"Welcome to GRIME ZONE H"
Mika grinned,
Graffiti painted nearly every inch of the massive space, not as acts of vandalism, but as declarations of identity. Neon lights danced off walls, bouncing through the tunnels and illuminating makeshift buildings constructed from salvaged materials—metal scraps, concrete slabs, glowing signs. The place felt alive with a kind of chaos that was structured only by its own law. It was an underground city breathing in defiance.
"This... This is where you live?" Rael asked, breath catching in his throat.
"Welcome to the Pit," Mika said with a smirk, hands casually tucked into her jacket pockets.
Ris nodded. "It's the central base of the Harbringers. Every branch leads back here. This is where the rot of the world festers... and where it's fought back."
Rael's eyes darted around, heart pounding not with fear, but fascination. The place felt wrong, but beautifully so. As if it was meant to be hidden from the rest of the world.
People walked past, all ages, all bearing signs of combat scars, cybernetic implants, tattoos. Their clothing varied from heavy armor to patched hoodies, but all of them had one thing in common.
The H.
Whether on a necklace, a jacket sleeve, a skateboard, or the side of a weapon every Harbringer bore the mark. But it wasn't just the symbol Rael noticed. The colors were different.
Orange, Red, Black.
Each person had a version of the H, but stylized differently. Some with jagged edges, others sleek. The color told a story Rael hadn't yet learned.
Then came the whispers.
"That's him, right?"
"The Eidolon..."
"Looks too soft to be real."
"Is he limping? Does he always stand like that?"
Rael flinched. It was like glass had shattered around him his awe replaced by self-consciousness. His posture shifted slightly, but he couldn't escape their gazes.
Do I really look weak? he thought.
Mika chuckled, walking ahead. "Ignore 'em. They talk about anyone new. Especially an Eidolon. They're just pissed they're not special."
The three of them entered a tall metal elevator, its grated floor revealing glimpses of levels below. As it began to descend, Rael pressed his hand against the glass, gazing at the sprawling chaos beneath. He hadn't just entered a base he'd stepped into an entire subculture, a living organism of rebellion.
He turned toward Mika and Ris. "The H… what does it mean? The color, the style? You both have black ones."
Mika flicked her earring, where the H hung in a sleek onyx. "It's a rank system. Doesn't matter what kind of Harbringer you are Myre user, tech-specialist, close-range fighter we all wear it. But the color? That's respect."
Ris lifted his wrist, revealing a bracelet etched with a matte black H. "Orange is the lowest. Red is mid-rank. Black means top-tier. People who survived missions most wouldn't dare to attempt."
"They wear the H on whatever fits their style," Mika added. "Necklaces, tattoos, boards, even weapons. It's identity. It's pride."
She turned, eyeing Rael. "You? You'll wear orange. You're an Eidolon, sure. But you're weak. So far."
The elevator stopped with a dull clang.
They stepped into a new floor that buzzed with energy. Training screams echoed. Dull thuds of combat boots on metal, the sharp clang of weapons, and the electric hiss of Myre-based powers.
"This is where you'll be trained," Ris said. "You'll sleep, eat, bleed, and learn here until you're ready."
Rael's eyes widened.
Rows of combat dummies, gym equipment, sparring arenas, and open spaces designed for team drills stretched out before him. Off to one side was a classroom-like area, with holographic boards explaining things he couldn't yet understand flow charts of Myre, diagrams of Remnants, psychological reports of Eidolon triggers.
It was more than training. It was indoctrination.
A figure stood at the entrance, leaning casually against a pillar. A girl, around Rael's age, maybe slightly older. She wore a cropped hoodie, baggy pants that sagged at the pockets, and a headset around her neck. Her long black hair had red streaks, and a bright red H glinted on the headset.
Her eyes scanned Rael like he was a tool she'd yet to decide was useful or trash.
"So this is the Eidolon," she said, voice deeper than expected, roughened by sarcasm. "He looks... bendable. Like he's got back problems. Can't even stand straight."
She laughed.
Rael flushed red. He clenched his fists, unsure whether to defend himself or disappear.
"Seth," Ris interrupted, unfazed. "He'll be under your floor's supervision. Prep him."
"Tch. Fine."
Mika patted Rael's shoulder. "Good luck, rookie. You'll need it."
The two vanished back into the elevator.
Rael was alone with Seth.
She didn't waste time. "You've got a week before your first mission. Fail, and you'll probably die. But you're an Eidolon, so maybe you'll live. Maybe."
Rael blinked. "A week? Isn't that... short?"
Seth tilted her head. "We don't waste time. The world up there? It's already falling apart. We need weapons now."
She leaned in, smirking. "Besides, if someone dies, we've got dozens more Harbringers waiting. You? You're rare. You don't get to die."
Rael's chest tightened.
These people talk about death like it's change from a pocket.
Seth walked away. "C'mon, Eidolon boy. Name?"
"Rael."
"Alright, Rael. You've got stamina drills first. Then sparring. Later, Myre control theory. You'll bleed, then you'll think. Then you'll bleed again."
She glanced over her shoulder. "If you've got questions, ask. But don't expect me to go easy. I don't babysit."
Rael followed, eyes flicking once more to the red H shining on her headset. He didn't belong yet but maybe, just maybe, he could survive long enough to find out what it meant to.
The path forward was covered in sweat, blood, and something deeper.
a call he didn't yet understand.
Rael awoke to warmth a strange comfort unfamiliar to him. Morning light filtered through cracked windows with gauzy curtains, casting long shadows over the wooden floorboards. The bed was soft, too soft. The air no longer smelled of ash or rusted metal. It smelled...clean.
He blinked slowly. His body ached in subtle places, but his thoughts were clear. Too clear. He rose and found himself in a room far gentler than the world he had known a quiet sanctuary nestled between crumbling walls. He bathed in a small, rust-stained tub, steam curling like fingers around his limbs. When he emerged, wrapped in a gray towel, he found his clothes neatly folded on a chair. A simple black uniform with faint crimson etching at the collar, shaped like a flickering flame.
He dressed.
Down a crooked hall, past dim lanterns, he reached what looked like a classroom. Only it wasn't.
Graffiti covered the walls like an infection. Red ink, black paint, symbols he couldn't understand. Phrases etched by unsteady hands—warnings, madness, philosophies of forgotten gods. Some words bled over others like layers of a soul too fragmented to read. A cracked board at the front bore deep gashes, as though someone had tried to destroy it but failed. Desks were scattered, scorched, and mismatched. The scent of cigarette smoke and old metal clung to every surface.
It was a thug's den wearing a school's skin.
And only five students sat within it. Including him.
One of them, seated near the center, raised a hand and waved lazily. Seth. The Girl who smiled in smoke and spoke like she didn't believe in tomorrows.
"You made it," Seth said with a smirk. "Thought you'd bolt in the night."
Rael raised a brow, folding his arms. "Wasn't in the mood to wander."
Good choice. Wandering here gets you eaten." Seth's grin widened. "Or worse, recruited."
Before Rael could ask what that meant, the door creaked open. An old man limped in, hunched and thin, his cane clicking against the floor like a metronome of violence. He wore tattered black jeans, one side ripped to the knee, and a patched leather jacket stained with blood, oil, and age. A bandana hung loosely around his neck, printed with skulls. A silver ring pierced his brow, and his eyes were dark, sunken, feral.
A man who had never truly retired from the streets.
"Class!" the old man barked suddenly, voice gravel thick. "Stand your damn asses up! Today, we welcome the new brat—Mr. Eidolon Boy."
Rael stiffened. The air shifted. Eyes turned to him.
Eidolon Boy?
The old man ignored the tension and pointed with his cane.
"You're all defective little blades, but this one here? He's rusted metal polished with tragedy. Let's see if he shines."
Rael said nothing.
"Now then," the man continued, turning to the others. "First, the orange devil—Ari."
A girl leaned back in her chair, one leg kicked over the other. She wore a loose denim jacket with iron studs over a cropped orange top, cargo pants tucked into scuffed black boots. A pair of tinted orange shades rested atop her sleek black hair. Around her wrist, a bracelet glowed faintly the color of embers.
She winked. "Yo."
"Then we got the meat mountain—Zeke. No brains, all brawl."
Zeke stood up with a chuckle. He was a wall. Towering at least 6'7", built like he could punch through walls and still ask for seconds. His jacket bore a bright red 'H' stitched over the heart.
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll go easy on you, kid."
The old man snorted. "You better not. And finally, the silver mop Ethan."
A pale boy with shoulder-length white hair and kind blue eyes nodded politely. He wore a simple gray coat and black gloves, looking like a ghost who had learned how to smile. Ethan shifted over and took the seat beside Rael.
"Ethan," he said, offering a hand. "Welcome, Rael."
Rael shook it, his voice quieter. "Thanks."
Before they could say more, the old man slammed his cane into the board.
"You!" he shouted at Rael. "You're late. Far behind. Everyone here's touched Myre already. You? You're a blindfolded bird trying to fly."
Rael frowned. "What... is Myre?"