The rain hadn't let up. It hammered the warped roof of the safehouse like the steady beat of a war drum, each strike drowning out everything else. Outside, Valenport bled its shadows into the narrow alleys, the city slick with water and whispered danger. Every droplet sliding down the grimy window distorted the lantern light into wavering streaks of gold, making the streets outside seem almost alive. The world felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to break the fragile calm.
I stood there, fingers curling around the cold, splintered wood of the windowsill, thinking about everything that had led me here. The poison that had nearly ended me, Aric's betrayal—the mentor who turned predator—and Rhea Veylan, the Hunter sent to finish what Aric had started. And always, the path I had clawed back from the abyss.
C-Rank.
The word still tasted strange on my tongue. Just weeks ago, I was barely holding on at D-Rank—bruised, bloodied, a ghost of the warrior I used to be. My Soul Resonance had been erratic, each motion a gamble, every breath a battle. Every fight was a dance with death, every victory a fragile inch above the void.
Now, I was stronger. Sharper. Dangerous again.
C-Rank wasn't just a number. It was a statement. I was no longer the broken man the Council tried to erase. I had survived the bottom. I had clawed my way up. Slowly, painfully, painfully—yet steadily.
The path hadn't been easy. Every climb left its own scars. From the dark alleys where I fought untrained mercs to the small victories against Council operatives, each win had laid another brick in the foundation beneath my feet. And yet, each brick had been soaked in blood, sweat, and doubt.
But Rhea was different. She wasn't just a threat—she was a living reminder of what I had survived, and what I still needed to face.
Ryn's voice broke through my thoughts, steady as steel. "You're not the only one climbing the ladder. Hunters like her? They're usually S-Rank. Trained beyond anything you've faced so far. And they don't come cheap."
I turned to her, studying the sharp angles of her face under the flickering candlelight. "Then why now? Why me?"
She shrugged, the motion casual but precise, a blade sliding against a whetstone. Sparks danced like fireflies in the dim room. "Because you're no longer a nobody. The Council sees you as a problem. And problems? They get knives in their backs."
Loran scoffed from his seat at the battered table, pressing a cloth against a still-bleeding shoulder wound. "Rank means nothing when the Council decides your fate. You're dancing too close to the fire, Kael. And fires burn."
"I'm not here to dance," I said, voice low, hard. "I'm here to fight. To take back what was stolen. To remind them that Kael—the name they spat on—is still alive."
Mira, silent until now, finally spoke. Her voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the room like a drawn blade. "You're stronger than before. Your Resonance holds longer, your strikes are cleaner. You're no longer surviving. You're starting to hunt back."
Her words ignited a fire I hadn't let burn in too long. My fingers flexed, itching for action, my pulse quickening.
The rain softened outside, a gentle drizzle now, mist curling between the narrow streets. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders, the fabric damp and cold, and felt the familiar hum beneath my skin—my Soul Resonance. A faint pulse, like a heartbeat, deep in my bones. Still fragile, still raw, but obedient. Responsive. Controlled. C-Rank didn't make me invincible, but it meant power, focus, a warning sign for anyone who dared underestimate me.
Ryn led the way through shadowed alleyways, movement smooth, silent, predatory. Mira covered the rear, crossbow ready to sing death if we stumbled into a trap. Loran's eyes darted constantly, scanning the shadows for informants or spies, every twitch of movement accounted for.
We reached a warehouse—old, grimy, the faded sign swinging on rusted chains. Muffled voices crept from inside, accompanied by the subtle click of a case opening and closing.
Rhea Veylan.
Her name had haunted my thoughts for weeks, a whisper of steel and shadows. The Council's deadliest blade. Every dark alley, every whispered rumor in Valenport carried her echo. And tonight, I would confront it face to face.
Ryn's hand brushed my arm. "This is a bad idea."
"No," I said, gripping the hilt of my sword beneath my cloak, fingers tightening around the familiar cold metal. "This is a warning."
The rain, now a faint drizzle, seemed to disappear behind the walls of the warehouse, leaving the night unnervingly still. The stench of saltwater, rust, and decay hung heavy. The lanterns swaying on the mooring posts cast long, trembling shadows over slick planks. Each step we took was deliberate, silent—a test of patience and nerves.
I felt my Resonance stir beneath the skin again, a faint but insistent pulse, as though my power itself was aware of the hunt ahead. My muscles tensed in anticipation. I was not the same Kael who had stumbled through D-Rank struggles. Every strike I could summon now had precision, every movement a step closer to reclaiming what the Council had tried to bury.
The warehouse door loomed ahead, a jagged silhouette in the night, shadow spilling from the cracks between warped planks. Inside, the faint glow of lantern light flickered across crates, and I could just make out the shape of a figure—lean, precise, lethal.
Rhea.
Tonight, the Council's shadows would learn that Kael Draven had stopped hiding. That Kael was no longer the prey. I was the predator beginning to bite back.
And the sting they had long forgotten? They were about to feel it.