Kin placed his cup down with deliberate calm, the faint clink of porcelain against wood punctuating the space between them. Though the tea's warmth still lingered on his fingertips.
"The Legion Guild Master wants to see you."
Senen's gaze lifted, sharp with curiosity. "Me?" His voice bore a rare note of intrigue, yet beneath it uncertainty.
Kin didn't delay. "Yeah. The two-headed dragon your party fought years ago—it's back. It showed up on the 31st."
For a fraction of a second, the room itself seemed to still. Then, Senen stood so abruptly that the table shifted. His chair scraped against the floor, the quiet space suddenly thrumming with unspoken alarm.
"The 31st?" His voice was a breath short of disbelief. His grip tightened around the edge of the table. "That beast shouldn't be able to appear on that floor."
Kin met his gaze without hesitation. "I saw it myself." His voice, steady as steel, left no room for doubt. "And it wasn't just the dragon. Beasts from deeper floors—monsters far beyond their level—appeared. Many died."
Senen's breath came slow and sharp, his fingers flexing at his side as if grasping at a weapon no longer there. A storm churned behind his eyes, years of instinct sharpening his mind like a blade drawn too fast from its sheath.
The weight of the revelation settled between them. The tea's aroma had long faded, the once-inviting room now stifled with urgency.
Then, without another word, Senen turned, his movements swift, precise—decisive. He reached for his staff, his grip dense as the resolve setting in his expression. "We leave. Now."
The finality in his tone left no room for hesitation. Kin and Sye pushed to their feet, the tea forgotten, their conversation unfinished. Urgency pulled them from the table, their footsteps quick, the air behind them still thick with what had just been revealed.
And as they followed Senen's lead, one thought clung to Kin's mind.
Whatever awaited them next, it was only the beginning.
Tiren stood before the towering entrance of the Legion Guild, the crest of its insignia shining under the evening glow. The air was cool with raiders conversing, but his mind was elsewhere—replaying the events that had led him here. Then he stepped inside, his boots pushing against the bright red carpet floor as he advanced through the grand hall.
Upon arriving at the Guild Master's chamber, he struck the door with metronomic cadence, each impact imbued with an unvoiced exigency that reverberated through the still air.
"Come in" came the voice from within.
Tiren eased the door open and stepped through, his stance controlled, The Guild Master, seated behind an ornate desk, studied him with mild surprise, thoughts already forming behind his scrutinizing gaze.
"One of the strongest raiders from the Lyga Guild... What brings you here?" he mused, his intrigue barely concealed.
Tiren inclined his head in a brief show of respect. "I want to join your guild."
The statement hung in the air. The Guild Master leaned forward slightly. "A bold request. Are you not already part of another guild?"
Tiren's expression remained unmoved. "I trained with several of our raiders... injured a few in the process."
The Guild Master's curiosity deepened. "Surely the Lyga Guild wouldn't kick you out for that alone."
Tiren lifted his head, his gaze unyielding. "She didn't. I left."
A lull stretched between them, the quiet laden with meaning, thick as if balancing on the edge of speech. When he spoke again, his voice held no bitterness—only the edge of a warrior who had seen too much.
"I sought stronger training partners, but the elite raiders—those who truly understood battle—have abandoned the dungeon. Ever since they witnessed the dragon, they refuse to fight. The ones who remain... they call me violent. But they don't understand." His face hardens. "The dungeon is not a game. Death lingers at every turn, waiting for the unprepared. I refuse to be one of them."
His voice bore the remnants of distant wars, not with strength, but by grief. The Guild Master, silent for a moment, observed him—not just his words, but the conviction behind them.
Then, with measured certainty, he responded. "You have a deal."
Tiren's head lifted slightly, his focus now on the Master
"I will allow you to join my guild. The timing is fortuitous, in fact." His expression turned thoughtful, something calculated stirring beneath his composed exterior. "In return for making you stronger, you will assist me."
Tiren's eyes searched for the meaning beneath those words, but the Guild Master offered nothing further. Whatever lay ahead, it was clear—he had just stepped into something far greater than himself.
The descent from the temple was slow and steady, the dirt path winding between towering cypress trees. The scent of pine and distant incense still clung to the cool morning air, as though the temple's presence lingered even beyond its gates. Loose stones shifted beneath their steps, crunching softly underfoot.
A gentle breeze swept through the branches, rustling the leaves in waves of whispered farewells. From the temple's entrance above, the monk they had met earlier raised a hand in parting, his robes catching in the wind like flowing parchment.
Kin glanced over his shoulder. "Are you gonna miss them?"
Senen, walking just ahead, didn't turn. He only let out a quiet hum, his expression untroubled, the corners of his lips curving faintly. "It won't take long. I'll be back before long." His eyes held the weightless calm of a still lake.
Kin stretched his arms behind his head. Sye suddenly spoke. "Kin."
He tilted his head toward her. "Hmm?"
She hesitated only for a second before meeting his gaze. "That move. The one you did back in the temple... how do you do it?"
For a moment, Kin only blinked, then realization struck. "Ohhh, that? It's easy." He shifted his stance dramatically, throwing his arms up in an exaggerated pose. "First, I get into position, focus really hard, and then—" He chopped at the air wildly, adding his own sound effects. "Woosh! Wishhh! Shuuu! Pow!"
Sye's lips pressed together as she let out a quiet giggle, her fingers barely brushing against her mouth as she tried—and failed—to keep a straight face.
Senen, watching the distance as if he didn't bat an eye, however he listened.
"There's no use trying to learn that move from Kin," he said at last. "It's not just a technique anymore. He's made it his own. It's part of him now."
Kin perked up instantly, his entire face lighting up. "Wait, really?!" He puffed out his chest, beaming. "I just practiced what you taught me, like... a million times!"
Senen stopped dead in his tracks he looks to Kin his eyes stretch.
"One million times?!"
His voice thundered across the valley, shaking through the trees and scattering resting birds into the sky. The sound carried into the distance, its echoes swallowed by the vast stretch of forest ahead. The wind followed soon after, rushing past them. And just like that, the three of them continued forward, disappearing into the woods.
The Guild Master stood motionless against the weathered cobblestone wall, his gaze sharp yet inscrutable. The summer sun bore down with relentless fervor, turning the training grounds into a blistering crucible. The very air rippled with heat, twisting the horizon into an illusion of liquid gold. Beneath the warriors' feet, the scorched sand whispered and hissed, shifting restlessly.
At the center of it all stood Tiren.
His stance rooted itself into the scorched earth, muscles taut, nerves sharp as glass. The heat clung to him, oppressive and smothering, turning every breath into something slow and labored. Across from him, three of the **Legion Guild's elites—Tank, Itzu, and Riyu—**stood unmoving, the air around them had the scent of dust and steel. They did not speak.
The Guild Master, shadowed against the backdrop now leaned on the cobblestone wall.
"Right. We're only doing this once, Tiren."
Tiren exhaled. A heartbeat. Then another.
"Begin!"
The world lurched.
The sand roared to life. Fleeting dust devils twisted and collapsed beneath the force of their charge, the weight of their movements carving through the battlefield like unseen blades. The air trembled with their approach, their figures mere distortions in the searing heat. Shadows elongated, warping under the dying sun as Tiren braced himself.
Three forms, closing in—faster than breath, faster than thought.
The moment before impact stretched impossibly thin.
Then—