After the conversation with his father, Cain left the office like a shadow slipping out of eternity's gaze. The air in the corridors was still and heavy, as if it listened to every step, every breath he took. Without looking back, he walked the familiar path to his room — the one place where a sliver of silence still belonged to him alone.
Fortunately for Cain, the walk passed without incident.
Closing the door behind him, Cain sighed — softly, almost inaudibly. He went straight to his desk. His fingers, like shadows, slid to a stone embedded in its surface — and instantly, holographic screens lit up before him like stars in the night sky. There were many, but only one drew his gaze. The one containing information about tomorrow's trial.
Dungeon No. 363688. Codename: "The Fallen Burrows."
Just a string of symbols to an outsider, but for Cain, it was more than a place — it was a chance.
A G-rank dungeon.
Seemingly insignificant. Primitive. Almost laughable compared to the majesty of a B or A rank. Yet such dungeons were the rarest and most valuable for those standing at the threshold. Purchased by great guilds, clans, and noble houses — not for glory, but for preparation. For nurturing the next generation.
He had to fight for it — with words, arguments, and silences sharper than blades — to convince his father to buy the dungeon. It wasn't just the rarity that made it difficult. No. The main obstacle was its location.
This dungeon wasn't on Naala. Not within the borders of Nocthollow. It was on a planet controlled by the Valestars — a family whose relationship with the RavenShades was venomous at best.
And yet… Kael Ravenshade had somehow arranged it.
Cain touched the screen — the information flowed before his eyes like a slow river: description, map, short monster dossiers.
"The Fallen Burrows" were home to goblins — squat, repugnant creatures with greenish skin and eyes barely flickering with intellect. Normally, such beings reached F rank, rarely E, but in this dungeon… something had gone wrong. According to scouts, all the goblins were afflicted by an unknown sickness. They had become weaker, slower, twice as vulnerable.
The highest enemy level — only ten. Perfect for him. For someone whose only hope lay in a potential awakening — the only chance to heal his broken body.
Cain was staring intently at the screen when it suddenly flickered. A new light — soft and pulsing — overlaid the stream of data.
Incoming call.
A video call.
His eyes instantly shifted to the name on the screen. And then, like sunlight in a night sky, something warm touched his soul. A faint smile — not forced, not defensive, but real — bloomed on his lips.
Without hesitation, he accepted.
A girl appeared before him. Young, his age. As if stepped out of a painting crafted by a divine hand: her long golden hair cascaded in waves, shimmering as though woven from rays of the sun. Her eyes — large, caramel-honey — looked at Cain with such warmth it made his chest ache. But that wasn't what struck him most.
Behind her delicate back unfolded wings — two snow-white arches with a pearlescent shimmer, fluttering like petals of light. Above her head slowly rotated a golden halo — like a solar ring that never fades. She was a beacon in the darkness — angelic purity, serenity, and beauty.
She sat cross-legged on a bed covered with sheets as white as her wings — a simple, cozy space filled with light. Her clothing was modest: a white T-shirt, short shorts — yet in that simplicity lay a strange harmony.
Her voice came first — gentle, almost melodic, but trembling with concern:
— Cain, how are you? How's your condition? No episodes?
She showered him with questions, her gaze — worried, tender — absorbing every detail of his face.
Cain smiled slightly, though his voice carried fatigue:
— Siri, relax. I'm fine now. Why are you so agitated? You're usually so quiet. Did something happen?
Siri — that's what he called her. Her full name was Siriel Luminaris — heiress of the angelic clan Luminaris. His only true friend. His fiancée — by arrangement of their houses, made even before either was born. Politics. Old agreements. Yet neither of them saw it as a duty. For over time, something more had grown between them.
Their first meeting happened when they were four — on their shared birthday, celebrated in the Ravenshades' estate.
By some twist of fate, they were born on the same day, almost the same hour.
Their first meeting was awkward. Cain was reclusive, and Siri — shy. But it was Cain who broke the silence first, and she followed.
Step by step, year by year, they became true friends.
After his words, Siriel blushed and shouted:
— I'm not agitated, dummy!
— Oh really, — Cain smiled. — I know you too well not to notice. What's wrong?
Her face lit with anger and worry all at once.
— How could you?! You're going into some cursed dungeon! That's suicide, Cain! Don't go!
— Wait… — his eyes widened. — How did you find out? Only Eli, Sebastian… and Father knew. Even Mother isn't aware.
He didn't hide his surprise — even his [Cold Core] cracked. How did she know?
— You made so much noise buying the dungeon rights. How could I not find out?
— Ugh, — Cain muttered, realizing his blunder.
Siriel looked up again — her eyes glittering with tears.
— I'm serious, — she whispered. — Your body's too weak. What if an episode hits during battle? What then? I don't want… I couldn't bear it if you died… Please… Don't go…
Cain looked at her long and silently. Then slowly, with solemn resolve, he said:
— You know how bad it is. The episodes are getting worse. The meds don't work like they used to. My body is burning out, Siri. This is my last chance. My only hope. As long as I can still stand — I have to try.
— But…
— I'm not going alone. I'll have two guards. If anything happens — they'll help. I'm not insane, Siri.
She fell silent. Finally, gathering all her tenderness into a few words, she whispered almost inaudibly:
— Please, be careful… and come back… to me.
But Cain heard her clearly and jokingly replied:
— The great angel of clan Luminaris worries about me? I'm touched, Your Radiance.
Siriel blushed furiously:
— Cain, you idiot! Idiot, idiot, idiot!
And then he laughed — truly, loudly, with that rare lightness that only came when she was near. A minute later, Siriel joined him — her laughter bright and clear, like bells in a spring breeze.
They talked for a long time, forgetting the hour — until evening, when fatigue gently dimmed their voices. That night — they fell asleep.
But neither of them knew then that such conversations wouldn't happen again for many years.