The dim, flickering bulb in Leo's cramped apartment cast jagged shadows across the peeling wallpaper as he knelt by his lumpy mattress, pulling out a battered metal box from beneath it. Inside, buried under scraps of paper and a cracked photo of the Guild shelter, lay his hunter card. The plastic was yellowed and chipped at the corners, the holographic F-Class insignia barely legible after two years of wear. He'd received it at sixteen, during his first year at Hunter Academy, a thin sliver of hope in a world that had already labeled him a blank. Back then, the card had felt like a passport to a better life, a student hunter license granted by the Academy to encourage young dreamers. Now, at seventeen and in his second year, it was set to expire in just two days—a deadline he'd let slip amid the chaos of poverty and failing grades. As an orphan raised in the Low District's harsh streets, he'd clung to it, scraping by on borrowed textbooks and odd jobs. But no more. One last raid, he decided, and he'd let the dream crumble.
He slipped the card into his worn jacket pocket, its weight a quiet burden. Beside it, the ring he'd found by the river pulsed faintly, its warm glow seeping through the fabric. The voice from his dream lingered in his mind—the narrator's promise of power, three times a day, from warriors he couldn't fathom. He pushed the thought away, focusing on the task ahead. Today was about closure, a final bow to a dream that had never bloomed.
After days of procrastination, Leo made his way through the bustling Low District, the air thick with the scent of fried street food and mana exhaust. His destination wasn't the Hunter Guild's gleaming towers but the Hunter and Dungeon Association's weathered outpost, a squat building near the rift gates. Unlike the Guild, which requested raids and reaped the profits, the Association controlled the dungeons—mapping rifts, assigning ranks, and managing team formations. It was the real power behind New Arcanis' hunter system, a bureaucratic machine that tolerated even blanks like him for a fee.
Inside, the Contact Room buzzed with activity—hunters haggling over contracts, screens flickering with rift data. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with mana-tattooed arms and a perpetual scowl, barely looked up as Leo approached the counter. "Card," she barked, her voice cutting through the noise. He slid it across the scratched surface. She scanned it with a handheld device, the green light pulsing briefly before her frown deepened. "Student hunter, F-Class potential, issued two years ago. Expires in two days. You're cutting it razor-thin. What do you want, kid?"
"I need a team," Leo said, his voice steady despite the knot in his stomach. "One last dungeon raid. Then I'm done."
She raised an eyebrow, pulling up his profile on a mana-screen that hovered above the desk. The display scrolled through his sparse record: no mana signature, no recorded kills, basic combat training from Hunter Academy, and a note about his blank status. "Let's see," she muttered. "No mana, no combat history, just Academy drills. Finding a team with those traits will be a slog. Most hunters avoid blanks, especially students on borrowed time. But I'll try." Her fingers danced over the console, sending pings to active teams across the network. The room's hum filled the silence—five minutes, ten, fifteen. Leo shifted his weight, the ring's warmth a quiet distraction against his leg. His palms grew sweaty as he watched her tap away, the rejection looming.
Finally, she sighed, rubbing her temples. "Got one. D-Rank team, down a member after a wyrm spat. They'll take you as a temporary fill-in. Don't get your hopes up—they're scraping the barrel. Meet them at Gate 7 in an hour. Coordinates are on your card."
Leo nodded, a mix of relief and dread washing over him. "Thanks," he murmured, pocketing the updated card. At Gate 7, the rift's violet glow pulsed in the distance as he approached the team. Three figures waited: a burly C-Class hunter with a fire-tattooed forearm and a scarred face, a wiry E-Class with a dagger strapped to his thigh and a nervous tic, and a silent D-Class with glowing mana-gloves that hummed faintly. Their gear was patched but functional, a sign of mid-tier experience.
"I'm Leo," he said, offering a weak smile. "Last raid for me. Student card's expiring."
The C-Class grunted, sizing him up. "Name's Torin. This is Kael and Lin. D-Rank wyrm nest—nasty little beasts, but manageable. You stay back, follow orders, and don't touch the core. We clear it, you go home. Deal?"
"Deal," Leo replied, his hand brushing the ring in his pocket. The team exchanged glances but said nothing, their mana signatures flaring as they prepped for the rift. Leo's card might expire, but the ring's presence felt like a wild card—one he wasn't sure he'd play. As they stepped toward the dungeon, the ground trembled faintly, a reminder of the danger ahead.