The slums were never truly silent. Even at night, even in the deepest alleyways, there was always something moving.
Rats. Stray dogs. People who had nowhere else to go.
But at this moment, standing alone in the filth of Hollow Streets, Dominic felt as if the world itself had stopped breathing.
His fingers tightened around the crystal.
It was small, rough at the edges like a shattered gem, yet unnaturally smooth along its surface. Light pulsed faintly from within, like a slow, steady heartbeat.
It should not have been here.
Not in the slums.
Not in the dirt.
Dominic swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward the empty street.
The cloaked men were gone. The carriage had disappeared.
His first instinct was to drop it.
This was dangerous.
Anything that came from a guarded, high-security transport wasn't meant to be touched, let alone stolen.
And yet—he didn't let go.
His hand clenched tighter, knuckles white.
Dominic had seen Essence Vein Crystals before. Not like this one—never this pure, never this strange—but the low-grade, worthless scraps that desperate men sold in the black market.
Essence vein crystal are natural energy pathways found in beneath the earth , similar to underground rivers but filled with raw condensed energy.
These veins act as conduits of mana and lifeforce, feeding the world`s ecosystem and influencing bloodline awakening.
Dominic holding the shard in his hand felt a heavy weight press on him as he thought of the black market.
The black market was one of the most dangerous places in the slums. A place where murder was just another trade deal, where stolen goods passed hands faster than coin.
It was run by mercenaries, thieves, and smugglers, the kind of men who would kill you just for looking at them the wrong way.
And yet, Dominic had been there before.
He had seen men trade crystals infused with mana, claiming they could enhance one's body for a short time. He had heard whispers of bloodline-enhancing relics, stolen from noble vaults and sold in the shadows.
But he had never touched one.
Until now.
He turned the shard over in his palm.
This could be worth something.
Enough to buy food. Enough to survive.
Maybe enough to finally get out of this rotting place.
His stomach growled. His entire body ached from days of hunger.
And then, for the first time in hours, he realized something.
The hunger wasn't as sharp anymore.
His fingers twitched.
"No, that was impossible". He was still starving—his body still weak, his limbs shaking—but the dull, agonizing ache in his stomach was… fading.
Not completely. But just enough that he noticed.
A creeping unease crawled up his spine.
"What the hell is this thing"
---
Meanwhile…
A few streets away, the carriage had stopped.
A group of cloaked figures stood in the dim light, gathered in a half-circle around their leader.
The leader was still.
Not in hesitation. Not in fear.
But in cold, calculating silence.
Something had changed.
One of the younger men, thin and nervous-looking, glanced toward the carriage. "Sir?"
The leader raised a hand, and the boy immediately shut up.
For a long moment, he simply breathed.
Then, his head tilted slightly—as if listening to something distant, something unseen.
The others shifted uneasily.
"…It's gone," he murmured.
The nervous one frowned. "What?"
The leader's gaze lowered, his fingers twitching. His voice was low, almost making one`s skin tingle.
"The relic, it`s gone ."
The group tensed.
A heavier man, broad-shouldered and scarred, stepped forward. "Are you sure?"
The leader did not answer.
He simply turned, eyes scanning the dark alley beyond.
The air was still. The city was as filthy as ever.
But something had changed.
The pulse—the faint but constant energy signature that had been trailing behind them, locked in the carriage—was missing.
His lips parted, and this time, his voice was clear, direct.
"Find it."
The others nodded, their movements quick, practiced.
No hesitation. No questions.
Because there was only one truth in their line of work.
If something is stolen you retrieve it.
And if someone has seen too much?…
You erase them.
---
Dominic was already walking.
The moment the shard had settled into his palm, something in his gut had told him to move.
Not because he knew the danger he was in.
But because, somehow, he could feel it.
Something was wrong.
The streets were empty, which wasn't unusual this late at night. But the air—the very air around him—felt thicker.
Like a presence was creeping through it.
Like something unseen was watching.
Dominic swallowed hard, shaking his head. He was being paranoid.
He had stolen before. He had run from danger before.
This was no different.
Was it?
His grip tightened around the shard. He needed to get to the black market. Fast.
Before the owners of this thing realized it was missing.
He turned into a narrow street, moving quickly.
That was when he heard it.
A faint noise, almost too soft to notice.
Footsteps.
Measured. Deliberate.
Not the stumbling gait of a drunk.
Not the hurried shuffle of a thief.
No.
This was different.
This was a hunter's pace.
Dominic's breath caught.
He didn't stop walking.
Didn't turn his head.
He forced himself forward. One step. Then another.
His pulse was hammering against his ribs now, cold sweat forming at the back of his neck.
Not yet. Not yet.
Just a little further—
Then—a second set of footsteps.
This time, from the other side.
Dominic's stomach dropped.
"It seems the guys had already noticed that the crystal had gone missing".
Dominic stopped running, cause there was no need anymore.
He had already been caught.