The morning mist clung to the ruins of Valdris, a city caught between two eras. Once a beacon of light, it had become a jagged patchwork of steel and mana. Portals to other worlds shimmered like open wounds across the sky. At every dawn, the wind from these Rifts whispered a grim truth: the world's end hadn't come from a natural disaster, but from the hands of humanity.
In the slums, apartment blocks loomed like sickly giants. Their walls, eaten away by mana residue, crumbled slowly into the streets. Warning sirens provided the soundtrack to daily life—a gate opening here, an Awakened falling there. Within this mundane chaos, people endured simply because they had no other choice.
A sharp snap, then a sigh. Soren Kaelen opened his eyes.
The cracked ceiling of his apartment greeted him with its usual cold indifference. He pushed himself up from the creaking bed. His back throbbed and his shoulders burned, still aching from the heavy loads he had carried the day before.
In the next bed over, his younger brother, Liam, tossed fitfully. His wheezing breath echoed through the room—the sound of a heart struggling against its own body. Mana Depletion Syndrome was a slow poison for those who lacked the constitution of an Awakened. Every stabilizing injection cost a fortune. Every missed dose was a death sentence.
Soren sighed and pressed a hand to Liam's forehead. He was burning up.
He moved to the small kitchenette and prepared breakfast: a bowl of synthetic cereal and flavorless milk substitute. His movements were precise and mechanical. When Liam finally blinked his eyes open, a faint smile touched his pale lips.
"I feel better than yesterday," the boy lied.
Soren forced a smile and ruffled his brother's hair. At twenty-one, he felt forty. He had endured too many sleepless nights, too many grueling missions, and far too many defeats.
Unlike most porters, Soren actually possessed an Ability. He could manifest a Barrier. However, it was a pathetic thing—so fragile that a common goblin could shatter it with a lazy swipe of its claws. It was a laughable defense, often mocked by the hunting parties. Yet, it was the only thing he had.
The Call
At exactly 7:15 AM, the communicator on Soren's wrist buzzed.
Urgent Mission. Rank E Dungeon detected – Sector 5.
Team incomplete. Porter needed.
300 Credits. Departure 8:30 AM.
Confirm immediately. S.K.
Soren stared at the screen. Three hundred credits. That was two weeks of treatment for Liam. A small fortune.
But "urgent" was always a code for "dangerous." This was a mission others had already turned down. It was a job where death was already a member of the party. A voice in his head told him to delete the message, but the heat of Liam's fever reminded him of the stakes.
He tapped a quick reply: Confirmed. I'll be there on time. S.K.
He pulled on his patched combat suit and tightened his boots. He checked his old porter's rucksack: ropes, bandages, rations, and a single vial of low-grade mana just enough to keep him moving. He carried no weapon. His role was to carry weight, not to fight.
Before leaving, he left a scribbled note on the table:
Back soon. Eat something. Turn down the heat if I'm late.
"Hang in there, Liam," he whispered. "I promise I'll be back."
As he closed the door, a dull sense of dread settled in his chest. He felt as though he were standing on the edge of an invisible abyss.
The morning commute was a blur of voices and the smell of grease and iron. Standing between two executives in tailored Awakened suits, Soren watched the news tickers scroll by on the train's displays.
Rank C Gate Stabilized. Expedition Team Sent to Sector 2.
It was always the same news. It was a world where the powerful basked in the spotlight while people like him scrambled for the crumbs of their glory. When the train slowed, he saw the emblem of the Silver Wolves reflected in the window a stylized wolf etched in a silver halo.
The guild headquarters was a study in contrasts. Outside lay the misery of Sector F; inside was a realm of marble, holograms, and soft, filtered light.
The hall buzzed with activity. Rank C and B Awakened walked past, discussing weapons, trophies, and bounties. On the walls, portraits of famous hunters displayed smiling faces draped in glory. Soren looked away. These people lived in a different reality.
He crossed the hall quietly and took a seat on a cold metal bench. With his bag between his legs, he waited. He stared at the floor, trying to steady his racing heart. He repeated the silent promise that kept him going:
It doesn't matter how many times the barrier breaks. I will get back up. As long as it stands, even for a second... I'm still in the fight.
A few minutes later, a sharp figure entered his field of vision. She had silver-gray hair and a piercing gaze, dressed in an impeccable black suit. It was Mara Konstantin, the guild coordinator.
"Kaelen," she said, cutting straight to the point. "Change of plans. This isn't a standard urgent mission."
Soren looked up, his anxiety written clearly across his face.