The first official day as a verified hunter smelled of stale coffee and industrial cleaner.
I'd imagined something… more. Grand battles, maybe.
Or at least the electric thrill of stepping into my first dungeon.
Instead, I found myself crammed into a small, sterile room with two dozen other new recruits, the hum of a projector fan the most exciting thing happening.
The man at the front of the room made the bland surroundings fade away.
Marcus Gray - Senior Coordinator, according to the sharp name tag on his sleek black suit.
He didn't need a title; his presence did all the talking.
He stood perfectly still, his sharp features set in a neutral mask, his eyes scanning us like we were a spreadsheet of potential liabilities.
"Welcome to the Association," he began, his voice a cold, measured instrument. It wasn't loud, but it carried, cutting through the faint rustle of shifting bodies. "As new recruits, you are expected to adhere to the rules and guidelines set forth by the Association. These rules exist not just to protect you, but to ensure the safety of civilians and the integrity of the awakened community."
He clicked a remote. The projector flared to life, casting bold white letters onto the screen.
[Rule #1: Registration is Mandatory.]
"This is non-negotiable," Marcus stated, his gaze sweeping over us, leaving a chill in its wake. "Every Awakened must be registered. This allows us to monitor your activities, ensure you're not a danger to society, and for hunters, it grants you your ID and access to public dungeons and other privileges."
I glanced around. Most of the recruits looked bored out of their minds.
One guy was checking his phone under the table.
Another was fighting a losing battle with sleep.
While me, I was fighting the urge not to laugh.
[Rule #2: Solo Raids are Prohibited for New Hunters.]
"This rule exists for your protection," Marcus said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "As new hunters, you lack the experience and skills necessary to survive alone. You are required to join a team for all raids for the first two weeks following your registration."
A flicker of frustration warmed my chest.
Teamwork.
The word felt foreign and awkward. I'd been a solo act my whole life out of necessity.
But the logic was sound, even to me. A dungeon wasn't a place for pride.
It was a meat grinder for the unprepared.
[Rule #3: Unauthorized Use of Powers is Prohibited.]
"This includes using your abilities in public spaces, against civilians, or outside designated training areas," he stated, his voice firm. "Any violations will result in immediate suspension and possible legal action."
A wave of discontent rippled through the room.
A guy with spiky hair to my right scoffed audibly.
"What's the point of having power if we can't use it?" he muttered to his friend.
I just watched, silent.
Why would you want to? To show off? To bully?
My power wasn't a toy; it was a promise I'd made over a gravestone.
It was for protection. For a reckoning. Not for parlor tricks. The rule made perfect sense to me.
Then Marcus clicked the remote again.
[Rule #4: Dungeon Loot Belongs To Any Guild You Are In Contract With. (Only for those who joined a guild)]
"Any loot obtained during a raid must be turned over to your guild, if you belong to one," he clarified, though his tone suggested it was less of a choice and more of an expectation. "You will receive a percentage based on your contribution and rank."
The room erupted in low, angry murmurs. This was the one that hit everyone in the wallet.
Marcus silenced it with a single, sharp glare that could have frozen hell.
"Let me be clear," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "Guilds ensure your safety. They provide resources, equipment, and access to private dungeons you could never see on your own. They offer connections that are worth more than gold. Some even provide cash bonuses on top of your share. You should be grateful for the structure."
Empty words. Pretty promises for the lazy and the ignorant.
Sacrifice your freedom, your potential worth, for a shortcut? For a safety net?
I'd rather be poor and free than a well-paid pawn.
Real freedom, the kind I was after, wouldn't come from signing a contract.
It would come from power. Raw, undeniable power.
And that was something no guild could simply hand you.
You had to take it, forge it yourself through sheer will and effort.
I leaned back in my chair, and processed it all.
The rules weren't surprising. They were a cage, but every world had its walls.
The smart ones learned the shape of the bars before they started bending them.
I knew, with a cold certainty, that not all hunters followed these rules. The strong made their own.
When the presentation finally ended, Marcus handed out small, flimsy booklets.
"Read this thoroughly," he commanded as he passed them out. "Ignorance is not an excuse for breaking the rules."
I took mine. But as we filed out of the room, the booklet felt insignificant in my hand. Which it was.
I stepped out into the afternoon sun, the city air buzzing with a new frequency.
Hunters flowed around me, their conversations a chaotic symphony of guild talk, loot stats, and dungeon strategies.
I was no longer on the outside looking in.
I was inside. A participant.
I looked down at the hunter's ID card tucked in my pocket, then back up at the towering Association building.
And I am going to be the strongest.
The thought wasn't arrogant. It was a fact, waiting to be proven.
A destination I could already see.