Desperate screams echoed from outside the wagon. "Help! Please, have mercy! No—don't do this to me!"

Vieran crouched behind the crates, heart pounding, hoping the darkness would hide him. His breath came in shallow bursts, and every creak of the wagon’s frame felt deafening. Then the canvas at the back rustled, and a figure climbed in. A bandit entered, his eyes scanning the cargo before grinning as he hefted a crate of goods.

The bandit’s gaze landed on Vieran.

“Well, well, well. What a pretty young man," he said with a sneer, his voice dripping with amusement. "Normally, we’d capture you and sell you off, but we’re in a hurry today," he said as he drew a knife. "Don’t retaliate, kid. I’ll make this quick."

Terror gripped Vieran. His legs felt heavy, his limbs weak, but frustration boiled inside him—he didn’t want to die. Not here. Not like this. His eyes darted over the bandit, searching desperately for an opening, but the man looked too strong. He knew he was outmatched. Still, he refused to give in.

He’d never given up before. He wasn’t about to start now.

Vieran forced himself to his feet, his body trembling like a leaf in the wind.

The bandit chuckled, shaking his head. “What do you think you can do, huh? I’ve reached 1-A tier, kid. Normal folks like you don’t stand a chance.”

Vieran clenched his fists, lips quivering but firm. “At least I’ll die doing something."

The bandit snorted, his grin widening. “Bravery like that won’t take you far in this damned world. You’ll see—"

Just as the bandit raised his knife to strike, the wagon lurched violently, throwing them both off balance. Vieran stumbled back, catching himself on the edge of a crate. The bandit cursed under his breath as his footing faltered.

A second bandit’s voice called from outside. “We gotta go! The phantom beasts are coming!”

The first bandit clicked his tongue in frustration. He cast one last glance at Vieran, eyes narrowing. "Tch. Lucky bastard," he muttered.

The bandit left the wagon and fled without saying another word. The light from the candle in his friend's hand flashed across his naked back, exposing a tattoo of a bat with two evil sickles on either side.

Vieran stared after him, engraving the image in his memory. He didn’t know when or how, but one day, he would find that man and the rest of his group. He would avenge the people who had welcomed an orphan like him, who had shown him kindness in a world full of cruelty.

Now, Vieran was alone. Again.

As the bandits vanished into the mist, the light barriers from their magic lanterns followed, leaving the wagon engulfed in darkness. The black mist thickened. Tendrils of it slithered into the wagon, twisting through the gaps in the wooden frame.

Vieran’s pulse quickened. He backed away, pressing himself against the crates, trying desperately to avoid the creeping fog. But the mist was relentless. It reached him, brushing against his skin like cold, oily fingers. He held his breath, but it was no use. The mist seeped through his pores, slithering into his eyes, nose, and ears. It forced its way into his mouth, tasting bitter and metallic, suffocating him from within.

His throat tightened as he clawed at his neck, desperate for air. But no matter how hard he tried, his lungs refused to obey. Panic surged through him, and his body trembled uncontrollably. His vision blurred, and the edges of the world darkened.

The wagon began to shake violently. The grotesque screams that came from beyond the fog made Vieran's heart skip a beat. In the darkness, phantom bests sent out frightening screams. As the sound brushed against his bones, it confirmed his darkest fear. This was it. With no one to rescue him, he would die alone.

Suddenly, something massive slammed into the side of the wagon. Wood splintered under the impact, and the wagon lurched, teetering for a brief moment before tipping over the edge of the cliff.

Vieran’s stomach twisted as he felt the wagon plummet into the abyss. Gravity yanked him down, his body weightless and helpless in the fall. Crates crashed around him, and the world became a chaotic swirl of darkness and vertigo.

He tried to move, to grasp something—anything—but his strength was slipping away. His thoughts grew distant, like echoes fading into a void.

And then, the mist claimed him fully. He drifted into unconsciousness, swallowed by the silent darkness.

Vieran's eyes fluttered open to the sight of a faint, glowing sphere surrounding him. The black mist pressed against the edges of the light, swirling like agitated smoke, but it couldn’t breach the barrier. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he realized the mist wasn’t choking him anymore.

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Groaning softly, Vieran turned his head and spotted the source of the light—a lantern lying just a few feet away. Its glass chamber held a cluster of Glowshards, pulsing with soft, radiant light that kept the mist at bay. It was a lifeline in this cursed world, where the black mist could devour anyone foolish enough to wander without protection.

Relief flooded through him, though every part of his body ached as he pushed himself forward. His limbs protested with sharp, stabbing pains, but he ignored them, dragging himself inch by inch toward the lantern. He didn’t know how he had survived the fall, but gratitude swelled in his chest.

Once he reached the lantern, he rested his forehead against the metal frame, catching his breath. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel safe under the warm light of the Glowshards.

With a deep breath, Vieran focused his thoughts and willed the system window to appear. A soft chime echoed in his mind as a luminous screen materialized before him, bathing his face in a gentle blue glow.

[Name: Vieran Voss

Tier: 1-B

Circuit: 0%

Factors: 0

Traits: 0

Vitalumen: 21%

Nox: 79%]

Vieran’s heart sank as his gaze fell on the system window, displaying his Nox levels—79%. A cold weight settled in his chest. If it reached 100%, the black mist would consume him entirely, transforming him into a mindless phantom beast. There would be no turning back after that.

He clenched his fists, frustration simmering beneath his skin. The only way to fight off the Nox was through Vitalumen—the lifeblood absorbed from luminorbs. It wasn’t just a source of vitamin D and essential nutrients, crucial in a world drowned in darkness; it was the only thing that could purify the mist seeping into his body.

But his vitalumen was dangerously low—only 21%. It wasn’t enough to slow the Nox buildup for long. If he didn’t find more soon, the black mist would continue eating away at him, bit by bit.

The real problem was that ordinary people like him could only absorb vitalumen from luminorbs. Glowshards, while powerful against the mist, weren’t yet something he could tap into. They repelled the darkness, yes, but their energy remained locked to most, far beyond the reach of the common folk.

Vieran exhaled slowly, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He could only wait for another morning. It was his only chance to get Luminorbs to cleanse himself and avoid the fate that haunted every survivor of this cursed mist.

Vieran grabbed the lantern, its soft glow pushing back the oppressive mist. He scanned the wreckage inside the wagon. The crates were shattered into splinters, but to his surprise, most of the goods had survived the fall, seemingly untouched. It didn’t make sense—by all accounts, they should have been destroyed along with the wagon. Yet here they were. Somehow, luck had favored him today.

His heart quickened with a flicker of hope. If fortune was on his side, there might still be something among the cargo that could heal his battered body. He wracked his brain, recalling the inventory. If he remembered correctly, one of the crates had contained a healing item. He shifted the lantern, casting light over the debris as he crawled through the mess, wincing with every movement.

Then he saw it: a small wooden box wedged between the remains of a shattered crate. His breath hitched as he reached out, pulling it closer. With trembling fingers, he pried open the lid. Inside lay a single pill, glowing faintly in the lantern’s light.

It was a healing pill—an invaluable item carried by the Voss Community. As wandering traders, they sometimes dealt in rare goods like this, knowing that such treasures could mean the difference between life and death.

Without hesitation, Vieran popped the pill into his mouth, the bitter taste quickly spreading across his tongue. Warmth flooded his body, soothing the aches in his muscles and mending unseen wounds within. His breathing steadied as the pain dulled, replaced by a sense of calm relief.

But as his body healed, his thoughts darkened. The memory of the bandits clawed its way back into his mind. If not for them, the Voss Community would still be alive, traveling freely along the once-safe mountain route. They had passed through this road countless times without trouble—until those bandits came.

Anger simmered in his chest. The faces of the bandits, the sickening sound of their laughter, and the bat-and-sickles tattoo burned in his mind. He clenched his fists, feeling the rage swell.

One day, he vowed silently, if he ever gained the strength, he would make them pay. For every innocent life lost, for every kind soul that had taken in an orphan like him—he would have his revenge.

Vieran sat quietly, the lantern’s glow steady beside him, casting soft halos of light that kept the mist at bay. As the warmth from the healing pill spread through his limbs, his thoughts drifted toward power—not just for revenge, but for survival. In this dark world, strength wasn’t a luxury; it was a necessity.

Luminorbs naturally found their way into living creatures at dawn, filling them with a small dose of Vitalumen to fend off the creeping Nox. But it was never enough. The daily replenishment only delayed the inevitable—just a drop in an endless ocean of darkness. If he truly wanted to escape the slow, suffocating grip of the mist, he needed more.

He needed the ability to absorb Vitalumen directly from Glowshards. That kind of power could keep the Nox at bay and grant him the freedom to survive beyond the fragile safety of lanterns. But the problem was clear: to absorb Vitalumen from Glowshards, he needed to increase his tier.

Right now, he was just a tier 1-B—too weak, too limited. The gap between 1-B and 1-A felt like an impossible chasm, but it was one he had to cross. Without that breakthrough, he would remain vulnerable, unable to access the strength needed to protect himself or the things he cared about.

Vieran knew that increasing his tier wasn’t just about effort—it required precision. To advance from 1-B to 1-A, he needed to bring his circuit to 100%, aligning every channel of energy within his body. But such a delicate process couldn’t be done blindly. It demanded a guide—a tiering blueprint.

The blueprint wasn’t just a scrap of notes; it was the culmination of generations of research gathered by the Light Seekers, a group dedicated to mastering the path of tiering. Their knowledge allowed people to push their circuits safely to the limit without risking overload, which could cripple or kill those who attempted it carelessly. But blueprints like these were rare and unbelievably expensive. Few could afford them, and those who did guarded them closely.

However, luck might have smiled on Vieran once again. He remembered that the wagon he was hiding in wasn’t an ordinary cargo hauler—it carried valuable goods. That was precisely why he had risked sneaking inside when the bandits attacked. He knew the wagon would be carrying treasures, and with such valuable cargo, it would have extra protections. It had seemed like the safest place at the time, even if danger loomed.