Dawn had barely broken when Vihan Riven joined the line of miners shuffling toward the entrance of Vein-17. The air in the lower districts still carried the damp chill of night, clinging to his patched coat like an unwelcome second skin. His boots crunched over loose gravel as he moved with the crowd, each step measured and quiet. The eleven silver still sat wrapped in his pocket, a useless weight after yesterday's rejection. Six months until the next academy trials. In that time he needed to scrape together at least forty silver again, plus extra for food and the black-market Common card he planned to buy in a desperate attempt to force compatibility. Triple shifts were the only way.
The mine entrance loomed ahead, a wide maw carved into the black-veined rock of the spire's base. Lanterns hung from iron hooks, their Aetherite cores glowing a dull orange. Foremen in reinforced leather vests stood at the gates, clipboards in hand, barking orders. Most miners carried basic tool kits and low-grade cards bound to their belts—earth reinforcement for picks, faint light orbs for visibility, breath stabilizers for the thinner air deeper down. Vihan carried only a pickaxe, a small hammer, and a canvas sack for shards. No cards. No bindings. Just his hands and the stubborn refusal to die quietly.
"Riven!" The head foreman, a burly man named Kael with a permanent scowl and a Rare-tier earth gauntlet card on his right forearm, spotted him immediately. "Double shift again? You trying to get buried or just stupid?"
"Double," Vihan answered evenly, stepping forward to sign the ledger. His name went down in the column for Sector 4—Deep Fissure, the most unstable section where the free Aetherite veins ran thinnest and collapses happened weekly.
Kael grunted, eyeing him up and down. "Blank Trash pulling double in the deeps. Either you're brave or you've got a death wish. Try not to slow the crew down. Last Blank we had lasted three days before a cave-in turned him into paste." He waved Vihan through without another word.
The tunnel swallowed the miners whole. The temperature dropped immediately, the air growing thick with the metallic tang of raw Aetherite and the faint ozone scent of active veins. Walls glistened with exposed crystal threads that pulsed faintly, like living arteries. Other miners activated their cards as they descended—soft light orbs floating ahead, earth bindings strengthening support beams, minor wind cards circulating stale air. Conversations echoed off the stone, mostly complaints about thinning yields and rumors that the Great Houses were pulling more Aetherite topside than ever before.
Vihan walked in silence near the back of his assigned crew. Torv from yesterday was there, along with three others: a quiet woman named Mira who kept her breath card active at all times, a young hothead called Jerrick who bragged about his new fire striker card, and an older veteran named Old Garren whose veins were failing and whose hands shook slightly when he gripped his pick.
" Heard you got rejected yesterday," Torv muttered once they reached Sector 4 and began setting up at their assigned fissure. The walls here were narrower, the ceiling lower, forcing everyone to work hunched. "Ninety-four on theory though. That's no small thing."
Vihan swung his pick, the impact sending a spray of dull gray shards into his sack. "Doesn't matter if the veins don't work."
Mira glanced over, her light orb bobbing above her shoulder. "You really sat the exam knowing they'd deny you on compatibility? Most Blanks don't even bother anymore."
"Needed to see the board for myself," Vihan said, voice low as he pried out another cluster of shards. Each one felt cold and lifeless in his fingers—free Aetherite that would be bound into cards by artisans above. He could sense nothing from them. No pull, no warmth, no spark. Just stone.
Jerrick laughed from the far side of the fissure, his fire striker card flaring briefly to illuminate a stubborn vein. "Blank boy dreaming of academy halls. Next you'll tell us you're gonna challenge House Vesper with a pickaxe and a prayer."
Old Garren shot Jerrick a warning look. "Leave the kid be. His father was better than most of you lot combined. Knew card theory like breathing. Shame what they did to him."
The mention of his father brought the familiar pressure back to Vihan's chest, heavier in the confined space of the tunnel. He kept swinging the pick, steady rhythm masking the way his breath hitched for a moment. The emptiness inside him felt wider down here, as if the surrounding Aetherite veins were whispering to the void where his own should have been. He ignored it and focused on the work. Shard after shard dropped into the sack. His shoulders burned. His palms, already callused, split open again on the rough handle.
Hours passed. The crew's conversation faded into grunts and the constant ring of metal on stone. Yields were poor today—the vein they were stripping had been over-mined last season, leaving only scraps. Kael came by once to check quotas, his earth gauntlet glowing as he reinforced a sagging beam with a casual activation. "Pick up the pace or no bonus copper. Houses are demanding double output this month. Something about the Veins thinning faster."
Torv wiped sweat from his brow. "Thinning? They've been saying that for years. Just an excuse to squeeze us harder."
But Vihan noticed the way the exposed crystal threads on the walls looked duller than usual, their faint pulse irregular. Free Aetherite was supposed to regenerate slowly, but the rate had been dropping steadily since he started mining at thirteen. Old legends spoke of the Great Reshuffle—a time when the entire card system would reset if the Veins died completely. Most dismissed it as myth. The Houses called it propaganda. Yet the thinning was real.
By midday the pressure in Vihan's chest had grown insistent, pressing outward like something trying to carve its way free. He paused to drink from his waterskin, leaning against the wall. The stone felt strangely warm against his back, almost alive. For a heartbeat the tunnel lights dimmed at the edges of his vision. Colors bled—purples and silvers that had no source. A dry, parchment-like voice brushed the inside of his skull, clearer than before.
The page feels the quill's shadow… even here, in the dark.
Vihan straightened sharply, pickaxe gripped tight. No one else reacted. Mira's light orb continued floating normally. Jerrick's fire striker flared as he laughed at some joke. The voice had been inside his head alone. He pressed a hand to his sternum, breathing through the sudden wave of dizziness. The emptiness was changing—becoming something shaped, something hungry. He told himself it was the bad air, the lack of food, the stress of rejection. But the lie felt thinner each time.
"Riven! Back to work!" Kael's voice echoed from further up the tunnel.
Vihan swung the pick again, harder than necessary. Shards flew. One particularly large cluster came loose, revealing a deeper pocket of crystal. The vein here pulsed brighter for a moment, almost angrily, before dulling again. He reached in to clear the debris and his fingers brushed something different—smoother, warmer, not raw Aetherite. A single intact shard, larger than usual, its surface etched with faint natural runes that shimmered silver when his skin touched it.
He froze. Such shards were rare in free veins—usually only found in sealed inheritances or high-tier mines controlled by the Houses. This one felt… wrong. Not dead like the others. It hummed against his palm, a vibration that traveled up his arm and straight into the hollow place in his chest. For one terrifying second the pressure surged, the ancient emptiness flaring like ink spreading across blank paper. Visions flashed behind his eyes—white card frames floating in darkness, chains shattering, seven colored cards cracking like glass, a silver-haired girl watching with amethyst eyes.
Then it was gone.
Vihan yanked his hand back, the large shard dropping into his sack with the rest. His heart hammered. No one had seen. He continued working, but his mind raced. If the foremen found out he had pulled something unusual, they would confiscate it for the Houses. Smugglers in the Ghost Circuit paid good silver for anything with natural runes. He needed that silver.
The shift dragged on. By the time the crew's first rotation ended, Vihan's sack was two-thirds full—decent but not enough for bonus pay. His arms felt like lead. Blisters had formed and burst on his hands. The pressure in his chest had settled into a constant low thrum, no longer painful but impossible to ignore. It felt like the void was breathing with him now, matching every inhale.
They were halfway through the second shift when the tunnel groaned.
It started as a low rumble, deep in the rock. Dust sifted from the ceiling. Old Garren cursed and activated his failing earth card, trying to reinforce the nearest beam. "Cave-in warning! Everyone out—Sector 4 is unstable!"
Chaos erupted. Miners grabbed sacks and tools, scrambling toward the main shaft. Jerrick shoved past Mira, his fire striker flaring wildly and igniting a small patch of dry support wood. Flames licked upward. The groan turned into a roar. A section of ceiling twenty paces ahead cracked and began to fall.
Vihan ran with the others, but the large rune-etched shard in his sack seemed to grow heavier, pulling at him like an anchor. The pressure in his chest exploded outward. Time slowed. He saw the falling rocks in perfect detail, each fracture line glowing with faint Aetherite light. The voice returned, no longer a whisper but a calm, ancient statement.
Write or be written upon.
His foot caught on a loose stone. He stumbled, going down hard on one knee as the crew surged past him. Rocks rained down. A massive slab broke free directly above, plummeting toward him. There was no time to roll away. The emptiness inside him surged one final time, vast and limitless, and for a single frozen instant Vihan felt it—not power, not yet, but the shape of something waiting to be born. A blank frame hovering in his mind's eye, borders flickering with silver fire.
Then real power intervened.
Torv's earth card activated at the last second, a crude stone barrier slamming up between Vihan and the falling slab. The impact shook the tunnel. Dust choked the air. Vihan coughed, lungs burning, but alive. Torv hauled him to his feet, face pale.
"Move, damn it! You trying to die down here?"
They reached the main shaft just as the collapse sealed off Sector 4 behind them. Alarms rang—warning bells activated by the foremen's emergency cards. Miners poured out into the open air, coughing and cursing. Kael was shouting names, checking who made it. Old Garren was missing. So was one of the newer boys.
Vihan leaned against the outer wall, sack still clutched tight, chest heaving. The pressure had receded again, leaving only exhaustion and a new, sharper awareness. The large rune shard in his sack felt warmer than the rest, almost alive against his side. He had almost died. And in that moment the Blank had stirred stronger than ever. Not enough to save him—Torv had done that—but enough to show that something was waking.
Kael stormed over once the count was done. "Two lost. Yields down twenty percent. Houses won't be happy." His eyes landed on Vihan. "You. Blank. You were last out of Sector 4. What happened back there?"
"Slipped," Vihan said simply. "Torv pulled me clear."
The foreman grunted, clearly unsatisfied, but waved them off. "Sort your shards. Half pay today because of the collapse. Double shift tomorrow if you want to make up for it."
The miners dispersed, grumbling. Torv clapped Vihan on the shoulder again. "You owe me one, Riven. Don't die stupidly next time." Mira gave him a small nod of respect before heading home. Jerrick didn't look back.
Vihan walked the long path back to his room alone, sack heavier than usual. The sun was setting again, painting the spires in blood-red light. Rumors would spread tonight—another collapse, more thinning, the Blank kid nearly crushed. He kept his head down, avoiding Garrick's crew who were already drunk outside the Broken Fang.
Inside his room he emptied the sack onto the mat. Most shards were ordinary. But the large rune-etched one stood out, silver lines catching the lantern light. He picked it up carefully. The hum returned, faint but steady. Touching it sent another ripple through the emptiness in his chest. No voice this time. Just the sense of a door cracking open a fraction wider.
Vihan wrapped the special shard separately and hid it beneath the wooden box. Tomorrow he would take it to a trusted smuggler in the Ghost Circuit. If it sold well, he would have the silver for the next trials. If not… he would keep mining. Keep studying. Keep waiting.
But as he lay down on the straw mat, one hand resting over his chest, he knew the waiting was almost over. The page had felt the shadow of the quill. Sooner or later, something would write the first line.
And when it did, the Seven Great Houses would finally learn what happened when you left a blank page in the hands of someone with nothing left to lose.
Far above in the silver spire, Lady Seraphine Mirage stood at her balcony overlooking the lower districts. A faint silver thread of illusion magic stretched from her fingers, invisible to all but her, following the path Vihan had taken through the slums. She smiled into the gathering dark, amethyst eyes gleaming.
"Soon," she whispered. "The Unwritten is stirring. And I intend to be there when it finally speaks."
In the small stone room below, Vihan closed his eyes. The pressure in his chest matched the slow beat of his heart.
The veins of the world were fracturing.
And so was the seal on the eighth Concept.