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In this newly fractured world, power is everything. The strong thrive, the weak endure, and the Deva family stands above all—untouchable, unquestionable. Dion, an outcast without status or strength, watches as others ascend while he struggles to survive. He has no grand ambitions, no illusions of destiny. But in a world where the gifted rule and the forsaken fall, survival itself is a battle.

Veiled falls

Dion's eyes snapped open. His heart slammed against his ribs as the entire room trembled. For a moment, his half-asleep mind thought the Dread Spawn had broken through RidgeFort's walls.

Then came another deafening series of knocks, shaking the flimsy wooden frame of his door.

The voice outside was deep, furious, and entirely too familiar.

Dion exhaled sharply, pressing a hand over his face as reality sank in. His muscles ached from yesterday's hunt, and his mind felt sluggish, but none of that would matter if the door came off its hinges.

"I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T OPEN THIS DOOR—"

Pushing himself up, Dion ran a hand through his hair and trudged toward the door. He barely turned the handle before it was shoved open, nearly knocking him off balance.

A thick-armed man filled the doorway, his expression a mask of irritation. Mr. Garrick. His landlord. And behind him, two men stood like enforcers, arms crossed over their chests.

"Rent," Garrick grunted, eyes sweeping the room with a sneer. "You're late."

Dion sighed. He already knew this was coming.

"Not my problem." Garrick tapped a finger against the doorframe, the wooden structure groaning under the pressure. "You stay here, you pay up. No exceptions."

Dion didn't argue. He stepped back, moving to the corner where his floorboard stash lay. Kneeling, he loosened the hidden compartment and reached inside. His fingers brushed against the cold surface of the Nyx Crystals.

Not enough to hurt, but enough to satisfy Garrick.

Standing, Dion tossed the crystals toward him. Garrick caught them easily, turning them over in his thick fingers. The faint glow from within the stones reflected in his eyes, and after a moment, he gave a grunt of approval.

"This'll do. For now." He shot Dion a pointed look. "Next time, don't make me knock."

Dion didn't reply. He just watched as Garrick turned on his heel, his two enforcers following him down the hall.

The moment they were gone, Dion exhaled and shut the door.

But he still had the rest. He just needed to sell them.

Dion grabbed what remained of his pouch, securing it to his belt before heading out.

The morning air was crisp, but the streets were anything but calm. RidgeFort had already woken up, the usual blend of merchants, scavengers, and hunters filling the roads. Dion moved through the shifting crowd, his hand resting lightly over the pouch at his waist.

The exchange center wasn't far—a well-guarded building near the heart of the outer district. It was where hunters traded Nyx Crystals for credits, the only place in this part of the city that ensured fair rates. Dion had been here more times than he could count.

As he approached, a wave of murmurs spread through the crowd. People were gathered at the entrance, eyes darting toward something being carried away.

Dion slowed, his gaze locking onto the scene.

A man, limp and motionless, was being dragged across the dirt road. His chest bore a gaping hole, as if something had burned straight through him.

Dion's grip tightened on his pouch.

Then his eyes flicked upward, scanning the area—and he finally saw what had everyone tense.

Something had happened inside the exchange.

And judging by the lingering tension in the air, it wasn't over yet.

To live is to pay