Under a grey sky, artificial birds chirped, small winged drones that cut across the firmament in a grotesque caricature of the nature the city had devoured generations ago.
Junyan opened his eyes slowly, his vision slowly focusing on the familiar, cracked ceiling. Nothing had changed. The holographic screen from the previous day, that impossible anomaly, had vanished completely, without a trace: no flash under his skin, no latent power, no miracle. He sat up in bed, his rough face rubbing against his trembling hands.
"So… it was just a dream?" he murmured to the silence of the room, even knowing the bitter answer that already lived in his chest. His body remained a heavy burden, muscles soft and weak, without a drop of the vibrant energy the accounts of the Awakened always described. Just the usual emptiness, that constant companion.
He dragged himself out of bed, guided by the warm, comforting smell of soup coming from the kitchen.
And there they were: the five little lights that illuminated the gloom of his life, huddled around the tiny table. "Daddy!" four voices rose in chorus, while Sooah, the youngest, just lifted her soup-smeared face, offering him a shy smile.
Junyan returned the smile, a tired gesture that reached the corners of his eyes, but was deeply sincere. "Good morning, my treasures."
Yichen, the eldest with his skinny six-year-old shoulders already carrying a weight no child should know, spoke in a thin yet firm voice. "Dad… the principal said… there's one month left before school ends." The words fell on Junyan like a shovelful of ice. One month. After that…
Hyeon, the second, banged his spoon on the table with childish determination. "I don't want to stop! I want to learn to fight like the Awakened!"
Jiwon and Daehyun burst into laughter, chasing each other around the cramped kitchen in a whirlwind of pure energy, almost knocking over the precarious stack of plates.
"Hey!" Yichen frowned, trying to imitate an adult's severity. "Dad is tired, sit down!"
Junyan watched the scene, a knot tightening in his throat. Sooah swung her legs, her bright eyes following her brothers' mess. That light, innocent joy… seemed so fragile, so easy to be crushed by the outside world.
He sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of a dark future. One month. And then? The abyss. The world of the Awakened had pulverized all the structures of the past. Schools, universities – all ancient history. Now, only power mattered. Government, corporations, society itself, everything revolved around them. For the insignificant, only disposal remained. Public education? A mere appetizer until six and a half years old. After that, only the rich could pay for private talent incubators. The poor? They were thrown into the garbage dump of history, condemned to grind themselves to death for crumbs.
Junyan clenched his fists under the table, his knuckles turning white. The world had never been fair. Not for him. Not for his children.
"Finish your soup," he said, holding his voice tightly so it wouldn't break. "No waste."
They obeyed, amidst laughter, funny faces, and little squabbles, while Junyan's mind wandered to a painful past.
The Han. A name that once weighed like an iron crown. Power, influence, wealth spanning generations, all reduced to ashes on the day the disaster arrived. Monsters larger than towers, spitting pure destruction. He could still hear the screams echoing in his nightmares, the sinister crack of bones, the sickening smell of burnt flesh permeating the air. He still saw the grotesque beasts devouring pieces of his family. It was there that the Han fell forever. Only he remained… and Wei, the old butler who had refused to abandon him.
From heir to an empire to an indebted wretch, reduced to fighting for five bowls of soup. His children were his only anchor in this sea of ruin. But Yichen's phrase echoed in his mind like a death sentence: one month left.
What would come after? Slave labor? Total abandonment? The minuscule lottery chance of a miraculous awakening?
Another heavy sigh escaped his lips. It was then that Sooah tugged his sleeve. "Daddy…" Her voice was a sweet thread of honey. "Why are you sad?"
He forced a smile, running his fingers tenderly through her soft hair. "Nothing, flower. Just thinking about how fast you're all growing up."
She laughed, a crystalline sound, and returned to her bowl, while Junyan watched her with a heart heavy as lead, a cold, determined flame igniting in his chest. He would not allow them to crush his children as they had crushed him. He would tear the world in half if he had to. He would find a way.
After breakfast, the children invaded the tiny backyard like a flock of excited little birds. Yichen tried, in vain, to impose order, but was soon swept up in his siblings' contagious uproar. Sooah laughed, hiding behind Wei, who pretended to look for her with exaggerated drama. From the doorway, Junyan let the pale morning sun touch his face and, for a fleeting instant, felt a rare peace gently tap him on the shoulder.
Until the memory of the holographic screen hit him like a punch to the stomach. He retreated to the bedroom, closed the door with a soft click, and sat on the bed, his breath already quickening.
"Let's see… if that was real."
And then, the screen materialized. Blue. Clear. Incontestable.
Name: Han Junyan Strength:5 Agility:5 Vitality:5 Intelligence:5 Mana:5
And below, pulsing with a sinister energy like stored poison:
Talent: Absolute Mandate of the Infinite Origin (???)
His mouth instantly went dry. It wasn't a dream. It was inside him, real. And the Gate's question echoed in his skull again, more urgent than ever: Do you desire power?
His heart hammered against his ribs, which seemed too narrow to contain it. He already knew the answer; it burned in his veins.
He closed the screen with a thought, the blue disappearing and leaving the room feeling even emptier and darker. The Mandate. The voice. None of it made any sense.
"All things begin in me, and to me all things return." The words swirled in his mind, enigmatic and heavy, sounding like an ambiguous prophecy… or perhaps just the delirium of a man on the edge of the final precipice.
"Tsk…" He stood up, his bones creaking in protest. "Thinking doesn't pay debts." He put on the rumpled suit that smelled of dust and defeat, adjusted his tie with fingers that insisted on trembling, and washed his face with cold water, hoping the water would wash away some of the fatigue.
The mirror reflected the image of a man at least ten years older, with deep dark circles carved under his eyes, a face of a sickly grey, and a completely lifeless gaze. "Just one more day…" he whispered to the reflection, his voice a broken thread. "Just endure one more day."
He said goodbye with quick kisses on the children's soft foreheads, a silent and grateful nod to Wei, and the city swallowed him again in its concrete and indifferent belly. Flying cars cut the sky like knives, towers of glass and steel spitting blinding reflections, everything absolutely indifferent to his tiny misery. He was a faded shadow on someone else's stage.
A persistent cold feeling in his stomach accompanied him like a shadow all the way to the company. The confirmation of his fears came quickly, cruel, and efficient.
The manager was already waiting for him in the reception, his impeccable suit an insult to the sight, with a smile sharp as a razor and his arms crossed over his chest. "Junyan. My office. Now."
His heart, which already suspected, sank completely. Inside, the sentence was delivered in a dry, impersonal manner: "Missing for a week. We have no room for ghosts. You're fired."
Junyan closed his eyes for a second that felt like an eternity. He didn't argue. He didn't even have the strength for that. He took a deep breath, feeling the air burn in his tight lungs. The salary no longer covered the debts. Now… there was nothing. He collected his few belongings in an oppressive silence, ignoring the crooked smiles and sideways glances from his colleagues, and left.
On the street, the full weight of ruin finally crushed him. No job. Half a million in debt. Five hungry mouths waiting at home. His steps dragged on the wet asphalt. The sky suddenly darkened, heavy, threatening clouds rolling over the city. And the rain came. Thick, icy drops washed his face, mixing with sweat and tears he didn't dare shed.
He walked aimlessly, without destination, until his feet, of their own accord, stopped. He was back. The Gate. The ancient, imposing structure stood before him, defying the gathering storm, its mysterious runes pulsing with a faint, ghostly light under the curtain of water.
His knees weakened, almost giving way. "Damn it…" The voice came out as a hoarse groan, lost in the noise of the rain. "Why always me…?"
He wanted to scream, collapse right there, but all he could do was stand still, soaked and miserable, staring at the stone monument that seemed to mock all his weakness.
Crack.
A sharp, unnatural sound cut through the air, louder than thunder.
Junyan blinked, rainwater running into his eyes. The space in front of the Gate… was cracking. Sinister black fissures spread like shattered glass, reality itself splitting in half before him.
"No—" His voice died in his throat, choked by terror.
A brutal, inexplicable force ripped him from the ground, crushing his lungs and sucking all the air from his body. His hands stretched out desperately into the void, searching for something, anything to hold onto, but finding only nothingness. And then, the world around him disintegrated into a thousand pieces.
Cold, dense air, with a metallic smell of rust and ancient mold. Junyan opened his eyes, gasping, his heart beating a frantic, wild rhythm against his ribs. His muscles ached and protested violently as he pushed himself to stand, his whole body shaking.
The scenery was completely wrong. A long, narrow, dark tunnel, resembling an abandoned, rotting subway station. Cracked, dirty walls, electrical cables hanging like exposed entrails of a dead creature, lights flickering erratically on the ceiling, each sudden flash revealing shadows that writhed for an instant before returning them to the deep darkness.
"What place is this…?" He swallowed dryly, his throat tight.
A heavy, threatening silence hung in the air. No wind, no voices or city sounds. Just the sickly, intermittent buzzing of the dying lamps and the loud, lonely echo of his own footsteps, which sounded like funeral knocks.
An icy shiver ran down his spine. From the depths of the deepest darkness, translucent, shimmering forms began to emerge: living jellies, blue, green, yellow, with pulsating cores. Slimes. Small, but monstrous in their viscous simplicity and the lethal intent that seemed to guide them. They hopped slowly, but with a frightening determination.
His blood seemed to instantly freeze in his veins. "No… it's not possible…" But deep down, he knew. Every rupture in reality, every rift, could generate a Dungeon – a nest of monsters, a cancer in the fabric of the world. And he was trapped inside one.
Cold sweat ran from his temple, mixing with the rainwater still on his skin. If they were larger monsters, he would already be dead. But slimes… they were considered the weakest. The classification was obvious: Dungeon F. A brief, pathetic relief lasted a moment, only to be crushed by pure, primordial terror.
There were ten of them. Ten against one.
His heart seemed to want to leap out of his throat. "T-ten…? Alone…?" His legs trembled uncontrollably. His hands were empty. No weapon. No special skills. Fear took hold of every inch of his being, suffocating and absolute. There, in the weakest of dungeons, a place where mere apprentices went to train, he was nothing but defenseless prey.
The first slime landed with a wet, disgusting sound half a meter from him.
Junyan jumped back instinctively, the air escaping his lungs in a hiss of terror. "No… no, no…"
The other nine advanced towards him, hopping in a slow but horribly relentless rhythm. The狭窄 tunnel echoed the wet, repugnant sound of each hop, each one closer than the last.
He pressed himself against the cold, rough wall, his cold sweat mixing with the rainwater that still soaked him. Fear was everything now, absolute, crushing, consuming every thought.
And for the first time in years… Han Junyan truly believed, deep in his soul, that he was going to die.