The curfew bell tolled across Sky Haven, a mournful sound that signaled the end of the day for the righteous and the beginning for the hungry.
In Dormitory 9, the snoring of F-Rank students was a cacophony of exhaustion. But in Room 904, the bed on the right side was empty.
Ren moved across the rooftops of the floating slum. He didn't run; running created rhythmic vibrations. He flowed. He adjusted his internal mass to match the sway of the island, making him lighter than a stray cat.
The wind at this altitude was biting, carrying the scent of ozone and wet stone. Below him, the abyss yawned—a three-mile drop to the unforgiving earth.
"Beautiful view for a grave," Ren whispered, his eyes scanning the underside of the Main Campus.
He wasn't heading to the library or the training halls. He was heading down.
The Undercrofts were the open secret of Sky Haven. Located in the hollowed-out bedrock of the main floating island, amidst the massive mana-engines that kept the school aloft, it was a place where students traded what the faculty forbid: banned potions, cursed artifacts, and information.
Ren reached the maintenance shaft connecting the slum to the main island. A heavy iron grate barred the way, sealed with a Lock spell.
He didn't pick it. He placed his hand on the hinges.
Internal Art: Molecular Fatigue.
He poured the density of his Ring of Weight into the tips of his fingers, pressing against the metal not with force, but with a persistent, heavy vibration. The iron groaned. The molecular bonds, stressed by the unnatural weight focused on a pinhead point, snapped.
The grate swung open silently.
Ren slipped inside, descending into the belly of the beast.
The Undercrofts smelled of sulfur, cheap perfume, and fear.
Bioluminescent moss provided the only light, casting everything in sickly greens and blues. Students in hooded cloaks huddled around makeshift stalls set up between the roaring mana-pistons.
Ren pulled his hood low. His rugged, commoner face was already a mask, but here, anonymity was the only armor that mattered.
He bypassed the potion sellers and the illicit scroll merchants. He needed hardware.
He found it near the exhaust vents. A stall made of crates, manned by a senior student wearing a mask made of a monster's skull. This was "The Mongrel," a notorious fence for stolen materials.
"I need Star-Metal," Ren said, his voice a low rumble.
The Mongrel looked up from whittling a piece of bone. He laughed, a dry, rasping sound.
"Star-Metal? You lost, fresh meat? That's restricted Class-A material. Only Student Council pets get to play with that."
"I didn't ask for the rules," Ren said, leaning on the crate. The wood creaked ominously under his hand. "I asked for the metal."
The Mongrel stopped whittling. He stood up. He was big—a Tier 2 Warrior student who had clearly flunked a few years.
"You got gold, peasant?"
Ren dropped a heavy pouch on the table. It landed with a solid thud that didn't match its size.
The Mongrel opened it. His eyes glinted greedily, but then he sneered. "This buys you an ounce. Maybe."
"That buys me a pound," Ren corrected. "And your silence."
The Mongrel leaned in, a dagger sliding into his hand from his sleeve. "Or, I take the gold, cut your throat, and toss you into the engine gears. Who's going to miss a stray F-Rank down here?"
Ren didn't flinch. He watched the dagger.
"Greed is a useful leash," Ren said calmly. "But pull it too hard, and you choke."
The Mongrel lunged.
It was a fast strike, aimed at the liver. A killing blow.
Ren didn't dodge. He caught the Mongrel's wrist.
Snap.
He didn't just stop the hand; he applied the gravitational force of a falling anvil to his grip. The Mongrel's wrist bones didn't just break; they were pulverized.
"ARGH—!"
Ren clamped his other hand over the Mongrel's mouth before the scream could alert the patrols. He slammed the senior student onto the table. The crates shattered.
Ren leaned close, his black eyes inches from the skull mask.
"I am not a student you bully," Ren whispered. "I am the consequence of your poor judgment. Now. The metal."
The Mongrel, tears streaming down his face, pointed frantically to a hidden compartment under the floorboards.
Ren released him. The Mongrel collapsed, cradling his ruined hand, whimpering silently.
Ren ripped up the floorboard. There, wrapped in oilcloth, was a bar of Star-Metal. It shimmered with a faint, starlight glow. It was enough to reforge the Rusted Blade and craft stabilizers for Vara's explosives.
Ren took the metal and the gold pouch.
"Consider the gold a medical fee," Ren said. "If I hear you spoke of this... I'll come back. And next time, I won't aim for the wrist."
Ren moved to leave, slipping the heavy metal bar into his tunic. The weight was comforting against his chest.
As he navigated the maze of piping back toward the exit, he heard voices.
Not the hushed whispers of deals, but the arrogant, projecting tones of nobility.
Ren merged into the shadows behind a cooling tower.
Two figures stood in a secluded alcove. One was a hooded figure in dark robes—likely a smuggler from outside the Academy. The other wore the pristine uniform of a noble student, his red hair unmistakable even in the dim light.
Lord Valerius.
"The shipment is late," Valerius hissed. "My father paid good money for those Void Crystals. If I don't have them before the ranking exams, I can't enhance my Fire Core to Tier 4."
"The border is tight, My Lord," the smuggler rasped. "Something happened at the Grave of the First King. The Church is swarming the area. They say a High Inquisitor was attacked."
"I don't care about the Church!" Valerius snapped, small flames licking his fingers. "I need that power. Alaric is sniffing around. If he finds out the Vane family assets are being funneled to my house, we're all dead."
Ren froze.
The Vane family assets.
His blood went cold, then immediately boiled.
The Vane estate hadn't just been destroyed; it had been looted. And it seemed the family of this arrogant prick, Valerius, was one of the vultures picking at the carcass.
Ren watched as Valerius handed a scroll to the smuggler.
"Take this to the Southern Gate at midnight tomorrow. The guard is bribed. Bring the crystals."
The smuggler nodded and vanished into a maintenance tunnel. Valerius straightened his uniform, looked around nervously, and walked back toward the upper levels.
Ren stood in the shadows, his hand gripping the hilt of his rusted blade beneath his cloak.
He could kill Valerius now. It would be easy. A broken neck in the dark.
No, Ren thought, forcing his pulse to slow. Killing him is mercy. He is a source. A thread.
If Valerius's family was involved in the looting of the Vane estate, they might know who orchestrated the attack. They might know about the Order of the Weeping Eye.
"You just became my favorite prey, Valerius," Ren whispered.
He didn't leave immediately. He waited until Valerius was gone, then he inspected the spot where the transaction happened.
On the ground, Valerius had dropped something in his anger. A small, crumpled piece of paper.
Ren picked it up. It was a receipt from a high-end alchemy shop in the noble district, listing ingredients for a "Core-Stabilizing Elixir"—highly illegal for students to brew without supervision.
Ren folded the paper and tucked it next to the Star-Metal.
Information. Leverage. Metal.
It was a profitable night.
Ren returned to Dormitory 9 just as the first hint of dawn began to bleed into the sky.
He climbed through the window of Room 904. Vara was asleep at her desk, her face resting on a schematic.
Ren placed the bar of Star-Metal on her workbench. The thud woke her up instantly.
"Wha—?" Vara blinked, wiping drool from her chin. She saw the glowing metal. Her eyes went wide.
"Star-Metal," she gasped. "Pure ingot. Where did you... who did you kill for this?"
"No one died," Ren said, stripping off his outer tunic. "Yet."
He sat on his bed, the adrenaline fading into the familiar ache of his damaged nerves.
"Can you work with it?"
"Work with it? I can make miracles with this," Vara grabbed her goggles. "But Ren... this much metal... it's worth more than this entire dorm."
"It's just scrap," Ren said, lying back and staring at the ceiling where the surveillance bug was vibrating silently. "Use it to fix your pressure bombs. And make me a sheath. One that suppresses magical resonance."
"Why?"
"Because," Ren closed his eyes, the image of Valerius's arrogant face burning in his mind, "I found a rat in the cellar. And I'm going to need a quiet trap."
The Academy was not a sanctuary. It was a hunting ground. And Ren had just found the scent of blood.