The corpse lay at Vihan's feet, and for the fourteenth time this month, his skill did nothing.
A Goblin. Low-tier. E-Rank monster. Dead by his own hand after it had lunged from the underbrush along the Old Forest Road. Vihan's sword—a chipped, second-hand blade Kaelen had given him three years ago—still trembled in his grip. The thing's blood was black in the twilight, seeping into the dirt.
He waited.
One second. Two. Three.
The familiar emptiness spread through his chest. No warmth. No surge of power. No notification from the System that everyone else saw when their skills activated.
[Lifesteal - 1%]
That was his gift. The only thing the System had granted him when the Dungeons came and humanity awakened. While others became flames and storms and walking cataclysms, Vihan got a skill that didn't even work on monsters.
He knelt and touched the Goblin's cooling flesh anyway. A foolish hope. Maybe if he tried harder. Maybe if he believed more.
Nothing.
"Should have stayed on the road," he muttered to the dead creature.
The Goblin didn't respond. They rarely did.
Vihan wiped his sword on the grass and sheathed it. The Old Forest stretched around him, ancient oaks and twisted pines blocking what remained of the evening light. Oakhaven was still two miles east. He'd taken the shortcut through the woods despite Kaelen's warnings, despite knowing better, because he couldn't face another hour walking the main road with nothing but his thoughts.
Fourteen dungeon runs this month. Fourteen times he'd watched party members claim their rewards, grow stronger, unlock new abilities. And fourteen times he'd walked home with empty hands and a smile he didn't feel.
"Support role," they'd called it. "Lifesteal is valuable for keeping the frontliners healthy."
Except it wasn't. It had never activated. Not once. Not against a single monster in three years of trying.
The Rankers who bothered to check his status screen would see the skill, raise an eyebrow, and offer him a spot. Then they'd watch him fail in the first real fight, and the smiles would turn to sneers.
Trash skill.
Waste of space.
How did someone like you even awaken?
He'd heard it all.
The forest sighed around him, branches creaking in the wind. Somewhere deeper in, a beast howled—something larger than a Goblin. Vihan picked up his pace.
---
Oakhaven appeared through the trees like a memory of home.
Two hundred houses huddled together behind a wooden palisade that hadn't been repaired in decades. Smoke rose from chimneys. Lantern light flickered in windows. The main gate stood open—it was always open, because nothing ever happened in Oakhaven, and the nearest dungeon was three days' ride away in the Sunken Spire.
Vihan passed through the gate and became invisible.
That was the thing about being E-Rank in a town of farmers and merchants. Nobody noticed you. The children didn't point and whisper. The adults didn't avert their eyes or offer pitying glances. They simply... didn't see him. He was background. A piece of furniture that happened to walk.
He preferred it that way.
Their house stood at the edge of town, where the last cottages gave way to vegetable gardens and then forest. Small. Stone and timber. A single window that faced the woods. A chimney that smoked more than it should because Kaelen insisted on burning green wood.
Kaelen was in the yard.
The old warrior stood bare-chested despite the autumn chill, splitting logs with an axe that gleamed like it had been forged yesterday. His arms were ropes of scarred muscle. His grey hair was cropped short. At fifty-seven, he moved like a man half his age—each swing precise, economical, devastating.
He didn't look up as Vihan approached.
"You took the forest road."
Not a question.
"The main road adds an hour."
"The main road doesn't have Goblins." Another swing. The log cracked cleanly in half. "How many?"
"One. E-Rank."
Kaelen paused, axe frozen mid-swing. Finally, he looked at Vihan. His eyes were the colour of old iron—grey, hard, and hiding something.
"And?"
"And nothing. Same as always."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. Just for a moment. Then he resumed splitting wood.
"Food's inside. Stew. Eat it while it's hot."
Vihan waited. There was something else. There was always something else with Kaelen—words that hung in the air like unshed rain.
"You shouldn't go with those people," Kaelen said quietly.
"What people?"
"The ones who use you and leave you. I see it on your face every time you come back."
Vihan felt the familiar knot tighten in his chest. "They don't use me. I'm support. That's my role."
"Your role." Kaelen's voice was flat. "Your role is to be bait while they take the real rewards."
"You don't know that."
"I know warriors. I know hunters. And I know when a man is being bled for someone else's gain." He finally stopped swinging and faced Vihan fully. "Stay in Oakhaven. Train with me. You don't need dungeons to get stronger."
Vihan laughed. It came out bitter.
"Train with you? Doing what? Splitting wood? Hunting deer? That's not ranking up, Kaelen. That's just... surviving. I need to awaken my skill. I need to make it work. The only way to do that is in dungeons, fighting real monsters, with real parties—"
"The parties that mock you."
"I don't care about that!"
The words exploded from him. Vihan's hands were shaking again. He realized he was still wearing his sword, still carrying the weight of another useless day.
"I don't care if they mock me. I don't care if they use me. I just need—" His voice cracked. He stopped. Breathed. "I just need to rank up. Even once. Just once."
Kaelen studied him for a long moment. Then he did something unexpected.
He set down the axe and walked to Vihan. His scarred hand landed on Vihan's shoulder—heavy, warm, almost gentle.
"There are things about your skill," Kaelen said slowly, "that you don't understand."
"Then explain them."
"I can't."
"You won't."
"Can't." Kaelen's grip tightened. "Not yet. When you're strong enough to handle the truth, I'll tell you. Right now, you need to focus on surviving."
Vihan shrugged off his hand.
"Surviving. That's all anyone ever tells me. Survive, Vihan. Stay safe, Vihan. Don't take risks, Vihan." He stepped back, putting distance between them. "What am I surviving for, Kaelen? What's the point of staying alive if I never get stronger? If I never amount to anything?"
Kaelen's face was stone, but his eyes—his eyes were in pain.
"You amount to everything," he said quietly. "You just don't know it yet."
He turned and walked toward the house, leaving Vihan alone in the yard with the split logs and the dying light.
---
Dinner was silent.
Vihan ate the stew—rabbit and root vegetables, simple but warm—while Kaelen sat across the table, staring at nothing. The cottage was small enough that they could have touched each other from opposite sides. Two rooms. One bed (Kaelen's). One cot (Vihan's). A hearth. A table. Shelves of dried herbs and preserved meat.
It had been home for nineteen years.
Vihan had no memories of anywhere else. No memories of parents. Just Kaelen, appearing one day when Vihan was an infant, claiming to be a family friend. Just Kaelen, raising him with calloused hands and few words. Just Kaelen, always watching, always waiting, always hiding something.
Sometimes Vihan imagined what his real parents might have been like. A mother with a soft voice. A father who laughed. He imagined them alive, somewhere, looking for him. He imagined them powerful—S-Rank, maybe, or even higher—and wondered if that was why his skill was broken. Maybe he'd inherited the wrong thing. Maybe he was a mistake.
Other times he imagined them dead. It was easier.
"I got invited to another run," Vihan said, breaking the silence.
Kaelen's eyes focused. "Who?"
"Party called the Crimson Vow. They're based in Aethron, passing through on their way to the Sunken Spire. Need a support for the lower levels." He paused. "The leader's S-Rank."
"S-Rank parties don't need E-Rank supports."
"They're short-handed. Their healer got injured in their last run. They just need someone to keep the frontliners alive while they clear the upper floors." Vihan met Kaelen's gaze. "It's a C-Rank dungeon. I've done C-Rank dungeons before. I can handle it."
"You've barely survived C-Rank dungeons before."
"I'm still alive."
"Alive isn't the same as safe."
Vihan set down his spoon. "What do you want me to do, Kaelen? Stay here forever? Chop wood and hunt deer until I'm old? Is that the life you planned for me?"
The words hung in the air between them.
Kaelen's face didn't change, but something in it shifted. A crack in the stone.
"The life I planned for you," he said slowly, "was one where you lived long enough to make your own choices. That's all I ever wanted. That's all he wanted."
"He?"
Kaelen's mouth closed. The crack sealed.
"Nothing. Forget I said anything."
"Who's 'he,' Kaelen?" Vihan leaned forward. "My father? Was my father someone? Is that why you won't tell me anything? Because he was important and something happened to him and you're afraid I'll—"
"Enough."
The word was quiet, but it carried weight. Kaelen stood. The chair scraped against the stone floor.
"I'm going to check the perimeter. Finish your stew."
He grabbed his cloak from the hook by the door and was gone before Vihan could say another word.
---
Vihan sat alone in the cottage.
The fire crackled. The stew cooled. Somewhere outside, an owl called.
He should have felt angry. He should have felt frustrated. Instead, he just felt tired. The kind of tired that slept in your bones and woke up with you every morning.
He looked at the window. Through the glass, past his own reflection, he could see it.
The Veilstone.
It stood on a hill two miles east of Oakhaven, visible from Vihan's room since he was old enough to remember. A monolith of black stone, twice as tall as a man, covered in markings that no scholar had ever deciphered. Kaelen had taken him there once, when Vihan was seven. They'd stood before it for an hour while Kaelen said nothing and stared at the stone like it held answers to questions he'd never asked.
"What is it?" Vihan had whispered.
Kaelen had looked at him with those old-iron eyes and said: "A door. Locked. Waiting."
Then they'd walked home, and Kaelen never spoke of it again.
But Vihan had returned. Dozens of times over the years. He'd touch the stone and feel... something. A hum. A whisper at the edge of hearing. A pull, like the stone wanted him to come closer, to press his forehead against its cold surface and listen.
He never did. He was afraid of what he might hear.
Now, sitting alone in the cottage, watching the Veilstone gleam in the moonlight, Vihan felt that pull again. Stronger than usual.
When you're strong enough to handle the truth, I'll tell you.
What truth? What could possibly be so dangerous that Kaelen—A-Rank warrior, scarred veteran of gods knew how many battles—was afraid to speak it?
Vihan didn't know.
But he intended to find out.
And if that meant joining an S-Rank party and risking his life in a dungeon one more time, so be it. At least in the dungeon, he was doing something. At least there, he wasn't just waiting.
He finished his stew, banked the fire, and lay down on his cot.
The Veilstone glowed in the darkness beyond his window.
He dreamed of shadows that night. Thousands of them. Millions. Stretching across a grey plain beneath a sun that didn't exist. And in the dream, a voice—neither male nor female, neither old nor young—whispered something he couldn't quite hear.
He woke with the word on his lips.
Permanence.
---
Morning came grey and cold.
Vihan dressed, strapped on his sword, and walked to the main gate. The Crimson Vow had agreed to meet him there at dawn. He didn't know what they looked like, didn't know their names, didn't know anything except that they were S-Rank and needed a warm body to soak up damage.
That was enough.
Kaelen was nowhere to be seen. Probably still brooding in the woods. Probably hoping Vihan would change his mind.
He wouldn't.
The gate came into view. Three figures stood beneath it, cloaked and hooded against the morning chill. Even from a distance, Vihan could feel their presence—a pressure in the air, a weight that made his chest tight. S-Rank. Real S-Ranks. Not the washed-up A-Ranks who sometimes passed through Oakhaven, but genuine Sovereigns.
The tallest of them pushed back her hood.
She was young—maybe mid-twenties—with sharp features and eyes the colour of amber. Dark hair fell to her shoulders. A sword hung at her hip, its hilt encrusted with gems that probably cost more than Oakhaven's entire annual trade.
"You're the support?" Her voice was cool, assessing. "Vihan?"
"Yes."
"You're E-Rank."
"Yes."
She exchanged a glance with her companions—a massive man with a shaved head and a slender woman whose face was hidden beneath her hood.
"Our healer got poisoned," the tall woman said. "We need someone to keep us alive through the upper levels. Lifesteal, right?"
"That's my skill."
"Show me."
Vihan hesitated. Then he extended his hand and willed his status screen to appear. The translucent blue window flickered into existence, visible to all of them:
---
VIHAN DRAVIK
Rank: E
Skills:
· Lifesteal (Passive) - 1% chance to convert damage dealt into health.
---
The tall woman read it. Her expression didn't change.
"One percent."
"Yes."
"That's... low."
"I know."
She studied him for a long moment. Vihan forced himself to meet her eyes. He'd learned long ago that looking away was the same as admitting weakness.
"Fine," she said finally. "You'll stay behind the frontliners. You won't engage unless we tell you to. You'll use your skill on anything that gets past us. Understood?"
"Understood."
She extended her hand. "I'm Seraphine. This is Marcus." The massive man grunted. "And this is Vex." The hooded woman nodded once.
Vihan shook Seraphine's hand. Her grip was firm, brief, professional.
"Let's move," she said. "The Sunken Spire won't clear itself."
They turned and walked toward the eastern road. Vihan followed.
At the edge of town, he glanced back. Oakhaven huddled beneath its grey sky, smoke rising from chimneys, the Veilstone watching from its hill.
Kaelen stood at the gate.
Vihan hadn't seen him arrive. But there he was—scarred arms crossed, grey eyes fixed on Vihan with an expression that might have been fear, or pride, or both.
He didn't wave. He didn't call out.
He just watched.
Vihan raised his hand—a small gesture, half wave, half farewell—and turned away.
The forest swallowed them.
---