Arc II: Veins of Mourndusk
The bitter scent of Mourndusk's ash-laced wind met Vrakon before his eyes adjusted to the cavern city's eerie twilight. Deep beneath the surface, dim braziers glowed in sculpted alcoves—casting long shadows over stone dwellings carved from fractured obsidian and bone-strung wood. This was the hollow refuge of the Fractured Kin, and Vrakon felt the silence like a weight in his chest.
It had been three days since the lake had spit him out. Three days since he'd awakened as Core-Born (Lv. 3)—with the Genesis Pulse now thudding behind his heart like a living ember. The mark of a Fracta-Wielder was no longer hidden within him. It shimmered faintly on his back: a spiral of pulsing lines etched into flesh, born from the Spiral Instinct that saved him in the fight against the Verdant creature.
Vrakon followed Thren and Saelin through narrow streets, past ash-smeared children and watchful sentries. The people of Mourndusk looked like ghosts half-fused to survival—leather-wrapped bodies, grey-eyed stares, and quiet mouths. This wasn't a city. It was a wound that kept beating.
They reached the Ashborn Quarters, a large, hollowed amphitheater where other young Fracta-Wielders trained. Here, the lowest echelons of the Fractured Kin began their climb or fell into nothingness. The moment Vrakon stepped into view, the atmosphere shifted.
A figure in darkened armor stepped forward.
"New blood," he said coldly. "You'll bleed like the rest, or earn your place."
This was Commander Nareth Vune — Core-Born (Lv. 3), the quartermaster of the Ashborn. His face bore marks of Pulse-burn scars, and his voice carried authority like cracked stone. "Name?"
"Vrakon."
"Hmm. Clean yourself. Then join them."
Nareth pointed toward a communal pool built from hollowed obsidian. Vrakon washed the caked grime and lake residue from his skin, his fingers lingering on the spiral mark burned across his spine.
As he dressed in a new ash-grey tunic and dark wraps provided by Saelin, murmurs echoed behind him.
"That's him. The one who killed a Verdant?"
"Already Core-Born?"
"Bullshit. He must've been hiding his rank."
Vrakon ignored the voices.
Among the group, one figure stepped forward, chest bare, covered in layered scars and a half-burn across his cheek. His silver hair clung to his sweat-slick skin.
"Riven," he said, grinning. "Essence Initiate (Lv. 2). I run this pit."
Vrakon didn't speak.
"I don't care if you're Core-Born. You're untrained, alone, and shaking. Let's see how long that Pulse shines."
Before anything could escalate, a voice cut the tension.
"Let him breathe, Riven."
She stepped forward like a whisper turned real—Nemea, pale-skinned, silver-eyed, with black spiral tattoos dancing along her collarbones. Essence Initiate (Lv. 2) as well. Her presence was... unsettling. Like a dream staring back.
"He carries echoes," she murmured. "Old ones. I want to listen."
"Back off, freak," Riven muttered.
She only smiled. "You'll regret mocking echoes."
Saelin leaned toward Vrakon, whispering, "She's strange, but she sees things others don't."
Another figure sat in the back, silent. A boy with hollow eyes, maybe twelve. He didn't speak. Just kept carving the tip of a rod with quiet, obsessive focus. No name was offered. No rank. Only the strange Pulse-mark swirling like a target across his neck.
Later that night, Vrakon found himself summoned by another presence.
He entered a chamber filled with incense and soft glowing orbs. There sat Halek the Soul-Seer — Law-Touched (Lv. 4). His red silk blindfold hid eyes long given to resonance.
"You walk with a fractured rhythm," Halek said. "Your Pulse isn't one... it's many."
"I don't know what that means."
"Not yet. But it will hurt. Everything real does."
Halek placed fingers on Vrakon's sternum. The Pulse flared, spiraled, and rippled. Symbols flashed in the orbs overhead. Then faded.
"You are Core-Born, yes. But the shape of your core... it isn't whole. It turns."
"Turns?"
"Your Spiral Instinct. It's alive."
A tremor ran through Vrakon.
Outside, a cloaked figure watched the exchange from a higher ledge. He said nothing. Just traced a glyph into the stone with a gloved finger.
Domain Carrier (Lv. 5) — unseen by the rest.
"Let the Hollow test him," the figure whispered. Then vanished into the Mourndusk shadows.