The Explorer Office in Vandrelis was open twenty-four hours. It had to be. The world didn't wait for paperwork. Neither did dungeons.
I approached the southern branch—glass, steel, reinforced aether pylons sunk into the ground like roots. Two guards stood by the entrance. Both Awakened. Uniformed. Scanning every passerby.
I kept my head down. Aura suppressed. Still, one of them shifted slightly as I passed. Not enough to react—just enough to notice.
I walked through the reinforced doors without a word.
Inside, the office was quiet. Fluorescent lights buzzed above. A receptionist glanced up from behind a reinforced terminal. Late twenties, tired, probably on a double shift.
Her eyes scanned me. Then paused.
"Name?"
"Darian."
"Awakening status?"
"Newly Awakened. Seeking registration."
She tapped a few keys. "Tier?"
I paused just long enough to sound normal. "Legendary. Hellflame."
The keys stopped. Her eyes flicked up again.
"...Legendary?"
"Yes."
She didn't say anything for a moment. Then nodded, slowly. "Alright. Sit over there. Someone from Clearance will be with you shortly."
I nodded and moved to the waiting area. Empty. Of course it was. Legendary didn't show up on forms often. Not without eyes following.
Ten minutes passed. The lights above buzzed softly. A nearby wall display looped recent raid footage on mute. I didn't watch it.
Then a door hissed open to my left. "Darian?"
A man stepped out. Mid-thirties. Slim build. Glasses. Jacket too clean. Not a field type.
"Come with me."
I followed him through a narrow hallway and into a side room—white walls, metal chair, a desk with two terminals. One terminal faced him. The other was turned toward me. Dark for now.
"Sit," he said.
I did.
He sat across from me and pulled out a thin ID slate. "Name: Darian. Status: Newly Awakened. Claimed ability—Legendary, subdesignation Hellflame." He looked up. "That correct?"
"Yes."
He nodded. Tapped the terminal. "I'm Officer Raynall. Entry-class evaluation, Tier Certification Division. Just need to confirm your System interface and verify your Tier claim. Shouldn't take long."
"Alright."
He reached under the desk and tapped a palm-sized slab of dark stone with an embedded crystal. "Place your hand here. Just a surface read. Non-invasive."
I did.
The crystal pulsed. Then flickered.
His eyes narrowed. He tapped the side of the reader. "Sorry. Been having sync issues lately. One moment."
Another flicker. This time slower. Like the scan was deciding whether or not to finish. Then—Ping.
The screen lit up.
Tier: Legendary. Ability: Hellflame.
A green light appeared in the top-right corner. Raynall relaxed. Slightly. "Alright, looks clean."
Before he could continue, the door opened again.
A younger man stepped in—early twenties, probably new. Still had that hopeful stiffness to him.
He looked at me. Then at the screen. Then back at me. His mouth opened slightly.
"Wait... you're—Legendary?"
Raynall didn't look up. "That's what the scan says."
"Are you serious? That's—"
He stopped himself. Eyes flicked back to the reading. "There's only seven registered in all of Vandrelis," he muttered. "And those are all contracted already."
I didn't respond. His gaze lingered. Trying to see something.
Raynall finally sighed. "Davren, calm down."
"I am calm, I just—"
"Go file the clearance paperwork. Level Three log. Put him through as confirmed."
Davren blinked. Then nodded quickly and left the room.
Raynall tapped the screen again. A soft tone played. "Scan completed," he said. "Tier: Legendary. Ability: Hellflame." He turned the screen toward me, though there was no need.
"Per standard procedure, you'll start off with an Iron Sigil. Though with your capabilities…" He paused. His brow furrowed.
He looked up—not at me, but slightly around me. Like he was trying to place something he couldn't see.
"…I'm sure you'll be promoted quickly."
There was a shift in the air. He didn't comment. Just pushed forward.
"I suggest applying for an expedition," he continued. "There's one departing tomorrow." He tapped something into the console. "Destination: Saharan Desert. Long-range clearance. Tier diversity required. They'll welcome someone of your standing."
I nodded once.
He handed me the registration slate. Thin. Black. Embedded with a faint sigil at the bottom—Iron.
"Welcome to the Explorer's Registry," he said.
I stood.
"Thanks."
As I left the room, I heard him let out a slow breath. Quiet. Controlled.
But it was there.
I walked back to the front desk. The same receptionist looked up.
"Hi," I said. "I want to apply for an expedition tomorrow."
She blinked. Then did a double take.
"Oh—wait, you really are Legendary?" Her voice jumped half a pitch. "I thought it was another lunatic—no offense."
She laughed nervously, already tapping into her terminal.
"Can I… take a picture with you?" she added. "You'll certainly be famous soon."
I paused.
"...Later. After I return."
That seemed to satisfy her.
"Right. Right. Of course. Expedition tomorrow, Saharan Desert… you're all set. Departure from Gate Nine at 0600."
"Thanks."
She gave a small wave, like we were friends now.
I walked out.
The air outside was colder than I remembered.
I didn't go to Gate Nine immediately.
Instead, I walked.
For hours.
Through empty streets, neon alleys, over silent bridges and under drifting ad banners. The city was never truly asleep—but it felt like it was holding its breath.
I didn't feel tired. Not even close.
My body didn't crave sleep anymore.
That part of me—the human part—had been burned away in the Trial.
Now, I moved because I needed silence. Movement. A delay.
Not to rest. Just to remember what the world felt like before everything changed.
Eventually, the first hints of morning broke over the skyline.
That's when I turned toward Gate Nine.
Gate Nine was one of Vandrelis' primary Deployment Terminals, built for long-range Explorer transit.
The aircraft docked here weren't civilian-grade. They flew faster than fighter jets from the old world. Sleek. Responsive. Imbued with mana.
Some didn't need pilots at all.
It was quiet when I arrived. Pre-dawn. Lights lined the polished runway. A few other teams were already boarding, their sigils glowing faintly at their collars or wrists.
I checked in through the terminal. The scanner recognized my slate and blinked green. One of the dock workers glanced up, then did a slight double take—probably read the Tier.
"Welcome, sir," he said, gesturing down the corridor.
I nodded and walked on.
I followed the corridor down to the hangar.
The aircraft waiting there wasn't like anything civilian. Its body was forged from black-hardened alloy, thrumming softly with contained mana. Wings curved like blades. Four stabilizers floated just behind the engine core, suspended midair by magnetic anchors.
Its name was etched into the side in silver glyphs: Striker.
I stepped up the ramp. A faint pulse ran under my boots—mana lines syncing with my slate.
Inside, the seating was narrow and reinforced. Minimalist. Built for deployment, not comfort.
Three others were already on board.
One stood. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Short cropped hair. His Sigil gleamed faintly at his collar—Rank: Gold.
He extended a hand. "Team Leader, Eitan Velar. Welcome aboard."
I shook it. Firm grip. Intent in his gaze. He didn't flinch. Didn't blink too much. He knew how to read people.
"Name?" he asked.
"Darian."
He nodded. "You'll be our third. We're waiting on one more, then we lift."
The woman across from him gave a brief nod without looking up. She was adjusting her weapon—an automatic arc-rifle, sleek and well-used.
I took my seat.
The fourth arrived a minute later. He stepped in quietly, offered a nod to no one in particular, and sat without a word. Reserved type. We'd see.
And with that, it was time for departure.