The soft hum of the ceiling fan was the only sound keeping Riven company in his apartment.
Rain tapped steadily against the windowpane, washing the neon lights of Caelmire into blurred streaks across the glass. It was quiet—eerily quiet. The kind of stillness that always came before something cracked.
Riven sat on his couch, legs stretched, hoodie draped loosely over his shoulders, eyes locked on the muted news feed flashing across his holoscreen.
"Breaking: Five Guild Masters Assemble for Caelmire Upper District Dungeon Break Investigation."
"Valdera Authorities Increase Suppression Radius."
"WDC Confirms S-Rank Classification: Still Awaiting Core Scan Access."
The footage looped through shaky drone captures of a blackened, warped section of the city—the heart of the Upper District—where a thin veil of red shimmered through fractured buildings. The edges of the screen flickered with distortion. Even the mana-reactive cameras couldn't fully register what was inside.
He leaned forward.
There they were.
Each guild master stood apart, yet somehow aligned by mutual urgency. The crimson flare of Saria Vorn's coat stood out against the storm. Her short, red hair clung to her jawline, her crimson eyes sharp as ever. She exchanged a few curt words with Galen Thorne, the solemn master of Glacium Pact, his froststeel mantle glinting under the pale light.
To their right, Elric Sylvanis of Verdant Chain murmured into a floating vine-like comm device, flanked by living flora that shifted with the wind. Veyra Duskbane from Obsidian Dawn looked half-bored, lounging against a nearby ruin like the break was nothing more than a business deal gone wrong.
And then, of course, at the front stood Guild Master Theron Kaelis, the oldest and most respected. His calm, imposing presence anchored the group like stone.
The camera shifted—catching a silver-haired woman stepping into view.
Riven's eyes narrowed slightly, but a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.
Lyra Veyla.
She wore her long silver hair tied up in a sharp ponytail, her sleek Nova Arcanum uniform perfectly tailored beneath a half-cloak. A pale frost shimmered at her heels as she walked. Her glasses caught the light just enough to conceal her expression.
He barely heard the reporter's voiceover as he watched her exchange a short glance with Saria. No words were spoken, but the air between them looked flammable.
"Guess some rivalries are there and still never cool off," Riven murmured.
Just then, a soft ping echoed from his wrist.
He glanced down.
The Omnitrix was silent—but his personal communicator, synced separately, buzzed with an incoming message.
From: Lyra Veyla
"Hope you're enjoying the news, broody boy. Might be our last chat if this dungeon's got teeth 😘"
He stared at the screen.
"…Seriously?" he muttered, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him again.
He leaned back and tapped a quick reply:
"You've survived worse. Try not to freeze your hair off."
No immediate response. She was probably already inside the perimeter.
His eyes drifted back to the broadcast. The group was preparing to move in, layers of shielding forming behind them as containment squads began deploying pulse anchors.
Riven shut off the screen.
Silence returned.
He stood slowly, stretching with a quiet groan. His muscles had mostly recovered since the last dungeon run, and the new adaptive armor Lyra had provided moved like a second skin under his hoodie.
Nullshift, sheathed at his back, pulsed faintly. The Omnitrix on his wrist was calm. Silent mode still held, but within it, the glow of three alien cores simmered: Heatblast, Articguana, and the newly acquired Diamondhead.
Three.
He exhaled.
"…Should probably get food before this part of the city also locks down," he muttered, grabbing his ID tag and sliding his comm piece into place.
The streets of Caelmire were quiet but tense. Emergency announcements flashed across street holos, directing citizens away from the Upper District. The rain hadn't let up—it fell heavier now, drenching the sidewalks in a silver mist. Most people stayed indoors.
Riven kept his hood up and moved quickly down the street. The local market wasn't far—just a few blocks. He passed shuttered cafes, glowing vending hubs, and an out-of-service subway kiosk.
His mind wandered.
Why had Lyra messaged him like that? That teasing emoji… was it nerves? Or her way of saying something without actually saying it?
He shook the thought off.
The Omnitrix didn't pulse again. Whatever was happening in the Upper District hadn't triggered it—yet.
He rounded the corner, eyes on the faint lights of a late-night store still open beneath a flickering canopy.
Then the ground shuddered.
A low rumble rolled beneath his feet. Birds scattered from the rooftops. Alarms on distant vehicles blared.
A crimson light sliced the rain-drenched air in front of him.
Right across the empty street—ten feet from where he stood—reality split.
A swirling vortex of black and violet energy spiraled open. Sharp arcs of mana lashed outward as the pavement cracked and groaned beneath the weight of the expanding gateway.
A dungeon gate.
His first instinct was to step back.
But something was wrong.
The portal didn't look like the ones he'd seen before. It shimmered erratically, as if struggling to stay open. No system alert had gone off. No broadcast. No Hunter notice. Not even a guild beacon.
It was wild.
Raw.
And yet—
The Omnitrix buzzed.
A soft glow radiated from the device—so faint it could barely be seen under his sleeve.
Riven frowned.
"…That's not a coincidence."
He looked around.
No witnesses. No warning.
He felt the pull.
Like always.
His hand reached for Nullshift.
He didn't say anything.
Didn't activate the system.
Didn't call Lyra.
He just stared into the swirling portal—and stepped through.
The vortex snapped shut behind him.
The rain continued to fall.
And Caelmire carried on, unaware that just streets away from the world's greatest guilds… one man had entered a dungeon alone.
Again.
End of Chapter.
Thank you for reading.