The dawn slipped quietly through the Hub's glass canopy, its first rays cutting through the mist like thin gold threads. The city below still slept under a sheet of soft fog, and for a rare moment, the air wasn't humming with alarms or gunfire.
Raiden opened his eyes to the gentle hum of healing drones gliding above the recovery ward. His body ached with a dull, rhythmic pain that reminded him of every blow he had traded in that cursed forest. When he tried to sit up, pain flared down his ribs like a fresh scar being rewritten.
"Easy there," a soft voice came from his right.
Alya sat by the window, sunlight catching the faint gleam in her dark-blonde hair. She wore a light hospital robe, bandages peeking beneath the collar. Her posture was composed, but the tiredness beneath her eyes betrayed the nights she hadn't slept properly.
"You move like someone who's trying to fight the bed itself," she said, half-smiling.
Raiden exhaled through his nose, shifting upright anyway. "It's an old habit. My body doesn't like being idle."
"Your body or your mind?" she asked.
He didn't answer, only gave her a sideways glance. She looked stronger than when he found her — skin no longer pale, pulse steady. There was something measured in her gaze now, a quiet resilience, the kind born from trauma that hadn't yet been fully named.
For a moment, silence held the room. The city's morning hum drifted faintly through the glass, like a world just starting to breathe again.
"Are you planning to stay here long?" Alya asked finally.
Raiden shook his head. "Not sure. Depends on what comes next."
She tilted her head. "You make it sound like the next thing is already waiting for you."
"It usually is." He stood, his expression unreadable. "Rest up. The Hub's safe for now."
Her eyes softened. "Raiden… thank you. For the forest. For getting me out."
He looked at her — really looked — and gave a faint nod. "Don't thank me yet. We're not out of the storm."
He left before she could respond.
---
The Hub was alive by the time he stepped into the main atrium. Screens projected mission alerts in blue and crimson light, casting shifting reflections across the marble floors. Adventurers of every rank milled about — armored, loud, exhausted. Conversations layered over each other like static.
He moved through it quietly, absorbing the rhythm of the world he'd been thrown into.
"…another corruption spike north of Sector Eight."
"…Black Halo contracts are paying triple for live beasts."
"…Governor's calling for an emergency summit, says the guilds are hoarding resources again."
"…Grey Wolves lost three more men on the frontier."
He caught every fragment, each whisper weaving into the tapestry of a world balancing between survival and decay. The corruption wasn't an isolated incident — it was spreading, crawling under the skin of cities and systems alike.
Raiden stopped before the mission counter, where a holographic assistant flickered to life. The clerk, a thin woman with half-augmented eyes, looked up at him.
"Raiden Ignatius," she said. "Quest ID: 202-F. Forest anomaly clearance verified. You're here for completion protocol?"
"Yeah."
She nodded and brought up his data file. A few soft beeps later, the interface chimed:
[ Mission Completed ]
[ Objective: Anomaly Source Neutralized ]
[ Verification: Confirmed via Hub's external scan ]
[ Rewards: +5,000 Silver Credits | +1 Rank Advancement Token | Grade-B Healing Potions ×3 | Hub Lodging Access – Temporary Suite Tier ]
"Congratulations," the clerk said. "You've been officially promoted to Level 1 Adventurer – Tier Bronze. You'll need to renew your evaluation every three missions or upon reaching a rank threshold."
Raiden nodded. "Understood."
He accepted the credits and potions, placing the items into his storage ring. The familiar click of the dimensional seal closing was oddly satisfying — his first time using one.
[ Inventory Updated ]
[ Storage Ring (Grade B): Space 20×20×20 | Time Seal: 1 Month ]
The clerk offered a small smile. "You did well. The southern forest's quarantine has been lifted. Without you, we'd have been evacuating half the district."
Raiden gave a polite nod, but his expression didn't change. Praise wasn't something he knew what to do with anymore. He left the counter, boots echoing softly against the metal-gridded floor.
---
The forge smelled like molten iron and ozone — heat and spark dancing in perfect chaos. Beneath the Hub's lower levels, the blacksmith's domain was a world of firelight and hammer-song.
Varric, the blacksmith, was everything a veteran craftsman should be — broad shoulders under a sleeveless heat-resistant coat, silver hair tied back, scars crawling down his forearms like faded lightning. His left arm was mechanical, each motion accompanied by the quiet hiss of steam and the clink of gears.
"New face," Varric grunted, glancing up from the forge. "Not many rookies wander down here. Most just buy whatever junk the vendors push upstairs."
Raiden placed a wrapped blade on the counter — his old sword, the one that had carried him through the forest and nearly split under the strain of Lightning Slash. The metal was cracked along the edge, its once-silver sheen dulled by burn marks.
"Needs replacing," Raiden said simply.
Varric whistled softly. "That sword's been through hell. And you're still standing. Either you're lucky or just too stubborn to die."
"Probably both."
The old man chuckled. "Good answer."
They spent the next hour discussing metals, balance, and the way energy conducted through steel. Raiden didn't speak much, but Varric didn't seem to mind; he read the silence like a blueprint.
When the forging was done, Varric presented the weapon: a dark, lean blade with faint blue veins of aurium running through its length. It gleamed faintly, humming when Raiden's fingers brushed the hilt.
"Stormrend," Varric said. "A blade made for someone who fights like lightning — hits fast, vanishes, and leaves scars that hum afterward."
Raiden tested the weight, the arc of the swing. Perfect. "How much?"
"Call it a favor," Varric replied. "That forest job cleared half the corrupted smog that was ruining our ore. You already paid me in clean air."
Raiden hesitated, then gave a small bow of respect. "Then I'll make sure the blade doesn't rust in peace."
Varric grinned. "See that you don't. And here—" He tossed a compact armor case. "Aether-lined combat suit, adaptable weave. Won't stop a direct plasma hit, but it'll keep you from cooking under your own lightning. You'll thank me later."
Raiden strapped the case to his belt. "I already do."
---
By evening, the city's neon pulse had returned. Raiden stood on the Hub's top balcony, leaning on the glass railing as rain traced slow, glowing paths down the surface. The sky rumbled with distant thunder, the storm rolling in again like a memory that refused to fade.
He drew Stormrend, watching it catch a faint shimmer of blue from the lightning overhead. The blade looked alive, almost breathing. It wasn't the weapon of a beginner anymore — it was the tool of a man who'd learned the hard way what it took to survive.
Footsteps approached behind him.
Alya stood there, wrapped in a light jacket, her long hair tied back in a neat braid. She moved carefully — her injuries still fresh, but her presence calm and steady.
"You don't rest much, do you?" she asked.
Raiden smiled faintly. "Rest doesn't come cheap."
She stepped closer, looking out over the city lights. "The Hub's calling for a closed council meeting. Something about resource allocation and the spread of corruption zones. They didn't ask for you."
"I didn't expect them to."
"You saved a lot of people. You'd think that'd count for something."
"It does," Raiden said quietly, sheathing his sword. "It keeps the lights on. That's enough."
For a moment, they both stood there in silence, watching the rain drift between the towers.
Alya finally broke it. "You ever think about leaving the Hub? Just… vanishing? Starting over somewhere else?"
Raiden's eyes followed a bolt of lightning that split the sky in two. "I've thought about it. But every time I walk away from something, it finds me again. Maybe I'm done running."
Alya smiled faintly — not out of amusement, but understanding. "Then whatever you do next… don't do it alone."
He didn't respond, but his silence wasn't cold. It was a silence of thought, of quiet conviction.
Thunder rolled again — closer this time. The world seemed to exhale around them, alive and uncertain.
Raiden rested his hand on Stormrend's hilt. The blade hummed lightly in response, as if agreeing with the storm above.
Somewhere beyond those clouds, trouble was waiting. And Raiden, as always, would meet it head-on.
---