The hover bike hummed beneath them as they sped through District 12. Orson sat behind Corvin, one hand gripping the seat and the other pressed against his thigh to keep steady, while the bike moved fast, skimming over cracked roads and patches of sand that had spilled across the pavement.
The city changed around them.
At first there were still buildings—low, broken structures with shattered windows and collapsed roofs. Faded signs hung from doorways, and some walls had crumbled entirely, leaving only piles of rubble and twisted metal. People moved in the shadows: beggars, scavengers, and figures wrapped in rags who watched the bike pass without expression.
Then the buildings thinned.
The streets disappeared under layers of dust and sand as the ruins gave way to open ground. Nothing but pale sand stretched out in every direction, broken only by the occasional rusted pole or buried piece of machinery. The air grew warmer and drier, and the hum of the bike became the only sound.
Orson looked toward the center of the district.
The breach waited there.
From a distance it had looked like a wound in the sky, a tear in reality, but as they moved closer it changed. The edges were not ragged. They were clean and smooth, as if someone had cut through the world with a blade and the wound had never closed. Light spilled from the opening, soft and pale, shifting in colors Orson could not name.
It looked like a gateway—not to another place, but to somewhere else entirely.
He felt something strange settle in his chest, a pressure and a pull. The closer they got, the stronger it became. His body wanted to move toward it, yet his instincts wanted him to turn around.
He ignored both.
"What created that thing?"
The words left his mouth before he remembered he was supposed to act like he already knew. He tensed, and Corvin glanced back at him with one eyebrow raised.
"Weird. For a guy who wanted to live a normal life, you sure want to know a lot about everything."
Orson said nothing, though his grip on the seat tightened.
Corvin did not push it. He turned back to the path and continued. "Remember the train station? When I told you to close your eyes and cover your mouth?"
Orson nodded.
"Well, to get to District 12, you have to pass through a Vessel Forest. The monster that created that thing is currently living there."
Orson stared at him. "Something that did that is still alive? And no one killed it?"
Corvin laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That’s a God Level Tier monster. What do you expect us to do against a being that can tear a hole in reality? Why do you think it’s called an Eternal Breach? Because it can never be closed." He paused. "Everyone in this district is like this because of it."
The wasteland stretched out around them. Orson looked at the sand, the ruins, and the distant figures in rags.
"Even your father," Corvin continued. "One of the strongest Awakened humans in the world. Ten of him wouldn’t be enough to kill that thing."
"Then why doesn’t it attack?"
Corvin shrugged. "No one really knows."
The bike slowed.
A checkpoint stood ahead—metal barriers, armed guards in dark uniforms, and strange weapons strapped to their chests. A man stepped forward and raised a hand.
They stopped.
Corvin and Orson climbed off the bike as the guard walked toward them, his eyes moving between the two.
"Wow. Corvin and Orson. A sight for sore eyes." The man crossed his arms. "What are you two doing in District 12? I mean, I know why you’re here, Corvin. But now you’ve brought Orson with you. What exactly are you planning?"
Corvin smiled easily. "Officer Ray, you’re mistaken. I just brought my friend here for some work. Nothing else. Don’t get it wrong. Besides, Orson is married now. No more fun for him."
Ray looked at Orson, his expression unchanged.
"And besides, Officer Ray, shouldn’t you be in District 7? What are you doing here?"
Ray glanced between them before turning. "Follow me."
He led them inside a small storage room at the edge of the checkpoint. The walls were lined with equipment, suits hung from racks, and lockers stood against the far wall. Ray closed the door behind them.
"I’m only telling you this because Orson is a Mercer." Ray’s voice dropped low. "The Silver Rain Clan is planning a siege into the breach. Someone found a high-tier astral weapon inside. They’re going to investigate more. The main family’s young generation might also be coming. I’m not sure yet. The government wants things to stay safe, so we’ve been deployed to increase security here."
Orson listened carefully.
The Silver Rain Clan, a high-tier astral weapon, the main family and he was a Mercer. The word meant something in this world—a role, a position, possibly dangerous.
Questions shifted in his mind.
He had been forced to marry a crippled woman. His family—Orson’s family—was apparently powerful, one of the strongest. So why force their son into a contract marriage with a dying wife? What was so special about her? And if his family was strong, why were they using him for whatever scheme this was? No one forced a son into something like this without a reason.
There are more questions to be asked after getting some answers.
Ray pulled two protective suits from the wall and handed them over. The fabric was flexible and light, covering the body from neck to ankles, with a thin helmet attached to the collar.
"The air outside the breach is worse than normal," Ray said. "Regular humans need these."
Corvin pulled the suit on, and Orson did the same.
"Corvin." Ray’s voice was hard. "Try not to cause any trouble with the Awakened inside, okay?"
Corvin smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.
"Of course."
They walked through the checkpoint and out into the wasteland. The breach loomed ahead.
The walk was not far. Orson kept his eyes on the ground, the sky, and the shifting light from the tear. The same strange feeling from before returned—a pressure in his chest and a pull toward the breach—but he still could not tell what it was.
The sand crunched under his boots as the wind picked up, carrying dust across the open ground.
Then, as they drew closer, the air changed.
A warm breeze drifted from the breach and touched his face and hands. It was soothing and soft, like stepping into a warm bath after a long day. His muscles relaxed without his permission, and the tension in his shoulders eased.
He did not trust it.
The breach was a wound in the world, a tear created by a monster. Nothing about it should feel this gentle.
They reached the center of the district. A group of people stood near the base of the breach. Some wore protective suits like Orson and Corvin, while others wore dark armor with glowing lines running through the plating—Awakened, their weapons strapped to their backs and hips.
A voice called out.
"Well, well. Look who decided to join us. You took long enough. Do you know how long we waited?"
Corvin offered a bright smile. "Sorry. We’re here now."
Orson mimicked the gesture, though it felt wrong on his face.
An older man stepped forward. His hair was gray at the temples, his face weathered, and a heavy pack sat on his back. This had to be Vance.
"Old man Vance," Corvin said. "We’re here. Don’t forget your promise."
"Don’t worry. I didn’t." Vance looked at Orson. "Just make sure to do what you’re asked, Corvin. And keep Orson close. Understand?"
Corvin nodded.
Vance turned to face the group, and his voice carried across the sand.
"You all know the drill. And the rules. So try to follow them. Some Awakened guild will be inside with us. If you must know, there’s no Saint with them. So you don’t have to worry. The breach isn’t going anywhere. You can still receive your money. Just try not to distract or disturb them."
Heads nodded, and Orson nodded with them.
Vance turned toward the breach and started walking.
Everyone followed.
Orson moved with the group, his eyes fixed on the tear in reality. The warm breeze touched his face again—gentle, inviting.
He did not trust it.