After a quick shower, Elion made his way to the janitor's office. An old, bald man with a friendly face sat behind the desk, looking far too cheerful for someone surrounded by annoyed teens. Several other newly Unlocked were already there, arms crossed, expressions sour.
The janitor—who introduced himself as Tom—explained their duties with a little too much enthusiasm. It was clear he was thrilled to have a group of recruits doing his job for him.
Elion was assigned to clean the bathrooms.
This is not what I imagined when I became an Unlocked…
He sighed, dragging his mop across the grimy floor of the women's restroom, his expression twisted in irritation.
Suddenly, Eshrod walked in.
She blinked at him, stifled a laugh, then gave a sarcastic thumbs-up while motioning to a corner he'd missed.
I might need to kill her…
The mandatory hour crawled by slower than he thought possible. Elion promised himself he'd never end up in cleaning duty again.
Afterward, he returned to his dorm and spent the next three hours reading through the manual he'd been given.
It covered survival in the Depths of Entropy: how to make fire, where to find safe food and water, how to hunt creatures of the wilds, and how to properly prepare their meat for consumption. There were also maps—huge sections dedicated to the shifting labyrinths of the Depths, compiled by the Wind family from Night.
The Wind family had inherited the divine affinity of Guidance and Direction, and while little was publicly known about them, they were vital to Nexus. Without them, finding the Second and Third Fingers would be nearly impossible.
The maps weren't perfect—the Depths constantly shifted—but they offered a framework. Elion memorized everything he could, committing each contour and landmark to memory.
The next chapter focused on Dwellers of the Depths—intelligent, humanoid creatures that had formed their own civilizations beyond Nexus territory. They were classified as highly dangerous and hostile. Avoid on sight.
The final section covered combat basics: stances, katas, and battle theory. It was developed by the Uru family—a jack-of-all-trades combat style meant to be easy to learn and effective against Depth creatures. Balanced, practical, but not particularly impressive against human opponents.
When he finally closed the thick manual, Elion slumped back onto his bed with a groan. He ran a hand through his dark hair, then stood and stretched, making his way toward the communal kitchen.
Truthfully, he was a little excited.
He was curious to see if Farha had managed to procure the ingredients he'd requested. It wasn't anything exotic, but this was Goreth… you could never be sure.
Sure enough, when he entered the small kitchen, Farha was already there, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. The countertop was completely packed with bags of meat and vegetables.
Elion stared, overwhelmed.
"Were you planning to feed an army?!" he asked, horrified.
Farha pulled out her usual slip of paper and scribbled a word before flashing it to him:
Reserve.
"Huh…" Elion muttered, not sure if he was impressed or concerned.
Without another word, he got to work. As soon as the cooking began, Eshrod strolled through the doorway as if drawn in by the scent.
"Hey! Isn't that Eli the toilet scrubber?" she said with a mischievous grin.
"You do realize I'm holding a knife right now, right?" Elion said, tightening his grip and flashing her a wild-eyed glare. "I'd tread carefully, wouldn't want anything happening to you…"
"Oooh, scary." She laughed. "With your amazing performance in physical training, I could probably beat you with my arms tied."
No. Don't engage. Do not feed the chaos gremlin.
Elion took a deep breath and focused on the sizzling meat. The savory aroma quickly filled the room.
Farha watched the exchange with an amused glint in her eye.
They ate together, talked a little, then went their separate ways for the night.
And so, that routine continued for the next month and a half.
In his free time, Elion poured himself into studying Terask, working to translate the glyphs inscribed on his forearm. Progress was slow, but he made small breakthroughs.
One day, he realized the word "Rotten" might also mean "Unraveling."
That discovery changed everything.
The name given to him by the Voice of God could either mean "Rotten Sun" or "Unraveling Light."
The latter made far more sense.
A light that unravels. One who tears apart the hidden truths of the world. A seeker of lost knowledge.
It also sounded a lot less evil than "Rotten Sun," which was a nice bonus.
The Great Unraveling Light… has a good ring to it.
He also had to feed the chaos gremlin and the mute demon every day—which turned out to be more of a chore than he'd expected.
Eshrod, of course, was no surprise.
But Farha…
Elion had initially assumed she was shy. He couldn't have been more wrong.
At least he hadn't ended up back on cleaning duty. Just imagining the look of satisfaction Eshrod would've worn watching him scrub toilets again was enough to make him shiver.
Now he lay sprawled on his bed, staring at the mark on his forearm. A thin line of text shimmered faintly:
[Soul Integrity: 78%]
Using his ability frequently to study and refine it came at a cost. But to Elion, it was necessary. Being able to read the weaknesses of an enemy in real time was an undeniable advantage—one he had to hone to perfection if he wanted to survive the Depths.
He sighed, pushed himself off the mattress, and made his way toward the kitchen… ready to face whatever fresh torment awaited.
He walked slowly through the busy halls, eyes flicking from corner to corner. He looked like a paranoid lunatic—and that was fair. He probably was being followed.
The communal kitchen door creaked open. Everything was too quiet.
Suspicious…
Elion narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing every inch of the room. Nothing seemed out of place. The lighting, the furniture, the smell—everything looked normal.
He stepped forward cautiously. There—a faint shift in the air, subtle, but he'd grown more aware lately. Eshrod's lessons were paying off.
Speak of the devil…
A fist came flying at his face like a cannonball.
He ducked, already expecting something of the sort. Before he could recover, a second attack came—a high kick from behind, aimed squarely at his ribs. He threw himself forward, rolling across the floor and out of range.
Spinning on his heel, he found the culprits.
Eshrod stood by the door, retracting her punch, while Farha lowered her leg from the follow-up kick.
"Hey, Eli," Eshrod said sweetly. "You didn't cheat with your ability this time, right?"
Elion relaxed slightly, brushing dust from his pants.
"No," he muttered. "You're both just extremely predictable."
Eshrod's grin widened. She looked absolutely terrifying.
Elion's expression shifted from cautious amusement to outright alarm. He'd been tracking both of them—but he'd missed something. Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded in his stomach. He doubled over with a groan, dropping to his knees.
What the hell?!
He glanced around wildly. No one else was in the room. Farha was still standing across from him, too far away to have landed the hit… yet her hand was just barely retracting from a punch.
Was it speed? No, for a newly Unlocked, this kind of feat is impossible, even for her… unless it was part of her ability…
"Got you!" Eshrod chirped, looking far too pleased with herself.
This had become a regular occurrence. The gremlin had dubbed it "awareness training." According to her, there were no safe zones. Elion had been attacked in hallways, dorms, even while brushing his teeth. Farha had joined in a few days ago, and—much to his dismay—seemed to enjoy it far too much.
They'd even been punished for causing a commotion during one of their surprise assaults after training. Not that it stopped them.
At first, Elion thought it was all just an elaborate excuse for Eshrod to beat him up. And maybe it was. But he couldn't argue with the results…
He'd become sharper. Quicker to react. More grounded in the present. He was even starting to develop something like a sixth sense in combat.
Still, he winced as he stood, rubbing the fresh bruise forming on his ribs.
Another addition to his ever-growing collection. His skin starting to look less pale and more sickly blue and purple.
"That's not fair!" Elion groaned. "You don't let me use my ability, but Farha's clearly using hers."
Eshrod crossed her arms, exhaling sharply.
"The world isn't fair. And neither are abilities. There'll come a day when you'll need to fight without yours—against someone who doesn't have those limitations."
Yeah right. She just needed more power to hit me since I was starting to avoid most of the ambushes.
He didn't bother arguing. Even if he made sense, she'd never admit it. Instead, he turned to his refuge: cooking.
He began preparing dinner—one of the few moments in his day where he wasn't under constant threat of ambush. That, and bathroom time… though he wasn't putting that theory to the test.
Tonight, it was spicy curry. The aroma quickly filled the kitchen, warm and rich. As he stirred the pot, the tension in his body started to fade.
Soon enough, the three of them sat around the tiny table in the kitchen, eating quietly. Despite everything—the bruises, the sneak attacks, Eshrod being Eshrod… the food made it bearable.