Morning in Orario always brought a sense of endless possibility. Bell Cranel had stepped out of the ruined church he shared with his goddess, Hestia, with a chest full of hope and a heart beating with excitement. His white hair, messy and bright, caught the early sun as he made his way toward the Babel tower. He was a novice, a complete beginner with no skills to his name, but his dreams were as vast as the sky above. Hestia had waved him off with a warm, encouraging smile, her dark eyes shining with belief in him. She had spent hours searching for any familia that would take him, and when none did, she had created one just for him. Remembering her kindness made Bell grip the hilt of his cheap dagger tightly. He wanted to bring back a bounty of magic stones, to see her face light up when they could finally afford a proper meal. Entering the dungeon's massive, gaping entrance had felt like crossing a threshold into a legendary saga. The first few floors had been relatively easy, filled with slow-moving goblins and weak kobolds. Confidence had bloomed in his chest with every monster he defeated. He had felt like a true adventurer, imagining himself standing tall among the heavy hitters of the city, like the famed Loki Familia. Stories of their exploits were whispered in every tavern. He had heard of their incredible strength, their terrifying deep-floor raids, and their leaders who seemed more like gods than mortals. Deep down, he had harbored a childish hope that he might one day stand in their shadow, or perhaps even earn their respect. But the dungeon was a cruel teacher, indifferent to the dreams of foolish boys. Descending to the fifth floor, the damp, heavy air had immediately pressed against his lungs. Shadows stretched long and distorted across the uneven stone walls, lit only by the faint, eerie glow of the dungeon's magic stones. Silence had hung thick in the air, broken only by the dripping of water from the ceiling. He had taken a cautious step forward, his boots squelching slightly in the mud. Then, the silence had been shattered. A roar, deep and terrifyingly primal, had echoed through the narrow corridors, vibrating through his very bones. It wasn't the sound of a goblin. This was something massive, something that belonged far deeper in the dark abyss of the labyrinth. Before he could process the sound, a towering silhouette had rounded the corner, blocking his only exit. Now, he was running for his life. --- Sweat stung his eyes, blinding him as he scrambled through the damp stone corridor. Lungs burning, Bell pushed his legs to move faster, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Heavy, rhythmic thuds echoed from behind, shaking the very foundations of the cavern. Monsters from the deeper floors weren't supposed to be here on the fifth floor. Terrifyingly large, the Minotaur roared, a sound that vibrated through Bell's teeth and made his stomach churn with cold dread. Blood dripped from the beast’s massive horns, painting the grey flagstones in wet, glistening crimson. Slipping on a patch of wet moss, Bell tumbled forward, scraping his palms raw against the jagged floor. Pain flared up his arms, but fear proved to be a far sharper needle, forcing him to scramble back to his feet. Hurriedly, he spun around, only to find his back pressing against a solid wall of cold, unyielding stone. Dead end. Breathing became an impossible chore as his chest heaved, his eyes wide and fixed on the looming shadow approaching him. How had his dream of becoming a hero shrunk to this miserable, dark corner? Grandfather’s voice echoed in his memory, talking of beautiful encounters and legendary feats, but there was nothing beautiful about the stench of rotting flesh and hot breath washing over him. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, blurring the monstrous shape of his executioner. Clutching his small, cheap dagger, Bell raised it with trembling hands, knowing it was as useless as a toothpick against the iron-like hide of the beast. Snorting hot steam, the Minotaur raised its massive, double-headed axe, its bloodshot eyes locked onto the frail boy before it. Time seemed to stretch, slowing down to an agonizing crawl as the shadow of the axe fell over his face. Death was coming, cold and absolute. Trembling violently, he closed his eyes, bracing for the impact that would crush his skull and end his short, insignificant life. Green light erupted, so bright it penetrated his closed eyelids and painted his inner vision in brilliant, searing emerald. Boom! Shockwaves of raw, concentrated magical pressure rolled through the corridor, shattering the stone walls and blowing back the heavy stench of the monster. Slowly, Bell forced his eyelids open, blinking through the dust and the glittering green particles drifting through the air. Standing before him was a figure of absolute, terrifying grace. Long, jade-green hair draped down her back, swaying slightly with the residual drafts of her magic. Riveria Ljos Alf, the First Princess of the Elves, held her staff aloft, her posture radiating an air of supreme, unquestionable authority. Her robes, pristine despite the grime of the dungeon, clung to her slender yet commanding frame. Deep jade eyes stared down at him, not with pity or urgency, but with a cold, analytical intensity that made his breath catch in his throat. Locked in her gaze, Bell felt entirely stripped bare, as if she could see every secret, every weakness, and every desperate desire hidden within his soul. She didn't instantly dispatch the beast; instead, she paused for a fraction of a second, observing his terror, drinking in the sight of his trembling body. Fear and awe warred in Bell's chest, leaving him utterly paralyzed. Cracking under her silent scrutiny, his heart hammered even faster than it had when facing the monster. Roaring in frustration, the Minotaur recovered from the initial blast, swinging its massive axe toward the elegant elf. Without moving an inch, Riveria simply pointed her staff, her lips parting to utter a single, quiet command of destruction. As Riveria's powerful magic eradicates the Minotaur, her hand, surprisingly warm, grips Bell's chin, tilting his face towards her, and her whisper, 'So, this is the sprout I've heard about,' sends a shiver down his spine that isn't entirely from fear.

Chapter 1: Scarlet Gaze, Fated Encounter