After night fell like ink spilled across the sky.
Eidral Academy was quiet now—except for the distant clang of training blades and the humming glyphs on the dorm walls. The halls buzzed with muted conversations, laughter behind noble curtains, and exhaustion pooling beneath the eyes of cadets who’d survived another day.
But Caelan wasn’t in his room.
Not anymore.
His footsteps echoed down a forgotten service tunnel beneath the east barracks. No lights. Just flickering rune-scars on the walls. He moved like shadow, breath low, face hidden beneath a torn combat cloak. In his pocket: a forged ID chip. Barely convincing. Just enough to fool the scanners of what he was about to walk into.
A door hissed open ahead.
Behind it—another world.
The Under-Vaults.
Where rules died.
Where blood bought silence.
Where power had a price tag.
Illegal missions. Disavowed contracts. Mercenaries who bled for coin, not flags.
He stepped into the registry chamber. A low-ceilinged hall with iron-grilled counters and thick glass. Behind one of them sat a masked clerk, her fingers coated in mana-ink, eyes like cracked obsidian.
She didn’t ask questions. Only names.
“Alias?” she muttered.
Caelan paused. He wasn’t wearing his academy sigil. No crest. No name.
“…Ghost.”
The clerk nodded. She handed him a sigil badge—gray steel, rough edges, branded with a number. “You’re Ghost now. One month probation. Die and you''re forgotten. Survive and we talk promotion.”
The vault doors opened behind her.
Heat and smoke hit him first.
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Then noise.
A sprawling underground base stretched out—half-warzone, half-market. Walls lined with contract boards. Cages full of mana-beasts. Barracks built from scrap metal. Tents selling blood-tonics and weapon chips. And mercs—dozens of them—drinking, shouting, fighting.
This wasn’t Eidral.
This was the belly of the world.
And he fit right in.
<hr>
The Best By Accident
He didn''t intend to join anyone.
Just observe. Get a feel. Maybe find a low-level contract.
Instead, five minutes in, he walked straight into chaos.
"Hey! You! Newbie!"
A thick voice. A tall, broad-shouldered man with scarred hands and ash-colored armor stood in front of him. Around him were four other mercs—lean, sharp-eyed, dangerous.
“This is Squad 9. Top-ranked Ghost unit,” the man growled. “We need one more for tonight’s vault run. Timer’s ticking. You in?”
Caelan blinked. “…You want me?”
“We want a body. And you''re standing. That qualifies.”
A woman behind the brute snorted. “Bet he pisses himself by first trap.”
Caelan nodded once. “Fine.”
They tossed him a mask. He slid it on. They didn’t ask for more. No ranks. No Aura scans. In the Ghosts, you were what you could survive.
<hr>
The Mission: Ember Vault X7
Classified as “Ruin-Risked.”
No maps. No mana readings. No exit timer.
Just rumors that high-value mana cores were buried in its depths. Enough to buy a year’s worth of food. Enough to buy an artifact upgrade.
Caelan followed Squad 9 into the breach.
The vault pulsed with residual heat—twisted iron trees and scorched obsidian. The layout shifted as they moved—gears turning behind the walls like a sleeping god’s breath.
His job was simple: don’t die.
Stay at the rear. Watch for traps.
Instead…
He disarmed a Glyph Net none of them saw.
He redirected a collapsing path with his Aura thread, stitched between wall fractures.
And when a mutated mana-beast burst from the floor—a hybrid of molten wolf and arc-flayed lizard—it was Caelan who killed it.
Three steps.
One silent breath.
Virael sang. The beast''s head dropped seconds later.
No cheers. Just stares.
The squad didn’t say anything.
But they stopped calling him “newbie” after that.
<hr>
Aftermath
Back at the under-vault, Squad 9 handed in the cores. The reward was high. Each split their cut.
The leader looked at Caelan, still cloaked, still masked.
“You’re not what you look like, Ghost.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
“You’re staying with us.”
It wasn’t a question.
He nodded.
<hr>
Later That Night
Caelan sat on the rooftop of the under-vault barracks, eyes on the hidden city lights above. In his hands: coin. Real coin. Enough to buy supplies. Upgrades. Maybe a black market tome or two.
His heart was quiet, but steady.
He wasn’t stealing.
He wasn’t cheating.
He was surviving. Again.
But this time… on his own terms.
And far above, in a quiet office at Eidral, Eryx looked down at a screen.
Watching.
Grinning.
"He''s already walking the path," the teacher muttered.
"Good."