Ch5: the crimson-vein legacy

The rogue-caster leaned casually against a broken column, arms crossed, like they weren't standing inside a half-collapsed chamber of a mythic-tier dungeon.

Inola eyed him warily but kept her posture relaxed. Her instincts were still bristling, but the dagger wasn't at her throat anymore, and no one had made a move to hurt her—yet.

The human knight nodded toward the archer. "Lirien, keep watch on the upper passage. I don't trust this lull."

The archer grunted and moved off silently, leaving the remaining three in a loose circle with Inola standing near its edge.

Donella stepped forward, drawing back her hood now that the tension had shifted. Her face was sharp-featured, composed, and older than her years only in the stillness of her expression. Her crimson eyes searched Inola's for a long moment before speaking.

"You've bonded with two Stones now," she said. "That puts you halfway to a class."

"Assuming I survive long enough to find three more," Inola replied dryly.

The rogue-caster chuckled. "Fair point. Though I'd say you're doing better than most. Even with that seal choking you."

Donella ignored him. "We'd like to know your origin, Inola. Not as an interrogation. As an exchange. You clearly weren't sent by a faction. And yet... you've made it further than most elite hunters we've lost to this dungeon. And it's only been half a day since the dungeon opened."

Inola hesitated, ears twitching once. "I'm not part of a faction. I'm an orphan. Raised in the outer rings."

That earned a pause.

The knight's jaw tightened slightly. "You made it here from the outer rings? Alone?"

"I didn't have a choice."

Donella tilted her head. "And yet you didn't die. You found and mastered rare skill scrolls. You trained yourself. You found your first Essence alone."

"I got lucky," Inola said simply. "Whatever good that did me."

The rogue let out a low whistle. "Cryptic. I like her."

Donella's voice was quiet. "You're one of the Crimson-Veined, Inola. Even if you don't know what that means yet. The fact that you survived the System's awakening this far without it unlocking confirms your seal is deep. But temporary."

Inola's tail flicked. "You keep saying that like it means something. What even is a Crimson-vein anyway?"

There was a pause. The three party members exchanged brief looks—nothing overt, but enough to signal something passed between them.

The knight was the first to speak, his voice low, measured. "In order for us to tell you about the Crimson-Veined, you need to know about the first Mythic-tier Dungeon Gate to ever appear... and the impact it caused."

The knight's armor creaked slightly as he shifted his stance, the silver-gold plates reflecting the flicker of rune-fire still embedded in the surrounding walls. His expression turned solemn.

"It was Year 10 SD (System Dominion). Located in the Skyreach Caldera, a volcanic ring split across the four realms—Vaelithar, Liraelwyn, Thornehalde, and Kael'Drazuun. Previously dormant for centuries, it erupted in blood-red fire. No one knew what it was at the time. It had no classification. No floor data. No scouting reports. Just a warning pulse that echoed across the entire region."

Inola stayed still, tail twitching once.

"We sent the best," he continued. "Over 20 elite guilds attempted the Gate in the first week. It was a 90% casualty rate. Names now etched in stone and stained in memory. It was supposed to be a recon mission."

He paused.

"Only ten percent came back. The top guild of Araceli, the Twelve Shards, are actually made of the survivors. They now manage access to future Mythic Gates."

The rogue-caster, his expression usually relaxed, had gone quiet, eyes cast slightly downward.

"The survivors… were never the same," the knight said. "The System left its mark on them. Some say it recognized them. Others believe it scarred them. Either way, their children were born different."

Donella picked up from there. "These children began appearing 11 months after the survivors of the Mythic-tier dungeon, Furnace of the Forsaken Gods, returned.When these children were born, faint crimson threads could be seen glowing beneath their skin, primarily along the spine, collarbone, and wrists.

She pulled her cloak back slightly, baring one slender arm. Faintly, almost imperceptibly, a network of glowing crimson lines pulsed beneath the skin—like dormant circuitry waiting to awaken. "Their eyes, those are unmistakable. Deep red, like a muted eclipse. Just like yours. Just like mine."

Inola's breath caught.

"You and I," Donella said softly, "are daughters of survivors. Our parents walked into that hell and came back carrying something the world didn't understand."

"But how, when I'm an orphan?" Inola asked, the edge of frustration creeping into her voice. "You're saying a parent of mine was one of these legendary survivors of a mythic-tier gate. And that they have been living it up as a guild leader of the most powerful guild in all of Araceli. Or are they dead, hence why I was dropped in that orphanage my whole life?"

Silence answered her for a while. That is, until the knight answered. "No. There's only one foxkin among the Guild of Twelve Shards. Kwan Kaelith. Known as the Ghostblade of the Nine-Tails."

He looked directly at Inola, the weight behind his words impossible to ignore.

"She vanished a few years after the Mythic-tier dungeon Gate was cleared. No death notice. No confirmed sightings. Just... disappeared. It caused the rumor mill to go around, spreading some outrageous stories."

Inola's ears twitched.

The knight studied her with something that bordered on reverence. "I've only seen old images of her—training records, post-Gate reports, that sort of thing. But you…" He gestured toward her with a gauntleted hand. "You look just like her when she was young. Same dark gray-blue hair. Same high cheekbones. Same quiet strength behind the eyes."

He hesitated, then added with a dry edge, "Except the eyes. Hers were steel gray—sharp enough to strip armor from a man's dignity. When she looked at you, it felt like she'd already seen your next ten mistakes."

The rogue-caster let out a low breath. "You really think this kid's that Ghostblade's daughter?"

"I don't think," the knight replied. "I know."

He turned his gaze slightly upward, as if replaying the memory behind his eyes.

"I was still in my early teens when the Furnace of the Forsaken Gods dungeon was cleared. It was the most-watched broadcast in history. Every major network across Araceli aired it. Cities paused. I bet even the Outer Rings had it piped through broken screens and rusted terminals."

"It was," a voice came from around the corner. The elven archer started waking towards them quickly. "I was around five or so, but I remember the caretaker of the orphanage I stayed in turning on the cracked TV in the entertainment room on and having all of us kids sid down and watch it."

The archer paused and checked around a corner of the labyrinth chamber. "Boris, my scouts found a new hidden floor. It's giving off some really strong Arcane Essence mana." A light brown bird landed on the archer's waiting index finger.

The bird let out a soft trill, its feathers shimmering faintly with residual mana. It flicked its wings once, then went still, its head turning toward Inola like it was studying her.

The knight, Boris, as the archer had called him, nodded slowly, processing the information.

"A hidden floor already?" he murmured. "This place is shifting fast."

The archer gave a curt nod. "It wasn't there earlier. The scouts are certain. Either it was locked behind a trigger… or the dungeon's using potent illusions to hide them."

"Probably the latter," the rogue-caster added, jerking a thumb in the second floor's direction. "Wouldn't be the first time a dungeon labyrinth used something like illusions to protect its self."

Donella's gaze flicked toward Inola at that, unreadable.

The bird chirped again, more urgently this time. The archer glanced down and tilted her hand, letting it hop to her shoulder.

"It's definitely Arcane," she confirmed. "Whatever's down there is potent."

Boris nodded. "We'll proceed soon."

Then he turned his attention back to Inola. "But this changes nothing. If you're Kwan Kaelith's daughter, you're a legacy. And whether you like it or not, you're bound to be a powerful hunter similar to the Twelve Shards. If you receive a descent enough class by the end of this, you could even surpass the Ghostblade. Her class was listed starting as an epic-tier."

He let that hang in the air a moment before gesturing to Donella. "We'll regroup above. Donella, you'll stay with her for now. Get her prepped if the next floor requires coordinated effort."

Donella simply nodded.

As the others turned to move the rogue-caster whistling idly, the archer murmuring to his bird—Inola finally spoke, her voice low.

"I didn't ask to be a legacy or whatever."

Donella glanced back at her. "Neither did I, but we all work with what we have."

Then she stepped forward and extended a hand again.

"Come on. Let's see if we can get you your third Essence Stone."

The others had moved ahead, shadows disappearing into the gloom of the corridor. The silence left behind wasn't empty, it pulsed faintly, like the dungeon itself was listening.

Inola stood beside Donella, her second Essence Stone still warm where it nestled in the pouch against her hip. A low hum buzzed beneath her skin, subtle but persistent.

She finally broke the silence. "You didn't seem surprised when they said I might be her daughter."

Donella didn't look at her. "Because I'd already guessed."

Inola's ears flicked back. "How?"

Donella lowered her hood again, letting her long dark hair fall free. "The way you moved. How you handled pressure. You didn't flinch when we cornered you. You assessed. Calculated. That's not just instinct. That's in the blood. Like the others, I watched videos of the Twelve Shards guild leaders. You really are the Ghostblade's spitting image."

A pause.

Then Donella added, "By the way, did you know that your tail gives you away when you're thinking too hard."

Inola blinked, caught off-guard. "I—what?"

"It twitches," Donella said, tone as neutral as ever. "One flick when you're annoyed. Two when you're planning."

Inola flushed faintly. "That's… invasive."

"Maybe," Donella admitted. "But it's cute."

A silence settled again—softer this time.

Then Inola said, "You really think she's alive?"

Donella met her eyes. "Yes. But the question isn't whether she's alive. It's whether she abandoned you, or was forced to leave you behind."

Inola's jaw tensed. "That distinction doesn't help a thirteen-year-old who has lived without a mother since she was five."

"No," Donella agreed. "But it might help the person you're becoming."

She stepped past Inola then, leading toward the spiral descent where the hidden Arcane floor pulsed with faint violet light.

As they approached the threshold, the very air changed—cooler, sharper, like inhaling the scent of charged quartz. The stone underfoot shimmered faintly now, etched with angular lines like broken constellations.

"Is this your first Arcane domain?" Donella asked over her shoulder.

"I'm not even sure what that means yet," Inola replied.

"Good." Donella touched the seal on the entry gate. "Then you'll learn."

The doorway shimmered like heat distortion, then parted with a soft whoosh. As they passed through, Inola felt the world subtly… shift.

Colors were more vivid. Sounds echoed longer than they should. The very space felt folded, like she was stepping into a thought left half-formed.

Donella's voice came again, calm but focused. "Arcane domains test the mind more than the body. Memory loops. Misdirection. Emotional echoes. You'll see things—maybe even memories that aren't yours."

Inola nodded once.

⌈| 🌌 |⌋

An hour later, Inola found herself questioning her entire life trajectory.

Namely, whether chasing a mythic-tier class was really worth being strung upside-down by a tree. The branch she hung from swayed lazily above the Arcane floor's ever-shifting canopy. Its bark was unnaturally smooth, pulsing with a low thrum that matched her heartbeat—annoyingly in sync. The mimic-tree had caught her mid-leap and wrapped a coiled root vine around her ankle.

Now she dangled, arms crossed, tail twitching upside-down as she stared with all the detached hatred she could muster at the scene below.

The rest of the party?

They were too busy being stuck in an entrance, dancing to magic flute music.

A satyr-like monster pranced in the center of a stone ring, playing a crystalline flute that shimmered like liquid moonlight. The music wasn't just sound, it compelled anyone who listened. Donella was gliding across the moss-carpeted ground with infuriating grace, her hood tossed back and her eyes half-lidded in an eerie, dreamy rhythm. Even the rogue-caster and archer twirled like people who had definitely done this before. A lot.

Boris, for all his knightly stiffness, was somehow executing a waltz with his sword held like a ballroom partner.

Inola let out a slow, emotionless sigh. "What the hell is happening."

The tree answered in a creaky, rhythmic sway. Like it was moving to the music as well.

She resisted the urge to punch it.

Instead, she focused. The satyr wasn't attacking. Not yet. But the party's Essence-signatures were dimming under the influence, muffled like embers smothered in silk.

This wasn't charm magic. It was deeper. A test.

A memory surfaced: Donella's voice before they found themselves in this open garden.

"Arcane domains test the mind more than the body. Memory loops. Misdirection. Emotional echoes."

She reached for her pouch. Her second Essence Stone pulsed faintly against her fingers. The Stone of Mind.

"Break the song," she muttered. "Disrupt the rhythm."

The tree hummed, making her eye twitch. "Release me," she ground out through closed lips.

The branch flipped her over and let her drop. She didn't think that would work.

Inola landed silently, crouched, tail bristling. She narrowed her eyes and let her breathing slow.

Then she activated [Phantom Veil].

The world shifted around her. Sound dampened. Her form dimmed, edges blurring like mist over stone.

Inola moved.