The townhouse felt different now.
Warmer. More lived in.
A week ago, the space had been sparse—functional but empty, a place to rest rather than a home. Now, fine silk curtains filtered the afternoon light, casting golden hues over the carefully chosen furnishings. A new writing desk sat near the window, and a plush carpet softened the wooden floor. Even the scent had changed, a mix of faint sandalwood and fresh linen. It no longer felt like a temporary residence.
Calista lay half-naked on the bed, the cool sheets against him contrasting the warm touch of Bastet's fingers as she traced his falna. The familiar sensation of divine energy pricked along his skin, fleeting yet tangible. It was the kind of feeling one could never quite get used to—like an ephemeral thread weaving something unseen into existence.
Bastet worked in comfortable silence, her weight pressed lightly against his lower back. She smelled of incense and something floral, a scent that had become synonymous with safety.
With a final stroke, her fingertip lifted away, and he heard the quiet rustle of parchment as she transferred his updated status onto a slip of paper.
"All done, little one," she murmured, placing the sheet in his open palm.
Calista sat up, scanning the numbers.
Strength: I-33 -> I-53
Endurance: I-21 -> I-27
Dexterity: H-109 -> H-130
Agility: I-76 -> H- 108
Magic: I-0
Strength had climbed, but only slightly. Dexterity and Agility had already risen past the threshold into H-rank, a reflection of his fighting style. But his Endurance… still lagging behind. It had barely moved.
A flicker of dissatisfaction settled in his chest.
Bastet, ever perceptive, leaned back against the headboard, one arm draped over her knee. "You're frowning inside, aren't you?" Her emerald eyes glowed with quiet amusement.
Calista let out a slow breath, holding the parchment between his fingers. "It's my Endurance. It's still lagging behind the rest."
Bastet's tail flicked, a lazy motion. "And?"
He glanced at her. "And it's a problem."
She chuckled, reaching out to flick a stray lock of scarlet hair over his shoulder. "Different bodies, different affinities, Calista. You're not built for soaking up hits. Look at your Dexterity, your Agility—these stats, they suit you." Her voice turned teasing. "Besides, wouldn't it be a shame if that pretty face of yours got too bruised?"
Calista didn't immediately reply. He understood the logic. His body was naturally suited for speed, for precision. But logic didn't erase the vulnerability that came with it.
"Is there a way to grow it faster?" he asked after a beat.
Bastet stretched, the golden embroidery of her silk robe catching the light as she arched her back. "There is," she admitted. "But you won't like it."
Calista waited.
"You need to take more hits," she said simply.
A pause.
His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. 『Grace Unbroken』 wouldn't let him wince or grimace, no matter how much he wanted to. But the silence was enough.
Bastet hummed, watching him with a knowing smile before shifting forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a loose embrace.
"It's fine," she said, her voice quieter now, softer. "As long as you come back at the end of the day."
Her warmth seeped into him, a quiet, steady presence. Calista didn't move, didn't breathe too deeply, afraid of disturbing the moment.
He let himself relax, just a little. Just enough.
"Of course," he murmured.
No matter how slow the growth, no matter the gaps in his stats, he would always come back.
…
The scent of sizzling butter and toasted bread filled the small townhouse, mingling with the faint traces of incense that always seemed to cling to the air. A pot of tea steeped on the table, its golden liquid swirling lazily in the soft morning light filtering through the kitchen window.
Calista plated the last of the food—a simple but well-balanced meal of eggs, fresh fruit, and warm bread—before stepping back to admire his work. Bastet enjoyed leisurely mornings, stretching across their modest home like a lazy feline basking in the sun, and he had quickly learned that breakfast was a surefire way to coax her into starting the day with a contented mood.
Satisfied, he wiped his hands on a linen cloth and turned his attention to the gear laid out neatly near the door.
His new bow rested against the wall, the polished wood smooth beneath his fingertips as he lifted it, testing the weight. The upgraded craftsmanship was evident in the reinforced limb design, allowing for a stronger draw without sacrificing speed. His short swords sat beside it, the steel sharper, the balance finer. A necessary improvement—he had learned the hard way that a dull blade could mean the difference between cutting through a monster's hide and merely angering it.
His gaze drifted to his armor. The reinforced leather had served him well so far, but the thought of purposefully taking more hits in an effort to grow his Endurance made him hesitate. A sturdier set would offer more protection, make the process less painful—but it would also slow him down. Weigh him down.
He exhaled through his nose. No, that wasn't an option. Speed was his lifeline in the Dungeon. If he started relying on bulk instead of movement, he'd lose the edge that kept him alive.
"Pensive so early in the morning?" Bastet's voice purred from behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, her silk robe draped loosely around her frame, the golden embroidery catching the light. Her emerald eyes flicked over the prepared meal before settling on him with lazy amusement.
"Just thinking about gear." He gestured to his armor. "Wondering if I should invest in something sturdier."
She hummed, stepping forward to pluck a piece of fruit from the plate. "Aren't you planning on getting hit more?"
"Doesn't mean I want to."
Her lips quirked as she popped the fruit into her mouth. "You're learning."
He rolled his eyes but let the comment slide, slipping his bracers into place. "I'm heading out."
"Be safe, little one." She watched as he adjusted his cloak before waving him off. "And don't let your pretty face take too much damage."
"No promises."
…
The Guild was already bustling by the time he arrived. Adventurers loitered near the quest board, exchanging gossip and complaints about Dungeon excursions, while clerks sorted paperwork behind the counters.
Calista weaved through the familiar chaos with ease, eyes already picking out Eina's familiar form at her usual station. She caught sight of him before he even spoke, lifting her gaze from the stack of documents she had been reviewing.
"You're early today," she noted, arching a brow.
He leaned against the counter, offering her a casual wave. "Making it a habit."
Her expression softened ever so slightly. "Good."
It had started small. A casual mention that he was heading to the Dungeon, a passing comment before leaving. But ever since that night they'd gone out for drinks, it had solidified into a routine. She didn't push him to check in, didn't nag, but he could tell she appreciated it.
And maybe, just maybe, he liked the idea of someone knowing he was out there.
"Same plan as usual?" she asked, pulling out a blank report form.
"For now. Floors One through Nine."
She nodded, filling out a quick notation in the records before handing him a slip of parchment. "Try not to overdo it. You're still solo."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He tucked the paper into his belt, pushing off from the counter. "See you later, Eina."
She sighed, but there was a trace of a smile in her voice as she called after him. "I'll hold you to that."
With that, he stepped out into the streets, the looming tower of Babel marking his path to the Dungeon ahead.
…
The dim corridors of the Dungeon stretched before Calista like an endless labyrinth, the air thick with an eerie silence. Flickering blue crystals embedded in the walls cast faint light, their glow barely reaching the jagged rock formations that jutted out like waiting daggers. His boots made little sound against the stone floor, his footfalls deliberate. Tonight, he wasn't dodging. He was enduring.
His body still ached from the earlier descent. Floor One to Floor Six, pushing through every blow, letting the monsters crash against him like waves on a stubborn rock. His endurance was lagging behind the rest of his stats—it needed to grow. And the Dungeon was an unforgiving teacher. His potion stock was already lighter.
A rustle. The subtlest shift in the air.
Calista twisted instinctively. A shadow lunged from the darkness.
Steel glinted in the low light as claws slashed toward his throat. He wrenched back, the air splitting where his neck had been a second ago. The War Shadow hit the ground silently, its obsidian body shifting like liquid smoke, blade-like claws poised to strike again.
Elite. Stronger than the usual ones.
Calista's hands moved on instinct, twin short swords clearing their sheaths with a whisper of steel. His grip tightened. He could stand and take the hits, force his body to weather the storm—but this wasn't the right enemy for that. This one was fast. Unnaturally so.
He shifted his weight. If it wanted speed, he would control it.
The War Shadow flickered forward, its movements erratic, near impossible to track. He feinted left—baiting it. The moment its claws sliced toward him, he pivoted hard, dropping low, and his blade flashed across its torso.
A hit. A clean, deep cut.
The creature let out a shrill, distorted hiss, black ichor spattering onto the stone. But it wasn't dead. It twisted, shifting unpredictably, and before he could fully disengage—
Pain.
A sharp sting tore across his ribs. Shallow, but enough to burn.
Calista exhaled sharply, his heartbeat steady despite the bite of pain. It was fast. Too fast to trade blows directly. He needed to control the battlefield.
He shifted his stance, watching. The War Shadow prowled, its form flickering at the edges, a thing barely tethered to reality. If he tried to match its speed, he'd lose. So he wouldn't.
Instead, he would guide it.
Calista adjusted his footwork, letting his movement become just a fraction slower, just enough to be noticeable. He let his stance open—an invitation.
The War Shadow took the bait.
It lunged, claws poised for the kill.
Calista turned sharply, the momentum of his pivot sending him just past the lethal arc of its strike. Before the creature could react, his blades drove forward, both sinking deep into its chest.
A shudder. A strangled screech.
The War Shadow convulsed, its form losing cohesion as cracks of glowing light spread across its body. A second later, it burst apart, dissolving into motes of fading magic.
Calista remained still for a moment, his breathing steady. Only when the last remnants of the monster vanished did he lower his blades, rolling his shoulders as he took stock of himself.
Blood—his own—streaked across his side, staining the edges of his tunic. He touched the wound lightly, feeling the sting of torn flesh. Not deep. The healing potions in his pack would handle it.
He exhaled, glancing down the corridor ahead. This run wasn't over.
Endurance would have to wait. For now, he moved forward, vanishing into the depths of the Dungeon once more.
…
The Guild's interior was a stark contrast to the blood that clung to Calista's body. Warm candlelight flickered over polished wooden desks, papers stacked in neat piles, the scent of ink and parchment mingling with the faint aroma of tea. The air buzzed with the murmurs of adventurers trading in their magic stones, reporting their dives, and seeking new commissions.
Calista moved through the familiar space, weaving past the small clusters of adventurers with effortless grace, his composure unshaken despite the dried crimson that streaked his skin and the torn edges of his tunic.
"Calista!"
The sharp voice cut through the Guild's usual hum, and he barely had a moment before a blur of brown hair and emerald green eyes rushed toward him.
Eina skidded to a stop, her expression flipping from professional efficiency to barely contained panic in an instant. Her eyes darted over him, cataloging every streak of blood, every tear in his clothing, the sheer amount of red that covered him.
"You—! What—?! Why do you look like that?!" she half-shrieked, hands hovering in the air as if she couldn't decide whether to shake him, patch him up, or just throw him out of the Guild entirely.
Calista tilted his head, offering a mild, almost bemused smile. "Like what?"
"Like you just walked out of a war zone!" She threw her hands up, then immediately latched onto his wrist, dragging him toward the nearest desk. "Sit. Now."
"I assure you, I am quite alright," he said smoothly, allowing himself to be manhandled without resistance. He could feel the weight of several adventurers' gazes flicking toward them, the murmurs that followed. A few seemed entertained. Others, simply accustomed to the sight of Eina desperately trying to keep her more reckless charges in check.
Eina, however, was thoroughly unimpressed. "Oh yes, perfectly fine," she muttered, crossing her arms as she loomed over him. "That's exactly what someone covered in blood and sporting multiple cuts would say."
He sighed, shaking his head lightly. "I wasn't critically injured."
"You—! That's not the point!" She pinched the bridge of her nose, visibly trying to rein in the brewing storm. "You're supposed to avoid injuries, not collect them like trophies!"
Calista simply reached into his pack and pulled out his pouch of magic stones, sliding them onto the counter as if the conversation wasn't happening. The clerk behind the desk, long since accustomed to adventurers covered in worse, barely batted an eye as he began the transaction.
Eina, however, had plenty of words left.
"What even left you in this state? Were you ambushed? Did you get surrounded?"
"I chose to," he replied simply.
Eina blinked. "You—what?"
He inclined his head slightly. "I've decided to prioritize raising my Endurance. That means taking more hits."
Silence.
For a moment, Eina simply stared at him. Then, slowly, her expression twisted into something between horror and sheer exasperation.
"That is the worst idea I've ever heard."
"Is it?"
"Yes! Absolutely! Without question!" She threw up her hands again, pacing in a small circle. "I swear, between you and Maris, I'm going to have gray hairs before I turn twenty."
Calista gave a light chuckle, watching her work through her emotions.
"Eina," he said smoothly, "you've known me for some time now. Do I strike you as reckless?"
She stopped mid-pace, turning to give him an incredulous look. "You chose to get injured purposely."
"Which was a calculated decision." He gestured lightly. "You know my growth pattern. I am meticulous in my training. This is simply another avenue of improvement."
Eina pressed her lips into a thin line, clearly warring with herself.
"I understand your concern," he continued, voice measured. "But I do not throw myself into danger without reason. I will not push beyond what I can handle."
Her shoulders slumped slightly, tension still coiled in her frame, but the resistance was waning. "You'd better not," she muttered. "I really don't need another adventurer giving me heart attacks."
Before he could reply, the clerk returned, setting down a neatly stacked pouch of valis. Calista picked it up with a smooth motion, tying it back to his belt.
As he stood, he turned back to Eina with an easy smile. "You should come by my house again sometime."
She blinked, clearly thrown by the abrupt change in topic. "What?"
"Bastet seemed quite fond of you during your last visit," he said lightly. "I imagine she'd be pleased to see you again."
Eina visibly floundered for a moment, caught between residual frustration, genuine surprise, and something else—something softer that she was clearly trying not to show.
Before she could form a response, a new voice cut in.
"Ooooh, is Eina getting invited to visit?"
Misha, her ever-present colleague, leaned against the counter, a knowing grin spreading across her face.
Eina's face went red instantly. "Misha—!"
Calista merely chuckled, offering a slight bow before turning on his heel, leaving behind the sounds of Misha's teasing and Eina's increasingly flustered protests.
A productive day, all things considered.
…
Steam curled around Calista as he stepped out of the washroom, the scent of fragrant soap clinging to his skin, replacing the lingering metallic tang of blood. His muscles ached—a dull, persistent reminder of the punishment he'd put himself through today—but the warmth of the shower had helped ease some of the tension. He let out a slow breath, shaking a few stray droplets from his scarlet hair before gathering it up, fingers working with practiced ease to twist it into a loose, elegant braid.
Clean. That was better.
With a towel draped over his shoulders, he made his way into the bedroom, where a familiar figure awaited. Bastet sat on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, her feline ears flicking slightly at his approach. Her emerald eyes, aglow with quiet amusement, roamed over him—though if she had any thoughts about his choice to walk in wearing nothing, she didn't voice them.
"Again, already?" she mused, tilting her head slightly.
"I want to see if it's working," Calista replied, moving toward the bed with effortless grace. He lowered himself onto his stomach, resting his chin on his folded arms. "There's no harm in checking."
A soft chuckle left her lips as she shifted closer. "You really don't like waiting for results, do you?"
He didn't reply. Bastet already knew the answer.
With the ease of long practice, she reached for the small dagger resting nearby, her fingers brushing against his bare back before pressing the blade's tip to her thumb. The sensation of her divine energy washing over him was familiar—warm, yet weighty, like ink being etched into something far deeper than flesh. The Falna update began.
Silence stretched between them, comfortable and unhurried. The only sounds were the faint rustle of sheets, the quiet patter of water still dripping from his hair.
Strength: I-53 -> I-55
Endurance: I-27 -> I-30
Dexterity: H-130 -> H-132
Agility: H-108 -> H-108
Magic: I-0
After a moment, Bastet hummed.
"Well?" he prompted, voice lazy.
"You weren't imagining things." He could hear the smile in her words. "Your Endurance grew more than your other stats. Even your Agility didn't budge."
That was… satisfying. A small victory.
He exhaled, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "So it does work."
Bastet hummed again, though this time it carried an air of dry amusement. "Most people try not to get hit in the Dungeon. But no, not my little stray—he walks in and lets monsters batter him just to prove a theory."
Calista lifted his head slightly, meeting her gaze from the corner of his eye. "I am an innovator."
She flicked his ear lightly, a teasing reprimand. "A stubborn one."
The update finished with a final pulse of divine energy, and Bastet leaned back, satisfied. Calista pushed himself up, rolling his shoulders to test the soreness. He could feel it—the lingering ache—but now there was an undercurrent of something else. A subtle shift.
A step forward.
With a satisfied nod, he rose and crossed the room to his wardrobe. His fingers skimmed over the neatly arranged clothing, selecting something light—an embroidered silk blouse, short but elegant skirts layered with sheer fabric. He slipped them on with ease, fastening the delicate golden clasps on his cuffs as he spoke.
"Any luck finding recruits?"
Bastet stretched behind him, a slow, languid movement. "No," she admitted without a hint of discouragement. "Not many are eager to join a Familia without a reputation."
Calista fastened his belt, adjusting it before smoothing down the fabric of his skirt. "Unfortunate."
"But not unexpected," she added, watching him with that ever-present knowing glint in her gaze. "It's fine with just the two of us."
He met her eyes in the mirror, expression steady. "For now."
Bastet smiled. A quiet, knowing thing. "For now."
He turned from the wardrobe, fully dressed, hair styled, the image of effortless composure once more. They weren't worried. In time, others would come. But until then, the two of them were more than enough.
…
The first four floors of the Dungeon passed in a blur, corridors winding like veins through the stone. Calista moved through them without a second glance, his boots barely making a sound against the cold ground. He wasn't interested in the Goblins or Kobolds that lurked in the shadows—fighting them was a waste of time, a detour with no real reward. His real training began on the fifth floor.
The moment he stepped onto the sixth floor, the air shifted. The scent of damp stone thickened, carrying the faint musk of something watching, waiting. He rolled his shoulders, shaking off the ease of the earlier descent. Here, the real hunt began.
A Frog Shooter leaped at him from the dark, tongue lashing out in a blur. He twisted, feeling the wind of the strike graze past his side. One of his short swords flashed, severing the tongue mid-snap. The creature shrieked, flailing, but he had already stepped in—one smooth arc, a clean strike across the throat, and it collapsed.
Two more emerged from the darkness.
This time, he didn't dodge.
The second tongue hit his shoulder, the impact sending a jolt through his body, but he gritted his teeth and held his ground. It stung, but not enough to stop him. He met the Frog Shooter's wide, glassy eyes and drove his blade up into its gut, feeling the life drain from its form as it fell slack against him.
The last one hesitated.
He moved first.
The sword struck deep, a single decisive thrust under its jaw. A spray of dark ichor, then silence.
Endurance needs more work. He rolled his shoulder, testing the lingering ache. Not enough yet.
The next few encounters were slower, deliberate. A pair of War Shadows forced him into a careful dance, their flickering forms vanishing between the dim Dungeon light. He let them get close, let their blades scrape against his armor, the sting of each shallow cut marking another layer of resilience. The ghosts fought viciously, their claws flashing toward his throat.
He took the hit.
Pain bloomed across his chest as the attack connected. He staggered, instincts screaming at him to dodge—but he held his ground. His fingers gripped the hilt of his swords tighter.
Their next attack came too fast to counter cleanly. He ducked, but the second War Shadow adjusted mid-swing, claws dragging across his ribs. Blood seeped into his tunic, warm against his skin.
That one was deep.
But he was faster. A sharp twist, a brutal upward slash, and the first War Shadow's form flickered before dissolving into dust. The second hesitated—a mistake. He lunged, one sword pinning it in place while the other struck home. The monster fell apart, fading into the nothingness of the Dungeon.
Breathing hard, he glanced down at the fresh cuts lining his arms and torso. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. Still standing.
Then came the Killer Ants.
They weren't difficult to deal with—slow, predictable. One or two at a time, he cut through them easily. But he slipped. He let one live too long, let it skitter back and release a sharp, reverberating click—a cry for reinforcements.
A second later, more came.
Five. No, seven.
The Dungeon walls seemed to pulse with the sound of chittering mandibles, a growing tide of segmented bodies surging toward him.
He fought to control his breathing.
Backing up wasn't an option—there was nowhere to go. If he tried to run, they'd be on him in seconds. His grip tightened around his swords.
No choice but to carve through.
The first ant lunged. He met it head-on, slashing through its thick exoskeleton in a clean arc. Another snapped its jaws at his leg—he pivoted, bringing his other sword down in a vicious strike that split its head in two. A third clambered onto his side, mandibles locking onto his arm. He grunted, driving his knee into its abdomen before finishing it off with a desperate stab.
But they kept coming.
One crashed into his back, sending him sprawling. His vision blurred for a heartbeat as his body hit the stone. He barely had time to roll before another set of mandibles snapped shut where his head had been.
Too many.
Pain flared as something bit into his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, twisting his blade in another ant's thorax. Black ichor splattered across his chest. Another strike—another body fell.
His vision pulsed at the edges. His movements slowed.
He needed to end this.
With a sharp breath, he pushed forward, ignoring the sting in his muscles. His swords became an extension of his will, carving through chitin and flesh. Another fell. Then another.
Until finally—silence.
His breath came ragged. His arms felt like lead. Blood—his own—dripped from his fingers, mingling with the dark remains of the ants around him.
The fight was over.
But he wasn't in any condition to keep going.
His grip loosened, and his swords clattered to the ground. He pressed a hand to his side, feeling the warmth of fresh wounds beneath his armor.
That's it for today.
,,,
When he finally emerged from the Dungeon, the setting sun cast long shadows across the stone streets of Orario. The scent of fresh bread and sizzling meat from the market stalls should have been comforting, but all he could smell was blood.
His blood.
It clung to him in drying streaks, seeping into his tunic, the sharp metallic tang thick on his skin. He knew he must have looked a mess—his once-elegant attire torn in places, dirt and grime smeared across his arms, his hair clinging damply to his forehead. The onlookers certainly thought so. He caught the mixture of concern, disgust, and morbid curiosity in their glances, their hushed murmurs drifting through the air.
He paid them no mind.
Instead, he adjusted his posture, straightened his shoulders, and walked toward the Guild with the same effortless grace he carried at all times, as though he wasn't aching from head to toe, as though his entire body wasn't screaming in protest with every step. Pain was secondary. Inconvenient, yes. Worth acknowledging? No.
The Guild was busy, as expected. A small line had formed at Eina's station, adventurers waiting to turn in their spoils. Calista exhaled, shifting his weight slightly as he settled in to wait.
That was when he noticed her.
A girl with short, strikingly blue hair stood at Eina's desk, chatting with the half-elf like they were old friends. There was an ease in their conversation, something familiar, unguarded. She looked to be a little older than Eina, her posture relaxed in a way that suggested she was used to these exchanges. Adventurer, clearly. And judging by the way Eina wasn't actively scolding her, she hadn't done anything too reckless. Yet.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Eina rarely allowed herself to look comfortable with adventurers.
The conversation didn't last much longer. The girl—her name, he would soon learn—offered a casual wave before turning to leave, threading her way through the bustling hall with practiced ease.
Calista let his gaze linger for a moment, filing away the details.
Then, the next person stepped up, and the process repeated.
By the time it was his turn, the line had thinned considerably.
Eina looked up, her lips parting as if to greet him—then she actually looked at him. A slow, disapproving glance swept over his bloodied form, her sharp emerald eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
She didn't say anything. Not yet.
He simply smiled, entirely unbothered, and set his pouch of magic stones and drop items onto the counter. "Busy day," he said lightly.
Eina sighed, shaking her head as she began counting the stones. "I can see that."
The transaction was smooth, efficient. Eina worked quickly, barely pausing as she recorded the values. When she finished, she slid a small stack of Valis across the counter.
"18,600 valis," she said. "Try not to spend it all at once."
He picked up the pouch, weighing it absentmindedly in his palm. "No promises."
She rolled her eyes but didn't push the issue. Instead, she returned to tidying her papers, clearly expecting him to take his leave.
He didn't.
"Who was she?" he asked, leaning slightly against the counter.
Eina blinked, caught off guard. "Who?"
"The girl before me. Blue hair, a little taller than you. You seemed rather fond of her." His tone was teasing, but his curiosity was genuine.
Eina sighed, rubbing her temple as if debating whether or not to humor him. "Maris Hackard," she relented. "An adventurer I've been advising for a while now." Her expression soured slightly. "Until you came along, she was the most reckless person I'd ever had to deal with."
Calista raised an eyebrow. "A bold claim."
She shot him a pointed look. "You haven't exactly proven me wrong."
He chuckled, rolling his shoulders in a loose shrug. "I can't help it if I make your job interesting."
Eina muttered something under her breath but didn't argue.
Still, the weight of exhaustion was starting to creep in, the dull ache in his muscles more insistent now that the adrenaline had faded. The memory of the Killer Ants lingered, a reminder of the mistake that had nearly cost him more than he was willing to admit.
A brief reprieve wouldn't be the worst idea.
"Tomorrow," he said, sliding his pouch of valis into his belt. "I think I'll take it easy."
Eina arched an eyebrow. "That might be the smartest thing you've said since we met."
He smirked. "Then I'll make it even better."
She crossed her arms, clearly skeptical.
He tilted his head slightly, watching her reaction carefully. "Join me."
Eina blinked. "What?"
"You work too much. I insist." His voice was light, effortless, but there was an underlying certainty to it—one that made it clear this wasn't simply a passing thought.
She hesitated, caught between professionalism and the surprise of an offer she hadn't expected.
"…Fine," she said at last, exhaling through her nose. "But if you try anything stupid—"
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"…Where and when?"
Calista's smirk deepened, the faint glint of amusement in his sapphire eyes betraying just how much he had already planned. "Mid-morning should suffice. And as for where—" He let the moment stretch just long enough for her to second-guess her agreement. "Shopping."
Eina narrowed her eyes. "Shopping?"
"Shopping," Calista echoed, watching her reaction with thinly veiled amusement.
She hesitated, arms crossing as she tried to make sense of it. "That's how you're spending your rest day?"
"My dear Eina, I don't rest. I indulge." He gave a lazy flick of his wrist, as if the matter had already been decided. "And what better way to recover from grievous Dungeon injuries than by adorning oneself in finery?"
Eina exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "I swear, sometimes I forget you're an adventurer."
"A blessing, truly." His smirk widened. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"
She hesitated again. The last time he'd invited her out, it had been for drinks—neutral territory, a simple way to relax. This? This sounded like a casual outing, but the way he looked at her, the way he said it…
"…Fine," she muttered.
Calista's eyes gleamed. "Wonderful. We'll start in the late morning—gods know I'll need time to refresh myself properly after today." He tilted his head, sapphire gaze entirely too pleased. "I suppose I should pick you up?"
She scoffed. "You make it sound like a date."
His smirk deepened, and the way he regarded her was far too entertained. "Oh? Should I?"
Eina felt the tips of her ears heat. Damn him.
She groaned, rubbing her temple as she averted her gaze. "You're impossible."
"And yet, here you are, accepting what suspiciously looks like a date."
"It's not a date."
"If you say so." His tone made it clear he wasn't convinced in the slightest.
She let out a long breath, clearly regretting every choice leading up to this moment. "Just—don't go overboard."
Calista smiled—serene, composed, entirely pleased with himself. "I would never."
A blatant lie, and they both knew it.
With a final knowing nod, he turned, slipping into the ebb and flow of adventurers filtering in and out of the Guild. Eina exhaled, watching him disappear past the entrance before shaking her head.
"Einaaa," a familiar, sing-song voice cooed from behind.
She tensed. Oh no.
Misha had somehow materialized at her side, eyes gleaming with impish delight. "Did you just get invited for a date?"
Eina groaned. "It's not a date."
Misha leaned in, nudging her with an elbow. "He's picking you up for a one-on-one outing, he made sure to set a time, and oh—what was it he said?" She tapped her chin dramatically before smirking. "Ah, yes! 'I indulge'"
Eina scowled. "It's just shopping."
"With Calista?" Misha let out a delighted little laugh. "Oh no, no, no, my dear, that is not just shopping. This is totally a date."
Eina opened her mouth, but Misha raised a finger, stopping her. "And don't even try to tell me you don't think he's attractive."
"I—"
Misha's smirk deepened.
Eina huffed, redirecting her focus to the stack of paperwork on her desk. "He's exasperating."
"Oh, absolutely," Misha agreed, grinning. "But a charming kind of exasperating."
Eina refused to dignify that with an answer.
Misha rested her chin in her hands, sighing dramatically. "I wonder where he's taking you after the shopping spree. Dinner, maybe? A quiet café? A nice moonlit stroll—"
Eina shot her a flat look.
Misha merely grinned.
"It's not a date."
Misha hummed. "Well, you let me know if that changes."
Eina scowled but didn't bother arguing further.
---
The morning air in Orario carried the scent of fresh bread and spiced meats from the bustling street vendors, the usual hum of the city already in full swing. Eina took a slow breath as she stepped out of the Guild, bracing herself. This wasn't a date.
That was what she kept telling herself.
Yet, the moment she spotted Calista waiting for her near the entrance, she had the distinct feeling that he had already won some unspoken game she wasn't even aware they were playing.
Dressed in a finely embroidered high-collared blouse and a layered, flowing skirt that swayed with each subtle movement, he looked flawless. His scarlet hair was styled into an intricate half-braid, loose strands catching the light like strands of silk. No one who saw him now would believe he'd been covered in his own blood yesterday.
His sapphire gaze swept over her with casual appreciation before he smiled. "You look lovely, Eina."
She blinked, caught off guard.
It wasn't that she hadn't been complimented before. But the way Calista said it—light, unhurried, entirely sincere—made her feel strangely unprepared.
She cleared her throat. "Uh… thanks?"
Calista's smirk was subtle, but she could feel it as he extended a hand toward her, palm up, expectant.
"Shall we?"
Eina eyed the offered hand before sighing. Might as well lean into the absurdity.
She placed her fingers in his, intending to let go once they started walking. That plan immediately fell apart as Calista smoothly intertwined their fingers and led her forward as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
She stiffened, heat creeping up the tips of her ears. "Is this… necessary?"
"I wouldn't say necessary," he mused, effortlessly guiding her through the shifting crowd. "But I do find it delightful."
Eina exhaled sharply, but if he noticed how rigid she was at first, he didn't comment. Slowly, her fingers relaxed in his grip, and she allowed herself to be pulled along.
He was graceful even in the way he maneuvered through the streets, barely needing to glance around as if he already knew the rhythm of the city before it happened. It wasn't long before they veered off the main market road and entered a more refined section of the shopping district. The buildings were sleek, the signs elegant—tailor shops, boutique accessory stores, even a few high-end perfumers.
And then, they stopped.
Eina followed Calista's lead, coming to a halt in front of their destination.
A women's clothing store.
She blinked at the large display window, her brain momentarily locking up. Delicate lace-trimmed dresses, flowing skirts, fine silken blouses—there was no mistaking it. This was a store for women.
Her brow twitched. Was this some kind of elaborate scheme?
Was this why he dragged her out here?
Slowly, she turned toward him, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Calista merely arched an eyebrow, looking entirely at ease.
Eina glanced at the store again, then back at him. The gears turned in her mind.
Was he planning to make her try something on?
The thought struck hard enough that, for a brief moment, she could see the scenario playing out—the teasing, the smirks, her getting roped into something ridiculous.
Her expression darkened.
Before she could fully process the absurdity of her own thoughts, she did the only thing she could think of—she smacked herself lightly across the cheek.
Calista definitely noticed that.
But to his credit, he said nothing.
Instead, his lips curled ever so slightly, and he hummed, tilting his head. "A moment of self-reflection, Eina?"
She straightened, pretending nothing had happened. "Not important."
He made a soft, amused noise before gently pulling her toward the entrance.
"Come along, then," he said smoothly. "We have so much to look at."
Eina muttered something under her breath but followed him in, determined to survive whatever madness was about to unfold.
The moment they stepped inside, Calista moved as if he's been here his entire life, gliding between racks of fine silks, embroidered tunics, and delicately adorned skirts like a noble surveying his private collection. Eina barely had time to adjust before he was already plucking garments from their displays, inspecting fabrics with a practiced eye.
"What do you think of this one?" He held up a deep sapphire blouse, the fabric shimmering subtly under the shop's warm lighting. "Too much?"
Eina blinked, caught mid-thought. "It's… nice?"
Calista hummed, turning the blouse slightly, as if to catch the light at different angles. "Nice is such a vague little word, don't you think? Try again."
Eina exhaled. "It looks expensive."
That earned a soft chuckle. "And therefore, worth considering." He tossed it over his arm, already scanning for his next target.
Eina followed as he moved deeper into the store, watching as he continued his casual plundering of fine fabrics. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Calista was a guy—not because of how he dressed, but because he moved with such confidence that she never thought to question it.
That confidence, however, did not extend to her when he suddenly turned, a bundle of clothing in one arm, and asked, "Thoughts?"
She hesitated, eyes flicking over the selection—blouses, skirts, flowing tunics that, by all conventional standards, should not be for him. But they were, and he wore them better than most women she knew.
"I… honestly don't know what to say," she admitted.
Calista didn't seem offended in the slightest. In fact, he looked downright amused. "How refreshing," he mused. "To witness the moment a dear friend realizes she's not quite sure how to dress a man in women's clothing."
Eina shot him a flat look. "You could've warned me before putting me on the spot."
"Where's the fun in that?" He smirked, tossing another silk piece over his growing pile before turning to a nearby mannequin, eyes scanning it with interest. "Ah, this one would suit you, I think."
Eina blinked. "Wait, what?"
Before she could protest, he had already plucked a knee-length dress from the display—a soft cream fabric, trimmed with delicate golden embroidery. He held it up to her, tilting his head appraisingly.
Eina felt heat creep up her neck. "I'm not the one shopping here."
Calista raised an eyebrow. "A shame. It would be stunning on you."
She let out an exasperated breath. "I work in a Guild office, Calista."
"And? That just means you deserve to look divine when you're not working." He placed the dress over her arm before turning back to his own selection.
Eina groaned but didn't put it back immediately.
A mistake.
Because the next thing she knew, Calista was grabbing her wrist, smoothly dragging her along toward the back of the store.
"W-Wait, where—"
"The fitting rooms, of course," he said lightly.
"I'm not trying these on!"
"Who said anything about you?" He gave her a pointed glance before stepping through the curtain, pushing it aside with one graceful movement. "I simply require a second opinion."
Eina opened her mouth to protest—only for him to slip inside the dressing room and let the curtain fall shut before she could get another word in.
She stared at the curtain, then at the bundle of clothing still in her hands.
Slowly, she sighed.
This was not how she expected her day to go.
Eina had made many mistakes in her life. Agreeing to this not a date shopping trip was quickly climbing the ranks.
It had started off relatively tame. Calista had stepped out in a flowing, high-collared blouse paired with a sheer layered skirt, the fabric catching the light like liquid sapphire. It was the kind of outfit that made him look like he belonged in a noble's court, not the bloodstained halls of the Dungeon.
She had nodded, offering a simple, "Looks nice."
Then came the next outfit—something more structured, a fitted corset-style top over a long split skirt that revealed just a bit more leg than necessary. Again, she nodded, her feedback little more than an 'It suits you.'
But Calista was relentless.
Somehow, each outfit seemed designed to push at Eina's composure, teasing the edges of what was acceptable in casual company. One moment, he'd be wrapped in luxurious silks that wouldn't be out of place on a Demeter Familia idol; the next, he was draped in something scandalously sheer, golden threads glinting against his pale skin as if the very fabric was conspiring against her.
Eina cleared her throat, forcing her gaze elsewhere. This is fine.
Then came a dangerously high-slit dress that barely qualified as one.
This is not fine.
She had to look away. There was no other option.
Calista, of course, noticed.
He stepped closer, that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips. "Are you avoiding eye contact, Eina?"
"I'm giving you privacy," she shot back, stubbornly staring at the ceiling.
He chuckled. "How considerate."
The outfits continued. Some were elegant, others bold, and a few outright ridiculous. At one point, he tried on something so ostentatiously dramatic—a feathered shawl, deep scarlet robes, and a veil—that Eina nearly burst out laughing.
She had to admit, there was something fun about it all.
And then—just as she thought they were finally done—Calista disappeared behind the curtain for what she assumed was his last outfit.
Eina sighed, rolling her shoulders. At least it's almost over.
The curtain swished open.
Eina turned—
And her brain immediately shut down.
Her eyes widened as her gaze dropped—
—and she immediately jerked her head away, heat exploding across her face.
Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
For her sanity, for her dignity, for whatever remained of her ability to ever look him in the eye again—
She fled.
…
Eina stood outside the clothing store, arms crossed, staring blankly at the passing crowds of Orario's shopping district. The sun was high now, bathing the streets in warm golden light, but she felt cold. Not physically—no, her body was functioning just fine. It was her brain that had completely short-circuited.
She replayed the scene in her mind.
Calista.
That.
She swallowed hard, her face still warm.
What was worse wasn't just what she had seen, but the sheer, impossible contradiction of it all. Calista was shorter than her—barely, but still. She was 5'5, and he stood just two inches under that. Someone that height had no business being so… so… impossible.
And yet.
Yet.
That.
Eina clenched her jaw, inhaling sharply as if to reset her brain.
She refused to let her thoughts spiral any further.
Just forget about it, she told herself. Bury it. Deep.
Unfortunately, fate was cruel.
A shadow loomed at her side, and before she could react, a familiar voice purred, "I must say, you left rather abruptly."
Eina jerked, nearly stumbling as she turned—only to find Calista standing there, his usual serene expression untouched, carrying several bags of clothing as if the last half-hour hadn't just destroyed her mental stability.
She gawked at him.
He smiled. "Did I fluster you that much?"
She groaned, rubbing her face. "You—ugh, I don't want to talk about it."
Calista chuckled, entirely too satisfied. "A shame. I found it quite amusing."
"Of course you did."
She needed to leave. She needed to run. She needed to—
Her thoughts cut off when Calista took her hand.
Before she could protest, he smoothly intertwined their fingers once again and tugged her forward, his grip light yet impossible to escape.
"Come along, darling," he said breezily. "I think we could both use something sweet after such an invigorating shopping experience."
Eina didn't even get the chance to argue. She was already being dragged through the streets, the bags of clothes swinging lightly in his other hand, as if this was all perfectly normal.
She groaned. "I hate that I let you do this."
He shot her a sly glance. "And yet, here you are."
She had no rebuttal.
…
The cafe Calista led them to was a quiet, tucked-away spot on the edge of the shopping district, far removed from the noise of the main streets. It had a charming outdoor patio, shaded by a canopy of flowering vines, with tables set against an ivy-covered wall. The scent of fresh pastries and brewed coffee drifted through the air, a stark contrast to the very spirited time they'd had in the clothing shop.
Eina let out a slow breath as they took their seats, rolling her shoulders as she finally—finally—let herself unwind.
The moment they sat down, a waitress arrived, smiling politely.
Calista placed their order, requesting tea and a selection of pastries as if he owned the place. Eina barely heard what he ordered, still too preoccupied with forcing her thoughts back into normalcy.
It was only after the waitress left that she finally found her voice again.
She rested her elbows on the table, fingers steepling as she stared at Calista. "So."
He blinked, entirely innocent. "So?"
She inhaled deeply. "Do you normally try on lingerie when you go shopping, or was that just a special treat for me?"
Calista sipped his water, completely unbothered. "Would you be flattered if it was the latter?"
Eina rubbed her temple. "I walked right into that."
"As you often do," he said with a knowing smile.
She huffed, shaking her head before muttering, "I'm still never going shopping with you again."
Calista hummed, tapping a manicured finger against his cheek. "Mm, we'll see."
Their tea arrived, and for the first time that day, Eina allowed herself to relax. The warm aroma, the gentle clinking of porcelain, the peaceful atmosphere—it was such a stark contrast to everything that had happened earlier.
The tea was warm, fragrant, and exactly what Eina needed after the absolute chaos of the past hour. She took a slow sip, letting the delicate floral notes settle on her tongue, and finally—finally—felt herself start to relax.
Across from her, Calista sat with his usual poise, hands wrapped around his own teacup as he leaned slightly back in his chair. His expression was the picture of ease, as if he hadn't just spent the last hour systematically unraveling her mental stability.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
It wasn't awkward. Just… comfortable. The kind of rare silence that didn't demand filling.
Eventually, Eina set her cup down, exhaling softly. "You know," she mused, "for someone who thrives on theatrics, you're surprisingly quiet right now."
Calista chuckled, swirling his tea absently. "Am I? Perhaps I simply enjoy a quiet moment as much as you do."
Eina arched an eyebrow. "You? The person who just dragged me through an entire shopping trip like it was a grand performance?"
His lips quirked in amusement. "I contain multitudes."
She snorted, shaking her head. "That's one way to put it."
Calista took another sip of his tea before tilting his head slightly. "Did you enjoy it?"
Eina blinked. "What?"
"The shopping," he clarified. "Aside from your… delicate constitution during certain moments."
She groaned, rubbing her face. "Don't call it that."
His smirk deepened but he didn't press.
Eina hesitated, then sighed. "It was… different," she admitted. "But not bad. If nothing else, I can confidently say I have never had a shopping trip that eventful before."
"I do my best," he said smoothly.
She rolled her eyes. "I noticed."
For a while, they just sat there, the conversation drifting between light topics—work at the Guild, the latest gossip from other adventurers, Calista's never-ending curation of his wardrobe.
At some point, Eina found herself asking, "Why do you like it so much? Fashion, I mean."
Calista paused, sapphire eyes thoughtful.
Then, with a small smile, he said, "Control."
Eina blinked. "Control?"
He set his teacup down, tracing the rim lightly with a fingertip. "When you wear something, when you choose how to present yourself, you decide how the world sees you." He gestured slightly to himself. "People take one look at me and assume I am soft, delicate, perhaps even incapable." His smile turned faintly sharper. "And yet, that assumption never serves them well."
Eina considered that. It made sense. Calista was delicate in a way—slender, petite, poised. But after seeing him fight, she knew firsthand that his grace was a weapon, not a weakness.
"…So it's not just about looking good?" she asked.
Calista chuckled. "That's certainly a very important benefit," he teased. "But no. It's more than that."
Eina hummed, tapping her fingers against the table. "I guess I never really thought about it that way."
Calista arched a delicate brow. "No great interest in fashion yourself?"
She scoffed. "I wear what's practical. I don't exactly have the luxury of spending hours on outfit choices."
"A tragedy," he sighed dramatically.
Eina smirked. "I think I'll live."
Calista tilted his head, studying her for a moment before a slow smirk tugged at his lips. "And yet, you haven't returned that dress I picked out for you."
Eina froze.
Her eyes flicked to the bag sitting beside her chair—the one that, indeed, still held the cream-colored dress with gold embroidery that he had chosen for her.
"…I forgot."
His smirk widened. "Did you?"
She pursed her lips. "…It was a nice dress."
"Oh, absolutely."
She sighed, giving him a halfhearted glare. "If I wear it once, will you stop looking so smug?"
Calista took a slow sip of his tea, entirely unbothered. "No promises."
Eina groaned.
The conversation drifted after that, easy and unhurried. They talked about Bastet, about Eina's childhood in Orario, about the people Calista had met since arriving in the city. It was nice.
For a brief moment, Eina forgot about work, forgot about reckless adventurers, forgot about lingerie disasters—
It was just her and Calista, two people sharing tea and conversation, laughing at absurdities and teasing like old friends.
And she had to admit—
It wasn't the worst way to spend an afternoon.
The streets of Orario had quieted as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, soft shadows against the stone paths. Eina walked beside Calista, her steps slow, unhurried. The distant sounds of merchants closing their stalls, the occasional chatter of passing adventurers, and the crisp night air made for a peaceful end to what had been… an interesting day.
She had to admit—despite everything, despite the utter chaos that was shopping with Calista—she had enjoyed it. More than she expected to.
They reached the entrance of her home, a modest yet comfortable residence tucked away in one of Orario's quieter districts.
Eina hesitated at the doorstep, glancing toward him.
"…Want to come in for a coffee?"
The words left her mouth so naturally, so casually, that it took her a second to realize what she had even said.
Calista blinked, then let out a low, amused laugh. His sapphire eyes gleamed under the dim light of the street lamps, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
"Ah, Eina," he said, that serene voice somehow always dancing just on the edge of amusement. "Perhaps… once we know each other a little better."
She blinked. "What do you mean—"
A laugh, effortless and composed, slipped from him before she could finish. It wasn't mocking. Just... light. Playful. Like he understood something she didn't.
And that, more than anything, made her flush. Not because she understood—but because he did. And she didn't like being behind.
Before she could ask what he meant, he handed her a bag—lightweight and neatly folded. She looked down at it.
"Huh?"
Her brow furrowed. A gift? But she already had the dress he had picked for her—why did she have another bag?
"Wait, you bought me more clothes?"
Calista merely smiled, offering her a playful little wave before turning on his heel. "Goodnight, Eina."
And just like that, he was gone, disappearing down the street with the same graceful ease that defined his every movement.
Eina stood there for a long moment, staring at the bag in her hands.
Then, with a long, exhausted sigh, she stepped inside her home, placing the bag on her table before collapsing onto her bed.
...
Eina lay on her side, staring blankly at the wall, her mind drifting between sleep and wakefulness.
Then—
It hit her.
Like a damned Minotaur charging headfirst into her thoughts.
She had invited Calista over.
At night.
For coffee.
Alone.
Her body seized, her entire soul catching up to the implications she had completely ignored in the moment.
A strangled sound escaped her lips before she grabbed her pillow and screamed into it.
...
Eina had barely stepped into the Guild before the onslaught began.
A horde of advisors descended upon her, a flurry of eager faces, waggling eyebrows, and far too much enthusiasm for this early in the morning.
"So, Einaaa~" Misha crooned, practically bouncing on her heels. "How was your date?"
"It wasn't a date," Eina groaned, rubbing her temples.
Another guild receptionist gasped. "Wait, it really happened?! I thought Misha was exaggerating!"
"She wasn't," a third chimed in. "I saw them leave together yesterday. It totally looked like a date."
Eina opened her mouth, ready to refute them—but then her brain betrayed her.
Flashes of yesterday hit her all at once.
—Calista holding her hand as he led her through the streets.
—The clothing store.
—The incident.
—The café.
—The walk home.
—The invitation inside.
Her mouth clamped shut.
Her brain short-circuited.
There was no way to argue against this.
Misha gasped dramatically, leaning in close. "Ohhh, look at her! She can't deny it!"
One of the other advisors grinned. "So, did you invite him in? Did anything happen?"
Eina made a very undignified noise, her entire body locking up.
Her brain was not functioning.
And then—
A sharp voice cut through the chaos.
"That's enough."
The room froze.
Eina snapped out of her daze just in time to see Rose Fannett, the ever-serious and no-nonsense advisor, standing behind the group with her arms crossed. Her dark eyes scanned the gathered receptionists with unimpressed scrutiny.
"Back to work. Now."
There was a collective murmur of disappointment, but no one dared argue. One by one, the others shuffled off, casting Eina knowing smirks as they returned to their desks.
Eina barely had time to process her escape before Rose turned her gaze onto her.
"…We need to talk."
Eina stiffened.
Somehow, that was more terrifying than anything else.
The door to the small Guild office shut with a quiet click, sealing out the lingering murmurs of gossip still drifting through the reception hall.
Eina stood stiffly, arms crossed as she watched Rose move to the desk, the senior advisor's movements as composed and deliberate as ever. There was no teasing, no humor in her expression—just the quiet weight of experience settled behind her dark eyes.
Eina swallowed. She knew what this was about.
Rose sat, fingers laced together atop the desk. She regarded Eina for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. "I know you're young, Eina. Still in your youth, still figuring things out."
Eina frowned. "Rose, if this is about yesterday, it was not—"
"I'm not here to scold you," Rose interrupted, her tone level. "I'm here to warn you."
Eina hesitated, biting back the instinct to argue. There was something about the way Rose spoke—calm, measured, but unmistakably firm—that made her listen.
Rose leaned forward slightly, fixing Eina with a knowing stare. "Do not get too close to adventurers."
The words settled like a weight between them.
Eina blinked. "What?"
"You heard me." Rose's expression didn't waver. "It's fine to do your job, to advise them, to care—but don't let yourself get too close."
Eina's brows furrowed. "I—why are you saying this?"
Rose exhaled, tilting her gaze toward the window, where morning light spilled onto the desk. "Because I've seen it before," she said. "Other advisors, just like you—young, hopeful, full of fire. They get close to an adventurer and think it's just harmless affection. That maybe this one will be different."
Her voice cooled. "And then I've watched them break."
Eina's breath caught. She didn't look away.
Rose's tone stayed flat—factual, not unkind. "You know the kind of life they lead. Adventurers don't retire. They don't get to grow old with someone waiting at home. Most of them don't even make it to thirty."
Silence stretched like wire between them.
Eina clenched her jaw, arms crossed tightly across her chest.
She knew. Of course she knew.
Rose's gaze softened slightly, but her words didn't. "If you really want romance, Eina… don't look for it in the Dungeon."
The room felt colder.
Eina shifted, something tight and restless settling beneath her ribs. She opened her mouth to argue—but nothing came.
Because Rose wasn't wrong.
And that made it hurt worse.
Rose didn't press her. She simply stood, adjusting her gloves before heading for the door.
Just before she left, she paused.
"…I don't want to see you hurt," she said quietly. Then, with one last glance over her shoulder, she stepped out, the door shutting softly behind her.
Eina was left alone.
She let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from her shoulders as she finally allowed herself to sit down.
The office was silent now, save for the faint muffled sounds of the Guild beyond the door.
She glanced down at her hands.
They rested on her lap, palms facing up. She stared at them, as if trying to find some kind of answer there.
Why did she feel… strange?
Rose's words shouldn't have bothered her. They were just facts—things she already knew.
And yet…
The image of Calista flickered in her mind.
His knowing smirks, the way he teased, the easy elegance in which he carried himself. The undeniable vibrancy he exuded, like someone who refused to let the world dull him.
Would he—
No.
Eina shook her head, fingers curling into her palms as she shut her eyes.
This wasn't something she needed to dwell on.
It wasn't.
Outside, life in Orario continued as always. Adventurers came and went. The Dungeon loomed below.
And Eina sat in the quiet, staring at her hands, wondering why they suddenly felt so empty.
--
A/N: beluegh still on vacay, i actually cut out a scene that happened in the clothing store yep eyep! i like pretty boys >.< this one was like uhh 5k words, i think next chapter is 10k idk on patreon.com/wisetl theres already 2 chapters ahead of this one teehee NOPE NEVER THIS ONE IS 10k next one is 5k then a 10k+ one again silly me
...
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