind us. Dense forest lined the road, occasionally opening to reveal small clearings or streams. The sun climbed higher, burning away the morning mist.
As we rattled along, my thoughts turned to the true purpose of this journey. Reaching Orario wasn't the end goal; it was merely the starting point. Juno had sent me here for a reason—to "fix a mistake." Whatever that meant, it would require power. Real power, not the hollow wealth I'd accumulated in my previous life.
This world operated on different rules. From what little I'd gathered, physical strength and magical ability were the currencies that mattered. And I intended to amass as much of both as possible.
The silence between us stretched on, broken only by the creaking of the wagon and the rhythmic plodding of the horses. I closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face.
"So," Rumi's voice cut through my thoughts. "Which Familia are you planning on joining?"
I opened my eyes to find her studying me with unconcealed curiosity. "Familia?"
Her expression shifted from curiosity to disbelief, then to something approaching horror. Her ears went completely flat against her head.
"Are you serious?" she asked. "You want to go to Orario to be an adventurer and you don't even know what a Familia is?" She stared at me like I'd just announced my intention to breathe underwater. "How are you even alive?"
"I'm a fast learner," I replied, refusing to be embarrassed by my ignorance. "Enlighten me."
She made a sound that was half sigh, half growl. "Gods, you're hopeless."
Then, with the exaggerated patience of someone explaining colors to a blind person, she began to explain.
"Okay, listen carefully because I'm only saying this once. The gods came down from heaven to the mortal world about a thousand years ago. They were bored up there, so they decided to live among mortals for entertainment."
"Gods," I repeated. "As in plural."
"Yes, idiot. Zeus, Loki, Freya, Hephaestus—all of them. Real. Living in Orario."
I thought of Juno, of her voice in the void. Not a hallucination, then. A real goddess who'd plucked me from death for her own purposes.
"These gods form Familias," Rumi continued. "Groups of mortals who serve them. In exchange, the god gives them a Falna—a blessing that lets them become stronger than normal people."
"How much stronger?"
"A lot stronger. The Falna unlocks your potential. You gain abilities, magic, and skills unique to you. You level up by gaining excelia through adventures and overcoming challenges."
"Level up," I repeated. "Like a game."
"I don't know what that means," she said with a frown. "But higher-level adventurers are way stronger than lower ones. The difference is huge."
I considered this. A system where power was quantifiable, where growth was tied directly to effort and achievement. It sounded perfect.
"The top Familias in Orario are crazy powerful," Rumi continued, her voice taking on a tone of reverence. "The Loki Familia is full of heroes. They work together better than anyone, taking on the deepest floors of the Dungeon." Her eyes grew distant, dreamy. "Ais Wallenstein—the Sword Princess—she's the youngest adventurer to ever reach Level 5. Can you imagine?"
"And the others?" I prompted.
"The Freya Familia is the strongest, no question," she said, her tone shifting to one of caution. "But they're... different. Each member only cares about pleasing their goddess. They barely work together at all."
"Sounds inefficient."
"Maybe, but it doesn't matter when your captain is the only Level 7 in the city," she countered. "Ottar the Warlord—he could probably wipe out half of Orario by himself."
"And the third?"
"The Athena Familia. They're the strategists. They say the Athena Familia wins their battles before they even start. Their captain, Lyra—they call her the War Princess. She's supposed to be almost as strong as Ais Wallenstein."
She went on, describing other, smaller Familias, the Guild that governed adventurers, and the Dungeon itself—a massive labyrinth beneath the city filled with monsters that constantly spawned from its walls.
I listened, absorbing every detail. This world was structured like the corporate environment I'd mastered in my previous life—hierarchical, competitive, with clear paths to advancement. The major Familias were the established giants, dominating the market through size and resources.
"So," Rumi concluded, "which one do you want to join? Not that the top ones would take you," she added quickly. "They're super selective. But you could start small, work your way up."
I considered the question. Join the Loki Familia, with its teamwork and heroism? Or the Freya Familia, with its brutal individual power? Perhaps the Athena Familia, with its emphasis on strategy?
The mere thought made my skin crawl.
"Let me ask you something, Rumi," I said. "What's more impressive—joining a Fortune 500 company and becoming its CEO, or building a startup from nothing into a Fortune 500 company?"
She stared at me blankly. "A what? What are you talking about?"
I waved away her confusion. The analogy wouldn't work here. "Never mind. I have no intention of joining an established Familia."
"Then why are you going to Orario?" she demanded. "That's the whole point!"
"No," I corrected. "The point is power. The Familia system is just one path to it."
She looked at me like I'd suggested flying to the moon. "You can't be an adventurer without joining a Familia. You need a Falna."
"Then I'll get one. But not from Loki or Freya or Athena." I looked her directly in the eyes, letting her see the absolute conviction in mine. "I don't join other people's games, bunny girl. I create my own."
In my previous life, I'd climbed from nothing to the pinnacle of wealth and influence. I'd built an empire from scratch, watching my competitors scramble to keep up. I hadn't done it by joining an established corporation and working my way up the ladder. I'd disrupted the entire system.
And I would do it again.
Joining one of the top Familias would make me a cog in someone else's machine. I'd be powerful, yes, but within limits defined by others. Subject to their rules, their hierarchy, their vision.
Utterly unacceptable.
"You're insane," Rumi declared after a moment of stunned silence. "Completely, totally insane."
I smiled. "You'll see."
She shook her head and turned away, apparently deciding I was a lost cause. The conversation died, leaving us in uncomfortable silence as the wagon continued its journey.
For the next two days, we settled into an uneasy rhythm. We'd talk sporadically, usually initiated by Rumi explaining some aspect of the world I should apparently already know. We slept beneath the stars, the wagon driver providing simple meals of bread, cheese, and dried meat. My body ached from the constant jostling and hard wooden planks.
On the third day, the landscape began to change. The dense forest gave way to rolling hills covered in golden grain. Farmhouses dotted the countryside, becoming more frequent as we traveled. The road widened, its surface better maintained. Other travelers appeared—merchants with laden carts, farmers bringing goods to market, the occasional adventurer returning from some quest.
Rumi grew increasingly agitated, her excitement barely contained. She kept standing up to peer ahead, earning grumbles from the driver about shifting the load.
"Sit down before you fall and break your neck," I told her after her fifth attempt to see over the next hill.
"We're close," she said, ignoring my advice. "I can feel it."
The wagon crested a particularly steep hill, the horses straining against their harness. The driver called back to us.
"There she is, folks! The Labyrinth City!"
We looked.
The hillside fell away, revealing a vast basin. And there, sprawling before us like a dream made stone, was Orario.
Even from this distance, the city was breathtaking. Massive walls surrounded it, gleaming white in the afternoon sun. Buildings of every size and shape crowded together within, creating a mosaic of red rooftops and stone towers. Streets radiated outward from the center like the spokes of a wheel.
And rising from the heart of the city was a structure that defied belief. A tower so tall it seemed to pierce the very heavens.
"Babel," Rumi breathed, all her sarcasm and toughness forgotten. Her eyes were wide with awe, her ears straight up. "It's even bigger than I imagined."
The driver flicked the reins, urging the horses forward down the slope.
"Welcome to Orario, folks," he called back to us. "The city where dreams come true."