| Whispers Beneath the Ash

⟟ Vault Seeker VII ⟟

The alley had grown silent. Not a trace remained of the strange man or the deadly woman with the katana. One moment they had been surrounded by enemies, the next—emptiness. As if the world itself had decided to blink.

Rowan stared into the space where the man had vanished, tension still knotted in his shoulders. The atmosphere lingered with static, a faint electric charge that made the hair on the back of his neck bristle.

The silence wasn't peaceful—it was surgical. As if the city itself had held its breath.

"We can't find him," Rowan muttered at last, his voice clipped. "It's too risky."

Alina opened her mouth to protest, eyes flaring with urgency—but then she hesitated. A breath caught in her throat. She looked away, clenching her fists.

"…You're right," she admitted quietly. "We'd just be walking into a trap."

Rowan nodded solemnly. "We need to be smart about this."

Alina glanced sideways at him. "Check your system. It might've registered something from the last encounter. Even if we didn't land the final blow, we were involved."

He hadn't thought of that. With a flick of his thoughts, he summoned the interface.

[System: Dungeon Protocol Accessed]

Combat Involvement Registered: +60 Stat Points Awarded.

Rowan's breath hitched. Sixty? That was… unexpected.

He stared at the notification for a long moment, brain whirring. The rush of possibilities cracked open in his mind. So many avenues. So many paths. What should I do with them?

He turned over combinations like puzzle pieces. Strength? Speed? Durability? Should he invest in Intelligence to better understand the system? Or Vitality to withstand another hit like the one from earlier?

Then he looked at Alina.

She was calm, composed—already considering the path ahead. She didn't need to question where to place her points. That clarity in her eyes told him everything.

Rowan drew in a breath and made his decision.

Strength: +4

Speed: +3

Durability: +3

15 Points Remaining

The boost was immediate. His muscles felt lighter, more responsive. His breathing steadied. Pain dulled in his side where a bruise had blossomed earlier.

He nodded to himself.

"Let's plan our route," Rowan said. "We'll need to move through the ruined district, then circle toward the commercial zone."

"There's still too many unknowns out there," Alina said. "We need to assume High-D Ruinborns are patrolling."

"Then we don't engage unless we have no choice," Rowan replied. "Stealth, speed, and fallback plans."

Alina raised an eyebrow. "You ready?"

He smirked faintly. "Always."

Rowan opened the door slowly. It groaned—a long, creaking whisper that scraped across the silence. He winced but kept moving.

Outside, the city was caught in that strange limbo between devastation and stubborn survival. Some buildings still stood tall, others were skeletal husks. Windows shattered, streets cracked, power lines drooped.

Even the air had weight to it—a heaviness that pressed against their chests.

He signaled Alina forward, and together they moved—low and swift, staying tight to walls and slipping through shadow like whispers.

They ducked under a collapsed balcony, skirted around the remains of a twisted vehicle, and crossed a plaza littered with torn banners and shattered glass. Every step was calculated. Every movement economical.

It felt like navigating through memory—echoes of a time when this city was alive, bustling, human. Now, it was a ghost wearing its old clothes.

Suddenly, Rowan raised a fist—halt.

A single Ruinborn stood in their path, half-silhouetted by the flicker of a dying streetlamp.

Alina's breath hitched. "That's a High D-rank."

Rowan's eyes narrowed. The creature looked like a person—but only in the most grotesque sense. Towering, muscle-bound, its flesh was taut with bulging veins. Its face bore disturbingly human features, though paler, washed-out, and deadened. It gripped a massive sledgehammer in one hand, its surface pitted and blood-stained.

"I don't know much about this type," Alina whispered, "but it's partially blind. Eyes don't function well in low light."

Rowan's thoughts kicked into overdrive. Partially blind? Then its brain likely compensated. Neural plasticity means enhanced senses—hearing, maybe even smell.

He scanned the area. There—a crushed soda can, dented and glinting faintly.

With deliberate care, Rowan crept toward it. Each step was like threading a needle. He grabbed it—metal clink. He froze.

The Ruinborn twitched, turning its head, sniffing the air. Then it stilled.

Rowan exhaled and backed away, returning to his original position. With a flick, he threw the can across the street. It clattered against the pavement, echoing sharply.

The Ruinborn roared and turned, storming toward the noise.

"Now," Rowan whispered.

They dashed past it, low to the ground, making barely a sound.

But just as they rounded the corner, a car nearby flared to life—its alarm blaring.

The Ruinborn froze, then turned—its head snapping toward them. For a second, it was dead silent.

Then it roared again—deeper this time—and charged, sledgehammer raised.

"Luck?! Are you serious?!" Alina cried.

Rowan said nothing, face unreadable.

The sledgehammer came down with terrifying speed. Rowan and Alina dove to opposite sides, barely avoiding the crushing blow. The ground fractured under the impact.

They remained still, holding their breath. Maybe—just maybe—it couldn't track them if they didn't move.

But the Ruinborn sniffed the air again—then turned sharply toward Alina.

"Move!" Rowan shouted.

She dodged at the last second. The Ruinborn's hammer slammed into the wall behind her. It didn't just crack—it disintegrated. The adjacent building shuddered—and then collapsed in a cloud of dust and rubble.

Rowan's blood chilled. That thing just leveled two buildings with one strike. This is going to be brutal.

No time to think. He charged, weaving low. He slid toward the Ruinborn's legs and slashed upward with his keris.

The blade connected—but barely. A shallow cut formed across its calf.

Rowan cursed. High durability.

The Ruinborn turned, swinging its hammer in a wide arc. Rowan ducked—whoosh—the sheer force of the air displaced him, sending his coat flaring.

Alina responded with a volley of air bullets, her hands flickering with Aether. The projectiles hit—some bouncing off, others tearing into its skin.

It snarled, turning toward her.

No. Rowan needed its attention.

He attacked again, darting in and out like a shadow, baiting strikes and forcing it to divide its focus.

Alina caught on immediately. She began charging a single, focused attack. Aether gathered at her palm like a storm compressed.

The Ruinborn roared, hammering the ground in fury. The quake knocked Rowan into the air. He smashed through a window and landed inside a building, glass and debris raining down.

Dazed, he looked up—just in time to see the Ruinborn closing in on Alina.

She raised her arm—and fired.

A single bullet of compressed wind, dense and razor-sharp, shot forward.

BOOM.

An explosion of force engulfed the creature. Dust and wind whipped outward. Alina shielded her face, squinting into the haze.

Then—movement.

A black silhouette emerged from the dust. The Ruinborn still stood—much of its skin shredded, body heaving—but alive.

It charged her, eyes wild.

Rowan burst from the ruined building, sprinting faster than he ever had.

His keris gleamed in the dim light.

He leapt—and with one clean, decisive stroke—slashed across the Ruinborn's throat.

It staggered. Blood sprayed. Its hammer fell from its grasp with a dull clang.

Then it collapsed, its massive frame hitting the earth like a toppled tower.

Silence.

Rowan and Alina stood side by side, panting.

They turned to each other—then fist-bumped wordlessly.

Night had fallen.

They moved more cautiously now, staying to the shadows. Alina explained that Ruinborns blended into darkness with terrifying ease. Their skin seemed to absorb light. Rowan kept his senses sharp, every footstep measured.

Eventually, they reached the commercial district.

A temporary military camp sprawled outside the largest mall, surrounded by makeshift barricades and humming generators. Soldiers patrolled the perimeter, armed and armored.

Two stood closest to their position.

The one on the left looked young, thin, and visibly shaken. His rifle shook slightly in his hands.

The other was bulky and stoic, eyes alert, posture firm. A man with training—and purpose.

Alina grabbed Rowan's sleeve, pulling him back.

"We shouldn't be seen."

"They might send us back to the shelter," Rowan muttered, nodding.

The camp had blocked off the front entrance. Rowan's eyes drifted to the towering mall. It loomed over everything nearby, casting a long, ominous shadow.

She's in there, he thought. Alina's sister.

They circled wide, eventually reaching a side entrance—an underground car park. Fewer soldiers. Just a few guarding the edge.

They slipped past silently.

Inside, the car park was pitch black. Power was completely cut. The stale scent of dust and oil hung in the air.

"I'll lead," Alina said, pulling out a small rectangle of metal and glass. She tapped it—and light burst from the top.

Rowan flinched. "What is that?"

Alina blinked. "…A smartphone?"

Rowan stared blankly.

She narrowed her eyes. "You're seriously old."

He gave a small shrug. "Not my fault I'm from the age of brass and gears."

The beam of light danced ahead of them, revealing abandoned cars, cracked cement, and creeping moss. They descended deeper, each level quieter, darker, colder.

A faint sound echoed from the left.

Scrape.

They turned—Alina raised the light.

Nothing.

Only darkness.

They moved again. Slowly. Each step carefully placed.

The air changed. Heavier. Dense with something unseen.

A shadow moved at the edge of the beam.

Alina froze.

"…Did you see that?" she whispered.

Rowan's hand tightened around his keris.

From the far wall came the low, distorted sound of something breathing.

They had entered the maw of something waiting.

And it was very much awake.