The first thing that hit me was the air.
After an eternity of nothing, the simple act of breathing felt like swallowing lightning. My lungs expanded painfully, chest rising as oxygen flooded my system. The scent of pine and wet earth crashed into my awareness with the subtlety of a freight train.
I gasped, dropping to my knees in the soft dirt. Grass crushed beneath my palms, each blade a separate, distinct sensation against my skin. A bird called overhead, the sound so sharp and clear it might as well have been screaming directly into my ear.
Too much. It was all too much.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember how I got here. There had been... nothing. Then a voice. A conversation with someone important. A goddess?
Her words scattered like leaves in a windstorm, leaving only fragments behind. A name—Orario. A mission, though the details were foggy. The harder I tried to grasp the memory, the quicker it dissolved.
I knew one thing with absolute certainty: I needed to get to Orario.
When the sensory overload subsided to a manageable roar, I pushed myself up and took stock of my surroundings. Trees stretched in every direction, sunlight filtering through their branches in dappled patterns. No obvious path. No signs of civilization.
Perfect. Stranded in the wilderness. Just what I needed.
A glint of light caught my eye through the trees—water. I stumbled toward it, realizing I was desperately thirsty. A small stream cut through the forest floor, clear and inviting. I knelt beside it, cupping my hands to drink.
As I leaned over, my reflection stared back at me from the rippling surface.
I froze.
White hair—not blonde, not gray, but stark white—framed a face that looked both familiar and foreign. My features were sharp, aristocratic. High cheekbones, straight nose, strong jawline. The face of someone used to getting their way.
But my eyes...
One was cool gray, like winter fog. The other, a vibrant green that seemed to catch every ray of sunlight. The contrast was jarring, almost predatory.
I looked about seventeen.
My gaze traveled downward, taking in the rough, homespun tunic and trousers that hung on my frame. The clothing looked like it belonged to a peasant from some historical reenactment, all earth tones and simple cuts.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, my voice raspy from disuse. "I get reincarnated with a face that could launch a thousand ships, and they dress me like a potato farmer?"
I splashed water on my face, the cold shock helping to clear my head. Think, Rome. What do you know?
Orario. The Labyrinth City. The only city with a Dungeon, whatever that meant. It wouldn't be hidden away in some corner of the world. A place like that would be central.
All roads must lead to Orario.
The solution was simple: find a road, follow it to civilization, and get directions. Basic problem-solving.
I stood, brushing dirt from my peasant clothes, and picked a direction that seemed to have thinner tree coverage. With one last glance at my strange new reflection, I set off.
Four hours later, my confidence had evaporated like morning dew.
My feet ached. My stomach growled with a ferocity that suggested it might start digesting itself soon. The initial thrill of having a body again had worn off, replaced by the crushing awareness of its limitations.
Hunger. Thirst. Fatigue. Blisters forming on my heels.
In my previous life, I'd had assistants to handle the mundane. Drivers to take me places. Chefs to feed me whenever I wanted. Now I was just a hungry boy trudging through the woods, hoping to find civilization before nightfall.
How the mighty have fallen.
When I finally broke through the tree line to see smoke rising from chimneys in the distance, I nearly wept with relief. The village wasn't much—just a collection of rustic buildings clustered around what appeared to be a main street—but it was people. Food. Information.
As I approached, details came into focus. A large, muscular man hauled lumber from a cart to a building site. Nothing unusual about that, except for the cow ears and curved horns protruding from his head. Near a well, a young girl played with a ball, her cat tail swishing behind her as her feline ears twitched with excitement.
I didn't break stride. So this world had animal people. File that away. Learn the rules later. Right now, the only information that mattered was the smell of roasting meat coming from the largest building, its swinging wooden sign depicting a frothy mug next to a rabbit: "The Thirsty Rabbit."
The pub's interior was a wall of noise and warmth. Wooden tables filled the space, most occupied by more of the animal-human hybrids. Some looked almost completely human save for a pair of ears or a tail, while others had more pronounced animal features.
The waitress caught my eye immediately.
She moved like she was constantly fighting the urge to run, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she delivered plates and mugs. Long white rabbit ears stood tall above her dark hair, occasionally flattening against her head when a customer said something that displeased her. Which seemed to happen often.
"I said NO MORE until you pay your tab from last week!" She slammed a mug down on a table where three pig-featured men sat, her expression fierce despite having to look up at them. "Mr. Finn doesn't run a charity, and neither do I!"
She spun away before they could protest, snatching empty plates from another table with quick, efficient movements. Her whole body seemed charged with an aggressive energy that dared anyone to cross her.
"Kitchen! Two more stews and a meat pie!" she shouted through a window hatch before turning toward the door.
That's when she saw me.
Her movement stopped, dark eyes narrowing as she took me in from head to toe in one swift assessment. Those long ears twitched once, twice, and I could practically hear her thoughts: Pretty boy. Looks like trouble.
I flashed my most disarming smile and moved toward an empty table near the window.
She intercepted me, arms crossed over her apron.
"You lost, snow-top?"
"Not anymore." I kept the smile in place. "I'm on the way to Orario. I was hoping someone here could point me in the right direction."
"Orario?" Her eyebrows rose slightly. "That's at least a three day trip by wagon, south-southeast." She glanced at my clothes, then back to my face. "You planning to walk there dressed like that?"
"I'm adaptable. More immediately, I'm hungry. Whatever's causing that amazing smell—I'll take two."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Food costs money."
"I'm aware of how commerce works. I'll pay."
What was I supposed to say? Sorry, I just got reincarnated by a goddess who didn't think to provide pocket change?
She didn't look convinced but nodded curtly. "Find a seat. I'll bring you something."
I settled at an empty table, taking the opportunity to study the room more carefully. The patrons were mostly working-class—farmers, laborers, craftsmen judging by their clothing and calloused hands. A few travelers mixed in, identifiable by their packs and more road-worn appearance.
The rabbit waitress returned with a plate heaped with roasted meat, potatoes, and some kind of green vegetable I didn't recognize. My stomach roared at the sight.
"Water or ale?" she asked, already turning away.
"Water. And your name, if you don't mind."
She paused, ears twitching with what I was beginning to recognize as annoyance.
"Rumi. And you are?"
"Rome. Rome Valentine."
She snorted. "Fancy name for someone dressed like a field hand."
Before I could respond, she was gone again, bouncing between tables with relentless efficiency.
I attacked the food with an intensity that surprised even me. Each bite was an explosion of flavor after the nothingness of the void. I barely took time to breathe between mouthfuls, the gnawing emptiness in my stomach demanding satisfaction.
Rumi returned with a mug of water, watching my desperate consumption with a raised eyebrow.
"When's the last time you ate?" she asked, something like reluctant concern creeping into her voice.
I paused, trying to calculate an answer that wouldn't sound insane. "Longer than I care to remember."
She made a small "hmm" sound but didn't press further. "You need a room for the night? Mr. Finn keeps a few upstairs for travelers."
"That would be excellent." I took a long drink of water, considering my options. I needed information, transportation, and proper clothing before I could make any real progress toward Orario. All of which required money, which I didn't have.
Yet.
As I finished the last bite, Rumi returned, slapping a small piece of paper on the table. The bill. My moment of truth had arrived.
I looked up at her, meeting her suspicious gaze with perfect calm.
"I don't have any money."
Her ears shot straight up in alarm, then flattened against her head. Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
I continued before she could explode, my voice level and reasonable. "But I will work to pay for it. Put me to work."
Rumi's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Her scoff was loud enough to draw glances from nearby tables.
"Work for it?" She leaned down, planting both hands on the table, her face inches from mine. "Heard that one before. Every freeloader with an empty pocket thinks a smile is currency here."
"I'm not asking for charity—"
"You sure about that? Because eating food you can't pay for sounds exactly like charity to me." Her ears were practically vibrating with anger. "You want to work? Fine. The kitchen's got a mountain of dirty dishes. The woodpile out back is empty. You can start with that."
She straightened, crossing her arms. "And you'll be staying in the storage room, not one of the guest rooms. Mr. Finn gets back tomorrow morning, and he'll decide if your face is worth the trouble."
I stood slowly, keeping my expression neutral despite the flare of irritation. In my old life, no one would have dared speak to me this way.
But this wasn't my old life.
"Lead the way." I gestured for her to go ahead. "I assure you, I'm worth far more trouble than this."
Rumi's dark eyes flashed. "We'll see about that, snow-top."