For years, he'd struggled to survive, working grueling jobs just to keep a roof over his head.
Delivering packages across the city, cleaning buildings late into the night—it had been a far cry from the life he'd once known.
Then came Ezren. The mysterious man from Kaelith had saved Chevie from a group of thugs one evening, his presence as commanding as it was enigmatic.
"Kid," Ezren had said, handing him a drink after the fight. "You've got a fire in you, but you're wasting it."
Chevie had scoffed, nursing a bruise on his jaw. "What would you know about it?"
"More than you think," Ezren had replied, his gaze distant.
Over the next few months, the older man had taken Chevie under his wing, teaching him the value of patience and secrecy.
"A good secret," Ezren had said once, "is one that stays with you. Never let anyone know your full hand."
Chevie hadn't fully understood the lesson at the time, but it had stayed with him, shaping the way he approached life after his awakening.
"...and that's all I know," the rogue woman said, snapping Chevie out of his thoughts.
He stepped back, lowering his blade. "Good choice," he said, his voice colder now.
The faint wail of DDA sirens echoed in the distance, growing louder with each passing second. Chevie sheathed Echo's Edge and turned to leave.
"Wait," the woman called after him. "Who are you?"
Chevie paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder.
"Just a Gatewalker," he said before disappearing into the night.
As he walked away, his mind returned to Ezren's words and the hard-won lessons of his past.
The air in Avenridge was cool and quiet as Chevie made his way home, Echo's Edge hanging loosely at his side.
The rogue Gatewalkers had been dealt with, and the DDA would handle the rest.
Yet his mind churned with memories sparked by the confrontation, drawing him back to the days before he'd awakened.
Five years ago, before the Gates appeared, life had been simpler—though far from easy.
Chevie had been a typical eighteen-year-old, juggling small jobs to make ends meet and spending his free time exploring Avenridge's bustling streets.
He'd always carried a lighthearted demeanor, preferring to laugh his way through problems rather than dwell on them.
Then the Gates had shattered that normalcy.
The Gate opened in the heart of Avenridge, spilling forth a swarm of beasts. Panic swept through the city as unprepared civilians scrambled to survive.
Chevie had lost his mother that day, a moment etched in his memory like a scar. In the chaos that followed, he was forced to grow up fast, taking on any work he could find to scrape by.
It was two years after the Gates appeared that Chevie met Ezren Hart, a man who would change the course of his life. The encounter was anything but planned.
Chevie had been cornered by a group of thugs in a dimly lit alley, his meager earnings from a courier job spilling onto the ground as they closed in.
"You're in the wrong part of town, kid," one of them sneered, a knife glinting in his hand.
Chevie had braced himself for a fight he couldn't win when a voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Leave the boy alone."
The thugs turned, their confidence faltering as Ezren stepped into the light.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a piercing gaze that seemed to strip away pretense. His simple, practical clothing couldn't hide the air of authority he carried.
Without waiting for a response, Ezren dispatched the thugs with swift, calculated movements, his every strike precise and devastating.
"Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to pick up your things?" Ezren asked, turning to Chevie.
Chevie scrambled to gather his scattered belongings, his heart racing. "Thanks, I guess."
Ezren nodded, his expression unreadable. "You've got potential, kid. But potential doesn't mean much if you waste it."
Ezren became a mentor of sorts. He never spoke of where he came from or why he had taken an interest in Chevie, but his teachings were invaluable.
"Patience, Chevie," Ezren would say, often during their sparring sessions. "A rash decision can kill you faster than any beast."
Ezren's lessons extended beyond combat. He taught Chevie how to read people, how to recognize opportunities, and—most importantly—how to keep secrets.
"A secret," Ezren had told him one evening, "is like a weapon. In the right hands, it's power. In the wrong hands, it's a liability."
Chevie never quite understood why Ezren was so insistent on secrecy.
...
Chevie's life took a dramatic turn during a seemingly routine delivery job. He had been tasked with transporting a small package to the outskirts of Avenridge—a job he'd done dozens of times before.
But as he reached the drop-off point, a Gate opened nearby.
The dimensional rift tore through the air, unleashing a pack of feral beasts with glowing red eyes and razor-sharp claws.
Chevie ran, weaving through the narrow alleys as the beasts gave chase.
His heart pounded in his chest, fear threatening to overwhelm him. As he rounded a corner, he tripped, sprawling to the ground.
The beasts closed in, their growls reverberating through the air.
Desperation surged through Chevie as his eyes landed on a broken spear lying nearby.
Without thinking, he grabbed it and thrust it forward, the jagged edge catching one of the beasts in the throat.
The others hesitated, giving Chevie a moment to scramble to his feet. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he fought, the spear moving in his hands as if guided by instinct.
Then it happened. A surge of energy exploded from within him, sending the beasts flying.
The world seemed to slow as Chevie felt something awaken deep inside—a power he couldn't yet comprehend.
The remaining beasts fled, and Chevie stood there, the spear clutched tightly in his hands. His body trembled, not from fear but from the realization that he was no longer the same.