Highcrest Summit sat atop a dormant volcano like a crown on a king's head.
Reven had been climbing for six hours, following the switchback road that carved through layers of ancient lava flows. Each turn brought him closer to the massive stone walls, to the watchtowers that gleamed in the afternoon sun, to the banners bearing guild sigils—including the iron mountain peak of Ironpeak Vanguard, his guild, flying prominently from the eastern quarter.
His guild.
The thought felt strange now. Foreign. Like trying on clothes that no longer fit.
He'd been walking for eight days since leaving the Obsidian Trench. Eight days of traveling through wilderness, avoiding other hunters, feeding the hunger with essence drained from his remaining tools until he had nothing left but the clothes on his back and a pack containing worthless metal husks. Eight days of rehearsing what he'd say when he finally confronted Dravin.
The explanations he'd demand. The answers he'd get. The misunderstanding—because surely there had to be a misunderstanding—that would be cleared up once he stood before the guild council and explained what had happened.
That hope had sustained him through the worst of the journey.
Now, looking up at Highcrest's walls, feeling the familiar weight of home settling over him, Reven let himself believe it might be true.
Maybe the trap had malfunctioned, activated early, and his guild had fled thinking there was nothing left to save. Maybe—
His hands trembled. The crimson veins pulsed faintly beneath his skin.
—maybe he was lying to himself.
SORRY. -D
But he had to try.
The gates of Highcrest Summit were carved from volcanic stone and reinforced with steel bands thick as a man's torso. They'd stood for three centuries, had weathered siege and storm, and were maintained by the best craftsmen a Major Aegis could afford.
Reven had helped repair them two years ago, spending a week replacing corroded fittings and reinforcing stress points. He knew every rivet. Every weld. Every weakness in their construction.
He also knew the guards.
"Halt." The voice was familiar—Garret, a fellow B-Rank hunter he'd shared drinks with more times than he could count. "State your name and business."
Reven stepped into the light, letting Garret see his face. "It's me. Reven."
Garret's eyes widened. His hand dropped to his weapon—a spear, ironically, one Reven had reforged last year after a hunt had bent the shaft. "Reven? We thought you were—" He stopped. Looked at his partner, a younger guard Reven didn't recognize. "Get Captain Veldrin. Now."
The younger guard ran.
Garret didn't move. But he didn't lower his spear either. He stared at Reven with an expression that was equal parts shock and something else.
Fear.
"Garret," Reven said carefully, "I need to speak with Dravin. There's been—"
"Don't move." Garret's voice was tight. "Don't do anything. Just... just stay right there."
"I'm not going to—"
"Stay. There."
Reven stayed.
Minutes passed. Other guards emerged on the wall, drawing their bows. Their attention focused downward. Whispers spread. Someone called for a mage to check for corruption. Someone else mentioned quarantine protocols.
Reven stood at the gates of his home and watched them prepare for an invasion.
Captain Veldrin arrived with a full squad. Twelve hunters, all B-Rank or higher, all armed, all watching Reven like he was a Fang Wyvern that had wandered into the market district.
"Reven." Veldrin's voice was carefully neutral. He'd always been good at that—the calm before decisions were made. "You were listed as missing-presumed-dead four days ago. Where have you been?"
"The Obsidian Trench." Reven kept his voice steady. "There was an incident. I need to speak with Dravin."
"An incident." Veldrin stepped closer, keeping his hand on his sword hilt. "What kind of incident?"
"The kind that requires me to speak with my guildmaster. Privately."
"Your System signature is corrupted. The scanners can't read your class. Your level shows as one." Veldrin's eyes narrowed. "What happened down there?"
Reven's jaw tightened. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to walk through these gates, demand answers, get the truth. Not stand here being interrogated like a criminal.
"I triggered something," he said finally. "Something old. Something that shouldn't have been woken. And now I need to report what happened so the Guild Coalition can respond appropriately."
That was the right thing to say. The professional thing. The thing a loyal hunter would say after surviving a Calamity-class encounter.
Veldrin considered him for a long moment.
Then nodded. "You'll be escorted to the council chambers. Keep your hands visible. Don't make sudden movements. If you resist, we will subdue you. Understood?"
Reven understood all too well.
He was being treated like a threat.
They didn't take him through the main gates.
Instead, Veldrin led him around the perimeter to a maintenance entrance—a narrow tunnel used for moving supplies and removing waste. The kind of entrance you used when you didn't want someone to be seen entering the Aegis proper.
The squad surrounded him. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to strike if he made any threatening moves. They walked in silence through tunnels Reven had helped excavate, past store rooms where he'd inventoried supplies, through the underbelly of Highcrest Summit like criminals being smuggled to trial.
When they finally emerged into the administrative quarter, Veldrin directed him to a small chamber—not the main council room, but a side room used for disciplinary hearings.
"Wait here," Veldrin said. "The council will convene shortly."
The door closed, with a dull wooden thud latching behind.
He was locked in.
Reven sat on the single chair and waited.
An hour later, the door opened.
Not the full council as promised. Just three people. High Arbiter Merida, the head of Highcrest Summit's governing body, Guild Liaison Torven, the official who managed relations between the Aegis and its guilds, and Dravin Kross.
His guildmaster looked tired. Older than Reven remembered. There were new lines around his eyes, new grey in his beard. He didn't meet Reven's gaze.
"Reven." Merida's voice was professional, clipped. "You were reported missing-presumed-dead on the eighteenth of Ashfall. Your guild submitted the casualty report four days ago. Your presence here is... unexpected."
"I survived," Reven said. "The mission—"
"The mission was to track and eliminate a rogue Elder Drake threatening the northern trade routes." Merida consulted a document. "Your guild reports that the target was successfully driven from the region, but that you were lost during the final engagement. A recovery team found no remains."
Reven's hands clenched into fists beneath the table. "That's a lie."
"Careful," Torven warned.
"It's a lie." Reven turned to Dravin. "Tell them what really happened. Tell them about the trap. About the ritual circle. About what you woke up down there."
Dravin finally met his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"You—" Reven stood. Three guards materialized from the corners of the room, hands on weapons. He forced himself to sit back down. "Dravin, you know. You sent me down as bait. You told me where to step. You activated that pressure plate through me and woke—"
"I woke nothing." Dravin's voice was flat. Empty. "We tracked an Elder Drake to the Obsidian Trench. You volunteered for forward reconnaissance. The target proved more dangerous than anticipated. You didn't make it out. These things happen."
"These things—" Reven's voice cracked. "You're going to sit there and lie to my face? After six years? After everything I—"
"You're not a member of this guild anymore."
Silence.
Merida cleared her throat. "Guildmaster Kross filed dissolution papers three days ago. The Ironpeak Vanguard has officially severed all ties with hunter Reven, citing catastrophic failure to complete assigned duties and presumed death in service. Given your... reappearance... those papers will need to be amended, but the severance stands."
Reven stared at Dravin. At the man he'd followed for six years. The man he'd trusted. The man who was looking at him with nothing—no guilt, no shame, no recognition of what he'd done.
Just... emptiness.
"Why?" Reven's voice was barely a whisper.
Dravin stood. "You're not part of the guild anymore, kid. What happened down there—whatever you think happened—isn't my concern. You're alive. That's more than I expected. Be grateful and move on."
He turned to leave.
"Dravin—"
"We're done here."
The door closed behind him.
Merida folded her hands on the table. "Reven, I need you to understand your situation. You were scanned at the gate. Your System signature is severely corrupted. Your class reads as unidentifiable. Your level has been reduced to one despite having six years of documented hunting experience. These are not normal circumstances."
"I know what I am," Reven said quietly.
"Do you? Because what you are, according to every diagnostic we've run, is dangerous. You're emitting trace amounts of Calamity-class essence. Your biological readings are abnormal. And you arrived here making claims about ritual traps and ancient mechanisms that, frankly, sound like the delusions of someone suffering from extreme essence corruption."
"It's not corruption. It's integration."
Torven leaned forward. "Integration with what?"
Reven met his eyes. "Vyraxes."
The name hung in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre.
Merida's face went pale. "That's... that's not possible."
"Vyraxes is a myth," Torven said, but his voice wavered. "A story from the Foundation Era. The Guild Coalition confirmed—"
"The Guild Coalition confirmed seven sightings over eight hundred years," Reven interrupted. "The last one was three hundred and thirty-seven years ago during the Red Tide. And I'm telling you it woke up four days ago in the Obsidian Trench because my guild deliberately triggered the mechanisms designed to wake it."
"Why would they do that?"
"I don't know. But I intend to find out."
Merida and Torven exchanged glances.
"Reven," Merida said carefully, "even if what you're saying is true—even if Vyraxes is real and your guild somehow managed to wake it—the fact remains that you are now carrying essence from a Calamity-class entity. You are a contamination risk. You are unstable. You cannot remain in Highcrest Summit."
"This is my home."
"This was your home. Now it's a population center of eight thousand people who deserve to live without the threat of Calamity corruption in their midst."
Reven's crimson veins pulsed. His hands gripped the table edge hard enough that the wood creaked. "You're exiling me."
"We're asking you to leave," Torven corrected. "For the safety of everyone here. If you refuse, we'll be forced to take more direct measures."
"More direct measures." Reven laughed, and it came out bitter. "You mean you'll kill me."
"We mean we'll do what's necessary to protect this Aegis." Merida stood. "You have one hour to gather any personal belongings from guild storage and leave through the maintenance gate. If you're still within city limits after that, you'll be arrested and held for Guild Coalition evaluation. Do you understand?"
Reven finally understood.
He understood that loyalty meant nothing. That six years of service could be erased with paperwork. That the moment you became inconvenient, the people you'd bled for would throw you away like scrap metal.
"I understand," he said quietly.