A man stood atop the rooftop of a reinforced training facility, breath pluming in the winter air. The rooftop gym was built on top of the Dalmoth Institute, the largest hybrid military-academic research complex in the northern city of Atrix. His lean, powerful build was unmistakable — a veteran's physique honed by real combat. He was shirtless despite the chill, the intricate scars on his torso mapping out stories of wars fought and survived.
The cold bit into his skin, but he welcomed the sting — a reminder he was alive, a contrast to the sterile halls below. The rising sun spilled light across the city's jagged skyline, casting long shadows that stretched toward the distant Pit. He let his gaze linger there, past the upper spires of Atrix, where smoke and steam clung to crumbling towers and distant fires flickered at the edges of the known world.
"Captain Roger Arlin!" a voice barked from the comms clipped to his wrist. The crackle carried with a harsh urgency.
Roger exhaled, wiped sweat from his brow despite the chill, and tapped the receiver.
"I'm here."
"You've been reactivated. Meet at lower lift 07. Director's orders."
"Understood."
He pulled on his weathered jacket and took one last look at the rising sun, steel in his eyes. The Pit was calling, and this time, it wasn't just another expedition. Something deeper waited below.
---
Across the city, in the crowded marketplace of Atrix's old district, a girl moved like mist between the stalls. She was graceful, but with an edge — a sleek, dangerous fluidity to her steps that made people instinctively give her space. Her eyes were gray like slate, sharp and observant beneath dark brows. Her hair was braided tight against her head, a practical style for one who never stayed in one place for long.
She wore light travel leathers over a bodysuit of reactive silk, one of the few luxuries she allowed herself. The fabric shifted with her movement, dark and matte, designed to blend into shadows.
A vendor tried to stop her. "Hey! You gonna pay for th—"
Before he could finish, she was gone, vanishing down a narrow alley, barely disturbing the steam that hissed from underground vents.
She emerged in a quiet street and tapped a neural patch behind her ear.
"Aria. You've been called. Floor access granted."
"Finally," she muttered, her voice low and without a smile.
She melted into the city's veins, heading for the heart of the Pit — where answers waited beneath layers of stone, silence, and secrets.
---
Somewhere near the edge of the inner city, in a repurposed monastic library turned tech-hub, a young boy hunched over a glowing schematic. His dark hair was tousled, glasses slightly crooked on a freckled nose. Books surrounded him — cultivation theory, multidimensional geometry, and ancient magical history. A projector displayed a complex runic array he was carefully recreating by hand.
"Kai!" someone shouted from below. "You have another summons! High clearance!"
He blinked, startled, knocking over a small stack of notebooks.
"I already submitted my scholarship extension!" he called back, anxiety rising in his voice.
"Not that kind of summons! It's from them."
His heart thundered in his chest. "I—I wasn't supposed to be called yet."
He scrambled to pack his notes, his fingers trembling. The Pit was calling him, pulling him deeper than he ever expected.
---
Beneath the Dalmoth Institute, hidden from the common world, was a room without doors, windows, or visible light sources. The walls were smooth obsidian, swallowing sound and light.
In the center sat a boy who looked no older than eight, yet the air around him thrummed with latent force.
His white hair floated softly in an unseen current. Runes shimmered and spun in the air around his dark blue robes, which shifted like smoke on water. His amber eyes, flecked with gold and silver, glowed faintly as he manipulated a complex diagram hovering in the air.
A voice spoke through a disembodied intercom. "You are no longer cleared for access, Director."
The boy didn't look up. "Then clear me again."
Static.
Then: "Override confirmed. Your team awaits."
The boy — the Director — stood. The runes scattered. He stepped into the black and was gone.
---
Back on the rooftop, Roger tightened the straps on his gear, muscles coiled and ready. His mind ran through the possibilities — the dangers lurking beneath, the unknown waiting in the Pit's endless depths.
Years of missions had taught him one thing: the Pit changed everyone it touched. It stripped away certainty, peeled back layers of sanity. But it also held secrets that could reshape the world.
He breathed deeply, feeling the weight of the scars beneath his jacket — reminders of battles won and lost, of comrades left behind.
His comm crackled again. "Lift 07 ready. Move out."
Roger cast one last glance toward the horizon, where the Pit yawned like a wound in the earth, dark and endless.
Then he stepped forward, toward the descent.