There was no floor beneath his feet.
No sky above.
Kai drifted in a crushing, endless abyss that pressed relentlessly against his chest.
He tried to move, but his limbs felt like lead, paralyzed by a cold that sank straight into his bones.
Then, the dark split open.
Two spheres of crimson fire ignited in the absolute black, staring straight through him.
A voice, grinding like tectonic plates and dripping with ancient malice, echoed from everywhere at once.
“KILL THEM ALL.” The words vibrated in Kai’s teeth.
He lunged backward, desperate to escape, but the darkness clawed at his ankles, dragging him down.
The voice roared again, a deafening crescendo that shattered the void apart.
Kai gasped sharply, his eyes flying open as his spine slammed against the mattress.
The crimson eyes vanished.
Only the familiar morning shadows of his bedroom ceiling remained.
His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
Cold sweat traced a slow path down his temple.
“The same dream again…” Morning sunlight slipped through the curtains.
Morning had arrived differently in Sector 135 today.
Kai threw off the sheets and went to the window.
Outside, the localized grid streets had woken earlier than usual.
Municipal workers navigated hydraulic lift-platforms, hanging long white banners across the thoroughfares.
Automated drones hovered overhead, fastening thick strings of festival lights between structural rooftops.
At the center of the district, the concrete city plaza had become a massive construction zone.
Modular steel frames rose one after another as engineering crews hurried to finish the enormous main stage before sunset.
Children ran between unfinished stalls, pretending they were Hunters.
Shopkeepers argued over prime locations while vendors unloaded decorations from transport trucks.
The air felt louder and livelier.
*** Several kilometers away, deep inside the fortified core…
Rows of military operators sat before physical terminal screens, their fingers flying across keyboards.
At the center of the command room, a large three-dimensional topographical map of Sector 135 rotated slowly above a circular table.
“RES readings remain firmly below the evacuation threshold, Vice-Commander,” a data operator reported sharply.
The senior tactician standing beside him in full military dress folded her arms tightly.
“If the readings are stable, there must be another reason we were summoned to the core at this hour.” She turned her attention toward the head of the table.
“Commander Moscove?” “The active Rift near the outer border of Sector 135 officially entered the Spiral Stage exactly twenty-three minutes ago,” the operator announced.
“The local Rift gate changed its signature again,” a technician answered from the lower pit before the commander could respond.
“How many times?” Moscove asked, his voice low and grating.
A scientist adjusted his glasses, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Three times total, sir.
And each time, it calibrated back to the exact same alien world coordinates.” A terrified murmur rippled through the command staff.
“That’s not mathematically possible,” the tactician whispered.
“Spiral activity is common, but gates don’t have fixed coordinates.
They shouldn’t connect to the same world twice—let alone three times.” “Three separate, targeted Spiral events,” the scientist confirmed grimly.
Absolute silence suffocated the room.
The commander didn’t blink.
His eyes remained locked on the glowing map of the sector.
Every eye in the room turned to the center of the table.
He studied the shifting data streams, calculating the collateral.
Moscove finally broke the quiet.
“Sophia.” Sophia stepped forward, her posture rigid.
“Sir.” “Mobilize every registered combat Guild operating inside Sector 135,” Moscove ordered, “Divide their numbers into two contingents.
Deploy the heavy combat units deep into the Mutated Forest to secure a perimeter directly around the Rift.
Keep the remaining forces stationed inside the city to protect the civilians and lock down the streets while we continue active monitoring.” Sophia nodded sharply, processing the command before hesitating.
“And tomorrow?
What about the memorial Festival?
“The current RES readings don’t legally justify cancelling it.” moscove said.
“If we stop the ceremony now, mass panic will spread through the sectors before we even know if the Spiral event is actively hostile.” Moscove closed his eyes.
It was the correct logistical decision.
“The festival proceeds as planned.” Nobody objected.
A piercing crimson alarm shattered the quiet.
One of the data operators shot to his feet, the color draining from his face.
“Commander Moscove!” “The Containment division reported a critical incident in the sub-levels.” The operator swallowed hard, “The captured Riftborn…
all seven live specimens synchronized their neural waves.
It’s a perfect, impossible match.” “They’ve stopped resisting the containment fields,” the operator whispered, reading the live data feed.
“They aren’t trying to escape anymore.
They’ve all turned to face the geographic coordinates of Sector 135.” The operator looked up, eyes wide with panic.
“Commander, their core temperatures are skyrocketing.
They’re emitting a localized resonance frequency.
They aren’t staring—they’re acting as biological homing beacons.” He took a shaky breath.
“They’re answering the Rift.” For the first time that morning, a chill seeped into Moscove’s bones.
“Sophia,” he barked.
“Yes, Commander?” “Raise RESCU surveillance to Level Two.
Immediately.” *** Back in Sector 135, the comm-bracelet on Kai’s wrist suddenly buzzed with a sharp, mechanical vibration.
[EMERGENCY NOTICE] ALL REGISTERED GUILD HUNTERS TO REPORT IMMEDIATELY.
ISSUED BY: RESCU HIGH COMMAND Kai frowned.
“So early?” Another sharp pulse tapped against his wrist bone.
[MANDATORY DEPLOYMENT: LEVEL 1] He pulled on his dark coat, pinned his badge, and stepped out into the district thoroughfare.
The air felt tense beneath the colorful festival banners.
Hunters were moving through the streets in tight tactical formations, speaking rapidly into their collar radios while armored transports rolled toward the city plaza.
Near the edge of the plaza, he spotted a familiar face in the logistics circle.
“Vance,” Kai called out, intercepting the veteran Hunter.
“What’s the deployment for?
For the Memorial Eve?” Vance didn’t break stride, his eyes glued to his physical data slate.
“Official word says high-density crowd control.
Expecting a massive turnout for Voss.” “Level One mandatory mobilization for crowd control?” Kai fell into step beside him.
“That doesn’t make sense.
Checkpoints are pulling combat ranks, not security personnel.” Vance glanced around, dropping his voice.
“Look, nobody’s asking questions.
Command is on edge.
Rumor is a couple of outer sectors went into total lockdown last night.
Just follow protocol, Kai.
If the Guild logs a refusal, they’ll strip your license before the festival even starts.” “Is it Rift activity?” Kai pressed.
“The grid scanners are clear,” Vance said flatly, stopping at the primary security barrier.
“Go to your station.
We’ll talk later.” While the plaza above buzzed with anxious energy and festival preparations, none of it reached Lucen’s eyes.
Down in the basement, the small frequency receiver beside his mattress crackled softly.
“…the central plaza stage is expected to be completed before noon…” “…Apex Sentinel Alexander Voss is confirmed to attend tomorrow’s ceremony…” Lucen closed his eyes, letting the broadcast paint the scene.
He imagined the banners stretching overhead, the children chasing one another, the flower stalls Grandpa would set up tomorrow.
And the stage where Voss would stand.
He smiled.
“Maybe…” Just listening wasn’t so bad.
Lucen’s attention drifted.
He reached beneath his pillow and pulled out a thick, worn notebook.
The cover’s corners were smoothed from years of handling, the physical pages stained and crinkled.
Every major Sentinel battle he had ever heard on the radio lived inside its pages.
Dates.
Locations.
Enemy types.
Small sketches drawn from reporters’ descriptions.
He turned to a heavily annotated page.
THE SIEGE OF IRON VALLEY.
OPERATIVE: ALEXANDER VOSS.
“Three hundred and eighty-two Riftborn,” Lucen whispered, tracing the first line.
“Fourteen hours.” His eyes lit up.
“I still don’t get how he crossed the canyon abyss.” The answer wasn’t in the report.
So, Lucen tried to imagine it.
The basement walls melted away.
The narrow room became the jagged expanse of Iron Valley.
Riftborn poured in from every direction.
Voss stood alone at the center.
“Left,” Lucen muttered.
“No…
wait.
He couldn’t have gone left.
Cliffs.
So…
over the ridge line?” He laughed softly.
“No.
He would’ve charged straight through.” That sounded like Alexander Voss.
Lucen grabbed a pencil and scribbled in the margin: “Possible route?
Straight through the center.” One more theory.
One more victory lived entirely inside his head.
His fingers tightened around the notebook.
One day, if only in his imagination, he wanted to stand on a real battlefield, too.
The basement door creaked open.
Raina stepped inside, balancing a breakfast tray with practiced care.
“I brought breakfast,” she said, setting the bowl beside him.
A wide grin broke across her face as she reached behind her back.
“And…” She revealed a small, paper-wrapped pastry.
Lucen looked from the pastry to her.
“You stole it?” “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” She laughed, pushing it into his hands anyway.
“Eat it before Grandpa notices the inventory deficit.” Lucen accepted it like solid gold.
“Don’t talk to me for a minute,” he murmured, closing his eyes to savor the sugar.
Raina rolled her eyes, moving around the cramped space to tidy up.
She folded his blankets and stacked his books.
Her gaze eventually landed on the plasma baton resting near the bed.
“The one Kai gave you yesterday?” Lucen nodded quickly.
“Yup.” “It shouldn’t stay on the floor,” she said.
Picking it up carefully, she found a small metal hook embedded in the concrete wall and hung the baton securely.
“There.” Lucen followed her gaze.
The dark handle rested right beside his notebook.
“It looks better up there.” “Yeah,” she agreed quietly.
For some reason, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.
*** Meanwhile, several kilometers away from the sector 135, locked inside a heavily fortified blacksite, the research laboratory was dead silent, save for the rhythmic thrum of massive quantum machinery Reinforced alloy stasis pods lined the walls, containing strange crystals and broken alien weapons recovered from historic Rifts.
At the physical center of the room, a strange, triangular artifact floated silently inside a dense electromagnetic containment field.
Its dark, metallic surface reflected absolutely nothing.
The senior researcher finished logging another negative data report.
He turned, walking nervously toward the towering figure standing motionless in the shadows of the lab.
“We’ve received another security update from the surface registries,” he muttered, clutching his digital slate.
The shadowed figure remained silent.
“The floating artifact is still completely inactive,” he continued, desperate to fill the quiet.
“No matter how many deep diagnostics the team ran, they found no internal energy source.
No physical opening.
No mechanics.
Nothing” “…And?” the figure asked with a cold voice.
The researcher hesitated, swiping his screen.
“A private physician operating out of one of the outer slum districts just submitted an old medical report to the central health database.” He swallowed.
“Male.
Twenty years old.
Advanced stage of Helios Decay.
Registered residence…
Sector 135.” The shadowed figure stepped forward just slightly, staring intently at the floating triangle for a long, agonizing moment.
“Continue targeted observation.” “Yes, sir.
We are already doing so.” He quickly stepped away, eager to retreat to the safety of his monitors.
Behind him, deep inside the glowing electromagnetic field, the dark surface of the triangular artifact shimmered.
A faint, violet light pulsed from within its core for less than a second.
Then, it went perfectly still.