The wind in the Weeping Canyons just stopped—cut off by the steady clack of a silver-tipped cane tapping on rocks already stained with blood.
Vance Kensington froze. His heart pounded from the Jackal fight, then just… skipped. He didn't even flinch, not right away. He stuffed the muddy-brown Scavenger Core into his coat pocket, letting his hurt arm dangle. Maybe it hid the weird, rough stitches in his healing skin.
Then he turned, slipping the government combat knife into a reverse grip with his right hand.
That's when he saw him. Stepping out of the blood-red mist came a figure Vance remembered from a future that hadn't happened yet.
Julian Thorne was only nineteen, but he already carried himself like he owned centuries—not just years. His midnight-blue suit was spotless, which made him look like he'd been dropped in from another world, one where dust and ash didn't exist. He leaned on a cane shaped like a silver raven's skull and wore dark, perfectly round glasses. His pale face barely moved, except for the eerie, polite half-smile that made Vance's skin crawl.
"Sorry to startle you," Julian said. His voice had this calm, rich smoothness that echoed in the canyon, drifting where the wind wouldn't. "But you have to admit, watching a Tier-0 initiate purposely bait a Copper-Maw Jackal with his own blood, then nail a kill shot with just a carbon blade... Well. That's a show."
Vance forced his breathing to even out. He tried on the mask of a panicked newbie, just another lucky grunt from the sticks.
"I—I panicked," he said. His voice scratched out rough, making sure it shook a little. "Tripped. It got the jump on me."
Julian smiled, but it was sharp, nothing warm behind it. "Panicked," he said. He tasted the word. "You dug a trench, planted a canvas bag under a trap, smeared blood to hide your scent, then hit the exact gap between the Jackal's second and third vertebrae—while it was moving—out of panic."
He stepped closer. The cane tapped against stone.
"My name is Julian Thorne." Each syllable dropped heavy, like it could break stone.
Vance knew he needed to react. In a world like this, Thorne meant real power. The Obsidian Cartel didn't crush people with armies like Vanguard, or hire waves of killers like the Argent. Obsidian pulled the strings behind all of them—they owned the auction houses, the gene labs, the black markets. Vanguard was the sword; Obsidian? They decided who got to swing it.
Vance widened his eyes, stepping back half a pace. "Thorne... You're the Obsidian heir. What are you doing out here? The safe zones are in Crimson Woods."
"Ah, Crimson Woods," Julian said, gazing east. "Sterling Prescott and his Vanguard boys are stomping through the trees right now, trying to see who can behead the most Flame-Macaques to prove some point to their dads. It's noisy, boring, and—frankly—lame. I like anomalies."
He turned back to Vance. Even with those glasses, Vance felt like he was being carved open and weighed.
"For example," Julian continued, waving his hand, "Weeping Canyons shouldn't matter. Only scavengers come here—the pressure's too toxic for the big predators, so there's nothing of note. But I checked: you skipped the lucrative woodland and headed straight for the canyons, moving like you were following a script only you could see."
Vance's grip on the knife tightened. He's too damn smart. Even at fourteen, he'd been a monster.
"I don't have the coin for armor," Vance lied, pressing himself against the rock like he could barely stand. "The Woods? Those Argent mercs or Vanguard rich kids would have used me as distraction bait. I came here to hide, scavenge what I could."
"Airtight explanation," Julian nodded, as if he agreed, but he didn't look convinced. "Still…something about it rings hollow."
The air thickened between them. Vance worked through the possibilities in his head, visualizing his Inner Stratum. The Astral Engine was only stable at one percent. If Julian had snipers hidden in the mist, Vance wouldn't get away. He couldn't outrun plasma shots, and he sure couldn't beat Julian in a fight.
But Julian didn't raise an alarm. He reached into the inside pocket of his tailored suit.
Vance tensed, ready to throw the knife. But all Julian pulled out was a sleek black card, silver raven stamped in the middle. He held it up between two fingers.
"This place is changing," Julian said, voice dropping to something cold and honest. "The old men running the Syndicates? They're obsessed with hoarding. But real power isn't about hoarding, Mr.—"
"Kensington," Vance filled in, keeping his tone flat. "Vance Kensington."
"Power's about evolution, Mr. Kensington. I'm looking for the ones who survive when probability says they shouldn't. People who break the pattern."
He flicked the card. It spun through the soggy air and landed at Vance's feet.
"Take a week. Survive Initiation. If you come back to the Citadel, bring the card to the Obsidian Spire. I think your particular brand of… panic… could pay off for both of us."
Julian turned away. The cane clicked on the damp rock, echoes swallowed by crimson fog.
Vance sucked in a slow breath, tension easing just a little. Still alive. Still hidden. Maybe he'd even gained a shot at something bigger—so long as he played things right.
He couldn't help himself. "Thorne," Vance called. "Why come in person? Why not just send a scout?"
Julian paused, his outline dissolving in the haze. He didn't turn back, but his answer drifted from somewhere cold.
"My genetics have a resonance, Vance. I can hear every heartbeat within fifty yards." His head tilted, just enough for the profile to catch in the mist. "When the Jackal's teeth tore into you—your heart didn't race. It slowed down."
Vance's blood ran cold.
"You don't fight like someone scared on his first day," Julian whispered, voice nearly lost in the fog. "You fight like a man who's already died."
And then he was gone, swallowed by the mist, leaving Vance in the growing dark.
For the first time since turning the clock back, Vance realized he wasn't the only one with cards up his sleeve. The game hadn't just reset—the stakes had shot through the roof.
So
mewhere deep in the ravine, a Vesper-Lynx hissed. The silence shattered.