Orm and Readiness

With the orientation over, I exited the Diver Guild building, my mind still replaying Garen's fiery words. I had no intention of breaking any rules, but the weight of what lay ahead settled in my chest.

Shaking off the lingering unease, I headed straight for the Market District to pick up my gear. The streets bustled with activity as vendors called out their wares, the smell of grilled meat and spices wafting through the air.

After weaving through the crowd, I finally arrived at my destination: the old smith's shop, Bear Paw. The wooden sign hanging above the door creaked as the wind moved it slightly. The shop looked as rugged as its name, with soot-stained windows and a sturdy door.

The door was closed, so I knocked. A gruff voice called out, "Come on in, lad."

Pushing the door open, I was greeted by the warm glow of a forge and the familiar scent of iron and leather. Orm, the old smith, was standing behind a heavy wooden table, where a newly polished set of gear was laid out.

The leather chest piece, cuisses, and shin guards looked brand new, repaired and polished to perfection. The leather boots had been resized to fit me better, and the vambrace—which was already in good condition—had been recolored to match the rest of the armor. The entire set was now a sleek black with faint red accents, making it look like it was custom-made for me.

As I stood there staring at the gear, a grin stretched across my face. I couldn't help it—it looked amazing.

Orm chuckled, breaking my trance. "Hey kid, close your mouth. You're drooling."

Snapping out of it, I quickly replied, "No, I'm not!" though my defensive tone only made him laugh harder.

"Alright, alright," he said, waving a hand. "Pack it up and get going. I need to sleep—I was up all night refitting this set for you."

A pang of guilt hit me. He'd done all this for free, despite me not being able to pay. While I carefully packed the armor into a bundle, I glanced at him. "Sir, I just realized I don't even know your name. You've done all this for me, and I haven't properly thanked you."

The old smith looked up from his forge, his expression softening for a moment.

"My name is Kael," I continued, standing straight. "And I swear, when I become a successful diver, I'll repay you for this. I promise."

He let out a deep laugh, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it too much, kid. Just come back here for repairs, and I'll give you a discount. How about that?"

Before I could respond, he turned back to his forge, already busy with whatever project was next. As I reached for the door, his voice stopped me.

"Name's Orm," he said without turning around.

I smiled to myself, adjusting the bundle in my arms. "Thanks, old man Orm. I'll see you again."

With that, I stepped out of the shop and made my way home, feeling a bit lighter despite the challenges ahead.

Kael made a final stop before heading home, slipping into a potion shop tucked in a quiet corner of the market district. The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, the smell of herbs and magic potions filling the air. He walked up to the counter, where a woman with glasses perched on her nose was organizing various bottles.

"I'll take 5 vials of healing potions and 5 vials of stamina potions," Kael said, his voice firm. Each vial was small, about the size of an adult's finger, the liquid inside a deep, vibrant color—red for healing, green for stamina. The shopkeeper nodded and retrieved the potions, placing them in a small specialized pouch that could hold up to 20 vials. Kael paid for the items, grateful for the extra protection.

With potions secured, he made his way home, his mind focused on what was to come.

Once inside, he went straight to his room, dropping his purchases on the bed. He laid out the five axes, the leather armor set, and the left arm guard that Abigail had gifted him. The potion pouch was carefully placed beside them. His gaze lingered on the book from the library, the one he had tucked away in his drawer for later use.

Kael took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. "I am ready."

The next morning, before the sun had even begun to rise, Kael was up, moving quietly through the house. He washed up quickly and grabbed a piece of bread for breakfast, eating alone in the silence of the early hours.

When he entered his room, he stood for a moment, staring at his gear spread out before him. The weight of it all settled on his shoulders as he picked up each piece, one by one. The leather armor felt different than before, now that it was all put together. The left arm guard fit perfectly, and though it felt a little off at first, Kael was surprised at how balanced everything seemed when he curled his arm up to shield his body. It was like the weight had been evenly distributed, making the gear feel almost natural.

After donning everything—armor, guard, and strapping the axes and potion pouch onto his belt—he stepped in front of the mirror.

His reflection showed a young diver, not fully grown but determined. He studied himself for a moment, making sure everything was in place. Then, he picked up one of the single-edge axes, swinging it through the air. The motion felt fluid, and Kael adjusted into his combat stance, curling his left arm to cover his upper body.

It felt right.

With a final glance at his gear, Kael placed the axe back in its holster, left the room, and went to meet his parents outside. His younger siblings were still asleep, their little bodies curled up in bed.

His father gave him a nod, acknowledging his readiness.

His mother, on the other hand, looked at him for a moment before speaking softly, "Good luck."

Kael nodded back, determination in his eyes. "I'll make it through."

With that, he set out for the Dungeon Diver Guild, ready to face whatever the dungeons would throw at him.

I made my way to the city center, where the three dungeons towered like giants over everything else, their massive forms impossible to ignore. They weren't just structures—they felt alive, radiating a constant energy that prickled the skin. Their shadows stretched across the streets, a reminder of both danger and opportunity.

As I got closer, the usual city noise faded. The laughter of children and the calls of merchants were replaced by the murmur of divers. The air here was heavy with tension and excitement, like standing on the edge of a storm. Divers of every rank and background moved purposefully, their armor clinking and their weapons gleaming in the pale morning light. Vendors lined the streets, hawking last-minute essentials. A woman waved brightly colored potions in the air, shouting about their superior quality. Another stall displayed an array of charms and trinkets, each promising to ward off curses or bad luck.

The first dungeon I passed was the Red Underworld Dungeon, and I felt its weight even before I saw it. The entrance was heavily fortified, guards standing shoulder to shoulder in gleaming armor. Their gazes were sharp, their weapons ready. A faint, ominous red glow radiated from the arched doorway behind them, and chains crisscrossed the outer gates as if to seal something monstrous inside. Even standing a good distance away, I could feel the dungeon's presence—a suffocating, almost predatory aura. A few people lingered nearby, whispering in hushed tones, but none of them looked brave—or stupid—enough to try their luck. I shuddered and quickly looked away.

The Green Open Plane Dungeon was different. Its entrance was marked by an archway of glowing, vine-like runes that twisted together in an almost inviting pattern. Groups of divers passed through in clusters, laughing nervously or exchanging last-minute instructions. One group huddled together, their leader speaking quietly but firmly, "Stick close. If you get separated, it's your funeral." Others carried rolled-up maps, talking about terrain changes and strategies. The soloists, though fewer, caught my eye. They were quiet, their faces set with determination, their weapons and armor worn but reliable. I wondered briefly if I'd end up like one of them—alone, relying only on myself.

Finally, I reached the Black Labyrinth Dungeon, my destination. Its entrance was a massive set of dark stone doors carved with intricate, swirling patterns. The designs seemed to shift subtly as I stared, as if the dungeon itself was alive. The crowd here was the largest, a mix of groups and soloists like me.