Ethan tightened his grip around the hunter license in his pocket, his gaze sweeping over the towering walls of the guild hall. The Vigile Mortalis, led by the notorious Alaric Thorn, buzzed with activity. It wasn't as flashy as he'd expect —more like patched-together remnants of a once-advanced world, cobbled together to make sense of the chaos that followed. Digital displays blinked erratically, tracking missions and projecting guild announcements, their light flickering over rusting walls and cracked tiles.
Pushing his way through the bustling crowd, Ethan inhaled deeply. The air was thick with the scent of worn leather, oil from old machinery, and the faint hum of Aether-infused devices. The hunters here weren't polished; their gear was a blend of rugged functionality and what little tech still worked. Two hunters ahead of him were talking loudly, one adjusting his scratched, rune-etched chest plate, the other fiddling with a pair of augmented gauntlets that sparked every now and then.
"Bro, the minute we're done with this raid, I'm getting one of those old Void Consoles. Heard they've got a game where you can actually feel the Aether leaving you through the screen," said the one with the gauntlets, a gleam of excitement in his eyes.
His friend scoffed, checking the runes on his armor. "You can't afford that junk. Besides, half of those devices break after a month. That tech's ancient."
The first hunter shrugged. "Worth the risk. Can't be worse than staring at ruins all day."
Their conversation faded as Ethan slipped past them, focused on finding Iron Fang. His eyes darted to the banners hanging above—faded symbols of a once-grand past. The emblem of Ironshade was there too: a black wolf circling a gleaming blade, dim in the harsh light.
The guild hall was chaos. Groups of hunters clustered together, checking their weapons and discussing strategies. One leader barked commands, his voice cutting through the noise.
"We're deploying in ten! Get your gear in order. If you're not ready, you'll be left behind."
Ethan's attention shifted to a large coat of arms on the wall. It bore the insignia of the Iron Fang—sharp fangs crossed by a blade. He was in the right place. Just as a sliver of relief washed over him, a bulky hunter bumped into him hard.
"Watch it!" the man growled, shoving Ethan back with a hand as large as a boulder. His arms were marked with glowing tattoos that pulsed with faint Aether energy. He looked down at Ethan, sneering at the lack of Aether he sensed. "Tch, no wonder you're getting pushed around."
The man's grip tightened, lifting Ethan slightly before letting go with a snicker. "You're out of your league, kid. This isn't a playground. You've gotta be at least Alaric Thorn's level to survive here. Otherwise, you're just another body."
Ethan swallowed the anger rising in his throat, watching the hunter stride away. The insult burned, but he couldn't let it shake him—not today.
As he made his way deeper into the hall, the chaotic energy pressed in. Hunters were crowded around old betting terminals, placing wagers on upcoming Aether-fueled matches.
"Fifty creds says Braxton drops that ogre in under two minutes!"
"You're insane. The ogre's been through more battles than Braxton can count."
Another cheer went up as someone waved a winning ticket. Ethan ignored them, keeping his head down as he moved toward a quieter section. The din slowly faded as he reached the far end of the guild hall, where a group of new recruits struggled to strap on ill-fitting armor.
Then, suddenly, he stumbled into someone.
The impact sent him sprawling to the cold floor. As his palms hit the ground, a strange weight crashed down on him—heavy and suffocating, as though the very air had thickened. His breath hitched, and he struggled to lift his head, feeling a sudden pressure crush his chest.
He looked up.
Standing there, indifferent to the world around him, was Alaric Thorn.
Ethan's pulse raced. Alaric didn't need flashy gear or imposing armor to command attention. Dressed in a plain black jacket, dark pants, and combat boots, his appearance was deceptively simple. But the quiet menace radiating from him was undeniable. His cropped black hair and ice-blue eyes stood out sharply in the low light, those eyes glowing faintly—like they saw through everything and everyone.
Alaric's gaze wasn't even on Ethan. He didn't need to notice someone like him. Yet, Ethan felt the weight of his presence more than any weapon or Aether-tech he'd ever faced.
For a second, Ethan hoped he'd go unnoticed, that Alaric wouldn't bother with someone as insignificant as him.
But then, Alaric's cold gaze shifted downward.
It felt like being skewered. The brief flicker of acknowledgment was as cutting as any blade. Alaric's expression didn't change, but there was a chill in the air as he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, "huh?,..... How Fragile."
The word cut through Ethan like ice,
Ethan's chest tightened, his throat constricting as he struggled to form words. His lips parted, but no sound escaped. Say something! his mind screamed, but his body refused to obey. It felt as though the very weight of Alaric's gaze was choking the air from his lungs. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, his heart pounding violently, each beat growing heavier as if the atmosphere itself was siphoning away his will to speak.
Alaric's cold, lifeless stare drilled into him. Those icy blue eyes, sharper than any blade, flickered for a fraction of a second but with enough force to crush Ethan's spirit. There wasn't anger in Alaric's gaze—only a chilling indifference, like Ethan was beneath notice. That made it worse. To be dismissed so utterly, as if he was no more than a ghost in the shadow of a giant.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the suffocating tension like a breath of fresh air.
"Hey, hey, hey! There you are!" Reyna Steelwind's voice rang out, light and playful, a stark contrast to the oppressive weight hanging in the air.
Ethan's gaze flicked toward her, and the tightness in his chest loosened. Air rushed back into his lungs, his heart stuttering to catch up. Reyna strolled forward, her stride confident, almost cocky, as she made her way through the crowd. Her silver hair, shimmering like moonlight, cascaded over her shoulders, and her polished armor gleamed under the dull light of the hall. She was striking, a figure of power and beauty, radiating warmth that cut through the cold like sunlight piercing through a storm.
Without missing a beat, she stepped between Ethan and Alaric, her mere presence shattering the suffocating atmosphere. "Honestly, Alaric, scaring the kid already?" she teased, nudging Alaric's shoulder with a playful grin. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, as though she was enjoying some private joke.
Alaric didn't move, his gaze shifting to Reyna for a moment. His expression remained unchanged, his demeanor as cold and unyielding as stone. His voice, when it came, was low and devoid of emotion. "The faction's meeting is soon. Don't be late." There was no room for pleasantries in his tone—just cold, mechanical precision.
As Alaric turned to leave, he hesitated, his lips barely moving as he muttered something under his breath—a phrase so low Ethan couldn't catch it. But Reyna did. Her smile faltered, just for a heartbeat, and the playful gleam in her eyes dulled. Her posture stiffened, the casual charm she radiated a moment ago vanishing like a flame snuffed out in the wind.
Ethan watched in silent confusion, a knot of unease tightening in his gut. Whatever Alaric had said, it had struck a nerve. What had he just witnessed?
Alaric's dark figure disappeared into the crowd, leaving a cold void in his wake. Reyna exhaled, her shoulders sagging slightly as if releasing some hidden tension. Her smile returned, though it lacked the effortless warmth it had before. "Well, that's Alaric for you," she said, her voice light but tinged with something heavier. She tried to laugh it off, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
She turned back to Ethan, crouching slightly and extending a hand to help him up. "Don't let him get to you. He's... different," she said, her smile returning, though there was a flicker of seriousness in her gaze now, a subtle warning hidden behind her friendly demeanor. "You must be Ethan, right? Iron Fang's been expecting you."
Ethan's throat felt like sandpaper as Reyna's firm hand pulled him up. Her grip, strong and weathered, spoke of battles long past. The callouses on her fingers pressed into his skin, a reminder that he was surrounded by warriors seasoned by years of combat. His legs wobbled beneath him, still shaking from the oppressive weight of Alaric's presence. Even though he was no longer in sight, Ethan could feel his cold, dead stare like a shadow lingering behind.
Reyna flashed a smirk, brushing dust from Ethan's shirt like it was no big deal. "Come on, no time for shaking. The Iron Fang's waiting, and we've got a job to do." Her voice was light, almost playful, but the way she carried herself told Ethan this was just another day in the life for her. She was used to men like Alaric—used to this world of bloodlines and power plays.
As they walked through the guild hall, the din of activity surrounded them. Hunters of all ranks and creeds moved with purpose—some adjusting their gear, others arguing over prices for enchanted weapons, and a few laughing about the spoils of their latest hunts. One nearby group traded stories about the goblin raids, their words barely audible over the clattering of armor and Aether-tech devices humming in the background. The guild was alive with energy, but Ethan's mind was still replaying the icy encounter with Alaric.
"You... work with him?" Ethan asked, his voice still shaky as he kept pace with Reyna.
She glanced back with a raised brow, then laughed. "Work for him? Nah, not exactly. More like we work under him. Alaric doesn't do the whole 'team' thing. He watches over us like a hawk, keeps things running smoothly... if you can call it that." Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "Don't sweat it, though. You won't see much of him. That's what you've got me and the rest of the Iron Fang for."
As they reached the far end of the hall, Ethan spotted a group gathered around a large table. This was the Iron Fang. But they weren't waiting in neat rows, ready to greet him. They were just... there. Casual, confident, completely unaware of the anxiety gnawing at Ethan's insides. It was in the way they moved—the easy camaraderie, the effortless banter—that made it clear they'd been through countless battles together.
Ethan's eyes scanned them, taking in their presence.
A tall, broad-shouldered man leaned against the table, his wild, untamed hair giving him a rugged, dangerous look. The muscle, Ethan thought. His cocky grin and towering frame practically screamed "heavy hitter." He caught Ethan staring and raised an eyebrow.
"What? Never seen a real hunter before?" the man asked, his voice gruff, but not unkind.
Ethan quickly looked away, his face flushing. That has to be Jaxon—the bruiser of the group. Definitely a C-rank. Strong enough to plow through most threats, but still cocky enough to keep pushing his luck.
Next to Jaxon, a bespectacled man stood with a sharp, focused gaze. He moved with a precision that made it clear he was their strategist. The guy who'd probably pick enemies off from a distance before they even realized what hit them. He had the calm demeanor of someone who'd seen too much but wasn't rattled by it. Another C-rank, Ethan guessed.
Further down, a girl with vibrant green hair sat quietly, adjusting the straps on her gear. She looked timid, her eyes darting nervously around the room as if she wanted to melt into the shadows. But Ethan could sense the Aether energy surrounding her, humming just beneath the surface. A healer. Probably a D-rank, but she had raw potential.
Finally, there was the other girl—sharp-eyed, lithe, and deadly. She didn't say much, just leaned back with her arms crossed, surveying the room. The way she moved, controlled and ready, screamed close-combat specialist. Ethan could tell she was B-rank, fast and lethal in tight quarters. Probably the last person you'd want to face when the walls closed in.
Reyna clapped her hands, bringing the team to attention. "Alright, Iron Fang, listen up. We've got a mission: Scorched Barren." The name alone seemed to ignite something in the group. A notorious hunting ground, once a thriving city, now reduced to ash and ruin after the Awakening. It wasn't considered a high-risk zone, but its unpredictability made it a tricky place to navigate.
Jaxon cracked his knuckles, a grin spreading across his face. "About time we get some action. Time to get some essence."
Reyna shot him a look, her voice firm but measured. "Routine hunt. But don't get cocky. You know how these things go—nothing's ever 'routine' out there." She kept Alaric's cryptic warning to herself. That was her burden to carry. The team needed to focus on the task at hand.
As the others began prepping their gear, Ethan felt the weight of their professionalism pressing down on him. They moved with purpose, every action honed by years of experience. He stood there, gripping the strap of his Dusksting tightly, trying to steady the racing thoughts in his head. The faces of his siblings, Lyla and Liam, flashed before his eyes.
This is for them.
He inhaled deeply, his heart pounding in his chest. This is where everything changes. No more hiding. No more running. He had to get stronger. For his family. For himself.
As the team finished gearing up, a low hum filled the air. Ethan's eyes widened as a portal shimmered to life at the center of the room, swirling with displaced Aether energy. It was a mesmerizing sight, the swirling light casting strange, dancing shadows along the walls.
"Let's move out," Reyna ordered, her eyes scanning the team one last time. She caught Ethan's gaze and gave him a reassuring nod.
Jaxon was the first to step forward, his grin widening as he disappeared into the crackling energy. One by one, the others followed, each of them stepping into the light without hesitation.
Ethan hesitated, his feet frozen for just a moment. Then, with a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, tightened his grip on his weapon, and stepped forward. The swirling light enveloped him, pulling him into the unknown. There was no turning back now.