The battlefield was silent. Maki Zenin stood alone, her hands bloodied, her twin polearms shattered at her feet. The Zenin heiress, the girl who defied her cursed clan and refused to bow to fate, was finally defeated. The cost of the battle against the special-grade curses had been steep—too steep. Yet, she had no regrets.

"If this is the end," she whispered to the darkened sky, her breath shallow, "then let it be my end... but no one else's."

The curse roared one final time, its grotesque body collapsing as the remnants of her attack tore it apart. Victory was hers, but the wounds she bore in return were fatal. As she fell to her knees, the faint glimmer of twilight above faded into darkness.

And then, she felt nothing.

Maki opened her eyes, expecting to see either heaven or hell—or perhaps the void. Instead, she was met with a bustling street bathed in the warm hues of sunlight. The sound of merchants calling out their wares mixed with the clatter of adventurers preparing for their next dive into the Dungeon.

She blinked, her senses overwhelmed. This was not the afterlife she had envisioned.

"What… where am I?" she muttered. Her voice felt stronger than before, her body lighter. Looking down, she noticed her attire was different—a simple yet durable set of clothes, suited more for a traveler than a warrior. Her hands, too, were unscarred, devoid of the calluses and wounds she had grown used to.

"You look lost," a voice said from behind. Turning, Maki found herself face-to-face with a short, sharp-eyed goddess with gray hair tied in a braid. The woman exuded an aura of authority, despite her petite frame.

"I'm Loki," the goddess said, grinning mischievously. "You're new here, aren't you?"

Maki didn't respond immediately, her mind racing. Loki? As in Norse mythology? The idea seemed absurd. But then again, everything around her—this vibrant city, the massive tower that pierced the heavens, and the strange yet familiar energy she felt coursing through her body—was equally nonsensical.

"I… don't know where I am," Maki admitted cautiously, keeping her guard up.

"Figures. You're in Orario, kid," Loki said, hands on her hips. "Home of the gods, mortals, and the Dungeon. Judging by the way you're standing, I'd say you're no stranger to fighting. What do you say? Wanna join my Familia?"

Maki shook her head instinctively. The idea of serving a god—or anyone—left a bitter taste in her mouth. "No thanks. I don't… serve anyone."

Loki raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Suit yourself. But if you want to survive here, you'll need a Familia—or at least a sponsor. Orario isn't kind to loners."

With that, the goddess walked away, leaving Maki to ponder her predicament. The name "Orario" tugged at her memory, but she couldn't place it. Wherever she was, one thing was clear: this was no ordinary world.

Maki spent the next few hours wandering the streets, observing the bustling life around her. She felt out of place, yet oddly at ease. The air was alive with magic—something she had never been able to sense in her previous life.

Eventually, her aimless journey brought her to a large stone plaza. At its center stood a massive, ornate tower that seemed to pierce the heavens. She recognized it instantly from the conversations she overheard on the streets.

"The Dungeon," she murmured.

As she approached, a group of adventurers brushed past her, laughing and talking about the spoils of their latest expedition. She clenched her fists. These people treated the Dungeon as a game, a challenge to conquer. But Maki knew the truth of battle—it was never a game.

Her musings were interrupted by the sudden sound of a commotion nearby. A young adventurer with white hair—barely older than a teenager—was being cornered by a trio of thuggish-looking men.

"Hey, rookie," one of the men sneered. "You think you can just waltz into our territory and take our kills?"

The boy stammered, holding up his hands in defense. "I-I didn't mean to! It was an accident!"

Maki narrowed her eyes. She didn't know this boy, nor did she care for the politics of adventurers. But the sight of bullies ganging up on someone weaker than them stirred a familiar fire in her chest.

Before she knew it, she was stepping forward.

"Three against one?" she called out, her voice sharp and commanding. "That's pathetic, even for bottom-feeders."

The men turned to her, their expressions darkening. "And who the hell are you?"

Maki smirked, cracking her knuckles. "Someone who doesn't tolerate cowards."

One of the men lunged at her, swinging a dagger with reckless abandon. Maki sidestepped effortlessly, her body reacting on pure instinct. Grabbing his arm, she twisted it behind his back and slammed him into the ground.

The other two hesitated, clearly rethinking their odds. But before they could make a move, a shadow fell over the group.

"Enough."

The voice was cold and regal, yet undeniably feminine. Maki turned her head and froze.

A woman stood nearby, cloaked in black and crimson, her violet eyes glowing with an eerie light. Her presence was suffocating, her aura far more intense than anyone Maki had encountered.

"Scathach-Skadi," one of the men whispered in terror before bolting, his companions following close behind.

The woman—Scathach, apparently—approached Maki, her gaze unwavering. "You have potential," she said, her tone neutral but laced with intrigue. "What is your name, warrior?"

Maki straightened, meeting her gaze. "Maki Zenin."

Scathach's lips curved into a faint smile. "Maki Zenin… You are not of this world. Yet you carry the spark of something extraordinary."

Maki frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Come with me," Scathach said, turning on her heel. "If you wish to survive in this world, you will need more than strength. You will need purpose."

Against her better judgment, Maki followed. Something about this woman—her aura, her confidence—was impossible to ignore.

And as the sun set over Orario, Maki realized that her journey had only just begun.