Let me explain something.
Running a successful business across two worlds sounds cool—because it is—but even I can't teleport ice cream directly into people's mouths. Believe me, I've tried. The spoon doesn't make it through the portal.
So there's a delivery problem.
The "Cold Shrine of Rika" can only store so much, and I'm not about to build a medieval logistics empire by hiring ten sweaty apprentices with wooden carts and bad sense of direction. That sounds like effort.
Instead, I had a better idea:
Bicycles.
Hear me out.
They're fast, silent, eco-friendly, and more reliable than half the knights in town. And best of all—people in Atheria have never seen one. Which means…
Marketing.
So, I did what any sensible, tired girl with time-stopping powers would do: I went back to Earth, stopped time, walked into a sporting goods store, and bought two foldable bicycles. I even got cute helmets.
Back in Atheria, I pulled them out dramatically in the town square during peak gossip hour.
"Behold!" I said, pointing to the sleek metallic frames. "The Divine Steeds of Wind!"
The villagers stared in awe.
"...They have no legs," whispered someone.
"Do they fly?" asked a child, eyes sparkling.
I mounted one, kicked off, and started pedaling in a circle around the fountain.
Gasps.
Screams.
Applause.
I may have done one too many figure eights and almost ran over a goat, but the message was clear: I was now the world's first Bike Witch.
Of course, this being Atheria, things escalated quickly.
The town priest arrived an hour later.
"These wheel-spirits," he said gravely, stroking his beard. "Did you awaken them through ritual?"
"Uh... yeah," I said. "Lots of ritual. Very secret. Very sacred."
He nodded solemnly.
"I must hold a blessing ceremony."
Oh no.
The next morning, half the town gathered to watch two bicycles be "purified with smoke and flowers." There was chanting. Someone brought a lute.
I just stood there, smiling and nodding, while wondering whether I could sneak away for snacks without starting a holy war.
After the ceremony, I carefully explained that these "wind steeds" were only granted to the worthy. And by "worthy," I meant people I trained personally. And by "training," I meant a two-hour lesson and a helmet.
Enter Lila, my bathhouse attendant, who became my first bike courier. She cried when I handed her the handlebars. Then she wobbled directly into a tree.
But after a few hours of practice (and minor bruises), she was zooming around town like a pro, delivering ice cream, soap, and "blessed scrolls" (a.k.a. tissue packs) in under fifteen minutes.
Soon, every child in town was begging to be a "wind courier," and the mayor asked if I could "summon more steeds."
Back on Earth, I ordered five more bikes online and disguised them with painted runes and glued-on gemstones. They looked ridiculous. People loved them.
By the end of the week, I had a full delivery team wearing capes, goggles, and matching enchanted helmets (bike gear spray-painted gold). They even made a chant.
"Wheels of wind, swift and bright,
Deliver joy by day and night!"
I didn't write that. They did. On their own. I think someone's keeping a prayer journal about the bicycles.
Meanwhile, I started organizing a proper order system. Simple tokens on strings, color-coded: red for dessert, green for toiletries, silver for "mystic comfort items." I trained the team using a whiteboard I imported from Earth (called it a "living planning crystal"). It worked perfectly.
Now, every time I visit Atheria, I'm greeted by the sound of spinning wheels and kids shouting, "Lady Rika! I saw your wind soldiers ride past the bakery!"
Yes, I am now the founder of a divine bicycle courier cult.
No, I do not know how this happened.
But I'm not complaining. The ice cream is reaching people faster. The priests are happy. My delivery team is getting stronger thighs than the town guards. And I don't have to move a single box myself.
It's perfect.
...except now they're asking if the "Divine Steeds" can go over water.
I may have accidentally promised to "explore the next stage of wind-riding."
Uh-oh.