Dawn split the night, streaking through torn tent flaps and puddles shimmering with oil and debris. Min-ho woke first, startled by thunder rumbling in his chest—a storm coming or maybe just nerves. His hands shook as he fumbled for his spear, knuckles white against splintered wood already worn smooth by practice.
The training yard was thick with mud; each step sucked at his boots, every breath full of wet grass and the faint moldy sharpness of last night's rain. Mira hovered by a crate, wiping sleep from her eyes with a rag that smelled of old soap and smoke. "You ready?" she asked quietly, voice rough as gravel.
He nodded. Mira could see the tremor in his jaw, but there was steel in his gaze. "Today's not about surviving," she said. "It's about learning how to win."
Ka-jin's arrival cut through the early calm—he dropped a bundle of salted fish onto the nearest box, the tang nearly overpowering the usual slum scents. "Eat. Keep focus. Southern rift still active but the northern one opened last night. Scout teams lost two men—something big, probably Awakened."
A gasp rippled through the small circle of hunters gathered for morning drills. Jae-sung, face ashen, unwrapped his bandages and flexed stiff fingers. "Don't let bad news slow you down. If you freeze, you die.
"Suddenly, a shout echoed down the lane; Song-yi jogged up, axes jangling, face flushed and wet with sweat. "Group B came back early—badly hit. Lost all their gear, barely made it out alive.
"Min-ho swallowed hard, a lump like cold beans sticking in his throat. The world spun faster—more rifts, fewer survivors.
The slum's market bustled, but under the surface was panic: traders hawked meat with the skin still on, the smell of iron and vinegar heavy as fog. Old men argued, fighting for scraps and ration tokens; dirt stained every edge, laughter rang hollow. Ji-hye cradled Yoo, rocking with steadiness that denied her own fear. "It's just another day," she whispered. "We keep going."
Hunters passed by with blood caked beneath their fingernails, exchanging dark nods and prosthetic smiles. Jae-sung handed a battered water flask to Mira—she took a sip, the taste clean but metallic, lingering as a promise of strength.
Yoo's eyes tracked motion and emotion, eyes flickering with silent analysis: strangers crossing intersections, weapons poorly sheathed, hands trembling with the echo of recent deaths. Akasha Archive pulsed warnings: Probability of failed raid increased. No power yet to intervene.'Faster,' he thought, feeling the pressure behind his ribs. 'I can't just wait.'At the edge of the rift, the team assembled. Ka-jin surveyed the group—Song-yi with twin axes, Min-ho jittery but eager, Mira steady as a heartbeat. The earth trembled, frost rising beneath their boots as rift energy pulsed and surged.
A new monster emerged, crusted with burned shell and glittering with shards of colored glass embedded in its hide. The stench—a searing mix of charred roots and sulphur—seared the air. Ka-jin swung first; his hammer rang against the beast's flank like a cracked bell, Mira and Song-yi swarming on flanks.
Min-ho dodged a swipe, heart thumping in his throat, every sense alive: the touch of mud on his ankle, taste of blood at his split lip, sight of Mira's face twisted with effort and the distant drumbeat echoing from within the rift itself. Screams buried in every gust of wind.The fight was desperate; Mira's stick snapped, splinter flying. She ripped off a shard, stabbed deep, the beast howled—a real, raw sound like chain links thrown onto stone.
Ka-jin called out orders, each word landing like a slap in muddy water. "Push! Dodge left! Cover Song-yi!"
Min-ho circled, gritting teeth against the stink, swinging his spear in tight arcs. The final blow came with a rush of heat—Mira and Ka-jin together, the monster collapsed, its death rattling the sharp stones, filling the air with a sweet, rotten exhale.
Back in the tent, Ji-hye wiped dirt and tears from Min-jun's face. Jae-sung returned, wounds checked and washed with another flask of antiseptic—bitter and cool. "You're here; you fight," he said. "But you also heal. Remember that."
Yoo lay quiet, every heartbeat measuring the pain and relief in the room. Through oil lamp glow and the low rumble of thunder, resolve sharpened: grow, adapt, protect.
Outside, the wind carried the smells and sounds of survival—burnt roots, rain, old sweat, and monster blood. No one slept easy, but all woke prepared to face the coming storm.