[EARLIER THAT DAY]
Kael wiped the sweat from his brow and pushed open the rusted tavern door. The scent of stale ale and burnt stew smacked him in the face like a welcome-home slap.
"Back from another solo run, Kael?" barkeep Jorren asked without looking up.
"Yep. Killed a rabbit."
Kael tossed a small pouch of monster hide onto the counter. It landed with a pathetic thud.
Jorren snorted. "That'll buy you half a drink and a full insult."
Kael smirked. "Then keep the drink. I'll savor the insult."
A few of the usuals chuckled. Most didn't. To them, Kael was a ghost—an adventurer who somehow hadn't died yet, despite being stuck at Rank E for years. A footnote in the annals of mediocrity.
But they didn't see what he saw.
They didn't hear the voice.
You've got something in you, boy.
Kael blinked, the tavern fading away for a moment.
Master Varic's voice echoed in his mind—a grizzled mentor from his early training days at the southern guild hall.
Something sleeping. Dangerous. Not yet ready.
Kael had laughed at the time, thinking it was just the old man's way of keeping him hopeful.
"I'm heading out again tomorrow," Kael said, snapping back to the present. "Level 1 dungeon north of the ridge."
Jorren paused, mug in hand. "Alone?"
Kael nodded.
The barkeep grunted. "I heard slimes've been acting weird. Melting steel. Don't get cocky."
"I'm Rank E. Cocky's not really in my kit."
Outside, the evening air bit against his skin. Kael pulled his cloak tighter and walked down the cracked stone path toward the adventurer's quarter.
The guild tower loomed ahead—tall, chipped, and barely lit. A banner fluttered at the top, its gold emblem faded with time:
"From Ash, Rise."
He stopped to watch it for a moment.
From ash… huh? Guess I'm halfway there.
Inside the dormitory, a familiar voice called out.
"Oi, Kael! Back from killing goblin shadows?"
Kael turned to see Taren, a cocky, sharp-eyed spear user with a tongue sharper than his blade. And beside him, Lyra—the only healer who ever bothered to talk to Kael.
"Hey," Kael said with a nod.
"You really going to the Ridge tomorrow?" Lyra asked, eyes narrowing. "That place is cursed."
"Cursed with weak mobs and low-tier loot? Sounds like my level."
Taren scoffed. "We're hitting a Level 3 ruins raid. You could… come."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "You inviting me, or just need someone to trigger the traps?"
Lyra winced. Taren laughed. "If the boot fits."
Kael smiled, but his chest tightened.
They didn't hate him… but they didn't see him either. Not really.
Later that night, Kael lay on his cot, staring at the wooden beams overhead.
Another run. Another shot at climbing the ranks. Or at least not dying like a joke.
A flicker of light danced in the corner of his vision.
[DAILY QUEST AVAILABLE]
Complete a solo dungeon run
Reward: +1 Stat Point, Minor Mana Crystal (Untradeable)
Time Remaining: 14:03:51
He accepted it without hesitation.
In the silence of the dorm, Kael pulled out a worn, folded parchment—an old letter from Master Varic.
"One day, you'll understand why you were born Rank E."
"It wasn't a curse, Kael. It was a lock. And you—"
"You were meant to forge the key."
Kael stared at the words, the handwriting beginning to smudge from time and wear.
Maybe tomorrow's the day.
He turned over and closed his eyes.
Outside, storm clouds brewed over the ridge.
And deep within the dungeon Kael planned to enter… something pulsed.
Waiting.
Watching.