The river shimmered under the weak morning sun, its surface broken by the occasional ripple of a fish or the distant hum of a mana-powered barge. Leo sat on the muddy bank, his fishing rod swaying gently in his hands as he cast his line again. The Low District's edge was quiet this early, save for the faint clatter of vendors setting up and the ever-present pulse of dungeon rifts on the horizon. Beside him, Mira poked at the water with a stick, her breath visible in the cool air. Her patched coat hung loose, and she grumbled about the dampness seeping into her boots.
"Should've stayed in bed," she muttered, glancing at him. "You owe me for this, Leo."
He grinned faintly. "Worth it if I catch something big. Beats hauling crates for Kessler."
Before she could retort, his rod jerked hard, nearly slipping from his grip. "Whoa!" He yanked it back, reeling with effort. The line resisted, pulling against something heavy. After a tense minute, a small, dark object broke the surface, tangled in the weeds. Leo tugged it free—a ring. Its surface was etched with intricate, swirling patterns that seemed to shift in the light, and a faint, otherworldly glow pulsed from its core.
"What's that?" Mira leaned over, her eyes narrowing. "Looks old. Probably junk washed out from a dungeon rift."
Leo held it up, turning it slowly. The metal felt warm against his skin, an odd sensation that made his fingers tingle. "Maybe," he said, tracing the designs. "But it's kind of cool, don't you think? Looks like something a hunter might wear."
"Cool or not, throw it back," Mira said sharply, her tone edged with caution. "Could be cursed or tagged by the Guild. You know how they track relics—last month, a guy in the slums got hauled off for hoarding a shard. Said it whispered to him. Ended up in a Guild cell."
Leo hesitated, the ring's weight pulling at him. Its sleek design and mysterious glow stirred something inside—hope, maybe, or defiance. "I'll hold onto it for now," he decided. "Might be worth something if I clean it up. Could use the credits."
Mira rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Your funeral. I'm not bailing you out when the Guild comes knocking. Or when it turns you into a frog—or worse. Dungeon relics aren't toys."
He chuckled weakly, pocketing the ring. "Fair point. But it's just a trinket for now." They returned to fishing, the conversation drifting to school—his struggle with mana theory, her part-time job at a noodle stall. The ring stayed silent in his pocket, but that warmth lingered, a secret he couldn't shake.
By evening, Leo trudged back to his cramped apartment, the day's exhaustion settling into his bones. The one-room space was dim, the flickering bulb casting long shadows across the peeling wallpaper. He dropped onto his lumpy mattress, the ring now resting on the rickety bedside table. As he stared at it, the events replayed—his orphan life in the Guild shelter, the endless cycle of poverty, Mira's warning. But that warmth had deepened into a faint pulse, like the mana he'd heard hunters describe. He hadn't told Mira. A blank like him shouldn't feel mana, yet there it was, a whisper of power he couldn't explain.
His mind raced. If it was worthless, he could sell it tomorrow—maybe to a pawnshop near the docks or a low-rank hunter desperate for relics. The credits could cover rent, buy new shoes, ease the strain of his studies. Textbooks were a luxury he borrowed from classmates, and his grades teetered on failing. But if it held power… His heart quickened. Dungeons, strength, a chance to rise from nothing—it was a dream he'd clung to since the shelter days. He imagined storming a rift, proving the Guild wrong.
For now, he'd sleep on it. As exhaustion pulled him under, the ring's glow pulsed faintly in the dark, a silent promise amid the city's distant hum. Then, as Leo's breathing steadied, a voice—low, resonant, like a narrator from some unseen tale—seeped into his dreams. It came from the ring, its tone both ancient and amused.
"Listen well, bearer," it began, "for I am the Ring of Shadows, forged in realms beyond your understanding. Within me lies the essence of warriors from a forgotten plane—three times each day, I grant you their might for one hour. No two are the same; each dawn brings a new soul to wield, drawn at random from a legion of the extraordinary. Use them wisely, for their power is fleeting, and your world's mana knows them not."
Leo stirred, the words echoing in his mind, though he couldn't grasp their full meaning. The ring's glow flared briefly, then dimmed. Tomorrow, he'd decide—sell it or unravel its mystery. Either way, it felt like the first step toward something bigger.