The night in the lower districts of Kharos Spire wrapped everything in a damp, clinging darkness that never fully lifted. Lanterns from illegal forges and scattered Aetherite shards provided only pockets of sickly orange light, leaving most alleys in deep shadow. Vihan Riven moved through them with the quiet, measured steps of someone who had spent years learning that every sound could draw unwanted eyes. His patched coat hung loose on his frame, the fabric still carrying the dust and faint metallic scent from the mine collapse earlier that day. The large rune-etched shard, wrapped tightly in a piece of clean cloth torn from an old shirt, pressed against his chest with a warmth that was impossible to ignore. It felt almost alive, a steady pulse that synced with the growing pressure inside him.
He had not slept after returning from the mine. The moment he had emptied his sack and seen the unusual shard among the ordinary ones, he knew he could not keep it hidden in his small room. If a foreman did a surprise inspection or if Garrick's crew decided to rob him again, the shard would be gone, and Vihan would likely disappear with it. The only place where something like this could be turned into real silver without immediate House interference was the Ghost Circuit. The underground network of black-market stalls, duel pits, and smugglers operated in the forgotten tunnels beneath the mid-level districts, a world the Great Houses pretended did not exist while quietly skimming profits through their own hidden agents.
Vihan took a deliberately long and winding route, doubling back twice and pausing in narrow side passages to watch for tails. Garrick and his crew were known to prowl the slums at night looking for easy marks, and tonight Vihan carried something that could make him a target. His stomach had been empty since the thin millet soup the previous evening, but hunger felt secondary to the constant thrum in his chest. The emptiness that had always defined him was changing. It no longer felt like simple absence. It felt expectant, watchful, as though the void itself was listening to the world around him and waiting for the right moment to respond.
After nearly an hour of careful movement, he reached the hidden entrance — a rusted iron grate set into the base of a collapsed warehouse, half-covered by piles of rotting crates and broken support beams. He glanced around one final time, then pried the grate open just enough to slip through. The tunnel beyond sloped downward sharply, the air growing cooler and damper with each step. The sounds of the Ghost Circuit drifted up to meet him long before he saw the light: muffled cheers, the sharp crackle of cards activating, the clink of coins and shards changing hands, and the occasional roar of a wild card beast being sold in one of the back chambers.
The main cavern opened suddenly after a final bend. It was a vast natural chamber reinforced with ancient stone pillars that had been carved by the first settlers centuries ago. Dim Aether lanterns hung from chains bolted into the ceiling, their green-tinged light mixing with the warmer glow of oil torches. Makeshift stalls lined the walls, their owners shouting prices for everything from cracked Common cards and low-grade mana potions to stolen House training manuals and monster cores harvested from the outer Veins. In the center of the cavern sat three sunken duel pits, each ringed by glowing barrier runes that prevented stray effects from harming spectators. Crowds pressed close to the ropes, gamblers shouting bets while duelists prepared their decks.
Vihan kept his head slightly lowered and moved along the edge of the crowd, avoiding the brighter areas. He passed a stall selling questionable stamina restoratives, then another where a one-eyed woman was demonstrating a cheap illusion card that created temporary duplicates of coins. Further along, a group of failed academy hopefuls argued loudly over the results posted that day, their voices bitter as they recounted how close they had come to gold entries before their decks fell short in the physical tests.
He continued deeper until he reached the far corner where the more serious and discreet dealers operated. Crooked Ren's stall was exactly where he remembered it — a small alcove draped with heavy black cloth to block prying eyes, a low wooden table inside lit by a single hooded lantern. Ren himself sat on a stool, a thin man in his late forties with a scarred face and eyes that missed nothing. His hands, steady despite years of handling dangerous goods, were sorting through a small pile of unmarked card fragments.
Ren looked up as Vihan slipped behind the curtain. "Riven. Didn't expect to see you so soon after the academy rejection. Word spreads fast down here. Ninety-four on theory but still silver-stamped for Blank veins. Harsh."
Vihan sat on the opposite stool without invitation. "News always does." He kept his voice low, barely above a whisper. "I have something. Not ordinary mine scrap."
Ren's scarred eyebrow rose. "Show me."
Vihan reached into his inner pocket and placed the wrapped shard on the table. He unfolded the cloth carefully, revealing the large Aetherite piece. The natural silver runes caught the lantern light and seemed to shift subtly, as though tracing invisible patterns. Ren leaned forward, his breath catching for the briefest moment. He did not touch it immediately. Instead, he pulled a small magnifying lens from his pocket and examined the shard from every angle, turning it slowly with a pair of thin metal tongs.
"This is no standard free-vein find," Ren murmured after several long minutes. "Natural rune formation. Old. Possibly pre-Weaver era leakage from a sealed inheritance that bled into the vein over centuries. Dangerous. Very dangerous. The Houses would pay a fortune for something like this if they knew it existed. Where exactly did you pull it?"
"Sector 4. Deep fissure. Right before the collapse. No one else saw me take it."
Ren set the tongs down and fixed Vihan with a hard, calculating stare. "I can move this. But it will take time to find a buyer who won't ask questions or trace it back. Twenty silver. That's generous."
Vihan shook his head. "Thirty-five. It's unique and you know it. The runes alone make it worth more than ordinary Rare material."
Ren chuckled, the sound dry and humorless. "Bold for a Blank with no deck to back it up. Twenty-two. Final offer if you want it gone tonight."
The negotiation lasted nearly ten minutes, both men keeping their voices low while the sounds of the Circuit filtered through the curtain. Vihan argued every point he could remember from his father's old lessons — the rarity of natural runes, the thinning of the Veins making such finds rarer, the potential for the shard to bind into something far beyond Common. Ren countered with the risk of storage, the chance of House agents sniffing around, and the difficulty of finding a trustworthy artisan willing to work on something this old. In the end they settled on twenty-nine silver — more money than Vihan had ever held at one time in his life.
Ren counted out the coins from a locked iron box beneath the table, sliding them across in a small, worn leather pouch. "You didn't get this from me. And kid… be careful who you show that kind of find to. Things with natural runes have a way of attracting attention that even Blanks can't hide from."
Vihan took the pouch, feeling its reassuring weight in his hand. Twenty-nine silver. Combined with the eleven he already had, he now possessed forty silver exactly — the full academy entry fee for the next cycle in six months. There would even be a little left over for proper food, a few nights of better rest, and perhaps a single low-grade Common card from the black market to experiment with in secret. For the first time in years, the future felt slightly less impossible.
He did not leave the Circuit immediately. Instead, he moved toward the largest duel pit where a crowd had gathered for a higher-stakes match. Two duelists stood ready inside the sunken circle, their decks openly displayed on their belts. The first was a broad-shouldered man with a heavy combat focus — earth and fire cards visible, the kind designed for raw power and defense. The second was a slim, sharp-eyed woman with a control-oriented deck — wind, lightning, and subtle illusion cards that shimmered faintly even when inactive.
The barrier runes around the pit flared to life as the match began. The muscular man opened aggressively, activating a Stone Golem card that manifested with a ground-shaking roar, its massive form towering over the pit. The woman responded instantly with a Gale Slash followed by a Chain Lightning that arced through the golem and forced the man to burn an early defensive card. The crowd roared in approval, bets flying back and forth.
Vihan stood at the edge of the spectators, absorbing every detail with the same intensity he had once given to his theory exam. He noted how the man relied on raw power and armor synergies, while the woman used feints, positioning, and mana efficiency to wear him down. Every activation had visible costs — the duelists' postures shifting as mana drained, small backlash sparks when synergies were imperfect, timing windows that could decide the match in seconds. This was the kind of strategic depth he had studied for years but never been allowed to practice.
As the duel intensified, the pressure in Vihan's chest surged with sudden violence. The emptiness responded to the raw display of concepts and mana flowing freely in front of him. His vision flickered at the edges. For one terrifying heartbeat, faint white card frames hovered just beyond his sight — blank, perfect, their borders flickering with silver fire. The ancient voice returned, clearer and more insistent than ever before.
So much ink spilled across the world… and none of it writes upon the true page.
Vihan staggered back a step, pressing his back against a stone pillar. Sweat broke out across his forehead despite the cool cavern air. His hands trembled as the sensation grew stronger, the void inside him straining against whatever ancient seal still held it. It felt like the Blank was reaching out, hungry to take the concepts he was witnessing and rewrite them into something new, something that had never existed. A single memory flickered unbidden — the warmth of his father's hand on his shoulder the night before the execution. He pushed it down hard. Not yet. He was not ready to pay that price.
He forced slow, controlled breaths, focusing on the stone against his back and the rhythm of his own heartbeat. Gradually the white frames faded and the pressure receded to a low, watchful thrum. No one in the crowd had noticed his momentary distress — all attention remained fixed on the duel, which the woman ultimately won with a masterful combination of illusion misdirection and lightning overload that shattered the man's remaining defenses. Cheers erupted as silver changed hands.
Vihan slipped away while the celebration was at its peak. He used five silver at a nearby vendor to buy a small loaf of fresh spirit bread, a strip of dried meat, and a vial of cheap stamina restoration liquid. The food tasted better than anything he had eaten in weeks. With his remaining silver secured, he made his way back to the exit, taking the same cautious route out of the Circuit.
The journey back to his room felt longer than usual. Twice he had to duck into side alleys when groups of rowdy gamblers stumbled past. Once a drunk thug bumped into him and started to reach for his pouch until he saw Vihan's empty hands and decided the Blank was not worth the effort. When he finally pushed open the warped door to his small stone room, the relief was profound. He sat on the straw mat and counted the silver twice under the flickering lantern light. Twenty-four silver remained after his purchases — more than enough for the next academy fee and basic survival until then.
He took out the old card fragment from his father and held it in one hand while the new silver rested in the other. For the first time in seven years, the weight in his chest felt slightly lighter. He had a path forward. Small, dangerous, but real.
Yet as he sat there in the quiet, the pressure returned stronger than before. The emptiness no longer felt passive or distant. It felt expectant. The card fragment in his palm grew noticeably warm, and for the briefest instant a single faint silver-white line appeared along one of its broken edges — like the first delicate stroke of invisible ink — before vanishing completely.
Vihan stared at the fragment, heart hammering against his ribs. He wrapped both the fragment and the silver pouch carefully and lay back on the mat, staring at the familiar cracks in the ceiling that looked like shattered card borders.
The Ghost Circuit had given him money, knowledge, and a glimpse of what real power looked like.
But it had also pushed the awakening inside him one step closer to the surface.
The page was no longer completely untouched.
And somewhere in the darkness above and below the spires, the first true letter had begun to form.
In the silver spire high above the slums, Lady Seraphine Mirage stood on her private balcony once more. A thin, invisible thread of illusion magic stretched downward through the night, locked onto the location of a certain slum room. She smiled into the wind, amethyst eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction.
"Soon," she whispered to the sleeping city. "The Unwritten will speak. And I will be listening when it does."
The night continued its slow march, but in the small stone room below, something ancient had taken another breath.
The shadows of the Ghost Circuit had shared their secrets.
Vihan Riven had heard every single one.