Morning Orario was just waking up. The streets, washed by the night's dew, were slowly filling with the clatter of opening shops and the rattling of passing carts.
The sun had barely peeked out from behind the spire of the Babel Tower, but Hestia was already striding purposefully down the pavement, practically radiating pride and anticipation. Her steps were light, almost floating. Rane, on the other hand, dragged behind her, fighting an overwhelming desire to turn around and go right back to their dusty basement.
"Goddess," he sighed, watching her bobbing pigtails. "It was absolutely unnecessary to drag ourselves to the Guild at this ungodly hour. We could have had a peaceful breakfast and come by noon. Registration isn't going to run away."
Hestia spun around sharply, planting her hands on her hips. Her blue eyes sparkled with stubbornness.
"It absolutely will! I've dreamed of this moment since I was up in Heaven! My first follower! My very own Familia!" She stuck her nose in the air. "I'm not putting this off for a single second. Let's go!"
Rane merely shook his head. Looking at her feverish enthusiasm, a funny thought crossed his mind: right now, this miniature Goddess looked exactly like a nervous bride terrified that her groom might bolt from the altar at the last moment. Suppressing a smirk, he surrendered to her momentum and quickened his pace.
The massive doors of the Pantheon—the main building of the Adventurers' Guild—swung open welcomingly before them. Inside, it was surprisingly uncrowded.
Rane hadn't even made it halfway across the marble hall before his instincts began screaming about a threat. It wasn't direct danger or bloodlust—just an icy, hyper-focused gaze boring straight into its target.
He slowly turned his head. Behind one of the reception desks, frozen with a stack of papers in her hands, stood Eina Tulle. The half-elf's emerald eyes were shooting absolute lightning from behind the lenses of her glasses. When their gazes met, Rane physically felt a throbbing headache brewing in his temples.
In the next moment, Eina decisively set the papers down and marched toward them.
The air in the Guild's private meeting room could be cut with a knife.
Rane sat on a plush sofa, his fingers interlaced. Hestia settled in next to him. The Goddess kept blinking in confusion, her gaze darting between the stone-cold face of her first follower and the tense Guild employee sitting opposite them. The atmosphere was bizarre and intimidating.
Eina Tulle began with impeccable etiquette. She stood up and bowed gracefully to Hestia, expressing the deepest respect for her divine status.
"It is a great honor for the Guild to register a new Familia, Hestia-sama," the half-elf said in an even, professional tone. Then she straightened up, and her voice instantly dropped several degrees, turning into an arctic breeze: "However, I must warn you. You have chosen an extremely problematic child."
Hestia let out a nervous chuckle, trying to pass it off as a joke.
"Ha-ha... Yes, I know what you mean! He can certainly give off a strange impression, but Rane is actually very reliable!"
Rane instinctively looked away, trying to study the patterns on the wallpaper. That was a mistake. Eina took the gesture as a signal to attack.
She slammed her hands onto the table.
"'Reliable'?!" the advisor exploded. Her perfect posture vanished, replaced by genuine, seething anger. "You promised me! You stood there and swore you would be careful! That you wouldn't go deeper!"
"Um, well, technically... we didn't plan to," Rane tried to interject, but was ruthlessly swept away by her verbal torrent.
"And in the end, I find out about your condition from the Loki Familia! You went down to the fifth floor! Without a Falna! Without proper equipment! And you ran into a Minotaur!" Eina was almost yelling, her ears flushed red with emotion. "Do you have any idea that you should have been turned into a bloody smear?! By what miracle are you even alive?!"
As Eina dumped the facts on the table, the smile slowly but surely slipped from Hestia's face. The Goddess's blue eyes widened in horror, then narrowed, filling with a heavy, possessive anger. She slowly turned her head toward her newly-minted "child."
Now, Rane was staring down two pairs of eyes full of reproach and fury.
Under this double crosshair, the old martial arts master merely sighed heavily and closed his eyes, his thoughts involuntarily drifting back to the events of last night, when he had officially become a part of this crazy world.
Last night. The chapel basement.
The stale air of the tiny room was thick with the smell of dampness and old dust. The only light source was a dim magic lamp casting long, dancing shadows on the peeling walls.
Rane sat on the edge of the single bed.
"Was it absolutely necessary to do this right here?" he asked skeptically, eyeing the mattress. "A chair would have worked just fine to reach my back."
Hestia, standing behind him, hurriedly waved her hands, putting on the most serious and meaningful expression she could muster. "Y-you just don't understand! People react differently to receiving a Falna! Some get dizzy, others might lose their balance. A bed is basic safety protocol!"
In reality, there was no danger at all. Hestia just wanted to create a more intimate, trusting atmosphere for this momentous occasion, but her pride wouldn't let her admit it.
Rane didn't argue. With a pragmatic shrug, he pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it aside, and remained seated with his back to the Goddess.
When Hestia saw him, her feigned cheerfulness instantly evaporated. The youth's broad, muscular back was crisscrossed with old, faintly visible scars and welts—traces of a brutal clash with a monster. The Goddess's expression became deadly serious, filled with reverence and an ancient, inhuman sense of responsibility.
"Let's begin," she said quietly.
Rane felt a single, scalding drop slide against his skin. Ichor. Divine blood.
The moment the liquid absorbed into his pores, the world around him shuddered.
Rane, whose perception of his own body had been honed by decades of meditation and training, felt it with frightening clarity. It was something deep, fundamental. A wave of pure, concentrated heat flared in his spine and instantly flooded his entire nervous system.
It felt as if his very soul, trapped within this young body, had suddenly expanded. The empty, dormant "vessels" within his core began to fill with thick, vibrating energy. It felt akin to a parched sponge greedily absorbing water. The power didn't alter his mind; it merely provided his body with new, previously unimaginable tools.
A short, surprised yelp broke the silence of the basement.
Rane flinched, snapping out of his trance, and tried to look back. "What is it?"
Smack!
In a split second, Hestia forcefully slapped a piece of parchment onto his back, hiding the glowing blue hieroglyphs.
"Don't squirm!" she squeaked, translating the newly acquired data. "I'm almost done!"
When she finally pulled away, Rane turned around. Hestia was sitting on the bed, clutching the parchment. Her face was frozen in a mask of shock, through which wild, almost hysterical delight was breaking.
"Rane..." she breathed out, not believing her own eyes. "You have magic..."
The youth's eyebrow crept upward in surprise. Magic? That was something entirely new.
Hestia handed him the written sheet.
Rane Level: 1
Strength: I0
Endurance: I0
Dexterity: I0
Agility: I0
Magic: I0
Magic: [ Air ] (Ability to manipulate the wind element).
Skills: [ illegible, thickly inked blot ]
Rane skimmed over the zeroes—the standard starting point for any rookie. But the line about magic truly caught his attention.
"Did any of your parents or ancestors have a talent for sorcery?" Hestia asked excitedly, scooting closer. "Maybe there were elves or spirits in your bloodline?"
"No," Rane answered calmly, omitting the details of his reincarnation. "As far as I know, nothing of the sort. Just ordinary humans."
"That means it's personal! Inherent magic without a grimoire in a human!" Hestia clapped her hands, her eyes shining. "Rane, you have no idea how lucky you are! This is incredibly rare!"
Rane nodded thoughtfully, deciding to ponder the prospects of wind magic later, and lowered his gaze further down the parchment.
"And what's this?" Rane tapped his finger on the thick ink blot at the very bottom of the page, right where the skills section should have been. The text under the smudge was absolutely impossible to read.
Hestia suddenly started coughing, looked away, and began intensely twirling a black pigtail around her finger.
"Oh, that? It's nothing, just nonsense!" the Goddess chirped, far too brightly and unnaturally high-pitched. "My hand just slipped while I was copying the text, don't worry about it..."
Rane narrowed his eyes. He had lived long enough to spot a lie without fail. And Hestia was a terrible liar. She had clearly seen something in his Status that she decided to hide even from him.
Present time. The meeting room.
Rane surfaced from his memories. Eina Tulle was still sitting in front of him, arms crossed over her chest, while next to him, Hestia was breathing heavily, having realized the sheer depth of her first child's recklessness.
"I am waiting for an explanation," the half-elf said in an icy tone. "A detailed one. And you'd better not leave out a single detail, Rane. And finally, tell me, where is Bell?"
Calming the furious half-elf proved to be no easy task, but Rane managed to convince her that Bell was now in the safe hands of the Loki Familia, and that he himself wouldn't go looking for trouble without proper preparation anymore (a lie). Finally receiving their official registration, they left the Guild.
The door of the cheap inn creaked shut behind Rane. In his hands, he held a small canvas bag that contained all his meager belongings.
At the bottom of the bag, a heavy pouch clinked dully. About thirty thousand valis—everything he and Bell had managed to save during their short, cautious forays into the upper floors. Taking the money from the stash under the floorboard, Rane felt not a single pang of guilt. Bell was now fully provided for by the Loki Familia, one of the wealthiest factions in Orario. He had no need for these coppers. But for Rane and his newly-minted Goddess, sleeping in an abandoned church, every single coin was crucial right now.
He walked down the creaky stairs and stepped out onto the sun-drenched street.
Hestia was waiting for him outside. Eina Tulle's reprimand seemed to have completely vanished from her divine head. All the fury and reproach she had showered Rane with in the Guild's office had dissolved without a trace the moment they crossed the Pantheon's threshold. Now, the Goddess was standing against the wall, rocking from heel to toe, an absolutely blissful, goofy smile wandering across her face.
She was just happy. The thought that this guy had rejected a major Familia (and doubly so that it was Loki) just for her eclipsed any past troubles.
Rane stopped and gave her a heavy, unreadable look. Hestia didn't even notice—she was floating somewhere in her own thoughts, giggling quietly. Deciding that interrupting this bout of divine euphoria wasn't worth the hassle, the youth simply slung his bag over his shoulder and silently walked down the street toward their ruins.
He made it a good twenty meters before Hestia finally snapped out of her daydreams.
"H-hey! Wait for me!" she squeaked, hurriedly scurrying after him and grabbing the edge of his sleeve.
They walked through the bustling merchant districts. Hestia, unable to contain her bursting curiosity any longer, kept sneaking glances at Rane's face.
"Listen, Rane..." she began, interlacing her fingers behind her back and trying to sound casual. "Why did you turn Loki down, anyway? I mean... they're the elite. They have money, the best gear, strong comrades. Any adventurer would sell their soul for an offer like that."
Rane didn't slow his pace. He lazily swept his gaze over a weapon shop window and answered calmly, without any ulterior motive:
"Who knows. If I had met Loki before I stumbled upon you... maybe I would have chosen her."
Hestia tripped over her own feet.
The blissful smile slid off her face, replaced by an expression of absolute, comical betrayal. The Goddess's eyes widened in horror.
"W-what?!" she gasped indignantly, stopping dead in the middle of the street. "You mean... I was just convenient for you?! Just whoever was closest at hand?! Why you little..!"
Rane stopped as well. He turned back to the pouting, ready-to-explode Goddess and, tilting his head slightly, continued in the exact same even tone:
"But I met you. And frankly, I'm glad I did."
Hestia froze, never managing to unleash her angry tirade.
"You're not like any god I've seen so far," Rane shrugged. "Though admittedly, there haven't been many. Around you, I don't need to pretend. I don't need to play the role of a subservient mortal or bend over backwards to meet someone's grand standards. With you... it's just most comfortable being myself. And to me, that's the best."
The noisy street seemed to fall silent. Hestia stood with her mouth slightly open. A deep blush rapidly flooded her cheeks, reaching the tips of her ears. All her indignation evaporated instantly, giving way to an aching warmth.
"Rane..." she breathed out softly, with genuine tenderness, looking up at him with wide blue eyes.
"Let's go," he turned away, hiding a faint, barely noticeable smirk, and kept walking. "We still need to clean up that dust pit you call a home before sunset."
They walked a few more blocks in comfortable silence. But the closer they got to the familiar sagging fence of the abandoned church, the more Hestia changed. Her steps grew heavier, her gaze apologetic. Upon reaching the wrought-iron gate, she stopped, fiddling with the hem of her white dress.
"Rane," the Goddess's voice lost all its cheerfulness. "I need to tell you something. I... I wasn't completely honest with you about your Status."
The youth stopped, his hand lingering on the latch. He arched a questioning eyebrow but stayed silent, gesturing for her to go inside.
The basement greeted them with its usual dampness and gloom.
Rane sat on the edge of the bed once more, having pulled off his shirt. Hestia stood behind him, tracing a needle over the parchment, reading the updated data directly from his skin. Silence filled the room, broken only by the scratching of metal against paper.
When she finished, she let out a heavy sigh, walked around the bed, and handed him the sheet.
"Last night... I intentionally inked out the bottom line," Hestia confessed quietly, lowering her head. "I hid your Skill from you."
"Why?" Rane took the parchment, showing no signs of anger or offense.
Hestia swallowed nervously, hesitant to meet his eyes.
"When I saw that you had personal magic, and then a Skill appeared that I had never even heard of before... I got scared," her voice trembled. "I thought: if he realizes how exceptional he is, why would he stay with such a poor, pathetic Goddess? I was terrified you would leave for someone like Loki. It was horribly selfish. I'm sorry."
Rane looked at the top of the downcast Goddess's head.
"And now?"
"And today at the Guild, I found out that you rejected Loki," Hestia looked up at him, her eyes full of tears and genuine gratitude. "You chose me, even knowing I have nothing to give you. My fears were stupid. You deserve to know the truth about your power."
Rane nodded, accepting her apology as a matter of course, and shifted his gaze to the parchment.
There, where the ink blot had gaped yesterday, runes were now written in clear, neat handwriting.
Skills:
[ Asura ]
(Passive) Limit Removal: The boundaries set by the world for mortals hold no power over you.
(Passive) Flame of the Desperate Battle: The harder the fight and the more powerful the enemy, the brighter the soul burns, multiplying the growth of all attributes.
(Active) Divine Descent: A toll in blood for a moment of absolute power. Allows one to briefly shed the physical shackles of the body, reaching peak form. However, even Gods cannot stand on the brink for long.
Rane studied the text in silence for a few seconds. His face remained impassive, but a flash of recognition passed through his eyes.
The active skill caught his attention the most. Divine Descent. The description perfectly matched that state of extreme physical overdrive he had used against the Minotaur. The Falna hadn't given him a new magic button. The system of this world had simply analyzed his past experiences, his forbidden technique from his previous life, and integrated it into the laws of the Lower World, translating it into a Skill.
He looked up at Hestia questioningly.
The Goddess swallowed, nervously twisting her fingers.
"In all my eternity, I have never seen or heard of a Skill with a name like that," she whispered, looking at the parchment with faint awe. "But its properties... Rane, this defies all normality."
She sat down next to him, looking seriously into his eyes.
"'Limit Removal' means that the invisible ceiling of development—the one every mortal inevitably hits sooner or later—doesn't exist for you. And 'Flame of the Desperate Battle'... it's absurd. Usually, adventurers grow gradually, through monotonous training. Your Skill says that the closer you are to death, the faster you get stronger. It's a Skill that feeds on mortal risk. Promise me you won't use it unless absolutely necessary!"
Rane looked at the lines written on the parchment, then shifted his gaze to the worried Goddess. He remembered the beating of his own heart rupturing his eardrums and the taste of blood on his lips in that cave.
"I can't. But," he answered calmly, folding the parchment, "I have no intention of dying prematurely. I still have too many plans for this life."