Orario was a city that never slept. By day, it was alive with shouting merchants and clanging steel, and by night it simmered with the laughter of drunks and the distant clamor of taverns. But inside the ruined church that housed the Hestia Familia, silence reigned. Capitano sat unmoving. His armored form loomed in the flicker of lantern light. Across from him, Bell and Lili fidgeted. Hestia paced. The small Familia did not quite know what to do with their new brother—if one could even call a figure so towering and alien "family." Bell stole glances at him, his red eyes wide. He had witnessed Capitano's strength firsthand. Monsters that had nearly ended him were reduced to brittle ice. Lili sat stiffly beside her pack, watching from the corner of her eye like a mouse studying a wolf. Hestia's twintails bobbed as she stopped her pacing, tiny fists clenching as if to steady herself." Capitano," she said, her voice soft but resolute, "I know this must feel strange. To join us, when you could have any Familia in the city begging for you. But—" she swallowed, her divine flame burning bright in her mortal frame—"I swear, you won't regret it. We may be small, but together, we'll rise." The armored giant tilted his head. He had heard such vows before. In a world long gone—oaths of loyalty, declarations of ambition. Most were hollow. But this goddess's vow was different. Fragile, yes. But not false." I do not regret," Capitano answered, his voice a steady rumble that filled the cramped room. "I only act." Bell straightened unconsciously, as if a commander had addressed him. Lili lowered her gaze, shivering slightly at the weight of his presence. And Hestia exhaled, a mixture of relief and unease. The next day, Orario itself seemed to stir with new whispers. A masked giant clad in black armor. A warrior whose mere presence froze the air. An unaffiliated adventurer stronger than entire familias. The rumors spread like wildfire from taverns to Guild halls, growing more outlandish with each retelling. Some said he was a god stripped of divinity. Others whispered he was a weapon forged by Babel itself, a living sentinel. None had answers—only questions. The Guild took notice, demanding records of his registration that did not exist. Loki's familia sent scouts, unnerved by what little they reported. And high in her tower, Freya leaned against her balcony railing, lips curved in intrigue. She had not seen him yet, but already she desired him. Orario was a city built on ambition, and an anomaly like Capitano was not something it would ignore. Meanwhile, the Hestia Familia adjusted to his presence—or tried to. Capitano required no meals, no bed. He sat in silence, unmoving, like a statue of ice. Yet he watched. He observed the fragile routines that defined their lives: Bell's training at dawn, Lili's meticulous checking of supplies, Hestia's desperate efforts to hold her family together. It was alien to him, yet not unpleasant. That evening, he found Bell practicing alone in the church's courtyard, knife flashing clumsily in the lantern glow. "Your stance," Capitano's voice rolled out of the darkness, and Bell nearly dropped his blade. "S-Stance?!" "You overreach," the black-armored warrior said, stepping into the circle of light. The ground frosted faintly beneath his boots. "Your arm extends too far. An enemy needs only to step aside to kill you. "Bell swallowed hard, nodding. "Y-yes, sir! "Without further word, Capitano demonstrated, body moving with effortless precision. Each step was stripped of waste, each shift balanced as if guided by some silent rhythm of war. Bell mimicked him, faltering at first but steadying under corrections. Hours passed. Bell's breath grew ragged, sweat soaking his shirt, muscles trembling. Capitano watched without impatience until the boy finally fell to one knee, gasping. "Better," Capitano said at last. "You may yet survive." It was not praise, not exactly. Yet Bell's chest swelled, as if those words were more valuable than any treasure the Dungeon could hold. But not all eyes on Capitano were kind. The Guild pressed harder for answers. Loki's scouts followed him from shadow to shadow. Whispers turned to questions of whether he was a danger to the balance of Orario. And beneath the earth, in the living Dungeon, something shifted. Capitano felt it in the silence of the night: a slow, heavy pulse, like a heartbeat echoing from the depths. The Dungeon itself had taken note of him. Unlike gods and mortals, it would not turn away in awe or fear. The first stone had been cast. The question was no longer if Capitano would change Orario—
But how violently?