Morning light crept through the Guild's fortified windows, fractured by steel frames and reinforced glass. The air smelled faintly of ozone and ash—the scent left behind after mana storms. Keiran stood alone in the debriefing chamber, waiting. Around him, holographic panels displayed mission data from the previous night: tactical formations, energy readings, casualty reports. But the most telling information wasn't written anywhere. It was hidden in the omissions.
The Guild officials would arrive soon. They would congratulate, evaluate, and conceal. A familiar rhythm of bureaucracy over truth.
He studied the projection of the control node he'd encountered—the structure still vivid in his memory. It pulsed faintly, like a living heart made of light. The connection he'd formed with it hadn't faded completely; sometimes, in the quiet, he could still feel the echo of its pulse behind his ribs.
Rho entered without sound, carrying his usual air of calm inevitability.
"You didn't rest," he observed.
Keiran's eyes remained on the projection. "Rest doesn't erase what I saw."
"No," Rho said evenly, "but exhaustion distorts it."
Keiran turned toward him, expression taut. "You knew about the Silent Dawn, didn't you? Maybe not the details, but the pattern."
Rho met his gaze without flinching. "I knew the Guild was compromised. The signs were too deliberate to ignore. But you needed to see it for yourself. Knowledge without confrontation breeds complacency."
That stung more than he wanted to admit. Keiran had expected guidance, but Rho offered challenge. Always challenge.
Before he could respond, the door opened again. Aiden entered—formal attire this time, his usual smirk tempered by fatigue. Behind him followed two senior officers, both draped in ceremonial insignia, their expressions composed to the point of artifice.
"Hunter Keiran," the taller of the two began, "your operation in the northern sector was… unconventional. Risky. But effective. The Board acknowledges your initiative."
The praise landed hollow. Keiran inclined his head slightly, neither accepting nor rejecting it. "Effectiveness doesn't erase the cause," he said. "The rifts are being manipulated from within. There's human design behind the anomalies. You'll find traces of artificial mana sequencing in the debris."
The shorter officer exchanged a look with his colleague—subtle, almost imperceptible. "An interesting theory," he said smoothly, "but speculation without evidence risks destabilizing morale. The Guild's role is to protect, not incite paranoia."
Rho's presence shifted slightly, tension beneath composure. Aiden watched silently, gaze flicking between Keiran and the officials, measuring.
Keiran stepped closer to the holographic projection, activating the stored data he'd retrieved from the node. "Then see for yourself," he said. The room darkened as lines of data spiraled across the air—mana patterns, control links, synchronization intervals. "These aren't natural anomalies. They follow tactical logic. Someone built this."
The taller officer's jaw tightened. "And you claim to know this because you linked with it? Risking destabilization of the entire sector?"
Keiran's tone sharpened. "Because I had to. If you'd seen what I saw, you'd understand that this isn't contained. It's spreading."
Silence followed—thick, dangerous. Then, the shorter one smiled faintly. "Thank you for your input, Hunter Keiran. The Board will review your findings. You are dismissed."
Rho placed a hand briefly on Keiran's shoulder, subtle restraint. "Let it go," he murmured.
But Keiran's voice was low and steady. "You're covering it up."
The officials paused mid-step. One turned back, eyes glinting with cold amusement. "Be careful, Hunter. Ambition and suspicion look remarkably similar from the top."
They left without another word.
---
Aiden exhaled, the tension easing slightly as the doors sealed behind them. "You really know how to make friends," he muttered.
Keiran gave a short, humorless laugh. "I don't need friends. I need truth."
"Yeah," Aiden said, crossing his arms, "and truth gets people buried around here."
He walked to the window, gazing at the sprawling city below—the fractured skyline, the faint hum of rift detectors glowing along rooftops. "You're right about one thing. That wasn't coincidence last night. I've been hearing rumors for months—hunters disappearing after reporting anomalies, research data wiped from archives. Someone's cleaning the trail."
Keiran turned, eyes narrowing. "And you waited until now to say something?"
Aiden shrugged, though the gesture lacked its usual arrogance. "I needed proof. You just handed it to me. Or enough to make someone nervous."
Rho's voice cut in, low and measured. "Which means they'll act soon. Visibility is dangerous, Keiran. You've drawn attention, and attention in politics is rarely admiration."
The thought settled like lead. For all his strength, for all the progress he'd made, Keiran realized that raw power meant little in a game built on deception.
He nodded slowly. "Then we expose them properly. Not through accusation—through precision."
Rho's faint smile returned, the kind that never reached his eyes. "Good. You're starting to think beyond the battlefield."
---
By late afternoon, the Guild tower emptied of its higher officials. Shadows stretched across the marble halls. Keiran and Aiden met in the restricted archive wing, where the oldest data cores were stored—records of missions, rift studies, and sealed Guild investigations.
Aiden worked the access terminal, bypassing two layers of encryption before muttering, "Either I'm getting better at this or they've stopped trying."
The database flickered to life. Files cascaded down the screen, some corrupted, others intentionally fragmented. Keiran scrolled through data logs, his eyes scanning for recurring terms. The name Silent Dawn appeared in fragments, buried within medical research and mana augmentation projects labeled Phase Restoration Protocols.
"What is this?" Keiran whispered. "They're experimenting with monster cores—human integration models."
Aiden's expression hardened. "And they're doing it inside the Guild. Those 'augmentations' we saw last night weren't random mutations."
He pulled up a second layer of data, revealing transfer records—resources redirected from official Guild projects toward unnamed sub-divisions. The approval signatures were redacted, but the timestamp matched the tenure of current Guild leadership.
Rho appeared on the central display, his voice coming through the encrypted channel. "Careful. You're inside a monitored archive. If they detect access—"
"Too late," Aiden said grimly. "Security just pinged."
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Keiran's instincts flared. "Cut the feed. Erase traces."
Aiden's fingers flew across the panel. "Working on it."
The terminal's glow dimmed, and the room plunged into half-darkness.
Two guards entered, armor glinting under the emergency lights. "Unauthorized access," one barked. "Step away from the console."
Keiran raised his hands slowly, eyes calm. "We were reviewing mission data for the Board."
"Under whose authorization?"
"Rho's," Keiran said evenly. "Cross-reference it."
The guards hesitated, uncertain. That hesitation was all they needed. Rho's encrypted signal flared through Keiran's commlink, scrambling the surveillance feed. In the confusion, he and Aiden slipped out through a maintenance hatch, moving into the underlevels.
---
The tunnels beneath the Guild were remnants of the old infrastructure—dark, humid, forgotten. Pipes hummed with mana currents. Here, the city's true machinery ran unseen. Keiran walked in silence, the faint luminescence of his Awakening guiding their way.
"Where does this end?" Aiden asked quietly.
"When we find the root," Keiran replied. "Someone orchestrated the hybrid experiments. If the Guild's involved, there must be external funding or political cover."
"And when you find them?"
Keiran's voice was steady. "Then I decide if exposure is justice—or suicide."
The corridor opened into an abandoned transit station. The walls were marked with faded guild symbols—older designs, from the early days after the Awakening. Rho's projection materialized again, faint and flickering.
"You've confirmed more than I expected," he said. "The corruption runs through the Guild's research division. But you must tread carefully. Information is power, but power unguarded becomes liability."
Keiran nodded. "Then I'll need allies beyond this tower. Hunters who still remember what the Guild was meant to be."
Rho's expression was unreadable. "Then start with the outliers—the ones exiled or silenced. They hold the truth without the chain of allegiance."
Aiden smirked faintly. "Looks like we're going recruiting."
Keiran's tone was quiet but resolute. "No. We're rebuilding."
---
That night, as the city slept under fractured neon light, Keiran stood again on the rooftop of the observation tower. The wind carried a chill that cut through exhaustion. Below, the Guild tower gleamed like a monument of control. But now he saw the fractures beneath the surface—the quiet rot hidden behind authority.
He thought of the words from the unseen voice in the rift: Will you act without certainty?
The question no longer haunted him—it defined him. Certainty was a luxury. Action was necessity.
The Awakening's rhythm had changed again. It pulsed not just with raw energy, but with awareness—its resonance deepened, its frequency aligning with his thoughts. He realized, with quiet dread, that the connection to the control node hadn't faded entirely. It had integrated with him. A living network now pulsed inside his mind, feeding fragments of data, images of other nodes awakening across the continent.
He whispered to the night, voice almost lost to the wind. "Then I'll face it head-on."
The lights of the city shimmered like a thousand watchful eyes. The web had grown wider. And somewhere, unseen, those who had built it began to stir.