---
The sky was painted in fire the night Ethan's world ended.
It had started like any other evening. The scent of roasted meat drifted from the kitchen, mixing with the fresh aroma of pine from the woods behind the house. His mother hummed a lullaby, her voice soft and comforting, while his father sat by the window, sharpening a long blade with the precision of a man who had seen real war.
Ethan, seven years old and blissfully unaware, was too busy swinging a wooden dagger through the air, mimicking the hero from his favorite storybook.
"Dinner's almost ready," his mother called with a smile. "Go wash up, sweetheart."
"Yes, mom!" he chirped, racing toward the wash basin.
His father's eyes didn't move from the blade. A flicker of something—unease—passed across his face. He stared into the darkening forest, where a cold wind had begun to stir the trees.
That was the first sign. The wind. It wasn't natural.
Then the second came. Silence.
The birds had stopped singing. Not a single insect buzzed. The woods—usually alive with sound—had gone utterly still.
The third sign was unmistakable.
A low, guttural growl. So deep it rattled the windows and turned Ethan's blood to ice.
The blade dropped from his father's hand.
"Get Ethan," he said quietly. "Take him and run. Don't look back."
His mother stared at him, confused. "What is it? What's out there?"
Before he could answer, the wall exploded inward.
A creature—no, a monster—towered in the doorway. Its body was covered in black, armored scales that shimmered with unnatural light. Glowing red eyes locked onto them, filled with hunger and something worse… intelligence.
"Go!" Ethan's father roared, pushing them toward the back door.
His mother grabbed Ethan's arm and ran, her breath coming in gasps. Behind them, the sounds of battle erupted—steel clashing against something far stronger, the crash of furniture, the roar of fire.
They made it to the edge of the woods before the house went up in flames.
Ethan turned around just once. Just long enough to see his father fall, blood soaking the earth. His mother screamed—and then something struck her from behind. She crumpled to the ground, unmoving.
"No… no, no—Mom!"
He tried to run to her, but his legs gave out. Pain flared in his hand like a brand had been pressed to his skin. He cried out, clutching his palm, and through blurry tears he saw it: a glowing mark forming on the back of his hand. Shaped like a crescent moon with clawed edges, burning with violet light.
Then, everything went black.
---
Ethan woke to cold rain and ash. His home was gone. His parents were gone. And all he had left was a mark that never stopped burning.
---
Ten years later.
Ethan stood on a crumbling rooftop in Zone 7, the poorest edge of the walled city of Arx. Gray clouds loomed above, and the wind carried the stench of rift rot and rusting steel. Beyond the massive outer gates, the Wild Zones stretched into darkness—uncharted lands where Beasts still roamed freely.
He adjusted the glove on his right hand, making sure the mark was hidden. It hadn't glowed in years, but he wasn't willing to risk it.
Behind him, loudspeakers crackled to life.
"All Hunters, report to the Guild Hall for rank evaluation. Rift fluctuations detected near Sector C. Mandatory sweep for E-Rank squads begins in one hour."
Ethan didn't move.
They still had him at E-Rank. Ten years of training, fighting, surviving—and they still treated him like a weakling. But he didn't care. His goal wasn't rank. It wasn't fame or glory.
He wanted answers.
The official report said a rogue beast attack had killed his family. But he remembered the red eyes. The unnatural silence. The way his father's face changed before the beast even arrived. Something wasn't right. And Ethan was going to find the truth.
Even if it killed him.
---
He arrived at the Guild Hall twenty minutes later. The line for evaluation stretched out the doors, filled with fresh recruits and jaded veterans alike. Ethan ignored the chatter, the sneers, the jokes. He was used to being invisible.
"Ethan Cross," the clerk called.
He stepped forward.
The clerk glanced at a tablet. "Seventeen. No elemental affinity detected. Weapon preference: twin daggers. Survival rate: 52 percent. E-Rank confirmed. Next."
Ethan didn't respond. He turned and walked away, just as someone snorted behind him.
"Still bottom-feeding, Cross? What's it like being a permanent rookie?"
Ethan didn't bother answering. He'd learned a long time ago that silence stung more than words.
---
Two hours later, he stood at the gates of Sector C, waiting for deployment with a temporary squad. Three other hunters joined him—none of them friendly.
"Stay out of the way," the leader barked. "We're here to kill weaklings and collect cores. You're just bait."
Ethan gave a short nod. That was fine. Let them think that.
The truth waited beyond the gates.
And Ethan Cross was ready to face it.
Even if the first step was through hell.