Is It Wrong to Want Luxury in a Dungeon? [6]

Falling into the Fire

Time had passed. Not much, just enough for the initial novelty of dungeon crawling to wear off. Enough for the same routine to start feeling like a loop.

Calista had been running the same route for days now—descent, Floor 1, Floor 2, Floor 3, Floor 4, kill a handful of monsters, then leave. It was always under supervision, always the same predictable fights, always ending before anything remotely interesting could happen.

She was getting restless.

It wasn’t the fighting itself. That part was fun—almost meditative in a way. Moving, striking, weaving through enemy attacks, feeling her body adjust to the spear’s weight and momentum. She was undeniably getting better at handling it, landing her thrusts with sharper precision, adjusting her stance instinctively instead of overthinking.

But that was the problem.

She wasn’t actually getting stronger.

Every day, she entered the dungeon expecting to feel some kind of difference. Some shift, some tangible proof of growth. But no matter how many monsters she killed, how many steps she took through those stone corridors, she felt exactly the same.

It didn’t make sense.

She knew how this world worked. She had seen the strength of real adventurers, the way their movements carried weight and precision that hers didn’t yet have. She wasn’t expecting to leap to their level overnight, obviously—but she had expected something.

Instead, every time she faced a monster, she was fighting with the same body, the same speed, the same strength she had on day one.

She scowled, flicking blood from her spear as another goblin crumpled to the ground.

This wasn’t normal.

She had trained before. She understood how progress worked. Strength wasn’t something that came instantly, but it also wasn’t something that stayed stagnant. She could tell she was fighting better, that she was getting more efficient—but efficiency didn’t make her spear hit any harder, didn’t make her reflexes sharper, didn’t let her take a hit any better than she had on the first day.

It was frustrating.

More than that—it was insulting.

She had been pushing herself every day. She had earned results. So where the hell were they?

Her grip tightened on her weapon as she followed Raul and Lefiya through the corridors.

Lefiya, who was already Level 2, was improving faster than she was.

Raul, who barely had to exert himself to fight the same monsters she did, was still leagues ahead.

And her?

For all her ambition, for all her expectations, she was still exactly where she started.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing the irritation down.

No. This was temporary. It had to be.

She just needed to figure out what she was missing.

...

The trek back to the surface was quiet.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet—more like the kind that followed an argument that hadn’t actually happened yet.

Calista’s boots struck against the stone floor with sharp precision, her spear resting against her shoulder, fingers tapping idly against the shaft as they ascended through the Dungeon’s winding paths. The air was stale, thick with the scent of damp rock and the faint metallic tang of monster blood clinging to her sleeves. It was familiar now, this trek up, this exit.

And she hated it.

“Not a bad run,” Raul said, his voice cutting through the silence, though there was a certain carefulness to it—like he was trying to preemptively steer the conversation away from a fight. “No injuries, no surprises. Nice and clean.”

Nice and clean.

Calista resisted the urge to scoff.

He was right. The run had been smooth—textbook, even. They had moved efficiently, cleared out the usual goblins and kobolds, collected a few handfuls of magic stones. No danger. No mess. No excitement.

And that was exactly the problem.

“That’s it, then?” she asked, keeping her tone even. “We’re just done?”

Raul let out a quiet sigh, already bracing himself for where this was going. “Yeah. We’re done.”

Calista stopped walking.

Raul and Lefiya took a few more steps before noticing, turning to look back at her.

“Seriously?” she asked, tilting her head, frustration creeping through despite herself. “It’s barely noon. We could go deeper.”

Raul hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “We could. But we’re not.”

Lefiya stepped forward hesitantly. “Calista, we don’t—”

“No, no, let’s hear it,” Calista said, waving a hand. “I would love to hear the brilliant reasoning behind this.”

Raul exhaled through his nose, shifting uncomfortably. “You… you know why.”

“Do I?”

Raul gave her a look—one that wasn’t annoyed or angry, just… tired. “Yeah. You do.”

Calista held his stare, jaw tight. She wanted to argue. She wanted to demand they keep going, to prove that she wasn’t some breakable rookie who needed to be eased into things.

But the worst part was that she did know why.

Because it had been the same every day.

Because Raul had been holding her back.

Because no matter how well she fought, no matter how cleanly she dispatched each monster, no matter how ready she felt, he always called it before they could go any deeper.

Always.

She inhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders. “You know, I was under the impression that the purpose of coming down here was to improve. To grow. So forgive me if I’m struggling to see how fighting the same goblins and kobolds on repeat is supposed to do that.”

Raul ran a hand down his face, visibly uncomfortable. “You are improving.”

Calista let out a short, breathy laugh, tilting her head. “Am I?”

Lefiya shifted awkwardly beside Raul. “Of course you are. You’re getting better with your spear, your technique is refining, your movement—”

“Oh, yes, let’s all give a round of applause for my impeccable technique,” Calista said, voice light but razor-sharp. “Because gods forbid we actually test if I’m getting stronger.”

Raul rubbed his temple, muttering something under his breath. Then, with an exhale, he dropped his hand and looked at her directly.

“That’s not how this works.”

Calista raised a brow. “Then explain it to me.”

Raul hesitated again, shifting his weight, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “You’re Level 1.”

Calista crossed her arms. “And?”

Raul opened his mouth, closed it again, then exhaled, clearly wishing she wasn’t making him say it outright. “And you’re not ready to go deeper.”

“Says who?”

Raul’s jaw tensed. “Says every single adventurer who’s survived long enough to know better.”

Something in his voice shifted—something heavy, something uncertain—and just like that, the air between them changed.

Calista felt it.

Lefiya did too.

Raul wasn’t joking anymore.

Calista’s lips parted, but before she could say anything, Raul spoke first.

“I’ve seen people like you before,” he said, quieter now.

Calista stilled.

“I’ve seen the ones who think they’re ready. Who think they’re different. Who think that just because they’ve got talent, or confidence, or ambition, that they can take on the Dungeon without consequences.”

His voice wasn’t raised. Wasn’t angry.

But there was something there.

And for the first time since this conversation started, Calista didn’t have an immediate response.

“I’ve seen them go down there,” Raul continued. “And I’ve seen them never come back.”

Silence.

Calista swallowed, fingers tightening around her spear.

“I’m not them,” she said, quieter than she meant to.

Raul let out a breath—not quite relieved, not quite reassured. Just… tired. “They all said that, too.”

Lefiya glanced between them, shifting uncomfortably, but she didn’t interrupt.

Calista could say something.

Could argue. Could dismiss it, could throw another sharp retort his way, could brush it off like she always did.

But she didn’t.

Because despite everything, despite how much she hated being treated like she wasn’t ready, despite how much she wanted to call this unnecessary caution—

She wasn’t an idiot.

And she could see it.

The weight behind Raul’s words.

This wasn’t just a lecture.

This was experience.

She let out a slow breath, forcing herself to relax. “Fine,” she said eventually, her voice lighter again, even if it was forced. “We’ll play it safe.”

Raul studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. “Good.”

They started walking again, the tension still lingering but less suffocating than before.

Calista didn’t look at him.

She just kept moving, gaze forward, already thinking.

Already planning.

Raul wasn’t wrong.

But he wasn’t right, either.

She wasn’t them.

She wasn’t just some reckless adventurer who thought she was invincible. She wasn’t careless.

She knew what she was capable of.

And the only way to prove it—

Was to do it herself.

...

The guild hall was the same as always—structured, efficient, impersonal.

Adventurers moved in and out with practiced ease, some chatting, some signing off reports, others shoving heavy sacks of monster drops onto counters with tired expressions. The faint scent of parchment, ink, and aged wood mixed with something sharper—the lingering presence of blood and sweat, a reminder that for all its bureaucracy, the Guild was still the first stop after a battlefield.

Calista strode through the entrance like she belonged there, because of course she did.

Lefiya trailed slightly behind, carrying the bag of magic stones from their latest run. Raul had split off as soon as they entered, something about reporting to Finn or Loki, which meant she and Lefiya were left to handle the mundane task of turning in loot.

Fine.

At least there was one upside to this errand.

A very particular red-haired, golden-eyed, perpetually unimpressed upside.

Calista’s lips curled as they approached the reception desk where Rose Fannett was stationed.

The werewolf woman barely glanced up at first, flipping through a ledger, her quill moving with swift, efficient strokes. “Next.”

Calista leaned against the counter with effortless grace, offering her best dazzling smile. “My dear Rose.”

Rose’s hand stopped.

Her golden eyes flicked up, locking onto her with that same unreadable sharpness.

A long, slow sigh. “You again.”

Calista placed a hand over her chest, tilting her head. “You sound positively thrilled to see me.”

Rose exhaled through her nose, returning to her ledger. “What do you want?”

“We’re here to exchange,” Lefiya cut in, stepping forward quickly before Calista could say anything else. She hoisted the bag onto the counter with both hands, setting it down with a dull thud.

Rose gave the bag a cursory glance, then began the process of weighing and recording the stones.

Calista, of course, did not move.

Instead, she propped her chin against one hand, watching Rose with lazy amusement.

“You know,” she mused, “it’s rather cruel of you to keep pretending you don’t enjoy my visits.”

Rose didn’t even look up. “I don’t.”

Calista gasped, pressing a hand to her heart. “You wound me.”

Lefiya made a quiet, suffering noise beside her.

Rose dipped her quill in ink, still working. “If you have time to flirt, you have time to fill out paperwork.”

Calista smirked. “Darling, I have people to handle that for me.”

Rose tapped a blank form onto the counter in front of her. “You’re signing.”

Calista frowned down at the document, her smile twitching.

She could read now—mostly. She was getting better. But these forms were dense, filled with longer words and formal language, and gods, why did they insist on making things as needlessly complicated as possible?

She flicked her gaze toward Lefiya, but the elf immediately took a step back, hands raised in surrender. “No. I’m not doing it for you.”

Calista sighed dramatically, picking up the quill and skimming the page with narrowed eyes. She could make out some of it. Enough to guess what most of it said.

Rose, as if sensing her hesitation, raised a brow. “Problem?”

Calista huffed. “Please. I’m merely savoring the moment.”

She scrawled her name in her usual exaggerated flourish and slid the paper back across the counter with a self-satisfied smile. “There. A signature worthy of a queen.”

Rose looked at it. Then, without a word, she grabbed a fresh form and slapped it on the counter.

“Do it again. Properly.”

Lefiya let out a strangled cough, turning away as if physically trying to stop herself from laughing.

Calista stared. “I will not be censored.”

Rose stared back. “Then I will not process your payment.”

Calista narrowed her eyes, then, very slowly, picked up the quill and rewrote her name in a much simpler, much less dramatic script.

Rose examined it, gave a slow nod of approval, then stamped the form.

“There. Was that so hard?”

Calista gave her the flattest look imaginable. “I despise you.”

Rose didn’t react. “Good.”

Lefiya coughed harder.

Rose started counting out their earnings, neatly sorting valis into pouches as she worked. Calista leaned her elbow against the counter, watching her hands move.

“I do have another question for you, darling.”

Rose didn’t pause. “Do I want to hear it?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not you’d like to be useful.”

Rose’s eyes flicked up, unimpressed. “You’re dangerously close to testing my patience.”

Calista grinned. “Oh, I haven’t even started.”

Lefiya let out a soft whimper.

Rose pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just ask.”

Calista drummed her fingers idly against the counter. “What kind of monsters start appearing on Floors Five and Six?”

Rose didn’t react at first, methodically counting the valis before sealing them in a pouch. “Why?”

Calista smiled, all pleasant ease. “The Familia’s sending me down there tomorrow. I prefer to be prepared.”

Rose’s hands stopped for half a second. Not a full pause—just a slight hesitation before she resumed counting. Her golden eyes flicked up, sharp and unreadable. “That so.”

“Of course,” Calista said smoothly. “Surely you wouldn’t expect me to enter blindly.”

Rose didn’t respond immediately.

Her gaze flicked toward Lefiya.

Lefiya, to her credit, held steady for about half a second before visibly panicking. “U-um, I—uh—” She flailed helplessly, then shot Calista a betrayed look. “Wait, are we going deeper tomorrow?”

Calista placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Darling. Would I lie to you?”

Lefiya’s ears twitched violently. “Yes!”

Calista pouted.

Rose exhaled through her nose, clearly deciding whether this conversation was worth her time. Then, eventually, she set her ledger aside and folded her arms. “Floors Five and Six are where things stop being predictable. You’ll start seeing Frog Shooters, and War Shadows.”

Calista tilted her head. “And how do they compare to the monsters I’ve been fighting?”

Rose’s expression didn’t change. “They aren’t goblins and kobolds.”

Calista arched a brow.

Rose sighed and continued. “Frog Shooters aren’t much of a threat alone, but their tongue keeps you at range. War Shadows?” She met Calista’s gaze, eyes serious. “They’re known as rookie killers for a reason.”

Lefiya shuddered beside her. “War Shadows are horrible.”

Rose nodded. “They don’t make a sound when they move, and if you’re not fast enough to react, they’ll rip straight through your gut.”

Calista pursed her lips thoughtfully.

That was more interesting.

Enemies that could actually punish a mistake? That was new.

Rose’s gaze flickered with something close to exasperation. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Calista flashed her a radiant smile. “Rose, my dear, when have I ever—”

“No.”

Lefiya grabbed her by the arm. “Thank you, Rose! We’ll be leaving right now!”

Calista allowed herself to be dragged, giving one last wink over her shoulder before stepping back into the crowd.

Rose watched her go, sighing as she rubbed her temple.

This was going to be a problem.

---

Raul stood in front of Loki’s desk, posture straight but not stiff, his usual easy-going air dampened by the weight of his report. Across from him, Loki leaned back in her chair, arms folded behind her head, feet kicked up onto the desk, looking about as relaxed as a goddess could possibly be.

She wasn’t.

Not really.

She never actually relaxed when it came to her Familia.

Especially not when it came to new recruits who had the potential to be both incredible and an absolute pain in the ass.

“So,” Loki drawled, tilting her head, “how’s our little troublemaker doing?”

Raul shifted his weight, already anticipating where this conversation was going. “She’s getting frustrated.”

Loki smirked. “Good.”

Raul frowned. “I don’t think you get how much.”

Loki did get it. She’d known exactly how this was gonna go the moment she slapped a Falna on Calista’s back and told her she wasn’t allowed to check her stats until she learned how to read properly.

That girl wasn’t just ambitious—she was obsessed with proving herself.

And right now, from her perspective, it probably felt like she was stuck in place.

“Lemme guess,” Loki said, waving a hand lazily. “She’s been goin’ through the motions, fightin’ the same weaklings, feelin’ like she ain’t gettin’ any stronger, yeah?”

Raul scratched the back of his head. “Pretty much.”

Loki grinned. “Perfect.”

Raul sighed. “You want her to be frustrated?”

Loki’s grin widened. “Damn right I do.”

Raul didn’t argue. He just rubbed his temple, looking like he wished someone else had been stuck with this job. “I don’t think you get it.”

Loki’s expression didn’t change, but she listened.

Raul wasn’t the kind of guy to push back unless he was really worried. And right now, he looked very, very worried.

“She’s smart,” Raul admitted. “And I mean actually smart. Not just quick on her feet—she picks things up fast, learns from mistakes, adapts in real time. But…”

Loki tilted her head. “But?”

Raul hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he said it.

“She thinks she’s ready for more.”

Loki raised a brow. “Ain’t she?”

Raul’s lips pressed together.

“No.”

Loki considered him for a moment, her smirk fading just slightly.

“She ain’t noticed the Falna issue yet, huh?”

Raul shook his head. “Not at all. She doesn’t know she has to update it. She’s been training, fighting, learning—but she still feels exactly the same. No growth. No change.”

Loki hummed. That was interesting.

It wasn’t surprising that Calista hadn’t figured it out yet. Most rookies didn’t think about the technicalities of how the Falna worked at first. They saw the gods updating it as just another formality, something done behind closed doors.

But Calista?

She had expectations.

She was the kind of person who was used to improvement being immediate. Work hard, get results. Cause and effect.

And right now, she was probably wondering why the hell her Falna wasn’t kicking in.

Loki’s smirk widened. “So she’s been swingin’ that spear, expectin’ to feel stronger any day now, and nothin’s changed?”

Raul nodded.

Loki let out a breathy chuckle.

Raul, however, did not look amused.

“She’s getting restless,” he said, rubbing his arms like the thought genuinely unsettled him. “And when people like her get restless, they do stupid things.”

Loki shrugged. “That’s part of the process.”

Raul winced. “Not if it gets her killed.”

Loki’s grin faded just a little.

Raul saw it and pressed on, his voice quieter now. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing, Loki. She’s been fighting with the exact same stats she had the day she joined. She’s improved her technique, sure, but she hasn’t gotten stronger. And now she’s starting to realize something’s off, even if she hasn’t figured out what yet.”

Loki’s red eyes gleamed with something unreadable.

She drummed her fingers idly against her desk, thinking.

Raul wasn’t wrong.

Calista was gonna pull something reckless soon.

And that was why she was letting it happen.

Finn, who had been listening from the side, finally spoke. “Do you think she’ll try to go deeper alone?”

Raul exhaled. “I’d bet money on it.”

Finn nodded, glancing at Loki. “And you’re not stopping her?”

Loki grinned, stretching her arms behind her head. “Nope.”

Raul’s stomach twisted. “Loki—”

“She’s gotta hit the wall sometime,” Loki said simply. “Might as well let her run into it now, while she’s still got the safety net of bein’ a newbie.”

Raul ran a hand through his hair, visibly distressed. “You’re gambling with her life.”

Loki snorted. “Nah. I’m just lettin’ her live it.”

Raul scowled.

Finn, however, was watching Loki closely. “You’re confident she’ll survive.”

Loki’s smirk sharpened. “Kid’s got too much damn ego to die easy.”

Riveria, who had been silent until now, sighed. “You could just tell her how the Falna works.”

Loki waggled her eyebrows. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Riveria gave her a long, unimpressed look.

Finn leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on his knees. “So, what’s the play?”

Loki’s grin sharpened.

“She’s gonna go off on her own. She needs to go off on her own. Let her stew a little longer, let that itch get real bad—then, when she finally snaps?”

She exhaled through her nose, watching the ceiling with lazy amusement.

“She’ll throw herself straight into the fire. And that’s when she’ll realize just how far she’s got left to climb.”

Raul shifted, uneasy. “And if she gets in over her head?”

Loki waved a hand. “Worst case, someone pulls her out before she dies. Best case?”

She grinned, sharp and knowing.

“She figures it out herself.”

Raul’s shoulders sagged. He looked like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to say that this was irresponsible, reckless, unnecessary—but he didn’t.

Because he knew how Loki operated.

And Loki knew what she was doing.

Calista was gonna break.

And when she did, when she finally hit that wall, it wouldn’t be some slow, gentle realization.

It would be violent.

It would be painful.

And it would be exactly what she needed.

---

The dining hall of Twilight Manor was alive with the usual chaos—laughter, loud conversation, the clatter of dishes and mugs, the occasional insult hurled across the table. It was a routine sight, one Calista had grown used to over the past several days.

She had learned the seating arrangements quickly. Finn, Riveria, and Gareth at one end, their presence naturally drawing attention even when they weren’t speaking. Tiona and Tione taking up space wherever they pleased, often laughing at some joke the rest of them weren’t in on. Lefiya wedged somewhere between Riveria and anyone she could use as a shield from Bete’s bad attitude.

And Bete himself, sprawled out in his usual place, eating like a starving animal, which—given his constant sneering—was the most fitting thing about him.

Calista took her own seat, fluid and poised as always, setting her spear against the table’s edge with casual ease.

She wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Not really.

Her conversation with Raul still lingered in the back of her mind. His words, the weight behind them, the reminder that he had seen people like her before.

That wasn’t sitting right with her.

She hadn’t argued back then because she could tell that he believed it. That he thought she was just another overconfident rookie who was going to get herself killed the moment she set foot on a deeper floor.

And maybe he had seen people like that. Maybe he had watched fresh adventurers make stupid mistakes and pay for it with their lives.

But that wasn’t her.

She stabbed a piece of meat off her plate with more force than necessary.

She had been doing everything right. She had been fighting every day, sharpening her technique, improving her control. And yet, for all of that, she was still stuck in the same cycle.

Still weak.

It burned under her skin, simmering beneath her usual easy grace.

And the worst part?

Loki had to have known.

She had been watching her, laughing at her impatience, enjoying every second of Calista’s growing frustration.

Had she expected this? Had she planned it?

Calista’s fingers curled slightly against the table.

She inhaled slowly, pushing the irritation down, smoothing her expression into something more composed.

If Loki was expecting her to be predictable, then she’d just have to change the schedule.

Across the table, Bete let out a short laugh, cutting through the murmur of the hall.

“Tch. So, princess,” he said, leaning back, arms draped over the bench, “still playin’ around with those baby floors?”

Calista’s grip on her fork tightened.

She smiled, slow and sweet. “Oh, Bete, I didn’t realize you were so invested in my progress. Should I be flattered?”

Bete snorted. “I ain’t invested in nothin’. Just tryin’ to figure out if yer still doin’ kiddie battles or if ya finally grew a spine.”

Tione sighed heavily. “Bete, don’t start.”

“Oh no, let him,” Calista said smoothly, turning her gaze back to him. “I love hearing his deep, intellectual insights.”

Bete grinned, sharp and condescending. “What, did I hit a nerve?”

Calista set her fork down, resting her chin on her hand. “Darling, if you had the ability to actually hit anything, I’m sure your reputation wouldn’t just be ‘the fast one.’”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Tiona howled with laughter, slamming a fist against the table. “Ohhh, damn!”

Bete’s ears twitched, his grin immediately turning into a snarl. “The hell did you just say?”

“I said,” Calista mused, tapping her fingers against the table, “that it’s rather tragic that the only thing notable about you is your legs.”

Bete slammed his fist against the wood, standing up so fast his bench scraped against the floor.

Riveria exhaled through her nose. “Enough.”

Bete ignored her, jabbing a finger at Calista. “You talk a lot for someone who’s still playin’ around on Floor Four.”

Calista tilted her head. “Is that supposed to be an insult? You do realize I just got here, yes? Or is keeping track of time another one of your many struggles?”

Bete’s eye twitched.

Calista smiled wider, but inside—

Inside, something was curling tight in her chest.

Because the worst part?

He was right.

He was a complete asshole, but he wasn’t wrong.

She was still on the weak floors.

Still fighting the same monsters.

Still running in place.

She wasn’t proving anything.

Not yet.

Loki chuckled from her spot further down the table, swirling a half-empty mug in her hand. “Man, ya really know how to get ‘im riled up fast. Pretty damn impressive.”

Calista didn’t look at her.

Didn’t acknowledge the knowing amusement in her voice.

Because now—

Now the simmering frustration inside her was boiling over.

This was pointless.

Dinner. Talking. Sitting here, waiting.

She needed to move.

She needed to prove it.

Calista had returned to eating with smooth, measured movements, her expression relaxed, her demeanor composed.

But the decision had already been made.

She could feel Loki watching her, the goddess’s sharp eyes flicking toward her every so often between drinks, between conversations, between casual grins.

Because Loki knew.

Maybe not exactly what she was planning, but she knew something.

Calista didn’t mind.

In fact, she welcomed it.

Let Loki think she had a read on her. Let her assume she could predict her.

She was going to be wrong.

She listened absently as Finn discussed Familia business with Riveria, as Tiona and Tione continued their usual back-and-forth, as Bete grumbled over something trivial. Lefiya was still casting wary glances her way, probably still rattled from the earlier argument, but Calista simply offered her a pleasant smile whenever she noticed.

Nothing suspicious.

Nothing out of place.

Just another night at the manor.

Just another meal with the Familia.

She didn’t rush.

She finished her plate at a reasonable pace, joined the flow of post-dinner conversation when necessary, laughed at all the right moments. And when the meal finally wound down, when people started peeling away to return to their rooms, clean their weapons, or prepare for tomorrow’s excursions—

She did the same.

No one stopped her when she left the hall.

No one questioned her when she walked the familiar path toward her room.

She entered, closed the door behind her, and locked it with a soft click.

Then she waited.

...

She counted the seconds, minutes, hours in her head, letting the noise from the hallways shift from lively movement to quiet conversations to slow, settling silence.

Twilight Manor was never completely asleep—there were always adventurers on rotation, guards at the gates, people coming and going at odd hours—but at this time of night, most of the Familia was winding down.

She changed out of her casual clothes, sliding into her gear with smooth, efficient movements. The leather armor fit snugly, her spear resting comfortably in her grip as she adjusted the weight.

It had been too long since she’d moved without permission.

Since she’d done something on her own terms.

She opened her window, peering down into the quiet courtyard below. The drop wasn’t bad—nothing she couldn’t handle.

The main entrance would be too risky. The guards would notice her, and even if she could talk her way out of it, she didn’t want to waste the time.

She took a slow, steady breath—

And jumped.

She landed smoothly, knees bending to absorb the impact, body shifting into motion the moment she hit the ground. No hesitation, no unnecessary stops. She moved through the courtyard, keeping to the shadows, slipping through the gaps in patrol routes she had already memorized from days of observing.

No one stopped her.

No one called out.

And just like that, she was past the gates.

She didn’t look back.

The streets of Orario stretched before her, dark but familiar, the glow of lanterns casting long shadows along the stone paths. The night was cool, the air crisp, carrying the faint scent of city life—baked bread, burning wood, the distant hum of activity that never truly died.

She moved with purpose.

The dungeon loomed ahead, waiting.

And for the first time since arriving in this world, she was heading toward it without someone telling her what to do.

She smiled.

Now, she thought, let’s see what I can really do.

---

A/N: AHHH HER ARROGANCE!!!! NOO CALISTA WAR SHADOWS WHEN YOURE A FRESH LEVEL 1?? NO UPDATES??? ITS OVERRRR