The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets of the hunter's guild district. James adjusted the straps of his worn leather pack, the weight of it digging into his shoulders. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and the faint tang of iron from the blacksmith's forge nearby. Around him, hunters of all ranks moved with purpose, their armor gleaming and weapons slung casually over their shoulders. James, however, stood out like a sore thumb.
His gear was patched and faded, a far cry from the pristine equipment of the higher-ranked hunters. The emblem on his chest—a single bronze star—marked him as an E-rank, the lowest of the low. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact as he made his way through the crowd. The disdainful glances and muttered insults were nothing new. He had grown used to them over the years.
"Hey, E-rank! Out of the way!" a voice barked behind him. James barely had time to step aside as a group of C-rank hunters shoved past him, their laughter ringing in his ears. He clenched his fists but said nothing. There was no point in picking fights he couldn't win.
The guild hall loomed ahead, its towering structure a testament to the wealth and power of the hunters who frequented it. James pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside. The interior was a cacophony of noise—hunters haggling over quests, merchants hawking their wares, and the occasional clang of weapons being tested. James made his way to the quest board, his eyes scanning the posted notices.
Most of the quests were out of his league. "Slay the Frostfang Wyvern," "Clear the Bandit Stronghold," "Retrieve the Lost Relic of Azura"—all required a minimum rank of C or higher. James sighed and turned his attention to the lower-ranked quests. There were a few D-rank missions, but even those were a stretch for someone of his rank. Still, he needed the money.
His mother's face flashed in his mind, pale and drawn from the illness that had taken hold of her. The doctors had given her six months, maybe less, unless they could afford the expensive treatments. James had sold everything of value—his father's old sword, the family heirlooms, even his own bed—but it wasn't enough. He needed more, and fast.
"Looking for a porter for a D-rank dungeon raid," a voice called out. James turned to see a group of hunters gathered near the quest board. They were a motley crew, their gear a mix of leather and chainmail, but they carried themselves with the confidence of seasoned adventurers. James hesitated for a moment before stepping forward.
"I'll do it," he said, his voice steady despite the knot of anxiety in his stomach.
The leader of the group, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, looked him up and down. "You? An E-rank? This isn't a babysitting mission, kid."
"I can handle it," James insisted. "I've been on plenty of raids before."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Plenty of raids, huh? And yet you're still an E-rank. What's your name?"
"James. James Carter."
The man snorted. "Well, James Carter, if you're so confident, we'll give you a shot. But if you slow us down, you're on your own. Got it?"
James nodded, his heart pounding. This was his chance. If he could prove himself, maybe they'd let him join future raids. Maybe he could earn enough to save his mother.
---
The dungeon was a day's journey from the city, nestled deep within the Whispering Woods. The group set out at dawn, their pace brisk as they navigated the winding trails. James struggled to keep up, his pack weighing him down, but he refused to complain. He couldn't afford to show weakness.
As they traveled, the hunters exchanged stories of past exploits, their laughter echoing through the trees. James listened in silence, his mind focused on the task ahead. He had heard tales of the Whispering Woods—of the monsters that lurked in the shadows and the ancient ruins hidden beneath the earth. He had never ventured this far from the city before, and the thought sent a shiver down his spine.
By midday, they reached the entrance to the dungeon. It was a gaping maw in the side of a hill, the stone worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain. The leader of the group, whose name James had learned was Garrick, turned to address them.
"Alright, listen up. This is a standard D-rank dungeon. We're here to clear out the lower levels and retrieve any valuable loot. Stick together, watch your backs, and don't do anything stupid. Understood?"
The group nodded, and Garrick led the way inside. The air grew cooler as they descended, the light from the entrance fading behind them. James lit a torch, the flickering flame casting long shadows on the walls. The dungeon was eerily quiet, the only sound the soft crunch of their boots on the stone floor.
They encountered their first group of monsters an hour in—a pack of cave rats, their eyes glowing red in the darkness. The hunters made quick work of them, their blades flashing in the torchlight. James stayed back, his dagger clutched tightly in his hand. He knew better than to get in the way.
As they pressed deeper into the dungeon, the monsters grew stronger. Giant spiders, skeletal warriors, and even a troll blocked their path, but the hunters dispatched them with practiced ease. James watched in awe, his respect for their skill growing with each encounter.
It was during a brief rest that James noticed something unusual. While the others were busy tending to their gear, he wandered down a side passage, his curiosity getting the better of him. The tunnel was narrow and dark, the air thick with the scent of damp earth. He held his torch aloft, the light revealing strange markings on the walls—ancient runes, their meaning lost to time.
At the end of the passage was a chamber, its walls lined with crumbling statues. In the center of the room was a pedestal, and on it rested a single, glowing orb. James approached cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never seen anything like it before.
As he reached out to touch the orb, a voice echoed in his mind—deep and resonant, like the rumble of distant thunder. *"You have been chosen."*
Before James could react, the orb shattered, and a wave of energy surged through him. He stumbled back, his vision swimming as the world around him faded to black.
---
When James came to, he was lying on the cold stone floor, the torch extinguished beside him. The chamber was silent, the statues staring down at him with empty eyes. He sat up slowly, his body aching as if he had been struck by lightning. Something felt different—off, in a way he couldn't quite explain.
He raised his hand, and to his shock, a faint glow emanated from his skin. The voice returned, quieter this time. *"You are no longer alone."*
James's mind raced. What had just happened? What was this power? And more importantly, what did it mean for him?
Before he could ponder further, he heard voices echoing down the passage. Garrick and the others were calling his name. James scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding. He couldn't let them find him like this. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew one thing for certain—his life would never be the same.