The first thing I noticed when I entered the guild compound was the silence.
Not the regular kind—the quiet of early mornings or quiet halls.
No, this was the kind of silence that wrapped itself around you like judgment. A silence that whispered you shouldn't be here.
Arielle walked two steps ahead of me, her hood up, her silver bands dull against her wrists. She hadn't said a word since we left my apartment. We moved through the gates under the watch of two guards who stared but didn't stop us.
The Field Guild of Manhattan—known officially as Chapter 08-AX—looked more like a fortified junkyard than a bastion of order. Layers of metal scaffolded together like Lego bricks, mana-threaded barriers woven through broken glass windows. Half the facility had been rebuilt after the last surge breach, and it showed—scorched paint, patchwork floors, broken lights buzzing overhead.
Arielle stopped in front of a steel door labeled "Command", hesitated, then looked at me.
"You don't have to come in."
"I do."
She held my eyes for a long second, then opened the door.
Inside, the temperature dropped.
Three people stood behind the circular desk—guild leader Roland Dace, Vice-Chair Reema Salas, and a third I didn't recognize, but immediately disliked. He wore a polished uniform, sharp black armor with silver inlays, and a guild-issued blade that hadn't seen a real fight in years.
Roland looked up from the report in his hand, his eyes narrowing when they found me.
"Elijah Voss."
"Present," I said, voice even.
Reema didn't look at me. She stared at Arielle. "You brought him into a live C-class dungeon."
"I had clearance," Arielle replied.
"You brought him into a dungeon where a party member died."
A pause.
Arielle's voice dropped. "I know."
I stood straight, arms crossed. "That's on me, isn't it?"
Roland's gaze flicked to me. "You're not a registered Ranker. You weren't even licensed."
"No," I agreed. "I wasn't."
Reema finally looked at me now—eyes dark, clinical. "Then explain how a boss-tier reaper ended up dead. And why your mana signature is triggering alarm wards across the city."
A beat passed.
I didn't answer.
Because what would I even say?
Hi, I'm Elijah Voss, necromancer of the ancient variant, apparently some kind of death messiah with a kingdom of the undead in my ring. Also, I killed an A-rank beast using a skeletal general named Ashbourne who bowed after the decapitation. Nice to meet you.
I went with: "We got lucky."
"You're telling me you fought off an A-rank-class Warden of Silence with luck?" the man in the black armor said, stepping forward. "You're not even F-rank. You're a danger."
"Elijah didn't trigger the trap," Arielle said sharply. "I did."
"You're damn right you did," Reema snapped. "You overrode the chain of command and brought an unranked asset into a zone we hadn't cleared. You're lucky we're not pressing charges."
My jaw tightened.
"He saved us."
The words came out before I could stop them.
Roland raised a hand. The room fell quiet again.
"We're not here to make Elijah a scapegoat," he said slowly. "Yet."
Reema opened her mouth but stayed silent.
Roland continued, his eyes hard now. "We've lost a Ranker. Darrin was sloppy, but he was still one of ours. His family will want answers."
I felt something cold unfurl in my chest.
Guilt. Not just a flicker.
A full, gnawing ache.
He was dead. Because I was there. Because I hadn't awakened fast enough. Because I hadn't known what I was.
"He tried to protect us," I said quietly.
No one answered.
The silence pressed in.
After the meeting, I stepped outside, alone.
I didn't wait for Arielle.
I didn't want to see the look in her eyes again—that quiet mixture of fear, guilt, and something else. Something like grief.
The clouds above Zone-3R were dark again. Rain threatened but never quite arrived. The air smelled like ozone and ash. I walked for blocks, mind blank, just letting my boots carry me past half-destroyed buildings and flickering mana poles.
Eventually, I reached a street shrine—one of many built after the Surge. A small dome of mirrored glass stood against the wall, half-covered in dried flowers and prayer candles. Names were etched into the steel. Thousands of names.
Darrin's wasn't there yet.
But I imagined it would be.
I knelt in front of it, hand resting on the cold metal.
He hadn't been my friend.
Not really.
He'd been loud. Arrogant. Brash.
But he'd died trying to stop something none of us had expected. He'd stood in front of death. And death hadn't cared.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
The wind shifted.
And then—he was there.
Not Darrin. Not truly.
A flicker of memory. A silhouette, half-formed. The ring pulsed against my finger, and for a heartbeat, I saw his face—bloodied, confused, almost… peaceful.
And then it was gone.
Ashbourne's voice echoed in my mind.
Ashbourne:You touched his final moment.
What was that?
Ashbourne:A soul fragment. Not full. Not enough to bind. Only enough to remember.
I didn't mean to—
Ashbourne:It is what we are, Scion. Memory. Bone. Remnant. You feel what others fear.
I closed my eyes.
Was this the cost?
Power that pulled on the dead, whether I wanted it to or not?
I returned to my apartment sometime after dusk. The air inside was stale, but it was quiet. I needed quiet.
I collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time since the Awakening, I didn't feel triumphant.
I felt hollow.
The kind of hollow that didn't go away when the fight ended.
Just before sleep could take me, the ring pulsed.
I slipped into Purgatory.
Inside the Bonehall
The second I arrived, I knew something had changed.
The central pedestal now had two books.
The first was open, glowing faintly. The second was locked—bound in silver bone, sealed shut with a clasp shaped like an eye.
Ashbourne was waiting again, standing guard beside the growing ranks of undead.
But he wasn't alone.
Another shape knelt near the edge of the circle—a skeletal form, draped in ethereal robes. Less armored than Ashbourne. Smaller. Slender.
I stepped forward.
It raised its head.
A feminine face. Empty sockets. A crown of fractured iron.
Lilith.
The second.
Not awakened. Not yet.
But she was stirring.
Ashbourne spoke.
Ashbourne:The realm remembers pain. Your grief echoes here.
Why her? Why now?
Ashbourne:Because you are changing. The boundaries weaken.
I don't want to lose myself.
Ashbourne moved closer.
Ashbourne:Then remember who you are.
Who am I?
He raised his hand and pointed to the locked book.
Ashbourne:When you are ready, you will know.
The Next Morning
Arielle stood outside my building when I stepped out. Same hoodie. Same weary eyes.
"They put me on probation," she said flatly.
"I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "Could've been worse. Reema wanted me suspended."
"And Roland?"
"He's… watching. He wants to know more. About you."
I hesitated. "He'll get the same answers I gave you."
"He won't like that."
"Then he'll really hate what's coming."
She looked at me for a long time.
"You're not the same," she said.
"I'm still me."
"Are you?"
I didn't know how to answer.
Instead, I offered something else.
"You're the reason I'm alive."
"And Darrin's the reason we are."
Silence again.
Then she asked, quietly: "If you could bring him back… would you?"
That question hit deeper than she knew.
Could I?
Would I?
Ashbourne had said I'd only seen a fragment. Not a soul.
If I tried…
What would I bring back?
"Not like this," I finally said. "He deserves peace."
Arielle looked relieved.
Maybe that was her test.
Maybe it was mine too.
But in the shadows, the whispers had started.
Rumors of a deathborn Ranker.
Of a reaper with eyes of fire.
And far from Manhattan, in a chamber carved of obsidian and forgotten gods, a sealed door trembled open.
And something ancient opened one eye.