Ariella
Enoch Forest
Thornhill, Vankar island
Northern Isle
Kingdom of Kuria
October 11th 6414
7:55 pm
"Run, Ella! Run!" Those were the last words her father had spoken. They echoed endlessly in her mind, a haunting refrain that refused to fade. She had done as he'd demanded, even as her heart screamed against it. She'd fled, leaving him behind among the charred remains of her brothers. The sight of their bodies, burned to unrecognizable ashes, would never leave her. But she hadn't had a choice—her father's orders had left no room for argument. The ring of fire surrounding him was a barrier she couldn't cross, and she knew, even then, that it was the last time she would ever see him.
Her mother was already gone. Her siblings, slaughtered in the most horrific manner their kind could imagine, were beyond saving. In the end, fear had forced her to obey. She'd stumbled away from the blazing hall, choking on acrid smoke that clawed at her throat. Around her, chaos reigned. The clamor of battle, the sharp clash of weapons, the screams of the dying—all blurred into a sickening cacophony. She ran, eyes stinging, the world spinning.
Thud! Thud!
They were all gone.
Thud! Thud!
Everywhere she turned, there was death.
Thud! Thud!
She willed herself not to look at the faces—at least, not at most of them.
Thud! Thud!
Because only one face mattered. Only one person mattered.
Thud! Thud!
And so, Ella ran toward her. As long as she was alive, there was still a glimmer of hope.
Boom!
****
The armored knight loomed over us, a monolith of steel and sigils. Its sheer presence sent a chill crawling up my spine. Yet strangely, I didn't panic. Because Lil didn't.
She stood still—unshaken, eyes narrowed with focus. Not fear. If anything, I saw the flicker of something else across her face… excitement. She was trying to hide it behind a scowl, but I knew her too well.
Despite everything, she was thrilled.
The knight moved first, stepping forward with the grinding weight of centuries behind it. In the same instant, Lil surged to meet it. I pulled my bow free, slipping into a flanking stance. I wasn't the main force here—I never was when Lil moved like this. My role was support. Distraction. Precision fire.
Their first clash shook the cave.
Steel met flesh—and flesh didn't yield. The impact sent a burst of air ripping past me, scattering dust and loose stones across the chamber floor. They landed apart, weapons and limbs held ready.
Lil positioned herself in front of me again, a silent shield. I couldn't see her face from behind, but I knew what was happening. She'd entered her battle art.
A battle art was more than just a style—it was the distilled essence of who you were as a warrior. It was the soul of your combat, honed into motion, power, and expression. It wasn't about having the strongest weapon or the deadliest technique. It was about imposing your will onto reality.
And Lil's will had always been absolute.
She lunged forward, fists flashing, feet gliding with the grace of a dancer. Her movements were fluid, measured—each strike a rhythm in her personal symphony of destruction. The knight blocked, absorbed, countered—but couldn't dominate.
Her fist met its chest. Her kick collided with its leg. Then its armored fist came for her face like a battering ram.
Lil spun.
One step—a pivot. A circle of motion traced by her foot, and the world bent around her like she was writing a spell with her body. Her glowing fist—a manifestation of her static mana—crashed upward. Static mana wasn't supposed to be potent. Not compared to the refined energy of Awakened Manaborns.
And yet hers burned with more danger than most Ascendants I'd met.
[Dancing Twilight – Booming Dawn]
The cave exploded in white light. I raised my arm to shield my eyes, but it was too bright—an overwhelming brilliance that carved through the gloom like a blade of truth. When the light faded, I saw what it had left behind.
Half the knight's body was gone—atomized by the force of the strike.
It staggered, struggling to rise. But Lil was already there.
She vanished from my view for a breath—then reappeared with a crunch of metal. Her fist smashed through the knight's helmet. The steel buckled and shattered. The knight's body trembled, then dissolved into dust, scattered by the lingering force of her art.
Lil stood over the remains, holding the cracked helmet for a moment. Her gaze was unreadable, distant. Then she dropped it. It hit the floor with a dull thud—then faded like the rest of the body.
She turned toward me, her face shadowed by the aftermath of battle—but the glare she shot me was unmistakable.
"Lil… are you okay?" I asked, stepping forward.
She exhaled sharply. "Yeah. I'm fine." Her tone was clipped. "Come on. Let's get the hell out of here." No argument from me. I wanted out of this damn cave too.
We rode in silence. Lil's bike cut through the night like a streak of steel and magic, its low hum echoing against the ancient trees as we left the shadowed edge of Enoch Forest behind. The wind rushed past us, but the silence between us was louder.
We had found the path again—retraced our steps to where she had stashed her bike before the chaos began. But even now, as the forest retreated into the distance, my thoughts refused to quiet.
I couldn't stop thinking about that fight.
The armored knight—no, that thing—had radiated a power that felt utterly beyond me. The pressure it exuded had paralyzed my limbs, made my instincts scream. I hadn't even drawn my bow.
Lil had faced it head-on. Alone.
A lump settled in my throat. The kind of dull weight you didn't cry over—but couldn't swallow either.
How long... how long will I keep relying on her?
I thought that after Awakening to my vampiric bloodline, after cultivating my mana and refining my senses, I'd finally start to close the gap between us. I believed I was catching up. But today had made it painfully clear—Lil wasn't just ahead of me. She was in a different realm altogether.
Even as a Non-Awakened Manaborn, she moved like a force of nature. Her battle art alone had dismantled something that could've easily slain both of us. And she made it look... effortless. That was why I had to become a Dungeon Raider. The only path left for me was the Dungeon.
Dungeons—those towering, otherworldly structures that erupted from the ground a century after the Second Great War, also known as the Long War. Their emergence rewrote the rules of reality. Each Dungeon carried ancient relics, powerful artifacts, lost knowledge, and the raw materials of ascension. They had become the crucibles of destiny—the only place where someone like me could break free of the chains of mediocrity. But they were not gifts. They were trials.
Entire nations had gone to war over them. The Relic War, a global conflict sparked by the first attempts to claim Dungeon authority, nearly left the entire civilizations in ruin. In response, the Dungeon Association was born—an international regulatory body designed to maintain balance, allocate access, and contain the dangers of Dungeon exploration. Without them, the world would've torn itself apart again.
Now, in this Era of Eternal Night, the nine Great Powers—nations across the Old World and New World—each held control over a major Dungeon. Between them stretched the Dead Ocean, a vast, glimmering wasteland of salt spires and crystalline dust, so thick with unstable mana and lethal energies that crossing it was nearly impossible. On both sides of this divide, the world was split—and ruled—by Dungeon-born power.
Ashtarium, the kingdom I called home, was one of the two nations on the side of the new world blessed with Dungeons within its borders. It brought wealth, prestige, and endless conflict. And now, in a quiet corner of that kingdom, sat Thornhill. A forgotten place to some. But to me, it was hope.
Thornhill's Dungeon wasn't high-ranked like those in Ardonia or the Nexia region, where Ascendants and artifact hunters made names for themselves. But it was real. Accessible. Dangerous enough to forge someone like me into something... more.
Sanders, my guardian, had brought us here after years on the run. After fleeing the capital. After leaving behind every trace of our old lives. Lil hadn't liked the move. She still missed Kettlia, the last place we'd found stability. But me? I was grateful.
This town, this Dungeon, was my chance.
As the Enoch Forest finally faded behind us, swallowed by the creeping mists of night, we crossed onto the paved road that led straight into town. Thornhill's perimeter lights glowed faintly in the distance—an oasis in the eternal dusk.
_
Royal Palace of the Ashtarmel Family
Hudsonia Region,
Pandaemonium,
Capital of the Kingdom of Ashtarium
August 3rd, 6406
6:25 pm
The dining hall was vast, its high-vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate chandeliers that cast a soft, golden light over the long, polished table. Velvet draperies embroidered with the Ashtarmel crest hung at the tall windows, their heavy folds lending an air of quiet grandeur. Each chair at the table was carved from dark wood, its edges inlaid with shimmering silver filigree that caught the candlelight. Tonight, as on every evening, the royal family gathered for dinner—a rare moment when the King could spend time with them all.
At the head of the table sat Rafael Ashtarmel, King of the realm. Though the weight of his crown never left him, this time was sacred. He had decreed that no matters of state were to interrupt dinner; it was the one time of day when duty yielded to family. Opposite him, the Queen sat in her place of honor, her graceful posture and serene expression a counterpoint to the lively conversations and movements around her. To their sides were their children.
The two eldest sons leaned toward one another, deep in discussion about the ongoing trade negotiations with the southern kingdom of Xibalba. Their cousin, Isaiah, chimed in occasionally, his tone both animated and insightful. Further down the table, the younger sons were entertained by the King's youngest brother, their laughter punctuating the room. At the far end, Delilah sat quietly, engrossed in her book, her finger idly tracing the gilded edges of the pages. She seemed oblivious to the lively chatter, her mind elsewhere.
Seated next to the King was his youngest and dearest child, Ariella. At just eight years old, she had yet to undergo her Vampiric awakening and remained as mortal as Delilah. Rafael cherished this time—watching her grow, hearing her laugh, and seeing her healthy and full of life. He had fought hard for these moments, for her existence itself. The memory of her birth still haunted his dreams. Vampire pregnancy, especially for those of New-blood lineages like his wife, was fraught with danger. The sterility rate among their kind had grown over the years, making every successful birth a miracle.
Ariella's silver-blonde hair caught the light, the soft strands framing her pale, fair skin. Her indigo eyes, a hallmark of the Ashtarmel bloodline, sparkled with curiosity and determination. She was smaller than others her age, a trait inherited from her mother's side, but her diminutive size belied a budding strength. In her hands, she turned over a small dagger, a gift from her father on her name day. With deft movements, she spun it carefully, her technique already showing promise despite her youth.
"Papa, how did I do?" she asked, glancing up at her father with a mix of pride and hope.
Rafael smiled warmly, a rare expression that softened his otherwise regal features. "That was quite impressive, my little one. It seems your sessions with Sanders have been productive."
Ariella's face lit up. "Papa, where is Sanders? He's been gone a while—"
Before she could finish, the door to the dining hall opened, and General Nehemiah Ashtarmel strode in. Unlike his usual practice of changing into more informal attire for dinner, tonight he wore his black military uniform, every detail crisp and perfect. His face was set in a grim line. Ariella adored her uncle. He treated her with a rough honesty that she found refreshing—never coddling her as others did. He crossed the room and leaned close to whisper in the King's ear.
Rafael's expression darkened slightly, though he quickly masked it. Only those who knew him well, like his wife and children, could see the fleeting worry that flickered across his face.
"What is it, my love?" Queen Marie Ashtarmel asked. She had been half-listening to court gossip from her sister-in-law, Yelena, while Yelena fed her youngest, Chloe Ashtarmel. However, her sharp eyes had been on Ariella, noting how the girl handled her dagger with skill well beyond her years.
"Nothing to worry about," Rafael said, rising gracefully from his chair. He towered over those gathered, his presence commanding and otherworldly. As a member of the illustrious Ashtarmel bloodline and a veteran of the Long War, Rafael exuded power and elegance. His every movement was deliberate, his demeanor both regal and intimidating. To Ariella, he was a figure to aspire to—an image of strength and wisdom. Even at her young age, she dreamed of growing up to be like him.
The room fell silent as Rafael addressed his daughter. "Come with me, Ariella."
Every head turned. For a moment, the air in the hall grew still, heavy with curiosity and uncertainty. Ariella hesitated only briefly before hopping down from her chair. She began to wave goodbye to Delilah, but the Queen caught her hand before she could reach her father's side.
"What does Ariella have to do with court business?" Marie's voice was calm but firm, her gaze fixed on her husband.
Rafael took her hand in his, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "This isn't court business, my love. This is something for our daughter. Trust me."
Marie's lips pressed into a thin line, her protective instincts warring with her husband's reassurance. She looked down at Ariella, who returned her gaze with wide, trusting eyes. Finally, she released her hand.
"Just be careful with her. She's still a child," the Queen said, her voice low.
"I will," Rafael replied, his tone gentle. "I always will."
Ariella moved to her father's side, taking his hand. Though she didn't know what awaited her, she felt a rush of excitement. Whatever it was, it had to be something important if Papa wanted her to come along. With her small hand in his, she walked confidently beside him, ready to prove she could handle whatever lay ahead.