Dominic left the Hall of Veins without looking back.
The cheers, the murmurs, and the laughter, all of it faded behind him as he stepped onto the stone road leading west through the city of Vellonor Reach.
The sun hung low above the rooftops. He walked straight through the houses with slow and heavy steps.
The air felt colder than it should have. Children who passed him still held traces of etherlight shimmering along their skin. Some were bright, and some were faint, but all of them were something.
Dominic kept his hands in his pockets to hide the fact he carried nothing at all.
He walked alone. His Bloodmark held no talent, so no thread of usefulness. The small, humble parts of his future he had imagined felt as if they had been swept away.
In Halcyth, a person without a worthy Bloodmark had no place. And without purpose, he saw only dark roads ahead of him.
The Labyrinth was the only place where fortunes could be made quickly. It was where his parents had gone before they died, chasing enough coins to give him a better life.
It was where most of the strong Bloodmarked went to build their legacies.
Dominic had once hoped he could do the same and better than his parents. To bring home enough coins to ease his grandfather's burdens and repay him for years of shelter and warmth he gave him.
But the Labyrinth demanded talent and abilities. Even the lowest-ranked explorers needed some ability to survive its shifting corridors and monsters and work with something down there.
Those who lacked combat strength could still pick through monster remains after the Arcanists finished their battles, gathering scraps of bone and hide to sell.
The others could repair gear for explorers or prepare meals for the teams.
All of them at least had something in their veins.
Dominic had nothing.
So what place was left for him?
He kept walking, but the streets grew quieter and narrower as he left the city's bustling center.
Stone paths gave way to packed dirt and tall houses became scattered wooden homes framed by wild grass.
Wind rustled through the trees lining the outskirts, carrying the faint scent of pine and distant woodsmoke.
There, just beyond the treeline, stood the small cabin he called home.
It rested on the western edge of Vellonor Reach, where the woods rose like a wall behind it.
Smoke curled from the chimney as a thin and steady plume that meant someone was waiting inside.
His grandfather had built the place himself decades ago, back when his Bloodmark had given him abilities to hunt animals on the surface.
It was a decent life even though it was still not an easy one. He had ventured into the Labyrinth in his younger years, but age and responsibility had pulled him back.
Once Dominic's parents died, he had retired completely, choosing the surface over risking his life ever again to take care of him.
Some nobles, especially those who carried powerful Marks, never had to retire.
Even though they were growing old they were still going to the Labyrinth's depths. They were still walking its paths and ruling their teams with the power of their gifted blood and thriving on it.
His grandfather had not been one of them. He was just average.
Dominic pushed open the wooden door.
Inside, the home was warm and dim.
A lantern burned on the table. The same table where they ate, worked, and took guests.
His grandfather sat waiting there, leaning forward slightly, eyes bright with quiet hope.
The old man's weathered hands rested on the tabletop, still steady despite his age.
He looked up the moment Dominic stepped inside. The hope in those eyes said he had been waiting for good news.
Dominic stood frozen just inside the doorway, unable to meet his grandfather's eyes.
The heavy expectation in the room pressed down on him so hard. His throat tightened as guilt coiled through him.
"I'm… sorry, Grandpa," he whispered.
The words came out thin and cracked.
The old man's smile faltered. The light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a slow sinking sadness of realization.
His shoulders that were once held with hopeful pride slumped as the truth settled in. He rose from the table without a word and crossed the room to his grandson.
Then he wrapped his arms around him.
"It's okay," he murmured.
Dominic shook his head hard.
"No! It's not okay!" His voice broke and trembled. Tears spilled down his cheeks before he could stop them. "I'm a failure. I can't make you proud. I can't repay anything you've done for me."
His sobs shuddered through him. He clutched at his grandfather's shirt.
The old man held him tighter, one rough hand rubbing slow circles over Dominic's back.
His own eyes filled with quiet grief. Not just for the boy, but for the cruel world that had done this to him.
His disappointment was of course also there, heavy and undeniable, but he buried it deep where Dominic wouldn't see it. He didn't need it for now.
"You don't need to repay me anything, Dom," he said softly. "You don't have to do anything. Just being here… that's enough. I'll always be proud of you, no matter what happens."
The comfort words did little to ease the storm inside Dominic.
After a long moment, his grandfather pulled back, brushing a thumb over the boy's tear-stained cheek.
"Are you hungry? I saved something from earlier. It just needs warming."
Dominic stared at the floor. His chest was still painful. The weight of despair lodged deep.
"No. I'm… not hungry."
His grandfather nodded slowly, with worry tightened the corners of his eyes. "All right."
Dominic slipped from his arms. He walked to his small room. Then he closed the door behind him with a soft click.
The room felt darker than usual. He fell onto his bed, curling onto his side.
The tears returned relentlessly. He cursed himself in choked whispers, cursing the Ceremony, the Arcanist, the ancestors, and the fate the world has given him.
All the desperation he had held back on the way home poured out of him now.
The weight of a future without purpose crushed down on his chest.
And in the small wooden room, Dominic cried until exhaustion dragged him into a restless and aching sleep.
—
Dominic stood in the middle of a long, narrow corridor. He could feel the air pressed close around him, cold and heavy.
Stone walls rose on either side and carved with strange shapes, spirals, and jagged lines.
He stared at them, heart thudding. He knew these markings. Or at least, he had heard of them.
His grandpa had described walls like these when he spoke of the Labyrinth. The ancient symbols, the carvings, and the old language no one could read.
But those stories had always been told in their home.
Yet he was here now.
"How am I here? Am I dreaming?"
Sharp fear curled through him. His grandfather had warned him again and again that the Labyrinth was no place for the untrained or the reckless.
Even the skilled explorer could die in an instant. Even those with powerful Bloodmarks had vanished inside it and never returned.
And Dominic had no abilities or talent. But he was here. Of course he was scared.
He took a step back, but the corridor behind him had dissolved into darkness.
Then a whisper rose from the blackness ahead.
"Come… get this power…"
Dominic stiffened. The voice came from the depths of the corridor, from a place where the shadows thickened more than normal shadow.
His breath stopped.
The darkness ahead rippled. And the voice came again, beckoning him.
"Come… I will show you the way… don't you want power?" the voice said.
And Dominic answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
—