The sky was a bruised smear of copper and ash, as if the heavens themselves had been scorched by the war Kaelith despised. Each gust of wind lifted fine grains of bone-pale dust that stung his face and blurred his vision. He kept walking anyway. His boots were torn, his fingers raw from clawing over rocks and splintered branches, but he followed the crooked trail carved into the wasteland — the path the slavers had dragged his sister along.
Ten years in this world had hardened him. He'd adapted to the strange constellations above, the twin suns, the beasts with too many eyes. But nothing had dulled the memory of that night: the mixed-race army bursting into their home, blades flashing, voices screaming, his parents falling while shielding him and Lyrielle. Even now the scent of blood still clung to his mind like a curse.
And for that, Kaelith had vowed: no race here was innocent. Every tribe had dipped its hands into the war. Every banner had cast a shadow over his family. He would smile at none of them. Only his sister was worth the warmth left in him.
He stumbled, knees hitting the cracked earth. His vision tunneled; black motes swam in front of his eyes. Hunger gnawed at him, but it wasn't just hunger — it was the weight of years of hatred pressing down on a body that had pushed too far.
A silver chime rang inside his skull.
> [System Notification]
Minor Quest Generated: "Reach the Blackfang Canyon before nightfall."
Reward: Shadow Step (basic)
Penalty: Lifespan reduced by 1 year
His lips twisted. "Of course you show up now."
For ten long years this so-called System had been silent, an unreadable presence buried in his soul. And now, when he was half-dead and Lyrielle was already gone, it spoke.
"Reward or punishment," Kaelith muttered. "Always strings attached."
He glanced at the horizon — the canyon's jagged maw loomed maybe three kilometers away. The slavers' tracks pointed straight for it. He could turn back, save his life, but then… Lyrielle.
"Fine," he rasped. "I accept."
Another chime. Cold energy wrapped around his spine. His muscles twitched, then steadied. He forced himself upright and staggered forward.
The wasteland was silent except for his ragged breathing and the crunch of dust underfoot. Then, a flutter of wings. A flock of black crows — or what passed for crows in this world — lay dying by a dried-out pond, feathers scorched by some mage's fire. Their beady eyes glimmered with pain.
Kaelith's vision blurred again, but this time not from weakness. A dark aura rose from the birds, like ink in water, and swirled toward him.
> [Hidden Skill: God of Negative Emotions] — Passive Activation Detected
A pulse of cold spread through his chest. The despair of the dying creatures poured into him — a flood of bitterness, fear, and agony. It burned but also filled him with a jagged strength. His heartbeat thundered. The cracks in his mind started to seal, replaced by a sharper edge.
He staggered, clutching his head. "What… is this?"
> You are absorbing negative emotions in your vicinity. Warning: Overuse may erode lifespan.
Another price. Always a price. But with each step, his limbs felt lighter, sharper. The canyon grew closer.
Memories stabbed at him: Lyrielle laughing by the river two months ago, hair catching the sun, saying she'd found a wildflower she wanted to show him. Her laugh had been the only soft sound left in his life. That was why he kept moving.
By dusk he reached the Blackfang Canyon. The cliffs were carved into jagged teeth, shadows deep as pits between them. From below drifted the faint smell of smoke, sweat, and cooked meat — a camp.
Kaelith crouched, peering down. Three beastmen guards lounged near a cluster of wagons. Even from up here he could hear muffled sobs. His hands clenched into fists.
Another chime.
> [Reward Unlocked: Shadow Step (basic)]
Allows instantaneous movement between two shadows within 10 meters. Cooldown: 30 seconds.
A grim smile touched his lips. Finally, something he could use.
He scanned the camp. Three guards. Two knives on his belt. Shadows cast by a dying campfire. Perfect.
He crept along the cliff until he found a slope. His heartbeat steadied, anger bar glowing faintly in his mind's eye — 78/100. Not yet. Not Berserk. But close.
The first guard — a hulking boar-headed brute — shifted his weight. Kaelith inhaled, then stepped into the shadow of a rock and out of the guard's own shadow. Before the beastman could grunt, Kaelith's knife slid under its ribs, twisting upward. A hot spray hit his arm.
The other two turned, snarling. Kaelith ducked, shadow-stepped again, reappeared behind the second guard, and slashed its hamstring. It went down with a scream. The third swung a club. Kaelith caught the blow on his forearm, pain lancing through him, but he didn't stop — he drove his second knife into the beastman's throat.
Silence fell, broken only by his panting.
He wiped the blades on his torn shirt. His anger bar flickered — 82/100. His hands shook. He could feel the Berserk mode coiling inside him, a storm he wasn't ready to unleash.
Then he heard it. A faint voice, hoarse but unmistakable. "Kaelith…?"
His chest tightened. He followed the sound to one of the wagons. Through the slats he glimpsed a figure curled up — pale skin, silver hair tangled, eyes wide with tears. Lyrielle.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm—"
A shadow fell across him. He spun, knives up.
A masked figure stood at the edge of the camp. Not beastman, not human. Its armor was a mosaic of symbols from a dozen races. A long spear rested in its hands, humming faintly with magic.
"You shouldn't have come," the figure said, voice distorted. "This isn't just about your sister."
Kaelith's pulse roared in his ears. The System whispered warnings. His Anger bar ticked higher. But he held himself back. Not yet. If he went Berserk now, he might kill everyone — even Lyrielle.
"I don't care," he said, voice low. "Move. Or die."
The masked figure tilted its head. "Interesting. Let's see if you're worthy of her."
Lightning crawled along the spear.
Kaelith took a breath, knives ready. The wind rose, carrying the scent of ash and blood. In his mind's eye, the Anger bar flared: 89/100.
Not yet. But soon.
He glanced back at Lyrielle. She was awake, watching, lips trembling. For the first time in years, her eyes held both hope and terror.
"I'll get you out," he promised. "No matter what."
And then the masked figure lunged.
— End of Chapter 1