The late afternoon sun cast long, weary shadows across the worn cobblestones of Orario as the Bahamut Familia, their recent dungeon expedition concluded, rested the in city's bustling periphery.
Weeks spent battling monsters in the depths had left them thoroughly depleted.
Cecil, Iselin, Schau, and Ulanda, having been dispatched ahead with a clear objective, returned with remarkable speed.
Their current quarry: transport.
They led not merely one, but several empty carts, their drivers a swirling vortex of eager gesticulations.
Finding a taxi willing to ferry adventurers, especially those grimy, grumpy, and often stingy ones emerging from the dungeon, was usually akin to pulling teeth from a Behemoth.
Adventurers were an unruly bunch; many haggled with the tenacity of a starved minotaur over a few Valis, and tips were as mythical as a dragon's hoard.
They were, in short, dreadful clients.
Yet, the drivers now jostling for position weren't reluctant in the slightest.
If anything, they were almost frantic.
"Adventurer-sama, please pick me! I can get you anywhere in the city with the shortest amount of time!" one man bellowed, his voice cracking from eagerness, waving a tattered map.
"Nonsense! My wagon is faster, and my steeds are the finest! Pick me instead!" another countered, practically vaulting over his own cart's side to get attention.
Their clamor rose, a cacophony of promises and boastful claims that momentarily drowned out the usual city din.
This unusual enthusiasm stemmed from a simple, powerful truth: it was the Bahamut Familia. Across Orario, their name carried weight, not just for their strength as one of the strongest Familia but for their sterling reputation.
Unlike many of their peers, the Bahamut Familia caused no trouble.
They were unfailingly polite, paid generously, and were known even to tip handsomely. Moreover, their role as protectors of order, swiftly punishing unruly adventurers, made earning their favor a strategic boon for any citizen.
Who wouldn't want to transport such a celebrated, lucrative, and influential group?
Alise, her fiery red hair tied back in a long, vibrant ponytail, flicked it with an air of nonchalance.
A knowing smirk played on her lips, her gaze sweeping over the fawning drivers.
"Sigh, it's hard being too popular and beautiful," she commented, loud enough for those nearby to hear, yet feigning an internal monologue.
"Hmmf," Michalis scoffed, a familiar, resigned sound in his throat.
He knew precisely where this theatrics was heading.
Kaguya, with a subtle shift of her weight, had already created a few feet of personal space between herself and Alise.
Iska, Maryuu, Chloe, and Celty followed suit, a silent, synchronized retreat of comrades who had witnessed this performance countless times.
Alise was, in her own unique way, often an embarrassment to her comrades, yet, mysteriously, her popularity among the regular citizens of Orario remained inexplicably high.
Nikolaos, on the other hand, found the entire scenario ridiculous, watching the drivers squabble with a detached air.
There were twenty of them, and they carried a significant amount of baggage...enough for a small campaign.
Obviously, more than one cart would be needed.
The drivers' fervent arguments were pointless; multiple of them would be chosen regardless.
The distance they were traveling wasn't vast, hardly a journey across the entire city, so the individual profit wouldn't be enormous…..at most, a few thousand Valis per driver.
Yet, to the average citizen, a few thousand Valis was a substantial sum, often a days of wages. The Bahamut Familia, having accumulated wealth with relative ease through their perilous dungeon delves, had a somewhat skewed sense of monetary value, forgetting the struggle of common folk.
Vasiliki, sharing Nikolaos's pragmatic view, stepped forward.
Her presence, despite her slender frame, instantly quelled the most boisterous of the drivers. With swift, precise negotiations, her voice firm yet polite, she secured seven carts and their enthusiastic drivers, quickly splitting the familia into manageable groups.
With their transport secured, the Bahamut Familia began their journey through the late afternoon streets of Orario, their destination the Guild Headquarters.
The ride was relatively short, the drivers maintaining a brisk pace, their eagerness translated into speed, conscious of the important figures they ferried.
Upon their arrival at the Guild building, only a select few disembarked to handle the official business. Dimitra, Vasiliki, and Nikolaos, with a small retinue of members to assist with the heavy lifting, entered to sell the magic stones, monster drops, and complete the various commissions they had undertaken.
The process was never swift; verification was often needed for rare monster drops, and the sheer volume of their haul guaranteed a decent wait.
The rest of the familia remained in the taxis, much to the delight of the drivers, who were thrilled to extend their earnings for the waiting period.
They settled into a state of detached awareness, largely ignoring the constant buzz of activity and noise that perpetually surrounded them wherever they went in the city.
It was an art of filtering, a necessary skill for them who often found themselves at the center of attention.
However, if they had paid even a sliver of attentiveness, at least one of them might have picked up on the faint, excited murmurs rippling through the crowd near the Guild's entrance.
Whispers, like the rustling of dry leaves, spoke of a familiar figure, a return.
They spoke of their captain, Draco.
But the familia was too consumed by the quiet aftermath of their expedition, the lingering exhaustion, and the anticipation of returning home, to notice.
The murmur faded, unheard, into the background din.
With the guild business finally concluded, the designated members returned, their faces a mix of relief and lingering weariness.
It was time to return home.
Of course, after weeks in the dungeon, none of them possessed the strength or the will to cook an entire meal for twenty people.
So, along the way, they made a stop at a bustling street market, purchasing an assortment of delicious, ready-made street food....skewers of grilled meat, steaming buns, crispy fried vegetables, and sweet pastries.
The aroma filled the carts, a comforting scent of normalcy.
In what felt like the blink of an eye, the familiar gates of their grand estate became visible in the soft, fading light of the evening.
The mansion, a sprawling proof to the Bahamut Familia's prosperity and influence, stood majestically behind its ornate ironwork.
Paying the now utterly thrilled taxi drivers, everyone disembarked, their steps light with the promise of rest.
With a collective push, the heavy gates swung open, revealing the illuminated path leading to their sanctuary.
It was already late in the evening, and the outside magic lamps had already flicked to life, casting a warm, inviting glow.
Chloe, with her eagerness, was the first to reach the front door of the mansion.
She pushed it open, stepping into a cavernous, echoing silence, greeted only by complete darkness.
Frowning slightly, she located the light switch, illuminating the expansive entrance hall in a burst of gentle magical light.
"Bahamut-sama, we are home!" Chloe called out, her voice echoing through the silent house, expecting the familiar, booming, yet affectionate reply from their goddess.
But there was none.
"Is she not home?" Kaguya asked, entering just behind Chloe, her gaze sweeping the empty hall.
"Doesn't seem like it," Chloe replied, a hint of surprise in her tone.
It wasn't uncommon for Bahamut to be out, but usually, she left a note....or something even when they went on expeditions.
"Perhaps she went out to have some fun with some friends," Nikolaos chimed in, shrugging off his heavy pack and flexing his shoulders.
"It's been a while since we left; she probably didn't expect us back today."
"Yeah, maybe. And it's not like she knew we would be returning from the expedition today," Clair added in agreement, securing her own pack.
"We came back earlier than planned!"
Dimitra on the side, clapped her hands together lightly, drawing everyone's attention.
"Well, that doesn't matter now. Everyone should go clean up and come have dinner. We have plenty of food."
"Already on it!" Michalis declared, already heading towards the staircase, his eyes gleaming at the thought of a warm soak.
"Been dying for a proper bath."
And so, the group split up, their weariness momentarily forgotten in the anticipation of comfort. Each member headed to their respective rooms to drop off their heavy gear, grab fresh clothes, and collect their bath supplies.
The mansion boasted a large, luxurious communal bath on the first floor, split into men's and women's sections.
Everyone would eventually converge there, eager to wash away the grime and fatigue of the dungeon.
After a truly refreshing bath, the familia reconvened in the spacious dining room, the earlier silence now replaced by the cheerful clatter of cutlery and the easy flow of conversation.
They devoured their hearty meal of street food, sharing anecdotes from the deeper levels of the dungeon, the tension slowly easing from their shoulders.
Once dinner was concluded, the group split up again, each dispersing to enjoy their well-earned free time…..some to read in the sprawling library, some to spar lightly in the garden, others to simply fall into their beds, the promise of a full night's sleep a luxurious thought.
Throughout the evening, many members had observed subtle oddities in their home.
A faint, unfamiliar scent of a rich, earthy incense lingering in the air, a room that was supposed to be empty looked as though it was being used by someone, the pantry also seemed to be way much emptier than they left in it.
Small things, easily dismissed with logic.
Bahamut had been in the house for the duration of their expedition, after all.
The manor being cleaner, or small changes having been made, wasn't strange in itself.
Their goddess, sometimes surprised them with bursts of domesticity.
So, no one thought much about these minor discrepancies, until…
Dimitra and Vasiliki, both burdened by the immediate responsibilities of leadership, had gone up to the third floor.
With the expedition now successfully completed, it was imperative to write a detailed report of their findings, log their expenses, itemize their spoils, and, most importantly, begin the meticulous process of splitting their earnings.
This had been their routine, their solemn duty, ever since Draco had left Orario five years ago, a task they had vigilantly managed in his absence.
They approached Draco's office, a room that had remained largely untouched by anyone but the two of them, who would periodically dust and ensure its order.
The door swung open with a familiar creak, revealing the room within.
Both girls, with keen senses quickly froze, their expressions shifting from weariness to bewildered confusion, then to a dawning sense of alarm.
Someone had been using it.
Their eyes swept across the room.
The air held a faint, lingering scent of parchment and a distinct, tang unique to special ink.
A quill lay carelessly beside an open bottle of ink on the polished desk, a few stray droplets staining the wood.
An empty teacup, still bearing the faint imprint of a lip, sat next to a stack of newly sharpened pencils.
A map, meticulously annotated, was spread open, half-rolled, rather than neatly folded in its usual place.
Everyone in the Familia except their goddess had been on the expedition.
And it was highly, overwhelmingly unlikely that Bahamut herself had been using his office. Their goddess, magnificent and powerful as she was, utterly detested paperwork.
The mere mention of it usually sent her fleeing.
Yet, here in Draco's office, more specifically on his desk… was what looked like a half-finished grimoire, its pages filled with intricate scripts, still damp with fresh ink.
Beside it, batches of paperwork.....old guild requests, supply requisitions, and much more...…were meticulously filled out, containing things that they hadn't approved, hadn't even discussed, before embarking on their dungeon delve.
These weren't Bahamut's scribbles; they were Draco's distinctive handwriting, unmistakable and utterly familiar.
A cold shiver, unrelated to exhaustion, traced down Dimitra's spine.
Vasiliki's eyes widened, locking onto the grimoire, then the familiar hand of the paperwork.
The implications settled over them, heavy and undeniable.
This could only mean one thing.
Draco was back home...….