A horrifying sight unfolds before my eyes. Arla, on her knees, holds the lifeless body of her daughter, her own face twisted with grief. She cries. She screams. But she doesn't let go of the child, even though half of her body has been torn off, even though her head has been partially devoured — and she was still smiling in death.
And that's when the shadow falls upon them.
An Arch Taratect pounces on her in a silent, gigantic, and relentless leap. And with a sharp crack, it rips her head off from above, like picking a ripe fruit.
Blood spurts in thick gushes. Arla doesn't scream. She doesn't have the time. She is decapitated in an instant, still holding the little girl in her arms.
"ARLA!"
My voice breaks. I try to move forward. To run. To fight. But I only take one step before Selina violently slams me to the ground.
"SELINA! I have to help her!"
She's crying too. But her voice is sharp, filled with lucid despair.
"Gried! Keep your cool… Even if I don't want to admit it… She's dead."
I fall to my knees. I gasp for air. Tears stream down my face uncontrollably. In front of me, Arla's headless body slowly collapses to the ground, still clinging to that child.
And the Arch Taratect… it doesn't stop.
It's having fun. It's taking its time.
It starts devouring her piece by piece, tearing open her torso, crunching through her ribs, swallowing her entrails with a wet and slimy sound.
It savors.
Every bite is torture. Every sound shreds my eardrums and my heart.
And when it's had enough, it throws the corpse away like worthless trash, already turning toward new screams, toward other prey. Panic spreads like poison. Civilians run, stumble, scream, cry out the names of loved ones they'll never find again.
And then, a piece… falls in front of me.
A shred of flesh.
An eyeball.
I reach out without thinking. And what I pick up, what I hold in my palm… is an eye.
Arla's eye.
Her dead gaze, frozen in confusion and love for that little girl.
I stay still. Blood trickles down my face. My hair is red.
And in my fist, I hold the last trace of Arla.
I start to tremble — not with fear, but with rage — as something inside me cracks. A shard of my humanity, maybe.
"You monster…" I murmur, but my voice is nearly lost in the din of screams and flames.
My fingers let go of the eye, still warm, which rolls slowly on the dusty ground. And I jump to my feet, blade in hand, every muscle in my body ready to snap. My heart beats so hard it feels like it will burst from my chest, each pulse screaming one word: vengeance.
"I'll kill her. I'LL KILL HER!"
I run straight toward the Arch Taratect without thinking. Arla's still-warm blood runs down my cheek, mixing with sweat, with grief, with this pure hatred devouring me. My aura rumbles, uncontrollable, ready to set fire to what's left of me.
But I don't even make it to the edge of the ruins.
CLACK
A sharp blow hits my temple. My world tilts. My vision blurs, and my legs give out. I fall.
Before darkness swallows me, I see Selina. Her eyes are red, swollen with tears, her breath ragged, her hand still raised, trembling.
"Forgive me…" she whispers in a broken breath.
And everything goes black.
---
The ground is dusty. The evening light casts a golden glow over the old training yard. I'm there, kneeling, out of breath, an old training blade in my hand. My arm is bleeding. My vision wavers.
In front of me, a drill sergeant approaches, merciless. Another failed test.
Then suddenly, an arrow cuts through the air. Then another. Both miss — barely.
"GRIED, GET DOWN!"
The voice cracks through the air, followed by a figure bursting from the side alley. Arla. Bow in hand, eyes ablaze, the look of a fury ready to tear down the whole world.
I stay frozen. Unable to move. Too young, too weak. I'm just a kid still taking hits.
The instructor has no trouble dodging the clumsy shots. He sighs.
"You need more training. Come back tomorrow."
When it's over, Arla walks up to me. She says nothing at first. Then she grabs me by the collar and yanks me upright, her face tight with anger.
"You're not allowed to lose, dumbass. You're my brother. I forbid it."
And in her eyes, there's no mockery. Just pain. And that invisible fear that one day I'll fall for good.
I don't even get the chance to answer before our stomachs rumble in unison. Perfect synchronization — almost dramatic.
Arla lets me go with an exaggerated sigh and drops down next to me on the sand.
"Well… We're starving, and you still haven't learned to take a hit without falling like a sack of rotten apples. What a disaster…"
I slowly sit up, wiping the blood from my arm with a scrap of cloth.
That's when a familiar voice echoes in the courtyard.
"Kids! Dinner's ready!"
And right then… our survival instincts betray us.
Because we know that voice. And more importantly, what it implies.
Arla turns pale. So do I.
"Tell me it's not what I think again…" I whisper, already resigned.
But too late.
Our mother appears in the doorway, beaming with pride, holding a pot from which wafts a smell somewhere between fermented swamp and dead rat.
"We found an almost intact Elroe frog! It only had two melted eyes, a real miracle! And I added a bit of north wall mold to spice up the flavor."
Arla mutters a "we're gonna die" while giving me a look of absolute distress.
I raise my hands to the sky.
"And to think I was meant to face powerful monsters before dying… but this is my true end."
Our mother sets down two steaming bowls. The rubbery flesh of the Elroe frog floats limply in a sour green broth.
"Come on, eat it while it's hot!"
Arla looks at me and I look at her.
And with a silent agreement, we close our eyes.
And we eat.
Because as horrible as it was… we were together.
And at that time, it was enough to survive.
Years went by and later, in that same city — even if time is measured more in ceiling tremors than birthdays —, we were in the labyrinth's tiny school.
Well, "school"… A former warehouse repurposed with three wobbly desks, a torn map, and a persistent moldy smell that refused to die, no matter how many purification spells Orman the janitor cast.
"Gried!" screamed the teacher, an old grandmother who seemed to stay standing only through sheer grumpiness. "If you keep drawing swords on your paper instead of answering the question on Renxandt's geopolitics, I'll personally make you swallow that map!"
I shrugged without looking up. Technically, it was a sword… but inside a dragon's skull. That's educational effort, right?
Next to me, Arla stifled a chuckle. She was always better than me at school, which, in hindsight, explains why she never repeated a year — unlike me, twice.
"You should listen, idiot. One day, you might have to negotiate a peace treaty with a tribe of carnivorous flies."
I shot her a smirking grin and handed her my masterpiece.
She burst out laughing when she saw the inscription I had added at the bottom:
> "Treaty signed with a sword to the face."
"Poetic," she said, rolling her eyes.
You could've thought it was a normal day. And it was, by our standards. The kind of day where the ceiling didn't collapse, where no one died outside the walls, and where the lunch soup didn't smell too much like sentient mold.
Arla turned to me, whispering:
"You know what? If we ever get out of here, I want to see the sky. Not just the one on maps, the real one. Blue. Vast."
I stared at her. And I knew I'd never forget those words.
I didn't have a dream, me. I was the type who survived. Not one who dreamed.
But her, she always looked a little higher than the rest.
A few months had passed since the school and its oozing walls, and despite the days all blending into one, there was one day that changed everything.
I was training alone in the weapons yard. Not to impress anyone. Just to strike. Again. And again. As if chaining attacks would finally silence that feeling of stagnation in my veins.
And then… it happened.
[ Condition met. Title obtained: [Hero]. ]
[ Skills acquired: [Hero LV1], [Holy Light Magic LV1] linked to the title. ]
I froze, weapon in hand, breath cut short.
Everything around me stopped. Even the wind in the cracks of the labyrinth ceiling seemed to fall silent for a second.
I had become a hero.
Not a hero like in the stories. A real one. One of those who, according to the System, carry the hope of the world on their shoulders.
I looked at my hands.
They were the same. Calloused. Bleeding.
And yet, nothing would be the same again.
The news spread fast. Too fast.
The villagers looked at me differently. With a fear mixed with admiration. Some congratulated me. Others looked away, as if bearing that title turned me into something else.
But the look I really wanted… was Arla's.
She came to see me at the end of the day. Her bow slung over her shoulder, her tunic still dirty from a training session rougher than mine.
She didn't smile.
She just looked me straight in the eyes, a heavy silence between us.
Then she murmured:
"So that's it. The world chose you."
I didn't reply. Not right away.
She lowered her gaze and added:
"Live up to it. Because me, no one will ever choose me."
And she walked away.
I wanted to run after her. Tell her it wasn't true. That she was so much more than that damn system.
But I stayed frozen.
Because I understood. That day, I received a title. And she received its shadow.
Time passed.
In that city lost deep in the labyrinth, the years weren't measured in seasons, but in earthquakes, in stockpiled rations, in unexplained disappearances.
I had become a "Hero".
An empty word, a title granted by the System without drums or fanfare. I just heard the System's voice:
[ Condition met. Title obtained: Hero. ]
[ Skills acquired: Hero LV1, Holy Magic: Light LV1. ]
That was all. No divine light. No celestial music. Just that cold virtual acknowledgment, that mark of responsibility burned into my skin.
Since then, the looks had changed.
They called me "sir." "Commander." "Hero."
But me, I was still Gried. The same kid who used to draw swords in the margins. Just with more scars.
And today, I stood before a twisted old desk, scribbling a list of names. Companions. Volunteers. Those who had agreed to dive even deeper into the labyrinth or rise to the surface.
A risky expedition. An almost suicidal mission.
But necessary.
"You're not going to leave me behind."
I looked up. Arla, eyes blazing. She wore a breastplate too big and a bow almost as tall as her. But she stood. Straight. Unwavering.
"You just finished your wedding," I sighed. "You think this is a game? And you've got a daughter who'll grow up without her mother."
"I think you're going to get yourself killed if no one's there to knock sense into your skull when you get stubborn."
Silence.
She stepped closer, locking eyes with me.
"I'm your sister, Gried. You haven't forgotten, right? It's always been me picking you up when you fall. You think that's going to change just because you've got a glowing aura now?"
I clenched my jaw. I wanted to tell her no. I wanted to say she was too young. Too fragile. That I was scared.
But I saw her gaze. And in it, I saw that unwavering determination.
So I scribbled her name on the list.
"Welcome to the team, Arla."
She smiled. Triumphant. Defiant.
Even after several years since I got the title and she had stepped away from me, she hadn't changed…
And right beside her, Selina shrugged.
"Hope you've got discipline planned, 'cause that girl's a demon."
Arla stuck her tongue out.
And that was the beginning.
The beginning of a group, a strange family, woven from the dust and blood of the labyrinth.
A family I never wanted to lose.
"You really planning to leave just like that? The two of you?"
The deep voice echoed from the hallway. A colossus stepped in, broad shoulders, arms crossed, looking like he could judge a wall's sturdiness just by staring at it.
"Mike…" Arla whispered with a smile. "You here to say goodbye or apply?"
He grunted.
"Can't let you two die alone. Besides, I promised your mom I'd watch over you."
"My mom?! The one who made us eat Elroe frog stew? Honestly, she's the one we should be watching."
Mike gave a smirk and turned to me.
"Gried. If you're building a group to go die in the depths, you'll need a tank. I'm still standing, and the monsters haven't swallowed me yet."
"You're in," I replied without thinking.
He nodded. Simple, direct.
A thin shadow then slipped into the room, silently. Selina spotted it instantly and placed a hand on her dagger.
"No need for weapons, I'm already with you," murmured the man with dull eyes. "If you'll have me."
He wore a long worn-out cape and a twisted cane. His white hair suggested advanced age, but his gaze was sharp as a freshly forged blade.
"The janitor?"
"Correct. I know a few old spells, and I can read the labyrinth's mana lines better than anyone here."
"But weren't you the school janitor?" Selina asked.
"I've been many things, but now, I'm looking for one last purpose."
I nodded.
"A confirmed mage? Welcome."
Orman gave a slight bow and settled in a corner of the room, as if he already belonged to the walls.
One last step echoed.
"I heard you were looking for people," said a young voice, almost too calm.
A boy barely seventeen entered. Vayne. Silent, stealthy, almost too discreet to be trustworthy… but Arla recognized him right away.
"You're the kid who helps with the archery lessons, right?"
"I'm also the one who followed you three times without you noticing."
Selina stared at him. So did I.
He raised his hands.
"I just want to get out of here. See the world. Help. And survive, if possible."
I looked at him for a long time. Then I sighed.
"Welcome, Vayne. But one mistake, and you're out."
He nodded, a faint smirk on his lips.
And it was done.
The group was complete.
A devoted tank.
An unpredictable archer.
A mage with grim wisdom.
A second archer with an unnervingly calm gaze.
An assassin who hides her emotions under biting remarks.
And a Hero who never learned how to lead.
We didn't have a name yet.
But we had a purpose.
And in a world as rotten as this one, that was already a lot.