The sunlight woke Aren reluctantly.
He blinked against the brightness streaming through the cracked blinds of his small, sparsely furnished room. Everything smelled the same—dust, old wood, and a faint trace of the coffee he had brewed yesterday morning. Normal. Safe. Mundane.
He sat up slowly, muscles stiff from yesterday's fall, the Rift, and the fight. The warmth in his chest pulsed faintly. The fragment. The Gravebound Core. He could feel it quietly reminding him it was still there, dormant but present.
Aren ran a hand through his messy hair, groaning. "Okay… I'm alive," he muttered. "Survived an elite Warden… and now I have whatever the hell this thing is inside me."
His phone buzzed on the table. He grabbed it. Messages, notifications—but nothing from anyone connected to guilds or authorities. Not that he expected any. He was still completely off the grid.
Good. For now.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood. The apartment felt smaller somehow. Ordinary objects suddenly looked fragile and meaningless after yesterday. A teacup on the counter, a pen on the desk—they all felt like toys compared to the Rift.
Aren walked to the window, looking out at the city street below. People moved about their lives, completely unaware of the impossible that had happened just beneath their feet.
He shivered slightly.
Yesterday, he had fallen through his apartment floor, survived a Rift, and defeated an elite. Today, he walked among normal people like nothing had happened.
"What kind of Rift was that?" he whispered again, echoing the thought from yesterday. "Shallow? Mid-depth? Deep? Abyssal?"
He clenched his fists. There were no answers yet. But he knew one thing: the fragment inside him made him different. Stronger. Dangerous. And unranked.
He moved toward his desk, pulling out a small notebook.
"Time to figure out what I can do… and how not to die next time," he muttered.
Opening the notebook, he started jotting down details: the Rift layout, the Warden, the chains, the fragment… everything he remembered. Every movement, every pulse of the fragment, every reaction of the Rift itself.
This wasn't just survival. It was data gathering. Observation. Preparation.
Because Aren knew, deep down:
The world beyond the Rift was quiet for now—but it wouldn't stay that way.
And neither would he.
Aren sat cross-legged on his small living room floor, the notebook open beside him. Dust motes drifted lazily in the sunlight, but his focus was entirely inward.
The fragment in his chest pulsed faintly. Dormant, but aware. He could feel it, a constant pressure, like something alive pressing just beneath his skin.
He closed his eyes. Slowly, he reached out with his senses—not his eyes, not his hands, but the flow of space itself. The fragment reacted immediately, warmth spreading from his chest into his fingertips.
A small lamp on the desk trembled. Aren didn't touch it. The air around his hand thickened slightly, as if his intent alone was bending the room's reality.
He exhaled sharply. "Okay… let's start small."
He focused on a pen lying across the notebook. The fragment pulsed again, stronger this time. The pen lifted an inch off the desk, hovering steadily. The edges shimmered faintly, like it was caught between reality and something else.
Aren's eyes opened. The air felt… heavier around the pen, but stable. He could sense the weight of the object not just physically, but spatially—its exact alignment, balance, center of gravity, and even the subtle pull of the room's gravity around it.
He tilted his hand slightly. The pen followed. Tilted more. It rotated in midair.
Aren grinned, a mixture of disbelief and excitement. "Not bad."
Next, he tried something bigger. The chair beside him. He focused harder, pushing the fragment further. The chair wobbled, then lifted an inch. Light veins of fragmented energy shimmered along its edges.
He gasped, sweat beading on his forehead. Controlling even this small amount of mass was exhausting. His Rift Sense flared briefly, warning him that overextension could destabilize the space.
Aren shook his head, forcing himself to focus. Not power, control. That was the lesson yesterday. Overpowering the Warden was dangerous. Precision and intent carried him through.
He exhaled, then let the chair gently descend. The fragment's warmth lingered in his chest, steady but alert, as if approving.
Next, movement. He raised his hand and willed it toward the floor. Dust swirled as small tiles shifted slightly, edges realigning with unnatural precision. He could feel the strain—the Rift fragment inside him was teaching him, connecting him to the subtle flow of space.
Minutes passed. Hours, maybe. Time had no real meaning in this controlled experiment. But by the end, Aren was sweating, exhausted, and exhilarated.
He leaned back, notebook forgotten. His hands tingled. His chest felt heavy but anchored.
"So…" he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, "I can lift stuff, sense space, move it around… probably more than that if I push it."
He flexed his fingers experimentally. A tile jumped a few inches forward without his direct touch, obeying a faint motion of intent. The fragment responded instantly, warmth spreading across his chest.
Aren let out a low whistle. "Not bad for day one."
Then he sat in silence, letting the sensations linger. The fragment was quiet now, dormant in its own way, but he could feel a spark of potential.
This wasn't just survival anymore. It was the beginning of something else.
And Aren knew it.
The world wouldn't wait for him to figure it out. But at least now… he was ready to start.
The next morning, Aren woke to the sound of his alarm buzzing. His body protested, every muscle stiff from yesterday's exhaustion, but the world outside his window felt normal. Ordinary. Mundane. Almost boring.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and glanced at the fragment's faint warmth in his chest. Dormant. Calm. Waiting.
"Not today," he muttered, sliding out of bed. "I'll figure out the rest later."
Breakfast was simple—instant noodles, a glass of water—and for the first time in two days, Aren didn't overthink anything. He just ate. Slowly. Mind partially wandering to the Rift and the Warden's fragment, but he kept it contained.
By the time he slung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped outside, the city felt… ordinary again. The sunlight bounced off the sidewalks, people moved about their routines, and the faint hum of daily life reminded him that nothing had changed. At least, nothing anyone else would notice.
School was quiet, as usual. Aren walked the familiar route, backpack snug against his shoulders. The conversations of students floated past him—laughter, gossip, complaints about homework—but he hardly noticed. His mind was elsewhere, partly observing the space around him, partly thinking about yesterday, partly trying not to let anyone catch the exhausted tension in his posture.
As he entered the classroom, he was greeted with the usual nods and murmurs. Nobody knew. Nobody could know.
Aren took his seat, eyes scanning the room, calculating positions, sensing slight shifts in the air around him. Subtle. Nothing dramatic. Just… awareness. The fragment still whispered faintly, giving him a sense of control over his environment even now.
The teacher started the lecture, and Aren half-listened, letting his mind wander in quiet contemplation. The city outside was normal. The school was normal. But Aren knew one thing: his life was no longer the same.
He had survived a Rift, defeated an elite, and carried a fragment of authority in his chest.
And for now, he walked among the ordinary, blending in.
The bell rang. Students shuffled for the next period. Aren adjusted his backpack and exhaled softly.
Somewhere deep down, he smiled.
Normal life could wait.
The world, the Rift, and the monsters within it… that wouldn't.
But for now, he was just a high schooler, walking to class like everyone else.
As Aren settled into his seat, he felt a presence hovering nearby.
"Heyyy, Aren!"
He didn't look up.
"Are you even listening?"
A soft sigh followed, then a tap on his shoulder. Aren shifted slightly, giving her the barest acknowledgment.
"Still ignoring me, huh?"
He didn't answer.
The girl plopped down in the seat next to him, smiling brightly despite his cold shoulder. She had shoulder-length chestnut hair that bounced with her movements, hazel eyes full of energy, and an easy confidence that seemed immune to rejection. Her uniform was neat, but she wore a pair of colorful hair clips that made her look… lively.
"I'm Hina," she said cheerfully. "You can ignore me all you want, but I'll just keep talking anyway!"
Aren tilted his head slightly, not quite meeting her gaze.
"Mm-hmm," he muttered, returning his attention to the notebook he had scribbled in during the previous period.
Hina leaned closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "So… did you hear about the weird guy at the subway yesterday? Everyone's talking about it."
Aren raised an eyebrow subtly but kept writing.
She huffed playfully. "Wow, you really do ignore me. That's okay. I'll just keep trying!"
Despite himself, Aren's fingers twitched slightly as he felt the faint warmth of the fragment pulse in his chest. The Rift, yesterday, the Warden… all of it. None of it mattered to Hina. And somehow, that was… easier.
He scribbled a few notes in the corner of his notebook, keeping his distance.
Hina leaned back with a small smile, not deterred. "One day, Aren… one day you'll actually answer me."
Aren didn't reply.
But for the first time since leaving the Rift, he felt a strange… comfort in the ordinary.
Hina might be annoying. Persistent. Loud. But she wasn't dangerous. And for now, that was enough.
The bell rang. Class began. Aren returned his focus to the teacher, while Hina leaned closer, whispering random comments he barely registered, a constant presence at his side.
And Aren… let her be.
For now.
The next few days fell into a rhythm, oddly normal despite everything Aren had experienced.
Hina, true to her word, never gave up. Every day she found a reason to sit nearby, ask a question, or comment on something trivial, just to get a reaction from him. Aren continued his usual routine: polite acknowledgment at best, cold shoulder at worst.
But Hina's presence was persistent, and slowly, he began noticing small things. How she laughed at her own jokes even when no one else did. How she doodled in the margins of her notebook with meticulous care. How she somehow knew just when to nudge him out of his thoughts without forcing a response.
One afternoon, as he walked home from school, she fell into step beside him.
"You know," she said brightly, "you could talk to me if you wanted. It wouldn't hurt, you know."
Aren glanced at her briefly, expression neutral. "I don't see the point."
Hina shrugged, unbothered. "Fair enough. But it's not like I'm going to stop trying."
He kept walking, silent.
She matched his pace easily. "You've been quieter than usual lately. Weird, since you're normally… well, Aren."
He didn't answer.
But internally, he noticed himself adjusting slightly—keeping a little more distance from walls, avoiding loose tiles, and casually feeling the flow of the street around him. Old habits from the Rift. Reflexes that wouldn't leave, no matter how mundane the world became.
Hina, oblivious to that, kept chatting. "You know, everyone at school thinks you're… mysterious. Not in a scary way. Just… you know, intriguing. Like you've got secrets."
Aren's fingers curled lightly in his pockets. Secrets, he thought. That's one word for it.
He forced himself to look straight ahead, ignoring the warmth in his chest—the fragment, dormant but aware.
"Maybe," he said finally, quietly, "I just… don't like talking."
Hina smiled. "That's okay. I like talking enough for both of us."
And with that, she started humming softly, a cheerful melody that stuck in his mind longer than he wanted to admit.
Aren didn't respond, didn't promise anything. But for the first time since the Rift, he felt… less alone.
Even if he'd never say it aloud.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows on the quiet streets as Aren walked home, Hina's voice a constant, annoying—but oddly comforting—presence beside him.
And deep inside, the fragment pulsed faintly, as if noticing the rhythm of his ordinary, human life.
For now, it waited. And Aren knew, someday, it would demand more of him.
But today… today he could just walk home.