Morning mist rose from the ruins of Old Valdris. This metropolis once shone as an architectural jewel before the first Fractures tore the world apart. Now, the city spread in concentric circles around a fortified Central District. There, glass and steel towers stood alongside strange constructions made of impossible materials brought back from the depths of the dungeons. The portals shimmered like gaping scars in the fabric of reality, their violet edges pulsing with the rhythm of a diseased heart.
Mana floated through the rune-paved streets like invisible, omnipresent dust. It created miniature auroras in the damp air. Fusion-crystal streetlamps cast a bluish glow that never quite chased away the shadows. The city itself seemed to bear the permanent scars of that night in 2012 when everything changed. The Awakened walked with the natural confidence of those who master forces beyond understanding. Their rank badges gleamed on guild uniforms a ruthless hierarchy etched in metal and flesh
Here, in the outer districts of Valdris, the Unawakened scraped by. They took the jobs the powerful disdained. Dilapidated buildings rose as monuments to inequality. Mana residue ate away at their facades, seeping into every crack and poorly sealed joint. In the distance, alarm sirens wailed at regular intervals. They signaled a new portal opening or a creature escaping from the depths. This was the rhythm of a new era: fear, hope, and death, intertwined in a macabre dance that only the strong could hope to lead.
In a cramped apartment in Sector F, Soren Kaelen bolted upright. His forehead was slick with cold sweat. The digital clock read 5:43 AM. Pale sunlight already filtered through patched curtains. Beside him, in the twin bed that occupied half their single living space, his younger brother Liam struggled to breathe. His chest rose in ragged, irregular jerks.
Manic Depletion Syndrome. It was a clinical medical term for the hell Liam had endured for three years. Since the Awakening, most humans naturally absorbed ambient mana. Liam's body violently rejected it. The condition caused spasms, fevers, and a chronic weakness that kept him bedridden most of the week. The doctors at Central Hospital were blunt: without daily injections of stabilizing serum, Liam would not survive the year.
Soren stood up cautiously. His knees popped like those of a sixty-year-old man, though he was only twenty-one. His hands shook slightly. This was the legacy of countless injuries earned as a porter in Rank F and E dungeons. He was not Awakened. He possessed no special talent or supernatural ability to escape this spiral of poverty. He was just an ordinary, fragile body used by others as expendable fodder.
He prepared breakfast with their meager supplies: synthetic cereals fortified with basic nutrients and a milk substitute that tasted like wet cardboard. Liam woke a few minutes later. His faded blue eyes searched for his older brother with a blind trust that tightened around Soren's heart like a vice.
"How do you feel this morning?" Soren asked. He sat on the edge of the bed and checked Liam's temperature.
"I'm... better than yesterday," Liam lied with a forced smile. At fourteen, he possessed the terrible maturity of children forced to grow up too fast.
Soren knew it was a lie. He saw the violet bruises under the boy's eyes and the sickly pallor of his skin. He said nothing. He simply ruffled Liam's hair with clumsy tenderness.
Their morning routine followed a strict script: serum injection, breakfast, and a check of the household finances on a sputtering bank terminal. The balance made Soren grimace: 847 credits. It was enough for two weeks, maybe three with extreme rationing. Liam's manic dialysis sessions cost 200 credits a week, even with the discounts from the Sector D community clinic.
Soren's communicator vibrated at exactly 7:15 AM. It was a message from Mara Konstantin, the coordinator for the Silver Wolf Guild. This Rank C organization occasionally hired him when they were desperately short-staffed.
"Urgent mission. Rank E Dungeon detected. Incomplete team. Need porter. 300 credits. Departure 8:30. Confirm immediately. - K.S."
Soren stared at the screen for several long seconds. His stomach knotted. 300 credits was an enormous sum nearly two weeks of normal pay. Urgent missions usually meant something had gone wrong. Either the regular Awakened had refused the job or were unavailable. It meant he was the only one desperate enough to accept.
He looked at Liam, who had fallen back asleep curled under a thermal blanket. Soren made his decision. His fingers tapped the reply before his brain could formulate an objection.
"Confirmed. I'll be there on time. - K.S."
Preparation was fast and methodical. Soren donned his makeshift gear: a reinforced jumpsuit from a military thrift store, worn but solid combat boots, and a waterproof backpack stuffed with first aid supplies, ropes, and emergency rations. He carried no weapons. He couldn't afford a decent one, and his role was strictly limited to carrying gear and gathering the precious materials the Awakened deigned to leave behind.
Before leaving, he left a note for Liam with the usual instructions and emergency numbers. His brother would likely sleep until noon. That gave Soren time to returnif he returned at all.
The thought hit him like a cold slap. In previous missions, a small, reassuring voice always whispered that he was careful and discreet enough to survive. Today, that voice was silent. A dull premonition replaced it, like the distant rumble of an approaching storm.
He kissed Liam's sleeping forehead and whispered, "I'll be back soon, little brother. Hang on."
The transport station for Sector 5 swarmed with activity despite the early hour. Soren boarded the metro-pod heading for the Central District. He sat wedged between office workers in suits and laborers heading to reconstruction sites. No one paid him any attention. In this world, invisibility was often the best protection.
Thirty minutes later, he stood before the Silver Wolf Guild headquarters. The structure of black glass and brushed steel rose fifteen stories high. High-ranking Awakened entered and exited with the confident stride of those who know their presence can turn the tide of battle. Soren tightened his backpack straps and took a deep breath.
Somewhere in the bowels of Valdris, a portal had opened into the unknown. There were creatures hungry for human flesh, deadly traps, and mysteries that only the brave or the desperate dared to face. Soren belonged firmly to the second category.
He pushed through the glass doors. He knew he was crossing the threshold of what might be his final mission. But 300 credits meant two more weeks of life for Liam. For that, Soren Kaelen was ready to defy hell itself.