The wheels of the wagon clattered over the uneven cobblestones as we approached Orario's merchant gate. I'd expected grandeur—massive doors of polished bronze, perhaps, with sentinels in gleaming armor. What we got was a glorified cattle chute.
Merchants, farmers, and travelers bottlenecked at the entrance, jostling for position. Livestock bleated and honked from pens. Traders shouted prices at each other while guards looked on with glazed expressions. The air hung heavy with the mingled scents of spices, sweat, and animal droppings.
"This is the great Orario?" I asked, wrinkling my nose.
Rumi shrugged. "Back entrance. What'd you expect?"
Our driver navigated the wagon into the queue, settling in for what looked like a lengthy wait. After twenty minutes of crawling forward, we reached a tired-looking guard who barely glanced at the manifest before waving us through. As we passed, he thrust two small wooden tokens into our hands.
"Get these registered at the Guild before sundown if you're staying," he said, already looking past us to the next wagon. "Otherwise, you're out."
I examined the token. A simple wooden disc with a date stamp and the emblem of the city. Temporary visa, then. How quaint.
The wagon wound its way through increasingly crowded streets until we reached what appeared to be the market district. Stalls and shops crammed together in a chaotic patchwork. Vendors hawked everything from weapons to pastries to questionable potions in glass vials.
Our driver found a spot to unload his cargo between a fruit merchant and a stall selling what looked like monster parts preserved in jars.
"This is as far as I go," he said, jumping down from his seat. He pointed at me. "See you next month with 45,000 Valis, kid. Don't be late."
I nodded, filing the number away. Forty-five thousand. The agreed-upon amount plus the fifty percent interest. Now I just needed to figure out what a "Valis" was worth.
The driver tipped his hat to Rumi. "Good luck with your adventures, miss." With that, he turned his attention to unloading, effectively dismissing us.
We stood on the edge of the street, suddenly very alone in a sea of strangers. Rumi immediately pulled out her wooden token, turning it over in her fingers.
"Okay, first things first," she said, all business. "We find the Guild, get registered, then look for a cheap inn."
I looked at my own token, then at the tower rising from the center of the city. Babel. Even from here, its presence dominated everything. That's where the power was.
The true heart of this place.
"Guilds are for employees. Paperwork is for clerks." I pointed toward Babel. "I'm here to see the main office. That."
Rumi's mouth opened, likely to call me an idiot again, but her eyes followed my finger. The tower loomed over the city, impossibly tall, impossibly perfect. Her ears, usually in constant motion, went completely still. Her expression softened into something childlike.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Fine. But just for a little while."
We set off toward the center of the city, weaving through the crowded streets. With each block, the city revealed more of its character. A dwarven blacksmith hammered at a glowing sword, each strike sending a cascade of sparks into the air. A vendor grilled skewers of meat that definitely hadn't come from any animal I recognized. A Cat Person in a delivery uniform raced across rooftops, leaping gaps.
"That's Gus," said a passing Dog Person to his companion. "Always showing off."
"That's rich coming from you," his friend replied. "Didn't you chase Sanria's tail at the tavern last night?"
They dissolved into good-natured argument as they passed.
The deeper we went, the more adventurers we saw. They moved differently than the regular citizens—more confident, more alert. Some wore armor covered in scratches and dents. Others displayed weapons that glowed with strange energies. All of them carried themselves with the easy grace of predators.
"See the mark on his arm?" Rumi whispered, nudging me and pointing to a passing elf. "That's the Loki Familia emblem."
I watched the elf stroll past. His equipment was pristine, his bearing aristocratic. He walked like someone who had never worried about money a day in his life.
We turned a corner, and Babel suddenly seemed much closer. The streets here were wider, the buildings taller and better maintained. We were approaching the good part of town.
Rumi stopped dead in her tracks. Her nose twitched rapidly. Her ears swiveled, searching for something. Her whole body tensed.
"Blood," she said.
I frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Before she could respond, a frantic shout pierced the air.
"MISSSS EINAAAA!"
A streak of white and red shot past us—a small boy with white hair, running at a speed I wouldn't have thought possible for a human. He was covered head to toe in viscous, glistening red slime that could only be blood. A splash of it hit my tunic. Another landed on Rumi's cheek.
We stood frozen as the boy disappeared around a corner, still shouting for whoever "Eina" was.
A nearby shopkeeper, busy arranging potted plants outside his store, sighed. "Looks like a rookie made one rookie mistake."
Rumi wiped the blood from her face with a trembling hand. "Is... is that normal?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
I looked down at the red stain spreading across my only shirt. This wasn't just blood. It smelled like rotten eggs and vinegar. The fabric was already starting to sizzle where it had made contact.
Great. Just great. My entire wardrobe—one barely-adequate peasant outfit—ruined by some panicking child. If I ever saw that blood-soaked brat again, I'd make him buy me an entire new wardrobe. Preferably something that actually matched my status.
"Let's keep moving," I said, trying to wipe away the slime with my sleeve. It only spread the stain further.
We continued toward Babel, the streets growing cleaner and more orderly with each block. The crowds thinned, the ambient noise lessened. Then, suddenly, we were there.
Up close, Babel wasn't just impressive—it was impossible. The tower stretched upward without end, its smooth white surface unmarred by time or elements. The entrance was a set of massive double doors flanked by pillars. Guards in crisp uniforms stood at attention, checking people as they entered and left.
I watched as a group of adventurers approached. The lead guard greeted them by name, asked about their latest expedition, and waved them through with a smile.
This was the inner circle. These were the people who mattered.
I straightened my back, adjusted my stained shirt as best I could, and strode forward with the confidence of a man walking into his own boardroom. The guard watched me approach, his expression neutral but evaluating. When I was three steps from the door, he moved smoothly into my path, placing a firm hand on my chest.
"Hold on," he said. "Don't recognize you. Don't see a Familia crest either." His eyes flicked to my stained clothes. "This entrance is for registered adventurers."
"Of course you don't. We keep a low profile." I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Belail is usually here."
The guard's eyes narrowed, but I detected uncertainty. Good. He was off-balance.
"We prefer to do our diving at night," I continued. "Less competition in the upper floors."
The guard's hand dropped from my chest. His posture shifted subtly. "I see," he said, his tone more respectful. "My apologies."
I allowed myself a mental smile. Almost there.
The guard paused. "Just for the record, then. Which Familia are you from?"
My mind went completely, catastrophically blank.
Loki? No, Rumi had mentioned them. Freya? She'd mentioned that one too. But would a Freya Familia member be skulking around in a stained shirt? What was the third one she'd mentioned?
I turned my head toward Rumi slowly, maintaining my deadpan expression through sheer force of will. My eyes met hers, silently screaming, Your line, bunny girl. Save me.
Rumi stared back, her face a perfect mixture of horror and fascination, like someone watching a carriage accident in slow motion.
The guard's hand drifted to his weapon. "Sir? Your Familia?"