Aaric drifted in a darkness that felt endless.
Not the violent, living shadow that had surged through him in the forest…But a cold, numb, empty darkness.A darkness of exhaustion, not power.
Voices echoed somewhere far away.Muffled.Distorted.
"—alive?""—can't believe…""—bring him in!"
Aaric felt weightless for a moment.Then he felt hands.Arms.Something lifting him.
Or dragging him.
Then nothing.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was white.
A pale ceiling.Soft lamplight.The faint smell of herbs and disinfectant.
Aaric blinked hard.
He was lying on a bed.A clean one.Sheets tucked around him.
He tried to rise, but pain cut through his ribs like a blade.
He groaned.
"You're awake."
A man in a healer's coat stood beside him, adjusting a luminescent crystal lamp. The healer looked tired, eyes rimmed red.
Aaric's voice cracked."Where… am I?"
"Dawnvale," the healer replied. "Stanners Guild Outpost. Lower district infirmary."
Dawnvale.
A fortress-city carved into the third floor of the Tower.Its walls gleamed with rune-lit metal.Its towers reached toward the artificial sky.The safest place below the fifth floor—For anyone except the weak.
Aaric swallowed hard.
"How… did I get here?"
The healer exhaled slowly."An expedition team found you unconscious near the eastern woods. They carried you here. Or… what was left of the team did."
Aaric's chest tightened.
He remembered blood.Darnell screaming.The monster's laughter-like roar.The way shadows had swallowed the world.
The healer continued, voice heavy.
"All members of the team died. Except you."
Aaric froze.
'All of them?'
He felt sick.
The healer placed a hand on the bed rail."You had only one broken rib and some bruising. Minor injuries. But the others…" His expression darkened. "Your survival is… unexpected."
Aaric didn't answer.
How could he?
His mind replayed the moment Darnell pushed him aside—the older warrior's body torn openhis desperate, defiant grinthe way he used his last breath to shield Aaric.
"I'm… sorry," Aaric whispered.
The healer didn't respond. He stepped away as footsteps approached.
Heavy.Controlled.Military.
The door opened.
Three Stanners Guild officers entered, uniforms crisp, faces stern. They were hunters—3-star and 4-star men and women hardened by countless battles.
But the one in front drew all attention.
Guild Sub-LeaderRydor Blackton.
A tall man with hair like iron shavings and a face carved by war. His eyes were cold, sharp, and experienced enough to see through lies.
He approached Aaric's bed slowly.
The room fell silent.
Rydor spoke first.
"You're Aaric. The transporter from Darnell's team."
Aaric nodded weakly.
Rydor's gaze narrowed."I need your report. What happened in that forest?"
Whispers spread behind him.
"How did that brat survive a 4-star beast?"
"No way a one-star lived through that."
"He must've run the moment things got dangerous."
"Darnell's whole squad died… but he didn't?"
Heat crawled into Aaric's neck.
He gripped the blanket tightly.
Rydor raised a hand and the whispering stopped instantly.
"Speak."
Aaric stared at the sheets.
He remembered the monster.He remembered the shadows.He remembered the sword—the blade that wasn't his.The armor he earned from its corpse.The darkness that moved like Kael's spirit.
He couldn't tell them that.Never.Not now.
So, he spoke the truth…minus the impossible parts.
"We were ambushed. By a mutated 4-star beast."His voice trembled."Darnell… Oren… the others… they fought. They held it back."
He swallowed hard.
"And I ran."
Rydor's eyes locked onto him.Aaric forced himself to meet the man's gaze.
"They told me to run," he whispered. "Darnell… pushed me away. He said it didn't matter if he died, but I should live."
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating silence.
The officers behind Rydor exchanged glances.
Some pitied him.Some sneered.Some remained unreadable.
Rydor finally exhaled.
"That sounds like something Darnell would do," he muttered.
"He always guarded his men."
His shoulders lowered a fraction.Not relaxed—but accepting.
"You were lucky, boy," Rydor said.
"If you had stayed, you'd be dead too."
Aaric's chest twisted painfully.
Lucky.
He hated that word.
He hated being weak.He hated relying on others to save him.He hated surviving when stronger men died.
But he only nodded.
Rydor turned toward the door.
Before he reached it—someone else entered.
The room shifted instantly.
The officers straightened.Two of them bowed.Even Rydor stepped aside respectfully.
Aaric's breath caught.
She entered like winter wind—cold, sharp, and impossibly beautiful.
Long silver hair fluttered behind her, shimmering like moonlight on steel.Her eyes—clear, icy blue—held the room in silence.
Her bodysuit armor gleamed with silver patterns that looked both elegant and deadly.Fitted. Reinforced. Designed for speed and lethal precision.
Her presence alone felt like a blade to the throat.
Vice Leader of the Stanners Guild.The Silver Talon of Dawnvale.
And Aaric's childhood friend.
"Ariea…" he whispered before he could stop himself.
Her cold gaze shifted toward him.
For a moment—just a moment—something flickered behind her eyes.
Recognition.Memory.A distant warmth buried deep within frost.
But then it vanished.
She stepped forward, boots silent on the stone floor.
Rydor saluted."Vice Leader Ariea. We weren't expecting—"
Her voice cut through the room like a polished blade.
"I am here to see the survivor."
Everyone turned toward Aaric.
Ariea approached the bed, her expression unreadable.
She looked at him for a long, heavy second.
Aaric felt sweat gather in his palms.He couldn't recognize this woman—this warrior.This cold, commanding presence.
But he remembered the girl who used to spar beside him.Who used to laugh at Kael's jokes.Who always stood up for him when the world didn't.
Ariea spoke softly.A voice like calm frost.
"You survived a 4-star beast?"
Her tone held no disbelief.No accusation.
Simply a question.
Aaric forced himself to nod.
She studied him—his bandageshis trembling handsthe faint aura of exhaustionand something else…
Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she sensed a trace of shadow lingering in his heartbeat.
Aaric swallowed.
Ariea didn't look away.
"You and I," she said quietly, "will speak… in private."
The officers exchanged shocked looks.
Rydor blinked."Vice Leader? Why—"
Her gaze sliced across them.
"No questions."
Everyone stiffened.
Ariea turned back to Aaric.
"For now, rest. Recover.
And think carefully," she murmured,
"About what truly happened in those woods."
Aaric's chest tightened.
She knew.Not fully—but she sensed something.
Something was changing.
And she wasn't going to leave it alone.
Ariea turned, silver hair flowing behind her, and left the room with quiet, absolute authority.
The door closed.
Aaric lay there, heart pounding, staring at the empty doorway.
His childhood friend…the silver warrior of Dawnvale…was back in his life.
And she was the one person who could see through him.