The rain had thinned to a mist by the time Xang left the hospital.
Dalen's streets were slick with oil and runoff, reflecting the blue glow of failing Qi-lamps that guttered like dying fireflies. The slogans of the Dominion still echoed from distant drones — "Resonance is Virtue." "To lack Qi is to lack purpose."
He kept his head low, envelope pressed against his chest. The chill sank through his threadbare cloak as he passed rows of low-tier cultivators slumped in alleyways — men and women with dull eyes and Qi-scars etched across their skin, remnants of failed ascensions.
One stumbled into his path, a frail old woman whose arms shook as she tried to stand. Xang immediately bent down, offering his hand.
Her grip was trembling, papery, the skin marked with the blackened lines of Qi stagnation.
She looked up — saw his face — and froze.
A glob of spit struck his cheek.
He blinked once, wiping it away with his sleeve. The woman's lips curled in disgust. "Nullborn," she hissed, as though the word itself were poison. She snatched her hand back as if burned and stumbled away, muttering prayers under her breath.
From the shadows, another passerby snorted.
"Should've known better," he said, tossing his empty ration ticket into the gutter.
The slip fluttered down and stuck to Xang's boot — a useless token, same as him.
Xang said nothing. He simply bent, picked the ticket up, and placed it beside a nearby crate where the woman might find it later if she came back. His shoulders lifted faintly, and he smiled — not in defiance, but as if to forgive the world for forgetting how to.
He continued down the street without looking back.
The tram station loomed ahead, its Qi-lamps pulsing weakly in the mist. Xang stepped aboard as the doors sighed open. The tram operator glanced at him briefly, expression tightening as Xang placed a coin on the counter in lieu of a Qi donation. The man's eyes flicked with quiet disdain but said nothing.
The tram lurched forward, humming low as the rain streaked across the windows — each droplet carrying the faint metallic tang of the Dominion's breath.
The car hissed to a stop at Dalen's southern terminal — The Collectors Den outpost.
The building rose from the cracked pavement like a forgotten bunker, Qi conduits flickering across its walls. Inside, the stale air hummed with residual energy. A dozen Freelance Collectors loitered in the hall, the faint glimmer of spirit tools strapped to their belts.
Ren Daoqin, the Den's regional lead, stood by a table littered with reports and resonance charts. His frame was built from decades of labor — scarred hands, oil-stained coat, eyes sharp beneath the wear. He looked up as Xang entered.
"Xang." His gravel voice was low, and rough. "Didn't think I'd see you today."
"Treatment day," Xang said quietly.
Ren grunted. "How's she holding?"
"Stable."
Ren nodded once. "Good. Then let's keep her that way. We're running a low-class tear today — F-088, sub-minimal ore yield. We can use the hands."
He jerked his chin toward the wall display. A holoplate flickered to life, lines of pale data scrolling down its surface.
---
HOLOPLATE RECORD — TEAR F-088
Classification: Rank F — Stable
Subcontracted By: Iron Concord Martial Alliance
Operational Control: The Collectors Den — Lohvar Branch
Projected Yield: Sub-minimal dimensional ore / non-hazardous fauna
Registered Coordinates: Sector 9, District Twelve
Warning: Standard Resonance Fluctuation Level — Green (Nominal)
Xang's gaze lingered on the faint crest of the Iron Concord etched beside the data — a sigil barely visible beneath the static haze.
"Sub-minimal, huh?" Xang murmured.
"Means the payout's trash," Ren said dryly. "But trash still feeds the Den. Grab your tools — transport leaves in ten."
Xang nodded, slipping his worn toolkit over his shoulder and following the others through the rusted corridor toward the loading bay.
The transport roared to life, exhaust vents belching threads of azure flame as it rumbled out of Dalen's lower districts. The Collectors Den insignia was stamped onto its hull, the paint flaking and scarred beneath layers of grime. Faded Dominion registration marks still clung to the metal like ghosts of forgotten authority.
Inside, twenty seats lined the narrow compartment, every one occupied. The air was heavy with the scent of iron, brimstone, and ash.
Ren stood near the forward bulkhead, arms crossed.
"Listen up," he barked, voice cutting through the hum. "Tear F-088 is listed stable and low resonance. That doesn't mean you can be careless. Watch your footing, follow extraction protocol, and keep your D.R.I.L masks sealed."
A rustle moved through the crew as they adjusted their gear. Rows of half-masks — tempered alloy and spirit-weave polymer — clicked into place. The etched charm runes glowed faintly as each one synced to its wearer's Qi signature, priming the filters that would neutralize high-density resonance once they stepped through the Tear.
Xang sat quietly at the end of the row, hands folded over his worn toolkit. He was the only one without a mask.
Someone at the back snickered. The sound came muffled through polymer and alloy, mechanical laughter barely human. Still, the intent carried — sharp, derisive.
Ren turned sharply.
"You want to joke?" His voice cut through the engines. "Step inside raw, and you'll drown choking on your own arrogance before you even know what's happening. The Qi's thicker in there — fills your lungs before the air does. Unless you've trained your body to take it, it'll tear you apart from the inside. It's the Collector's Curse, and it's taken better men than you."
Silence followed. Even the engine hum seemed to lower out of respect.
Ren's gaze flicked toward Xang for a heartbeat, then away. Everyone knew why he didn't wear one.
There was nothing for Xang to protect.
For others, every breath inside a Tear risked drowning them from within — Qi too dense to process, seeping into the lungs where air should be. Physicians called it Resonance-Induced Fibrosis (R.I.F.): a slow crystallization of the pulmonary meridians caused by prolonged exposure to concentrated Qi. The first inhalation starts the decay, turning every breath that follows into a reminder — once begun, it will never truly stop.
But for Xang, Qi passed through him like light through glass — it never stays, never answers.
Xang didn't need to look at them. He could feel the tension in the air — the discomfort that came from seeing something that didn't fit the world's order.
It wasn't their fault, not really. The Dominion had taught them that to lack Qi was to lack worth. That belief ran deeper than cruelty; it was indoctrination so complete that even the oppressed had learned to oppress.
So he didn't hate them.
He understood them — as one understands the blind who can feel the sun's warmth but despises never seeing its light.
His thumb brushed the groove worn into his toolkit's handle, grounding him in the simple truth of texture and weight — things unshaped by energy, things that simply were.
Outside, the city blurred past — rusted rail lines, smoke-belching towers, and the faint glow of Qi conduits pulsing beneath the streets. District Twelve's skyline loomed like a forest of dying giants, its breath mechanical, its light borrowed.
When the transport finally slowed, Ren's voice broke through the rumble.
"Alright, Collectors. Welcome to Tear F-088. Stable class. Sub-minimal ore yield. No recorded fatalities. Let's keep it that way."
The gate awaited ahead — a hovering wound in the air, shimmering faintly, pylons humming at its corners like dormant hearts.
They entered in groups of three at five-second intervals. The moment Xang stepped through, the world changed.
The cavern within stretched vast and alien — stalactites hanging like lightning frozen before it reached the ground. Qi waves rippled through the air, bouncing from tip to tip in alternating colors of white and blue.
To those attuned to Qi, it was blinding.
To Xang, it was still. The world beyond shimmered with motion he couldn't perceive — yet he could see its aftereffect, as if the air itself breathed without moving.
Ren's voice echoed from ahead. "Watch your footing! These chasms will swallow you whole if you slip!"
Two Collectors he hadn't seen before today moved carefully near the ore veins — a man and a woman, their movements too precise, too clean for first-timers. When Ren stopped to check their credentials, the holoplate shimmered green — everything in order.
"Names?" Ren asked.
"Ren," said the man. "Lyra," said the woman, adjusting her DRIL mask with a gloved hand.
Ren frowned. "Stay near me until you get your bearings. Xang, show them what to look for."
"Yes, sir."
He demonstrated the technique, explaining how resonance flowed differently through dimensional ore, like distinguishing diamond from common stone. Lyra's gaze lingered on him longer than it should have. Her posture exuded amusement — where none should exist.
As he continued, the faint hum beneath their feet began to rise — subtle, like a heartbeat within the stone.
Ren glanced up. "Stay sharp. No cracks, no pulses — we don't want a break forming."
Then it happened.
Without warning, Lyra and the man she'd come with removed their masks.
Ren's voice snapped across the cavern. "Hey! What the hell are you—"
He drew in a sharp breath, focusing his Qi into his legs as he utilized Gale Step — a wind technique that had saved him countless times. Rock and air streaked past, but in the same instant, the man had vanished — reappearing just behind Xang.
Ren had never seen anything like it, even as a Rank A cultivator and former member of the Azure Arbiters.
Lyra's presence flickered beside him, close enough that her breath grazed his ear as she chuckled — then she was gone again, back near the Tear's edge. His pulse spiked.
Then came the lightning.
It was so vividly purple it didn't seem to belong to this realm — black and violet at once, warping space around its edges. The strike hit where Xang stood. The shockwave shredded the cavern — stone vaporized into unfettered Qi, walls fractured, light ruptured the air itself.
Ren was thrown hard into the wall, cuts streaking his face. Through the blur, he saw Xang — or what was left.
The lightning didn't burn him.
He simply ceased to exist.
No body. No ash. No trace at all.
The space around him folded, imploded, leaving crystalline scars in midair — the aftermath of something that defied understanding.
Ren could only stare, the roar of collapse swallowing thought.
Lyra stood near the fading gate, eyes meeting his. She smiled faintly, dropped her mask to the floor, and blew him a kiss — before vanishing in the same impossible distortion.
Then the Tear screamed.
Cracks of white light veined through the cavern. The floating terrain began to collapse, fragments tumbling like stars dying slow deaths.
"Out! Everyone out!" Ren roared, dragging the nearest Collector by the collar toward the exit.
The surviving members scrambled through the gate. The moment Ren stepped out, the external pylons flared. The crest of the Iron Concord burned bright — then the pylons erupted in the same violet-black lightning, vaporizing into pure Qi.
An anomaly never before recorded.
---
FIELD REPORT — DRCA DIVISION
Filed By: Ren Daoqin — Regional Lead, Collectors Den (Lohvar)
Incident: Collapse Event, Tear F-088
Location: Sector 9, District Twelve
Casualties: 3 (Presumed KIA — Xang Xi, Ren [unaffiliated], Lyra [unaffiliated])
Date: [Redacted]
Classification: Level 3 Collapse — Unknown Resonance Trigger
Summary:
Upon entering Tear F-088, the operation proceeded under nominal stability. Standard DRIL seal verification confirmed. The ore yield was as predicted, no hostile fauna encountered.
Two newly registered Collectors (Ren, Lyra) were present with verified credentials. During routine collection, both removed DRIL masks without authorization and approached Xang Xi.
Ren Daoqin attempted intervention using Gale Step technique. Witnessed Ren (unaffiliated) disappear from one location and reappear adjacent to Xang Xi instantaneously. Unknown technique — non-standard, possibly high-tier resonance manipulation.
Immediate surge of violet-black Qi lightning ensued. Struck Xang Xi directly. No remains recovered — subject ceased to exist. Surrounding terrain converted into crystalline Qi residue consistent with forced spatial collapse.
Lyra (unaffiliated) manifested adjacent to reporting officer before vanishing under similar phenomena.
Tear F-088 collapsed following event. All surviving personnel successfully evacuated.
Post-collapse, external pylons exhibited identical lightning signature before vaporizing — conversion to pure Qi confirmed. No precedent.
Officer's Addendum:
I've seen plenty of anomalies in my time — cleared A-rank dungeons with the Azure Arbiters before I walked away from their bureaucracy. But this? This wasn't a collapse. This was a tear being closed from the inside.
The Dominion wants to label it as a resonance failure — fine. But whatever happened down there didn't just erase a man. It rewrote the air he stood in.
Filed under protest. — Ren Daoqin