Quiet before the storm
Chapter 3: Quiet Before the Storm
The sky had already begun to darken when Tory and Jim stepped out of the shattered forest and onto the cracked path leading back to Grayward Orphanage.
Behind them, the once-dense mountain range smoldered in silence—caves collapsed, beasts buried, energy lingering like smoke on the wind. The Raging Flame Faction had been beaten back, but Tory knew better than to think it was over.
He glanced at his hand. No longer glowing with ash or trembling with power, it looked… ordinary. Flesh and bone. Dirt-covered and tired. But it wasn't ordinary. Not anymore.
> [Reality System Notice:]
[Host Reality Signature: Dangerously High]
[Triggering Emergency Concealment Path: Spatial Veil]
[Space Element: Unlocked.]
The world shimmered for a moment. Tory felt a ripple in the air around him—then nothing. His presence vanished. The storm of ash and energy that once surrounded him collapsed inward, compacted into an invisible shell.
Jim staggered beside him, leaning on his spear, which now acted more as a crutch than a weapon.
"Your hair's still black," he muttered.
Tory chuckled. "I'm working on that. I think I can reverse it with the system's help. It's… too recognizable."
"Yeah, no kidding. You looked like a demon god back there."
Tory didn't respond. Part of him still wasn't sure he hadn't become one.
---
They arrived at the orphanage gates just before midnight.
Grayward was tucked at the city's edge—half-forgotten, its fences worn and the walls cracked from years of neglect. But inside, it was warm. Clean. Safe. Or as safe as a place like that could be.
The door swung open before they could knock.
Matron Elsha stood there, arms crossed, red-rimmed eyes full of fury. "Do you have any idea what time it is?!"
Then she saw their faces—blood, bruises, fatigue—and her expression softened.
She pulled both of them into a fierce embrace.
"You're idiots," she whispered. "Brilliant, brave, stupid idiots."
Behind her, the younger kids crowded the hallway—eyes wide, jaws slack as they took in Jim's battered armor and Tory's strange black hair.
"You look different," said Myka, the youngest.
Tory smiled. "I guess I grew up a little."
"You smell like a dead bug," another chimed in.
Laughter spread, awkward and genuine.
For the first time in years, Tory felt like he was home.
---
The next morning, the kitchen filled with the smell of eggs, spicebread, and roasted beast meat. Jim practically inhaled his third plate.
"You sure it's safe to eat ant queen meat?" Tory asked, eyebrow raised.
Jim shrugged. "Tastes like chicken."
They had brought back more than meat. Their packs were stuffed with beast cores, carapaces, venom sacs, and glands worth thousands of gold. But they couldn't sell it all at once—it would raise questions. They'd have to be smart. Careful.
Tory had already started forging new weapons in the orphanage's basement, setting up a crude lab with tools he built himself. His reality system helped him refine materials, even shape them microscopically. He could craft better gear than most city smiths—and no one knew.
Except Jim. And Matron Elsha.
She sat across from them now, sipping black tea. "You need to lay low."
Tory nodded. "Already hiding my energy. Space element—cloaking field."
Jim raised an eyebrow. "Space?"
Tory nodded. "The system gave it to me after the ash storm. Said it's a subdomain of reality. Lets me bend dimensional layers and mask my presence."
Jim blinked. "That… sounds terrifying."
"I'll only use it if I need to."
"Which," Elsha interrupted, "you will. You killed a near-emperor beast. People will come looking."
Tory looked out the window. "Let them look. They won't find me."
---
A week passed.
Tory and Jim carefully sold off fragments of their hunt—core by core, gland by gland—posing as middlemen for a "retired hunter." No one questioned them. Too many orphans in Grayward sold scraps to survive.
The funds poured in.
Elsha used the gold to renovate the orphanage: new floors, reinforced walls, heating crystals for the winter. The children got boots. Books. Beds with real blankets. For the first time in years, Grayward didn't feel like the edge of ruin.
Tory sat in the basement that night, forging.
A thin dagger hovered above his palm—crafted from a mutated hornet's sting, laced with venom and alloy. His mind manipulated space itself to sharpen the edge.
> [Reality System Crafting Bonus: Dimensional Edge Applied.]
[Weapon Name: Void Fang – Tier: C+]
He set it aside. Not for him. For the guild.
They'd decided to join one. It was time.
---
There were five major hunter guilds in Emberlight City:
1. Crimson Scars – bloodthirsty and brutal.
2. Stormscale – military-style, strict ranks.
3. Ebon Veil – spies, assassins, and shadow users.
4. Iron Song – craftsmen and defensive hunters.
5. Silver Dawn – balanced, focused on potential and growth.
They chose Silver Dawn. The least political. The most accepting.
Tory registered under a false profile—basic stats, forged ID, "space-type support user." Nothing fancy. Jim, on the other hand, caused a stir.
At fifteen, wielding five elements with precision, he was immediately offered a B-rank probationary status.
"You sure you want to stay with him?" one of the senior guild examiners asked, glancing at Tory.
Jim stared back. "He's my brother."
That was the end of it.
---
Training with the guild was different from sneaking through woods.
They learned formations. Trap-breaking. Emergency signal use. How to identify mutations in beasts and how to report dangerous ones to the city's upper command.
Tory mostly kept quiet, observing. Testing. Watching how others used their elements so he could learn where not to strike if he needed to.
At night, he'd practice in the forest.
> [Reality Thread: Spatial Compression]
[Ability Gained: Fold Step – Short-Distance Dimensional Shift]
He began warping. Short jumps. 10 meters. 20. Silent and invisible.
> [New Ability: Reality Anchor]
[Effect: Bind an object or being to a fixed layer of space, rendering it undetectable or immobile temporarily.]
The system didn't just grow stronger. It adapted to him.
It taught him not just how to kill—but how to erase evidence of power. Of change. Of truth.
That scared him more than anything.
---
One night, Jim found him sitting on the edge of the city wall, staring up at the stars.
"Could've fooled me," Jim said. "You don't look like a god anymore."
Tory snorted. "I don't want to be one."
Jim sat beside him. "But you are something different now. You know that."
Tory didn't answer right away. He let the wind carry their silence for a moment.
"I saw everything," he finally said. "The world. The truth behind it. How fragile it is. We're not standing on stone—we're standing on threads."
Jim looked over. "You scared?"
"I wasn't. Not during the fight. But afterward…"
He looked down at his hands. "I destroyed a mountain. I didn't mean to. I just… unthought it."
Jim was quiet. Then he said, "You once built a heater for the kids out of scraps and rocks."
Tory smiled faintly.
"You can destroy, yeah," Jim said. "But you can also create. That's what makes you different. You're not meant to rule. You're meant to rebuild."
Tory let those words settle.
Then he looked up at the stars and whispered, "Let's build something better."
---
The peace didn't last.
Two weeks later, a new group arrived in Emberlight City.
A noble envoy, backed by Crimson Flame Sect—an upper-tier hunter faction with ties to the empire.
They brought word: a "reality-aligned anomaly" had been detected near Grayward. They were searching for the source.
Jason was with them.
Face bandaged, eye missing, but alive. Burning with hatred.
He hadn't forgotten.
And he remembered the storm. The power. The figure with black hair and void eyes.
"I'll find you," he whispered to himself, standing just outside the orphanage wall, unnoticed.
"You think you're hidden," he sneered, "but I remember the fear. I'll bring the whole empire down on your head if I have to