The distant rumble of metal wheels and humming energy echoed through the dark alley. The scent of rust, fuel, and something older—almost ancient—hung in the air. As Mika and Ris led Rael deeper, the murmur of the surface world faded. The city above, with its false promises and artificial lights, had no power here.
Before them stood a massive iron door, its surface worn and scarred, as if it had resisted time itself. Splattered across its frame was a large graffiti symbol: H, jagged and layered with strokes of rebellion. Its chaotic style glowed faintly, pulsing like a heart, as if the underground itself breathed with life.
With a groan that shivered down Rael's spine, the door slowly creaked open.
What awaited beyond wasn't just a hideout—it was an entire world hidden beneath the streets.
Graffiti painted nearly every inch of the massive space, not as acts of vandalism, but as declarations of identity. Neon lights danced off walls, bouncing through the tunnels and illuminating makeshift buildings constructed from salvaged materials—metal scraps, concrete slabs, glowing signs. The place felt alive with a kind of chaos that was structured only by its own law. It was an underground city breathing in defiance.
"This... This is where you live?" Rael asked, breath catching in his throat.
"Welcome to the Pit," Mika said with a smirk, hands casually tucked into her jacket pockets.
Ris nodded. "It's the central base of the Harbringers. Every branch leads back here. This is where the rot of the world festers... and where it's fought back."
Rael's eyes darted around, heart pounding—not with fear, but fascination. The place felt wrong, but beautifully so. As if it was meant to be hidden from the rest of the world.
People walked past, all ages, all bearing signs of combat—scars, cybernetic implants, tattoos. Their clothing varied from heavy armor to patched hoodies, but all of them had one thing in common.
The H.
Whether on a necklace, a jacket sleeve, a skateboard, or the side of a weapon—every Harbringer bore the mark. But it wasn't just the symbol Rael noticed. The colors were different.
Orange, Red, Black.
Each person had a version of the H, but stylized differently. Some with jagged edges, others sleek. The color told a story Rael hadn't yet learned.
Then came the whispers.
"That's him, right?"
"The Eidolon..."
"Looks too soft to be real."
"Is he limping? Does he always stand like that?"
Rael flinched. It was like glass had shattered around him—his awe replaced by self-consciousness. His posture shifted slightly, but he couldn't escape their gazes.
Do I really look weak? he thought.
Mika chuckled, walking ahead. "Ignore 'em. They talk about anyone new. Especially an Eidolon. They're just pissed they're not special."
The three of them entered a tall metal elevator, its grated floor revealing glimpses of levels below. As it began to descend, Rael pressed his hand against the glass, gazing at the sprawling chaos beneath. He hadn't just entered a base—he'd stepped into an entire subculture, a living organism of rebellion.
He turned toward Mika and Ris. "The H… what does it mean? The color, the style? You both have black ones."
Mika flicked her earring, where the H hung in a sleek onyx. "It's a rank system. Doesn't matter what kind of Harbringer you are—Myre user, tech-specialist, close-range fighter—we all wear it. But the color? That's respect."
Ris lifted his wrist, revealing a bracelet etched with a matte black H. "Orange is the lowest. Red is mid-rank. Black means top-tier. People who survived missions most wouldn't dare to attempt."
"They wear the H on whatever fits their style," Mika added. "Necklaces, tattoos, boards, even weapons. It's identity. It's pride."
She turned, eyeing Rael. "You? You'll wear orange. You're an Eidolon, sure. But you're weak. So far."
The elevator stopped with a dull clang.
They stepped into a new floor that buzzed with energy. Training screams echoed. Dull thuds of combat boots on metal, the sharp clang of weapons, and the electric hiss of Myre-based powers.
"This is where you'll be trained," Ris said. "You'll sleep, eat, bleed, and learn here until you're ready."
Rael's eyes widened.
Rows of combat dummies, gym equipment, sparring arenas, and open spaces designed for team drills stretched out before him. Off to one side was a classroom-like area, with holographic boards explaining things he couldn't yet understand—flow charts of Myre, diagrams of Remnants, psychological reports of Eidolon triggers.
It was more than training. It was indoctrination.
A figure stood at the entrance, leaning casually against a pillar. A girl, around Rael's age, maybe slightly older. She wore a cropped hoodie, baggy pants that sagged at the pockets, and a headset around her neck. Her long black hair had red streaks, and a bright red H glinted on the headset.
Her eyes scanned Rael like he was a tool she'd yet to decide was useful or trash.
"So this is the Eidolon," she said, voice deeper than expected, roughened by sarcasm. "He looks... bendable. Like he's got back problems. Can't even stand straight."
She laughed.
Rael flushed red. He clenched his fists, unsure whether to defend himself or disappear.
"Seth," Ris interrupted, unfazed. "He'll be under your floor's supervision. Prep him."
"Tch. Fine."
Mika patted Rael's shoulder. "Good luck, rookie. You'll need it."
The two vanished back into the elevator.
Rael was alone—with Seth.
She didn't waste time. "You've got a week before your first mission. Fail, and you'll probably die. But you're an Eidolon, so maybe you'll live. Maybe."
Rael blinked. "A week? Isn't that... short?"
Seth tilted her head. "We don't waste time. The world up there? It's already falling apart. We need weapons now."
She leaned in, smirking. "Besides, if someone dies, we've got dozens more Harbringers waiting. You? You're rare. You don't get to die."
Rael's chest tightened.
These people talk about death like it's change from a pocket.
Seth walked away. "C'mon, Eidolon boy. Name?"
"Rael."
"Alright, Rael. You've got stamina drills first. Then sparring. Later, Myre control theory. You'll bleed, then you'll think. Then you'll bleed again."
She glanced over her shoulder. "If you've got questions, ask. But don't expect me to go easy. I don't babysit."
Rael followed, eyes flicking once more to the red H shining on her headset. He didn't belong yet—but maybe, just maybe, he could survive long enough to find out what it meant to.
The path forward was covered in sweat, blood, and something deeper—
a call he didn't yet understand.