Life is not fair.
Some people are born into comfort, their paths paved with gold. Others claw their way forward, only to find that no matter how hard they try, it's never enough.
Nathaniel 'Nate' Veran had always known which side he belonged to.
At sixteen, he was thin, underfed, and ordinary. His only striking feature was his ocean-blue eyesâdeep and mesmerizing, like they held stories yet to be told. But in this world, beauty means nothing.
Power does.
He lived with his father, mother, and one-year-old sister in a cramped home on the outskirts of the city. His father owned a small herb shop, barely making enough to scrape by. His mother stayed home, caring for them, while debt choked their family like an iron chain.
Still, they endured. They had each other, and for Nate, that was enough.
Until today.
It started as a cough. Nothing serious. Just a little cold.
That's what they thought.
Until his mother collapsed on the floor, struggling to breathe.
His baby sister wailed, her tiny fists clenched as if she could sense something was wrong. Panic surged in Nate's chest.
"Go get your father!"
He ran.
He sprinted through the streets, his heart pounding as he reached his father's store. Buried in herbs and scrolls, his father looked up, confused. But when Nate gasped out the wordsâwhen he saw the fear in his son's eyesâeverything else was forgotten.
Moments later, they were in front of the healer's clinic, his father carrying his mother while Nate trailed behind, struggling to keep up.
They burst through the doors, breathless.
The healerâa man in his late forties, with gray streaks in his beardâtook one look at Nate's mother and frowned.
He examined her, then sighed. "She needs an advanced potion."
A moment of silence.
Then his father spoke, his voice rough, hesitant.
"How much?"
The healer named a price.
Nate didn't understand numbers like his father did, but he didn't need to. He saw it in the way his father's face went pale.
A heavy silence settled between them.
His father lowered his head, gripping his hands together. "âŚI don't have that kind of money."
The healer's gaze softened. But sympathy doesn't heal the sick.
"If you can't afford it," he said gently, "then I can't help you."
They walked home in silence.
His father's shoulders were hunched, his steps dragging as if he had aged years in minutes.
When they arrived, his mother lay in bed, her breath shallow. His baby sister had cried herself to sleep.
His father sat down at the table, staring at nothing.
For the first time in Nate's life, he looked completely defeated.
Nate clenched his fists. There had to be another way.
Borrowing money? No one would lend to a family drowning in debt.
Asking for help? No one cares about the poor.
The healer? No charity, only business.
His gaze shifted back to his father. A man who worked every day of his life and still had nothing.
His mother. A woman who had given everything, yet lay helpless.
His baby sister. Too young to understand she might grow up without a mother.
And then, Nate thought of the Dungeons.
He had heard the stories. How people risked their lives inside, fighting beasts and searching for treasure. Some returned rich beyond imagination. Some never returned at all.
And the Nightmares.
The rare few chosen by the world itself. Those who conquered their Nightmares became something more.
Most people feared them.
But what's there to fear when you've already lost everything?
He clenches his fists. His nails dig into his skin.
"I can either watch my family fall apart... or I can fight."
And so, for the first time in his life, he makes a choice.
He steps forwardânot because he wants to, but because he has no other option.
He is going to enter the Dungeon.
No matter what it takes.