Kael moved through the dungeon shadows with quiet purpose.
The steady thud of his boots against cracked stone echoing softly. The beasts he faced were B-rank—the middle class In terms of strength.
The crawl through these dark halls had become his ritual, grinding and pushing for the past few days.
Every swipe of his blade, every calculated dodge, was a step toward something he wasn't yet ready to name.
Why was he still farming B-rank dungeons when his skills could easily match or outpace many A-rank challenges?
That question floated behind his eyes, unspoken but nagging.
The answer was tangled up in the ghosts of his past—the memories of the two friends who had fought by his side, who had only ever dared to grind B-rank dungeons.
Kael wanted to chase the feeling he'd had back then, that raw excitement, the sense of shared purpose.
But it was more than just nostalgia.
There was a weight beneath it, something deeper.
The B+ rank, sitting quietly above B, was a significant leap from standard B.
It was a threshold few crossed, a steep climb from the bottom stair to the halfway landing of a long staircase.
The name itself was whispered rarely because few reached it.
Kael understood, without needing to be told, that grinding through one B+ dungeon would take longer, demand more patience, than completing five B ranks, and at that specific moment, he'd need Lunara by his side to conquer a A rank dungeon.
He wasn't a genius, not by any measure. His IQ was average, but common sense?
He had more than enough to know how to play this game.
Smart enough to realize the long game.
Three days had passed since that crushing loss—the memory still fresh in his mind but buried beneath muscle ache and sweat.
In those days, Kael had nearly doubled his level, pushing past sixty, smashing through walls he'd thought were immovable.
Each victory was a small spark of hope, a quiet celebration in his chest. Normally, he'd share that with Lunara—her laugh, the way she'd toss a grin his way when he hit a new milestone. But now, the silence between them weighed heavy.
Because once again, it was his fault.
By the fifth day, the dungeons weren't just challenges anymore—they were familiar, almost easy.
Kael moved through them with efficiency born from countless battles. He crushed over thirty B-rank dungeons that day alone, breaking past his own expectations again and again.
But the thrill was hollow.
The memories were relentless. The same loop of thought that had gnawed at him before returned with a sharper edge.
We lost. Just like before.
No matter how hard I try, it's never enough.
That kid—Hasen—he's everything I'm not.
Younger, stronger, faster. A true prodigy.
But me?
I'm nothing but a shadow fading behind their light.
The echo of those thoughts settled like a weight in his chest, thick and unyielding.
When Kael finally stepped out of the dungeon into the waning light of evening, his limbs screamed with exhaustion.
But his mind was elsewhere—chasing something intangible.
The bustling market called out to him with its chaotic energy and scattered promises of power.
He knew every alley, every stall, every hidden corner where one could find the rarest treasures.
Descending a narrow stairwell, Kael slipped into a maze of underground tunnels—the underbelly where the poorest lived and secrets thrived.
The black market.
Well that's a bit inaccurate, it's not "THE" black market, because there were many, tucked away like whispered rumors and forbidden knowledge.
Only a few knew the way here—some by invitation, others by desperate chance.
Kael had known of this place for a long time. He'd sworn never to step foot in it.
Until now.
His thoughts churned, dark and tangled. There were only two things on his mind.
I need to get stronger.
And
I need better loot.
A strength complex had taken root in him, one born not just of the loss to Hasen but of a deeper, creeping inadequacy.
It touched places in Kael he hadn't even realized existed, pulling him into shadows he had avoided.
It was a mix of desperation and hunger, and it unlocked a part of him he barely recognized.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, something caught his gaze. Or rather, something called to him.
A disguise.
He had always admired the heroes from the stories he loved—their capes, their masks, their symbols of identity and power.
Kael wanted one too, something to hide behind.
Something to remind him he wasn't just the broken kid left behind for failure.
The stall was run by a short, elderly woman rocking slowly in her chair.
She looked up and fixed him with a steady gaze, unblinking and sharp.
Her eyes were tired but kind, as if she saw too much but said nothing.
The table was a scattered mess—items thrown without care, like laundry spilled onto a surface.
Kael hesitated but began sifting through the odd assortment, his fingers brushing over cloth and metal, feeling the weight of each piece.
Then, there it was.
A mask. Not ordinary by any stretch.
It's shape and structure was the same as a kitten.
It seemed swallowed by shadows, wreathed in a thick, dark haze.
But beneath the darkness, he glimpsed its true color—deep red, burning softly like a hidden ember.
He pulled it out of the shadows and then slid it back in, multiple times over.
His eyes brightened up.
"This mask... everytime I pull it out of the shadow it's red,and when I slide it back in the shadow it's black."
But the thing was, the shadow itself wasn't dark enough to cause that big of a difference in shading, the mask itself was imbued with something to make that effect happening.
His heart began to race at the discovery, then his hands fell onto the clothing near it, one of his fingertips touching something—
A cloak.
Kael's hand hovered over the fabric, then slid across it.
It wasn't just any cloth. Though he lacked heightened senses,But the touch sent a thrill coursing through him—a rush, a spark he hadn't felt in what seemed like forever.
It was like a healer's touch that kept renewing, washing over him in pulses.
He grasped the cloak, noting its peculiar shape—dark, with two cat-like ears perched at the top, twisted more like horns than anything natural.
He however, didn't know right then what the cloak truly was: A cloak of adrenaline.
Designed to flood its wearer with a burst of energy, a near-constant state of heightened alertness and vigor.
It's drawbacks however would leave a cut, deep enough to leave a permanent scar.
He handed the items to the woman, who regarded him with something between sympathy and silent understanding.
The dark circles under his eyes and the hollow look in them spoke volumes.
No words passed between them.
No comfort was offered, only an exchange. Five silver coins, a steal for what he took.
Outside, the cloak felt strange, warm against his skin on the inside, a quiet fire coiling beneath the surface. The mask, once bright red, was now almost swallowed by the cloak's shadow, dyed black by its embrace.
He pulled the cloak tighter around his shoulders, the fabric heavy yet comforting.
Bandages wrapped tightly around his arms and torso from days of grueling dungeon runs peeked out beneath the folds.
Without realizing it, Kael had taken on the look of something far from innocent.
The shadows cloaked him like a shroud, the mask radiating an eerie, almost unknowable energy.
The bandages, the darkness, the cold stillness in his eyes—it all combined into a silhouette that felt more like a warning than what he actually wanted to be.
A hero.
And yet inside, the boy beneath it all was still there.
A boy fighting a battle no one else could see.