As the sun rose above the horizon the following day, Zeni and Neith sat down to share a modest meal of lentil stew and flatbread—leftovers from the previous night. Neither had been able to sleep through the festivities of the events and, so, had simply decided to stay up as long as they could. Which meant breakfast. Neith had prepared the meal with practiced efficiency, and the two women settled at a small wooden table in Neith's cozy kitchen.

Neith could see that Zeni's mind was still buzzing with questions about yesterday's events, so she decided to address the subject of the Rahhalah directly.

"You're curious about the Rahhalah, aren't you, Zeni?" she asked, taking a bite of her flatbread.

Like a ripcord waiting to be sprung, Zeni launched forward in her seat, slamming a hand on the table.

"Yes!” She roared in excitement, having been holding back her questions since the previous night to not seem too eager.

I may have overcorrected, she thought.

Neith chuckled.

“Well, we have some time before the day begins, so feel free to ask anything you like.”

Zeni took a breath and began.

“They seemed so powerful and capable and confident and attractive. Is that what everyone who goes into a dungeon can expect? Wait—first, can anyone really become a Rahhalah?"

"In theory, yes," Neith replied. "But whether one is successful depends on their skills, muster, and, to some extent, luck. The Rahhalah are adventurers who specialize in dungeons. Big or small, each has their proclivities."

“So… these dungeons. They’re like super special and hard to explore, right? Like the one they mentioned, that's just a few hours from here?"

"Yes, exactly," Neith confirmed. "Dungeons are scattered throughout our world. They are remnants of ancient civilizations and the work of powerful beings. They are filled with traps, monsters, and all manner of curious mysteries. Those who manage to conquer them are rewarded with unimaginable wealth and power."

Zeni leaned in, her curiosity percolating like an ignored kettle.

"Tell me more about this world, Neith. I want to know everything."

Neith smiled.

"Our world, dear Zeni, is known as Kemet-Aaru, a vast and diverse land shaped by the gods and molded by magic. The great river Hapi winds its way through the heart of our realm, giving life to the fertile lands surrounding it. This river is the lifeblood of our people, and cities have sprung up along its banks, forming a backbone of civilization amidst the vast deserts."

"Kemet-Aaru is divided into Upper and Lower realms,” she continued, “each ruled by a Pharaoh, who is considered a living god. The Upper Realm, where we are now, is a vast desert expanse dotted with more than a few lush oases and powerful city-states. The Lower Realm, to the north, is a fertile land with a great delta where the Hapi River meets the sea. Each realm has its own political landscape, with city-states and regions vying for power and resources. And one of those things they compete over is dungeons."

“Well, dang,” Zeni said. “Dungeons are that important?”

"Dungeons are an integral part of our world, Zeni. Some say they were created by the gods, and others profess it was ancient sorcerers or powerful magical beings for various purposes. Some dungeons serve as prisons for dangerous creatures, while others house relics of a bygone era. Each dungeon has unique challenges, and the rewards that await those who conquer them are as diverse as the dangers they contain."

"As for the local gossip," Neith continued with a smirk, "tensions have risen in recent years. The two Pharaohs hold an uneasy truce, but their followers often clash, and there are whispers of a great conflict on the horizon. In addition, someone calling themselves the Underpharaoh has been amassing an army of followers and sending them to scour the land for powerful relics and magical artifacts. His intentions are unclear, but his actions are certainly causing a great deal of turmoil."

“Like with the sphinxes?” She asked.

“Precisely,” Neith confirmed. “Whatever happens…I fear it will be sooner rather than later. Whatever may come to pass promises to be quite eventful…one way or another.”

Zeni tilted her head to the side.

“So why do you think I’m here? I have no clues about what brought me this way, and I’ll be damned if I know enough to make an educated guess. A magical accident, maybe? Not sure why they’d bring along ol’ Zeni to this wonderful world. I wasn’t anything exceptional back home.”

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Neith looked Zeni in the eyes, her expression serious.

"Fate has brought you here, Zeni—as it has with all who have come before you—and it's up to you to discover why. First, however, you must learn to harness your powers. Hone your skills and abilities and gain more potent varieties of might. Only then will you uncover your true purpose and, perhaps, much more."

Zeni listened intently, her mind racing with images of the incredible world Neith had described. She felt a mix of glee and anxiety as she considered the idea of becoming a Rahhalah and setting out on her own journey.

"Neith," Zeni began. "I think…I want to do this. Become a Rahhalah and find out why I was brought here. But…well, how do I start? I don’t even know enough to know what I don’t know."

Neith smiled warmly.

"First, you must train your body and mind. That is primary. Fortunately, you could not have arrived in a better place.”

“Oh yeah?” Zeni asked. “Why’s that?”

“Because, dear girl,” Neith said matter-of-factly. “I am here. I will teach you the basics of how this world works and some of our histories. But I am not an expert in all things. Others here can set you on the right path. Unfortunately, your class is one I am, as yet, still mostly unfamiliar with. But, there are those in Kephri’s Rest that can assist. There is much to learn if you wish to become a Rahhalah—and a lot of hard work and effort.”

Zeni felt herself blanching at those last few words.

Boy, this would be so much easier with a training montage, she thought.

“Based on what you have told me of your class so far, you will need to become stronger with your invocations. I can help you grasp the fundamentals, but there is much you’ll be required to do on your own if you’d like a chance at delving into the dungeon anytime soon. Which is your choice to do, but it is the choice if you wish to continue on the path of the Rahhalah. You will also need to learn the language of the gods, the ancient script known as Heka, which will allow you to read magical texts and cast more powerful invocations."

Zeni nodded, her resolve growing stronger. "I'm ready to learn, Neith. I want to be strong enough to face whatever challenges await me."

"In time, Zeni, you will need to find allies, for the path of a Rahhalah is often dangerous and treacherous. You may encounter other adventurers who share your goals, or you may befriend powerful creatures and spirits who will aid you in your journey.

"Remember," Neith added, "that the gods of Kemet-Aaru are ever-present in our world. They can be fickle and capricious, but they also have the power to bless or curse those who invoke their names. Learning to navigate their whims and gain their favor will be a crucial skill for you as a Rahhalah."

As the morning meandered on like a particularly leisurely river, Neith regaled her single audience member with tales of legendary Rahhalah and their exploits that were, if not entirely true, at least exceedingly entertaining.

There was the saga of Fadila the Fearless, who, armed with only a rusty spoon and an abundance of courage, had vanquished the dreaded Three-Headed Violence in a battle that had raged for three days and three nights, pausing only for tea breaks and the occasional nap.

Then there was the yarn of Rashid the Resourceful, who had navigated the infamous Labyrinth of Despair using nothing but a ball of string and a keen sense of direction – although, as Neith admitted, he'd had a bit of a tough time explaining to his leopard-headed companion why he'd borrowed its prized ball of yarn without asking.

And who could forget the daring tale of Laila the Lucky, who had braved the Cold Quiet's treacherous depths and returned unblemished and remarkably unscathed, despite a series of catastrophes that would have spelled doom for lesser adventurers?

For instance, when Laila, faced with a rickety rope bridge suspended precariously over a seemingly bottomless chasm, had simply taken a deep breath, closed her eyes, and skipped merrily across – arriving safely on the other side just as the bridge disintegrated into a shower of splinters and frayed rope.

Or when confronted by a ferocious fire-breathing salamander, she’d fumbled in her pack for a weapon, only to pull out a feather duster. This, it turned out, was precisely the right move, as the salamander was allergic to dust and sneezed itself off a cliff and into the void beneath.

As the tales flowed like a fine wine – or, more accurately, like a somewhat dodgy but undeniably potent homebrew – Zeni found herself captivated by the adventures of these legendary Rahhalah. Each story was just the right amount of absurdity woven together with heroism in a way that made her heart swell with longing for a life of excitement and danger.

By the end, she was sure that all of it was simply told to her to make her laugh, but she’d enjoyed it all the same.

In the coming weeks, Zeni knew she would be immersing herself in her training, learning the ways of the future Rahhalah and the histories and secrets of Kemet-Aaru. She’d need to practice her combat skills and invocations, study ancient texts, and learn the art of harnessing magic. She was excited at the prospect, and when tiredness finally overtook her in the light of the early morning, her head finally hit the soft pillow on her borrowed mattress in Neith’s small secondary room in the quaint village at the edge of a desert in this surprising new reality…she smiled to herself.

She couldn’t wait. However, her thoughts, as thoughts often do before slumber, wandered to her previous life.

She had been alone in the big city, a tiny figure dwarfed by the towering skyscrapers that reached towards the heavens, their steel and glass facades reflecting the ever-changing kaleidoscope of the urban jungle. The city was a pulsing, thrumming entity, a living, breathing love letter to promise. It had been a place of endless possibility, where dreams and aspirations collided and intermingled with the gritty reality of life's struggles.

And yet, amid the teeming millions that called the metropolis home, Zeni had found herself adrift and disconnected, an island of loneliness in a sea of humanity. She had arrived in the city, far from her hometown, after her parents…well, there had been an accident—one that had torn her small family apart. The sudden, devastating loss had left her reeling, and the city had beckoned with the promise of a fresh start and an escape from the grief that haunted her like a phantom.

But the city's very vastness, the sheer magnitude of its hustle and bustle, had only served to amplify her isolation. Her days had been filled with the emptiness of a thousand identical faces, a blur of people who came and went like wisps of a dream. So young, even if she hadn’t felt young at that time, the transition from the warmth of her family and the familiarity of her hometown to the cold, impersonal embrace of the metropolis had been a jarring, disorienting experience.

As she walked its streets, the city seemed to whisper a secret language that she couldn't quite decipher, a code that tantalizingly eluded her grasp. The neon signs and the laughter of strangers echoed in the night; sounds and lights that spoke of connection and belonging that always seemed just beyond her reach.

Now, in this new world, Zeni found herself strangely comforted by the distance that separated her from the city she had tried to call home. She was a stranger in a strange land, embarking on a fresh journey. One of change and transformation. The loneliness that had once been her constant companion was now tinged with a sense of purpose, a determination to carve her own path and write her own story.

This world offered her something that her previous one didn’t: a chance to become something great. So far, despite the chaos that had erupted the day before, the people were friendly, and the experiences and potential for wonder were mighty. Not only did this new world give her a chance to do more, but it was also a place that, for the first time in a very long time, made her think that it just might be one where she could belong. This thought comforted her as she drifted off.

However, just before sleep took her entirely, in the bleary, half-remembered twilight mindset of those soon to fade into dreams, she heard a voice. It was the same voice she’d heard just before she arrived, and it was saying the same thing.

Only this time, it was joined by another.

“The dungeon, child. Find it. End it. Consume it. Whatever must be done. There is nothing to be gained from allowing their unfettered growth. Destroy its very nature and stopper its strength. It shall not be allowed to fester in the earth and manifest its dark designs.”