Five years passed.
The world reorganized itself around power.
Hunters became public figures. Guilds replaced corporations. Gates were measured, ranked, exploited. Strength determined worth.
Sera opted out.
She worked temporary jobs. Avoided high-traffic zones. Declined recruitment offers once her stats were reviewed. Spatial teleportation without endurance or strength was a liability, not an asset.
She practiced alone.
Ten meters became precise. Exactly. She learned angles, momentum, line-of-sight restrictions. She stopped using teleportation as movement and started using it as positioning.
Still, the cost remained brutal.
Her mana ceiling barely improved. Her body lagged behind her control.
She survived by knowing when not to act.
That discipline saved her life—until it didn't.
The gate opened in an abandoned subway station. Illegal. Unregistered.
Sera was only there because the job paid cash.
She never saw the betrayal coming.
Hands shoved her forward. Someone shouted. The gate's pull surged.
Sera tried to teleport, but panic shattered her focus.
Darkness swallowed her whole.