Arrival in Orario and a new home
The towering walls of Orario loomed in the distance, casting long shadows over the road as the sun dipped low.
The city was bigger than anything I'd ever seenmassive stone gates, guards in shining armor, and people everywhere. Merchants, adventurers, and travelers from every corner of the continent. It pulsed with life, noise, and energy.
We finally made it.
The merchants cheered when the gates came into view. Corin clapped me on the back. "Well, kid, you kept your end of the deal. You're something else."
I nodded, exhausted but alert.
My fists still ached from the last fight, and my clothes were stained with blood and dirt.
But I'd made it.
At the gate, I handed over the few valis I had left for entry.
The guards barely looked at me, just another traveler among hundreds.
Inside the walls, Orario was a different world.
Stone buildings stretched high into the sky, colorful banners flapped in the wind, and the air was thick with the scent of food, smoke, and sweat.
People barked out prices in the market, children darted through alleys, and adventurers clinked by with armor and weapons gleaming.
Bren leaned in. "Alright. First things first, we get you signed up with the Guild. If you want to make money in this city, especially as an adventurer, you gotta be registered."
I hesitated. "Do I have to be... noticed?"
Bren smirked. "Not if you don't want to be. You don't have to join a Familia right away. You can go solo, just have to pay a cut to the Guild from whatever you bring back."
"How much?"
"Ten percent of what you earn in magic stones or monster drops. They track it at the exchange counter."
That seemed fair. "Okay."
He led me through a few winding streets until we reached a large building with a massive bronze plaque etched with the symbol of the Guild.
Inside, it was quieter rows of counters, adventurers signing documents, and Guild workers managing requests.
I filled out the forms under a fake name. No one asked questions.
The lady at the desk handed me a stamped card. "This identifies you as an independent adventurer. Take your finds to the Exchange for payment. Keep the card safe."
I nodded and slipped it into my pouch.
Back outside, I turned to Bren. "Is there any place I can stay long-term? Somewhere I can be alone?"
He scratched his chin. "Hmm. Land's expensive in the city, but there's a plot just on the outer edge used to be a garden.
It's abandoned now. Old well, broken fence, but private. Think it's goin' for fifteen thousand valis."
I looked down at my pouch. Between the crystals I'd gathered and what little I'd saved, I was close.
"I'll take it."
Bren grinned. "Didn't think you'd come here and buy land on your first day, but hey, you've earned it."
We made arrangements, signed a quick deed with a city clerk, and I left the main roads behind.
By the time the sun was setting, I stood at the edge of the small, wild plot that would be my home.
Broken fence. Overgrown weeds. A dry well.
But it was mine.
And for the first time in my new life, I had a place to start again.
The next morning, I stood barefoot on the soft, overgrown soil, taking it all in.
The house, if you could call it that, was barely more than a shack.
Half the roof had caved in, and most of the wood was rotted through.
The windows were cracked or missing entirely, the door hung off its hinges, and vines crept through the foundation like veins.
The fence around the property had collapsed in several places, and the well was covered in thick moss.
It was a mess, but it was my mess, and I was going to fix it.
The first few days were spent clearing.
I tore down what was left of the fence, stacking the broken planks in neat piles.
I yanked weeds out by the roots, chopped down brush with a dull hatchet I bought from a blacksmith for a few valis, and hauled stone after stone out of the collapsed garden paths.
Every night, I collapsed onto the floor of the house, curled up in a blanket under the one intact corner of the roof, too tired to even eat.
By the fourth day, I had a rough outline of the land.
The well was deeper than I thought dry, but not dead.
I spent two full days cleaning it out, lowering myself with a rope to scoop out muck and stones.
On the third morning, water trickled in.
It was cold and clean.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I had water.
Then came the walls.
I tore down most of the original shack, salvaging what little wood I could.
I bought new boards in bundles, cheap stuff, knot-ridden and warped, but usable.
I didn't have tools, so I made do.
Stones became hammers. Splinters became my enemies.
I rebuilt one wall at a time, each one straighter than the last
. I cut small windows for light, reinforced the frame with scavenged beams, and patched.
The roof with strips of thick canvas that I found in a junk shop.
It wasn't pretty, but it was solid.
At night, I sometimes stared at the ceiling, wondering what my father would say.
"Straighten your back," I imagined him saying. "Use your legs when you lift."
I smiled.
During breaks, I trained. Push-ups. Kicks. I tested the limits of my body. It was stronger now sharper, faster. I didn't know what I was becoming, but I liked it.
One evening, while gathering stones near the edge of the property, I found something strange.
A buried foundation.
Stone blocks, old but expertly cut, were hidden beneath the dirt and vines. I cleared it for hours, uncovering what must have once been a cellar or a shrine.
There were steps leading down, but the lower half was caved in. Still, the space was dry. I decided thenit would be my storage. Maybe even my training room.
Day by day, the land changed.
As I stepped outside my newly repaired home. It still smelled faintly of fresh wood and stone, and there were parts of the walls that hadn't fully settled yet.
But it was mine. A sanctuary built by my own hands, with the memory of my father guiding each nail, each plank.
Today, I had a new task.
Food.
The bread I had brought with the merchants was nearly gone.
I'd stretched it as far as I could, but now my stomach rumbled like a restless beast.
I needed vegetables. Fruits. Seeds. Something I could grow and harvest.
Something that could give me a reason to get up each day besides survival.
I tightened my belt and headed toward the market district.
The Central Market of Orario was unlike anything I'd ever seen. Stalls stretched down every alley, bursting with noise, color, and the scent of spices and baked goods.
Vendors shouted their deals, competing with singers and jugglers entertaining passersby. The air pulsed with life.
I made my way carefully, clutching the pouch of valis at my side. Fifteen thousand had gone to buying the land. I had about 3,000 left. Not much, but enough to start something small.
"Fresh tomatoes! Only 300 valis per crate!"
"Zanberries! Sweet as honey, just picked!"
"Carrot bulbs! Good for stew and stew alone!"
I stopped at a stall manned by an elderly woman with a basket full of seeds.
"You buying for a farm or a garden?" she asked, squinting up at me.
"Garden," I said. "Small. Just starting."
She nodded and rummaged through her crates. "I've got carrot seeds, onions, bell peppers, even some rare ones.
Got moonberries and nightroot too. You look like a strong kid. You'll want vegetables that can grow quickly."
I ended up buying:
A small sack of carrot seeds (200 valis)
Onion bulbs (150 valis)
Bell pepper sprouts (250 valis)
A bag of moonberry seeds (rare and sweet, 600 valis)
A few zanberry seedlings (400 valis)
She threw in a few seed potatoes for free. "For good luck," she said, with a wink.
I thanked her and headed back toward my home.
By mid-afternoon, I was on my knees in the dirt, a shovel in one hand, and sweat dripping down my face. The sun was relentless, but I didn't care.
First, I marked out my garden, two plots for vegetables, one for fruit, and a smaller one for herbs, once I got some. Then I began the real work.
The soil was stubborn. Packed hard by years of disuse and neglect. But I kept digging, shoveling, turning it until my arms ached. My hands blistered. I ignored the pain. The pain meant it was real. That I was doing something that mattered.
I mixed in compost from a bag I bought at the edge of the market. Smelled terrible. Worked great.
Once the soil was ready, I started planting:
I pressed the carrot seeds into shallow rows and gently covered them with soil. I whispered a small prayer to whoever might be listening.
I buried the onion bulbs deeper, spacing them carefully.
The bell pepper sprouts went next, each one placed with precision.
Then came the moonberries. Their seeds sparkled faintly in the light, almost magical. I planted them in a shaded corner, where the sun would kiss them gently.
Finally, the zanberries. Their roots were delicate, so I gave them extra care, patting the earth softly after placing them.
By the time the sun began to set, I was covered in dirt, drenched in sweat, and more tired than I'd ever been.
But when I stood and looked at what I'd done, something swelled in my chest.
It wasn't much. Just a patch of earth with tiny mounds. But it was mine. It was life. A start.
I built a small wooden fence from leftover planks around the garden to keep animals out. Then, using old pots, I created a rudimentary watering system with holes punched in the bottoms, suspended from wooden poles to let water drip slowly into the roots.
I sat on the edge of the porch, watching the sky burn orange and red. My hands were raw, my back sore. But I smiled.
Tomorrow I will head to the Guild.
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