The second bell of the Holdfast wasn't a gentle wake-up call.
It was an explosion — a deep, metallic roar that bounced off stone walls and vibrated through the floorboards like a war drum.
Lucas shot upright in bed, heart pounding, half convinced the ceiling was collapsing. He blinked blearily at the dim room — and then blinked again.
Sitting on the opposite bunk, humming that same off-key tune from the prison, was Jeff.
"Jeff?" Lucas croaked. "What—how are you—why are you here?"
Jeff grinned, spreading his hands. "Turns out good behavior gets you an upgrade. The captain figured I'd keep you from wandering into any air shafts or holy relics. She called it 'supervised housing.' I call it roommates with benefits of annoyance."
"You're kidding."
"Would I joke about government-issued bunk beds?" Jeff replied, thumping his mattress proudly. "Besides, it was either this or the lower dorms. And those have fungus that yells back."
Lucas sighed, rubbing his temples. "So they stuck you with me as some kind of babysitter?"
Jeff smirked. "Nah. As quality company. You talk in your sleep, by the way. Something about 'menus not loading.'"
Lucas groaned. "Great. Perfect. Just what I needed — audience commentary."
Jeff chuckled and leaned back against the wall, humming again.
Lucas groaned and rubbed his face. "You people really don't believe in alarm clocks, huh?"
"Sure we do," Jeff said. "We just make 'em the size of a cathedral and hit 'em with hammers."
Lucas swung his legs off the bed, squinting at the stone floor. The room was carved into the Holdfast's outer wall — small, practical, a little too close to the forge vents. His boots sat neatly by the door next to the new shirt and gear he'd been given the day before.
As he tugged on the shirt, Jeff watched with obvious amusement. "New boots, new shirt… you planning on keeping the ducks?"
Lucas froze halfway through buttoning. "What?"
Jeff nodded toward his legs. The bright yellow pajama bottoms, still patterned with faded cartoon ducks, glowed faintly in the low light — a cheery defiance against the gloom of the underground city.
Lucas glanced down and sighed. "You joke, but I'm keeping them."
Jeff laughed. "You think those pants are keeping you alive?"
"I mean," Lucas said, slipping into his boots, "I've survived every weird thing that's tried to kill me in these pants. The least I can do is give them some credit."
Jeff smirked, then his expression softened. "Maybe you're right," he murmured. "Maybe the world likes to keep reminders."
Lucas paused at that, but before he could ask, Jeff clapped his hands and stood. "Come on, hero. You've got a team briefing with the captain. Try not to mention your fashion philosophy."
---
Captain Vorn's office smelled like oil, parchment, and command. She stood by a wall map pulsing faintly with vein-light, her red hair braided tight, green eyes sharp enough to cut steel.
"Lucas," she said as he entered. "Your new assignment begins today. You'll join Field Team Three."
He blinked. "Already? No orientation? No 'don't die' pamphlet?"
Her expression didn't flicker. "You'll figure it out."
Three figures waited behind her desk.
A tall, broad man with a mechanical arm that clicked softly as he folded it across his chest.
A thin, pale woman wearing priestly whites with a faint blue cross-thread.
And a younger man with ink-stained fingers, eyes bright with curiosity.
"Barek," Vorn said, gesturing to the big one. "Guard detail and front line."
"Ira," she nodded at the woman, "medic-priest."
"And Ryn," she finished, "our scholar and vein-specialist. You'll learn from him."
Ryn looked at Lucas like he'd just found a lost page from an ancient text. "You're the one who channels through blood, right? That's — fascinating."
"Uncomfortable," Lucas corrected.
Vorn's eyes lingered on him. "You have one day to prepare. Ryn will assist you with equipment. You'll depart tomorrow at third bell."
As the others turned to leave, Lucas hesitated. "Captain… my system — uh, I mean, the blue screens that pop up — are those… normal?"
Barek frowned. Ira looked confused. Ryn leaned forward like a cat hearing a strange sound.
"Blue screens?" Vorn repeated flatly.
"Yeah, you know, like — messages that tell me what I can do? Skills? XP?"
Blank looks all around, except for Ryn, whose pupils widened. "You can see the Interface? I thought that tech was lost centuries ago."
Vorn simply crossed her arms. "If it works, I don't care what you call it. Make it useful."
---
Ryn led Lucas through the arteries of the Holdfast — tunnels alive with light, miners, and heat. The deeper they went, the more Lucas realized the city wasn't carved through the rock; it was grown from it. Vein-crystals pulsed like heartbeat light through every wall, feeding lanterns and forges with the same shimmering glow.
"Everything runs on vein energy," Ryn explained, half walking, half lecturing. "Mining it. Studying it. Worshipping it, depending who you ask. The veins give light, the veins take light."
Lucas frowned as they passed a pair of miners hauling carts of crystal ore. Faint blue lines pulsed beneath their skin, crawling up their necks and into their temples like living tattoos.
Lucas pointed toward a passing guard, whose forearms shimmered faintly blue beneath the skin. "Is that—vein energy?"
Ryn nodded. "Channel scars. Everyone who works close to the veins gets them eventually. The more you channel, the brighter they burn. It's how we tell who's experienced… and who's dying."
Lucas blinked. "That last part wasn't comforting."
"
Lucas nodded, taking it all in. "You guys ever heard of windows?"
Ryn blinked. "Wind… ows?"
"Never mind."
---
They passed forges where smiths hammered glowing metal that hummed faintly as it cooled. Market stalls sold food cubes, ore dust, and trinkets shaped like little glowing hearts. It was bustling, alive — but every face looked tired.
Ryn stopped before a wide archway marked THE EMBER VEIN FORGE.
"Captain Vorn gave me a budget," Ryn said, handing him a small pouch. "You're supposed to 'not die instantly,' her words."
"That's generous," Lucas muttered, peering at the weapons on the wall.
The blacksmith was a wall of scars and soot, hammering rhythmically as he barely looked up. "Shop's open. Don't touch what hums."
Lucas scanned the racks — swords, maces, crossbows. Most looked too polished, too… not him. He picked up a short sword, tested its weight, and nearly sliced his sleeve. "Yeah, no."
Then he saw it. Hanging by the back wall, half-buried in dust, was a curved single-bladed weapon. The head was narrow, hooked like a hawk's beak, forged from dark metal that shimmered faintly blue.
"What's that?" he asked.
The blacksmith finally looked up. "That's a Reaper's Hook. Used for cutting roots and, sometimes, things that bite back."
Lucas took it down. It felt balanced. Familiar. Almost like his mining pick had decided to graduate.
A faint chime echoed in his head:
[Weapon Compatibility Detected: Reaper's Hook]
Potential skill path unlocked.
Lucas grinned. "Guess I found my major."
Ryn stared. "You… just said that out loud."
"Did I?"
"You said, 'Guess I found my major.'"
"Oh. Right. Talking to myself. Normal thing."
The blacksmith coughed meaningfully. "That'll be thirty marks."
Ryn sighed and handed over the pouch. "There goes the armor budget."
They crossed into The Hammered Halo, a smaller shop filled with rows of chest pieces, belts, and vein-thread fabrics that glimmered under lamplight.
"You've got enough left for one piece," Ryn said. "Make it count."
Lucas surveyed the options.
Option One: a leather vest that looked like it came with fleas.
Option Two: a chain shirt that jingled when he breathed.
Option Three: a light, veinwoven jacket — flexible, faintly warm, humming with low energy.
Lucas picked the jacket up. "This one."
Ryn looked at the pattern of faint glowing threads. "It's barely armor."
"Yeah," Lucas said, slipping it on. "But it matches the ducks."
The blacksmith snorted as he packed the old mining pick away. "Fashion first, survival second. Classic."
A new window blinked in front of Lucas:
[Armor Equipped: Veinwoven Jacket — Tier I]
Bonus: +2 Endurance. Minor bleed duration reduced by 10%.
He smiled to himself. "Not bad, for starter gear."
Ryn led him into an enormous cavern lit by rune lamps and echoes of steel on stone. Targets lined the walls. Ropes hung from beams. The air smelled of sweat and mineral dust.
Barek and Ira were already there. Barek's mechanical arm clicked as he spun a hammer like it weighed nothing. "About time. Let's see if you can swing that toy."
Lucas took a stance. "Toy? This is an artisanal multi-purpose implement."
Barek grinned. "Show me."
Lucas swung. The Reaper's Hook whistled beautifully through the air — then snagged on the hem of his shirt, yanking him forward and sending him tumbling straight into a training dummy.
The dummy lost its head. Lucas lost his dignity.
[New Skill: Awkward Dodge — Lv. 1]
Reduces collision damage from tripping, stumbling, or panicking.
He lay there staring at the blue text. "Perfect. Finally, a skill that truly captures my essence."
After a few more messy swings, Lucas started to find a rhythm. The Reaper's Hook moved lighter in his grip, the curved blade slicing clean arcs through the air instead of dragging him along for the ride. The dummy's head didn't survive round two.
[Skill Leveled Up: Bladed Tool Handling → Lv. 2]
Increased control and striking accuracy with single-bladed weapons.
Panting, he wiped his forehead and noticed a small cut on his forearm. Without really thinking, he pressed his hand over it and tried Sacrificial Aid.
Nothing happened. No glow. No warmth.
A soft message blinked instead:
[Invalid Target]
Sacrificial Aid cannot be used on the user.
Lucas groaned. "So I can heal everyone but me. Great. Fantastic. Perfect system."
He rolled his eyes, then sighed and swung again, this time imagining the System laughing at him.
A faint line of blue light shimmered briefly along the Reaper's Hook's curve — the faintest echo of his earlier healing energy, as if trying to obey his command but finding no target. It fizzled out just as quickly.
Lucas frowned. "Okay. That's new."
No level-up notification followed, but the message lingered in the back of his mind — a quiet reminder that the skill wanted something to connect to. Someone.
Then he looked up and finally noticed Captain Vorn watching from the balcony above, arms crossed, gaze sharp as a blade. He froze mid-swing.
Later that evening, Lucas found himself standing before Captain Vorn again. The Reaper's Hook rested on his shoulder, the veinwoven jacket faintly pulsing with light.
"The veins in Sector Nine are dimming faster than expected," Vorn said. "You'll accompany Field Team Three. Your… channeling may help stabilize them."
Lucas grimaced. "So we're going back underground."
"That's where the work is."
Barek smirked. "Welcome to the Holdfast."
The captain dismissed them with a wave. Outside, the corridors trembled faintly — a low, hollow sound, like distant thunder rolling through stone.
Lucas frowned. "Is that—"
The third bell rang.
Except it wasn't coming from above.
It was coming from below.
He glanced at Ryn. "Tell me that's normal."
Ryn didn't answer.