The musty scent of ancient stone mixed with the faint aroma of freshly baked bread hung in the air. The sky was covered by thick white clouds, allowing only timid beams of sunlight to warm the city. Pigeons cooed atop brick rooftops, while cart wheels creaked along the uneven cobblestone streets.
In the midst of that everyday scene, a solitary figure lay motionless.
**
My eyes opened with difficulty, and I blinked repeatedly against the pale brightness of the overcast day. My body was lying on the hard, rough squares of stone, as if I had been abandoned in that place.
My heart was pounding fast and confused, as if it wanted to escape through my throat, and my breath came short, like when we've just surfaced from a nightmare.
...Where...?
I tried to get up, propping myself on my elbows, but dizziness made me collapse again, gasping. Looking around, my senses scrambled, I saw that the buildings around me were tall, made of wood and stone, with colorful banners hanging from balconies. People passed by, wearing clothes that looked like they belonged in period festivals: thick cloaks, long dresses, swords fastened to belts. A group of people crossed the street hurriedly, avoiding eye contact, with weapons gleaming.
But... what...?
The voices and sounds were familiar; I understood the language as if it were the one I'd always spoken, but some terms sounded strange, like words I had never needed to learn. Frowning and feeling the blood pounding in my temples, my memory was clouded—I couldn't remember how I had ended up there, nor even… who I was, exactly.
With effort, I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling the disheveled strands. I was wearing strange clothes: a shirt of coarse fabric, a leather vest, and tight pants that seemed made for travel or combat, not for comfort. Dusty, mid-calf boots were on my feet.
A boy pulling a cart full of vegetables passed by me, stopping for a second to look.
"Hey, lady... you okay?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but didn't know what to say. My throat was dry, and I could only nod weakly. The boy lingered for a moment, then, without another word, continued pushing his load.
Forcing myself to sit up, I hugged my knees while taking a deep breath. Around me, the city carried on, indifferent. Merchants shouted worn-out offers; the smell of iron and oil permeated the air; a woman passed by dragging a large basket of flowers. Nothing seemed remotely familiar and, at the same time, everything was strangely vivid and unsettling.
My gaze drifted to the massive structure in the distance, towering above the houses and shops: a colossal tower that seemed to touch the sky, imposing, sculpted in white stone, with architectural details that blended megalophobia with the sublime.
My heart raced even faster.
I tried again to get up, this time managing to steady myself on a nearby barrel, almost the same height as me. My body was still weak, my legs shaky. As I staggered, I noticed a few people looking at me, but they quickly averted their gazes. The city's movement was uninterested in my presence, as if finding someone in this condition was part of their daily routine.
"Hey, girl!", a gruff voice called.
Turning quickly with wide eyes, I saw a burly man, wearing a greasy apron and sporting a thick mustache, watching me from the door of a bakery.
"You alright? Looks like you've seen a monster."
"Monster?" The word echoed strange and heavy. I hesitated, then shook my head.
"I... I don't know."
The sincerity of the answer made the baker scratch his head, then shrug.
"If you want a piece of bread, you're a bit late… the customers already cleared out the batch. But if you're lost, the Ganesha Familia takes care of people who need help."
He pointed with his thumb toward a direction further into the city.
I thanked him with a nod, still voiceless. The man disappeared, and I remained there, uncertain of what to do.
**
As time passed, I figured standing still would probably be worse, so I started walking, painfully, without really knowing where to go.
Some of the streets I wandered through were more closed-in and oppressive than what might be considered "normal"—the smell of sweat, fresh blood, and smoke mingled there. The putrid miasma of blood was certainly dreadful, but for some reason, the smoke was the worst for me.
Smoke...
The scent alone was enough to make me double over and vomit a yellowish bile, while the acid burned my throat and churned my stomach even more. The sensation was horrible, a dry, violent spasm, but at least it brought a flash of something.
Helena.
I didn't know whether I had introduced myself that way to someone before, or if it was just a name invented by my confused mind… but, for now, it was all I had.
Continuing along the path without bothering to clean up the vomit—there was no way I could—I passed by a tavern with half-open doors, from which loud laughter and the clinking of mugs echoed.
The aroma of hot grease, roasted chicken, and salty spices filled my nostrils, too strong to ignore. My mouth watered against my will, and my stomach, forgotten until then, protested with a rough, painful growl. I had no idea when I'd last eaten—if I'd eaten anything recently at all.
I searched for anything that might resemble money in my belongings, but found nothing; perhaps I had been robbed while lying on the ground. Without a proper means of payment, I was forced to leave the tavern behind and continue my aimless journey.
My next stop was a square, along what seemed like a side street.
There, I saw an armed duo, whom I recognized as similar to the group that had avoided eye contact with me earlier, preparing themselves. They adjusted their armor with precision; one of them sharpened a blade while the other carefully inspected a vial of blue liquid. But what really caught my attention was the symbol stitched onto their cloaks: a stylized design of three interwoven stalks of wheat, forming a closed circle.
Could they be government officials...? Or the "Vanessa Familia" the baker mentioned? I wondered.
Without realizing it, I was already walking towards them. However, before I could get really close, one of them—a stunningly beautiful woman with silver hair and pointed ears—lifted her gaze and stared at me.
"What do you want?", she asked, rudely.
Snapping out of my daze, embarrassed, I asked a random question.
"Sorry... I just... what is that tower?"
The two exchanged glances. The woman raised an eyebrow.
"You're from outside?"
"I guess... yes."
This time, the man beside her, also with pointed ears, added, laughing:
"That's the Tower of Babel, girl. Entrance to the Dungeon. Center of the world!"
The word reverberated through my mind like thunder.
Dungeon...?
Not knowing what to say, I just stood there, staring at the distant immensity of that white marble structure.
"If you're going to venture there, you'll need a Falna.", said another man who was passing by, already walking away.
Falna?
The silver-haired woman, noticing my lost expression, shook her head.
"You have no clue, huh? Fine, I'll say it only once, so listen up! Go find a god and beg for their Falna. Without it, don't even think about setting foot in the Dungeon.", she said, finishing packing up a set of gear whose purpose I didn't understand. "I'm done checking everything, let's go!"
With that said, her companion nodded at her, and the two of them turned away, heading toward the edge of the square, leaving me with more questions than answers.
**
By the time I couldn't walk anymore, the sun had already disappeared from the sky, and the city was submerged in a bluish, cold twilight. The scattered lamplights were few, casting long shadows that crawled along the walls.
I still didn't know where I was—or rather, I knew I was somewhere called "Orario." I just didn't know where that was. My pensive breath came out in small vapors, and the solitude gripped my chest like a shackle.
It had been some time since I gave up trying to understand where I was. Instead, I sat down in an alley, curled up as if that could create an extra layer of protection around me, and started reflecting on who I was.
Disconnected images came and went through my mind, careless of the poor state of my mental integrity. I saw a hand reaching out for someone; flames covering the wall; screams.
Please… let it not be what I'm thinking…
My eyes filled with hot tears as I curled up tighter and tighter until I was in a fetal position, protecting myself from this world I didn't understand and from the past that was beginning to resurface. The silent tears mixed with the grime on my face and the moisture of the ground. I didn't cry out loud; I didn't scream. I just… leaked, like a cracked dam, functioning only because there was no way to stop.
As my breathing came in short, irregular gasps, I sank completely into the vertigo of panic, born from a simple statement that should never be uttered by someone whose heart still beats.
"I died."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't a doubt. It was a fact—I had died. The impossible realization came because it was even more improbable that I had survived. I remembered now, bloody fragments slowly connecting as the fragile barrier of my consciousness gave way. The smell, the sound of gas escaping, and the spark. Then smoke, fire, and mother.
"Mom..."
A dry sob shook my chest, and I dug my nails into my arms, squeezing so hard it hurt, as if physical pain could replace the other kind—the one with no shape, no cure.
I had given up everything.
All dreams, loves, friendships. Everything I could have lived, experienced, risked, denied. I was no longer a daughter, had never been a professional, nor even a woman. I was just one thing: a caregiver.
Day after day, cleaning, feeding, enduring the vacant stares of a mother who no longer recognized me. Enduring the screams of agony, the forgetfulness, the repetitions, the continuous loss, because, although my mother breathed, she wasn't there anymore.
And still, I stayed. Until the end.
And now… now there was no more mother.
There was no more claustrophobic apartment, no smell of medicine, no monotonous noise of the TV left on to fill the silence. No more late-night runs to the hospital, nor the lost eyes of the woman who once held me in her arms.
"How did I end up here…?", I whispered, my voice coming out weak and broken.
A city that seemed to have come out of a medieval delirium, where gods walked among men and monsters dwelled in the depths of the earth. Where people spoke of "Falnas" and "Dungeons" as if they were normal things.
"It couldn't be real."
But the cold was real. The pain was real. The hunger was starting to feel real too.
I had never felt so alone. For the first time in years, there was no one waiting for me. And if before I had cared for my mother with a dedication that, though it exhausted me, gave meaning to my mornings and nights, now there was no purpose, no function, no bond.
The only person who still cared about my existence, even if she no longer recognized me, had been consumed along with her in that apartment. I swallowed hard, my throat burning, and bit my lip until I tasted iron.
I want to die. I thought. Or maybe I already was dead, and this was punishment.
A punishment for having failed. For having wished, so many times, deep down, that it would end. That she would pass away, that the burden would disappear. And now… now there was no burden, no mother, and no Helena either.
Just this trembling shadow in a dark alley.
I could hear, far off, the muffled chimes of bells, the hoarse cries of night vendors, the sound of hurried footsteps—but everything felt distant. As if the world existed on a different frequency.
I pressed my forehead against my knees, squeezing my eyes shut tightly. I wanted to stop feeling, stop remembering, stop being, but my chest hurt like never before. It wasn't a physical pain, but a hole, an absence, as if someone had ripped everything out of me, and all that remained was an empty shell.
For so long, my life had revolved around that woman. The love and the guilt I felt for her and her pitiful situation, the responsibility and the resentment, the fear and the hope. Now, there was no one left for me to care for, no one left to wound me with forgetfulness or, sometimes, to comfort me, even unknowingly.
I don't want to be here. I want to go back home… even if it was to that moment when it was on fire.
But she wouldn't vanish from that alley, no matter how much I cried out for it. My mind constantly screamed: "Mom!" but, as one might expect, there was no answer, no result.
"Why…?", I said, my eyes lost, not expecting an answer.
Sinking into a pit of self-loathing, I gave myself the coldest, most merciless response I could conceive: because there was no place left for me in any world.
And then… a different sound. Slow, light, and elegant footsteps. Not like those of a hurried adventurer or a drunkard stumbling through the alleys. There was no weight of urgency, no habitual indifference. Only… calm. The same calm one feels when the wind stirs the leaves, or when water runs peacefully over stones.
I didn't notice her presence immediately. I only became aware when her shadow stretched around me, covering my small, trembling body with a darkness that, mysteriously, didn't chill… but warmed me. I slowly lifted my head, and my swollen, reddened eyes met her figure.
There, standing before me, leaning slightly to get a better look, was a woman. Her presence, illuminated by the moonlight, was so out of place in that filthy, dark alley that it felt like a glitch in reality for her to be in such an unsanitary place.
Yet, just like me, I knew it wasn't a hallucination. She was certainly there, with her skin pale as ivory, her long, thick hair the color of ripe walnut cascading in gentle waves down her back and shoulders, framing a serene face of soft, yet devastating beauty. Everything about her was captivating, but it was her eyes that truly made me an eternal captive of that woman.
Eyes of a deep blue, like the vastness of the ocean. An intense pair of indigo orbs, so calm and welcoming, that neither judged, nor demanded, nor reproached—but simply… saw.
For the first time since I had awakened here, I felt that I was, in fact, being seen by someone. Not as a stranger, not as a vagrant abandoned in an alley, but as a person.
There was no haste in the woman's gestures. No judgment. Only… tenderness.
A hand, with long and delicate fingers, extended toward me, hovering just inches from my face, like someone approaching a wounded animal, with infinite patience, waiting for the right moment not to frighten it.
I widened my eyes in shock, my heart racing with a sudden fright, but my body didn't obey. I didn't run, nor did I scream. I just stood there, motionless, staring at that woman who, somehow, didn't seem to belong to this world and yet was the only thing that felt right in it.
The stranger's eyes fell once more to my bewildered gaze, then to my curled-up position, and then she knelt down, without caring about the filth, the cold, or the discomfort—and there she stayed, by my side, saying nothing.
There was no need.
I shuddered, feeling my throat tighten again, but this time not from fear, pain, or even relief—but from something I couldn't name. The tears I thought I no longer had welled up again, and I hid my face in my knees, muffling the sob that burst out of me like a violent wave, tearing through me, breaking me, and yet somehow filling me.
The woman leaned closer until her arms gently wrapped around me, not forcing or restraining me. Her hand stroked my messy hair with a softness I hadn't felt since I was a child, perhaps even before my mother had fallen ill. The warmth of that touch shattered my last resistance.
Unlike the tears that had previously streamed down my face without my consent, this time I allowed myself to cry. To cry for everything, as loud and shameless as a child. For my mother, for the life I never got to live, for the home I had lost, for all the accumulated pain, and finally, for being so far away from all of it.
The woman didn't say a single word while I broke down.
She just kept stroking my hair and waiting for me to finish, in that dark alley where no one else would have stopped, where everyone would have walked right past or not even noticed my broken silhouette. But someone stayed. Someone saw me and wiped away my tears without disgust.
When the sobbing finally subsided, I felt both exhausted and renewed at the same time, my chest burning and my throat aching—I must have screamed myself hoarse.
Lifting my eyes, confused, I prepared myself to look at that woman once more.
"Why...?", I repeated, my eyes pleading for an answer.
"Because no one should be alone.", she replied simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
That "no one" felt so vast, yet at the same time, it seemed to be meant solely for me. My head tilted, heavy, as if I no longer had the strength to hold up even my own thoughts.
"I… I don't have anything left…", I murmured, my voice choked, so low it sounded like I was only speaking inwardly. "I don't even know what I am anymore…"
She pulled me against her chest, and I went as if there was a gravitational field around her form, keeping me from moving in any other direction. I hugged her tightly, burying my forehead in the curve of her breasts, saying nothing more. The woman rested her chin on my head, slowly caressing my hair, and I heard her again, with that deep and serene voice that sounded as if it could rebuild my world:
"I am Astraea.", her voice carried a grace I had never heard before.
"It's a little embarrassing to say it like this, but I am a goddess."
My head lifted, but I wasn't surprised. Deep down, perhaps I already knew… already felt it, from the moment she held me—that she was more than human.
"Still, more important than that, I'm someone who just can't help but care for those who've been left behind."
Her words entered me like both a balm and a blade.
"If you agree…", she took a deep breath, like someone carefully choosing the right words for someone fragile, "…I would like to give you a place in my family."
My hands trembled around her. Those words sounded to me like so much more than a simple offer. They were an anchor. As if, finally, someone was telling me that I could still belong somewhere.
"You don't have to decide now."
She slid her hand to my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, as if to say: "I'll be here, no matter what you choose."
"Being a newly arrived goddess in the Lower World, I don't have much to offer, but… if you accept, I can at least promise that you'll never have to cry alone in an alley like this again."
"So…", she tilted her head, as if proposing a secret game, "…may I call you my child?"
For a moment, the world seemed suspended.
The cold of the night no longer existed. The suffocating weight in my chest vanished, leaving only that tender warmth coming from her arms. My trembling hands clutched at the soft fabric of Astraea's clothing, as if afraid she might disappear if I let go. My throat tightened, like so many times before… but this time, I forced the words out.
I didn't want her to doubt. I didn't want to hesitate, like I had so many times before… So, even with my voice hoarse, weak, and choked, I answered.
"Y-yes…"
It came out as nothing more than a faint whisper, but the words that followed would be the ones I'd be most proud of for the rest of my life.
"I… I want to…", I went on, holding tighter, "…please… let me be your family…"
Astraea smiled, a smile that seemed to carry centuries of patience and kindness, and she drew me even closer into her embrace.
"Then…", she whispered, gently stroking my back, "…welcome."
In that moment… I felt I had found something I had lost a long, long time ago—and that something was everything I needed.