Rabaston clutched the map tightly in his hand as he walked through the winding streets of Terra Minor. The world around him was a blur, his thoughts consumed by the enormity of what lay ahead. He had killed a man, secured the map to the Infinite Labyrinth, and made a deal with Tyron—one that was bound to come back to haunt him. The weight of his actions pressed heavily on his shoulders, though he tried to push it from his mind. Survival on Terra Minor was never clean, and he had learned that the hard way.

The marketplace bustled with activity as Rabaston moved through it, the bright flashes of neon signs and the calls of vendors blending into the background. His senses were on high alert, his every instinct urging him to keep his head low and avoid drawing attention. He didn't know who might have seen him leave Makar's shop, and the last thing he needed was to attract the wrong kind of attention.

As he passed through the crowded stalls, his eyes drifted to the various goods on display. Cheap talismans, low-grade cultivation manuals, and poorly forged weapons lined the shelves, each one offered with the promise of unlocking untold power. Rabaston knew better. These items were barely worth the energy required to activate them, and yet people bought them, desperate for any edge they could get.

He paused briefly at a stall selling small, glowing stones—spirit stones, though they were of the lowest quality. The vendor, an old man with deep wrinkles etched into his face, watched him with a wary eye, as if expecting Rabaston to ask for more than he was willing to offer. Rabaston stared at the stones, his mind drifting back to his childhood.

He remembered the first time he had held a spirit stone in his hand. He had been young, no more than six years old, and his father had brought it home after one of his long journeys. The stone had been of a much higher quality than the ones in the market now—its glow had been bright, vibrant, full of life. His father had told him it was a treasure from a distant world, a place where the mana was so rich that the very air seemed to shimmer with power.

Rabaston had stared at that stone for hours, fascinated by its beauty, by the way it seemed to pulse with energy. It had been the moment he realized what he wanted—to become strong, to travel to distant worlds like his father, to hold the kind of power that could change the very fabric of reality. His father had promised to teach him the ways of cultivation, to show him the path forward. But that promise had been broken, just like everything else in his life.

His father had left, chasing after the lure of greater power, and he had never returned.

Rabaston tore his gaze away from the spirit stones, the old wound in his heart flaring up again. His father's disappearance had left a void in his life, one that had never been filled. Cultivation had taken his family away from him, and now it was the only thing that could give him a future. He couldn't afford to dwell on the past—not when the road ahead was so uncertain.

He pushed forward, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. His destination was his small apartment, but as he walked, he couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in the energy around him. The marketplace, once a familiar blur, now seemed more ominous, as if the air itself was charged with something dangerous. The faces of the cultivators around him, once just another part of the scenery, now felt like they were watching him too closely, their eyes flicking to him and away with a kind of quiet suspicion.

Rabaston's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, his fingers brushing the worn leather grip. He could feel the weight of the map tucked safely in his satchel, but it felt heavier than it had moments before. What had he stepped into?

As he approached the stairway leading up to his apartment, a voice called out to him from the shadows.

"Rabaston."

He froze, his heart skipping a beat. The voice was low, calm, but unmistakably familiar. Slowly, he turned to see a figure emerge from the alley beside him. It was Kazan, his usual smirk replaced by a more calculating expression.

"Didn't expect to see you back so soon," Kazan said, stepping into the light. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and something more dangerous. "Word around the market is that you've been making deals. Dangerous deals."

Rabaston's grip on his sword tightened, though he didn't draw it. "What do you want, Kazan?"

Kazan chuckled, leaning casually against the wall. "Oh, nothing much. Just curious, is all. You see, when someone like you—someone with your reputation—starts asking around about the Infinite Labyrinth, people start to talk. And when people talk, I listen."

Rabaston's eyes narrowed. Kazan had always been a snake, but now it seemed like he was slithering closer to something personal.

"What do you know about the Labyrinth?" Rabaston asked, his voice low.

Kazan's smirk widened. "More than you think. More than Tyron does, that's for sure. You think you're the only one who's been looking for it? The Labyrinth isn't just a myth. It's real. And if you're planning on going after it, you're going to need more than that scrap of a map you've got in your pocket."

Rabaston's mind raced. How did Kazan know about the map? Was he being watched? The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he pushed the fear away. He couldn't show weakness, not now.

"What do you want, Kazan?" Rabaston asked again, his tone sharper.

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Kazan straightened up, his smile fading slightly. "I want in. Whatever you're planning, I want a part of it. You're not going to make it to the Labyrinth on your own, and we both know it. But together…" He paused, letting the word hang in the air like a challenge. "Together, we might just have a chance."

Rabaston stared at Kazan, his mind churning with possibilities. He didn't trust Kazan, not in the slightest. But Kazan wasn't wrong. The journey to the Labyrinth was going to be dangerous, and Rabaston was going to need allies if he was going to survive it. Still, the thought of relying on someone like Kazan made his skin crawl.

"I don't need your help," Rabaston said coldly, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his mind.

Kazan raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "We'll see about that. Just remember, Rabaston… the Labyrinth isn't a place you want to face alone."

With that, Kazan turned and disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Rabaston standing alone on the street, his thoughts heavier than before.

Rabaston shook his head, dismissing Kazan's words. He didn't need Kazan. He had the map, and he had the will to see this through. That was all that mattered. As he climbed the stairs to his apartment, the weight of the map pressed against his side, a constant reminder of the path he had chosen.

The creaky wooden stairs leading up to Rabaston's apartment felt heavier beneath his feet, each step echoing in the narrow stairwell. He moved slowly, his mind swirling with the weight of Kazan's words. Trust was a rare commodity on Terra Minor, and Kazan had never been the type to offer anything without expecting something in return. Rabaston couldn't afford to be distracted by Kazan's machinations now, not when he was so close to finally escaping the chains of this planet.

As he reached the door to his apartment, he paused, his hand hovering over the old, rusted handle. Something felt off. He glanced back down the stairwell, half expecting to see Kazan lurking in the shadows, but the passageway was empty, silent except for the distant hum of the marketplace. He frowned, shaking off the feeling of unease, and pushed the door open.

Inside, the dim light filtered through the grime-covered window, casting long shadows across the small, sparsely furnished room. The air was stale, the faint scent of incense still lingering from the last time he had meditated here. The cracked walls and worn furniture were a reminder of just how far he had fallen since leaving the academy—once filled with ambition, now barely able to scrape by.

Rabaston moved to the small table in the center of the room, where his scattered scrolls and cultivation manuals lay untouched. He dropped the map onto the table, staring down at it for a moment, letting the reality of his situation sink in. He had the map. He had killed for it, and now he had to decide what to do next.

The Infinite Labyrinth. For years, it had been little more than a myth, a distant dream whispered among cultivators desperate for power. But now, with the map in hand, it felt more real than ever. The stories he had heard about the Labyrinth were terrifying—tales of cultivators who had entered its maze-like corridors and never returned, of ancient powers locked within, waiting to consume those who dared to seek them.

Rabaston sat down, his eyes tracing the faded lines of the map. The parchment was old, the ink worn and barely legible in places, but the outline of the Labyrinth was clear—a twisting, endless maze of passages, each one more dangerous than the last. There were symbols scattered across the map, strange runes and markings that Rabaston didn't recognize. They looked ancient, far older than anything he had seen in the academy.

His mind raced with questions. What lay inside the Labyrinth? Was it really as powerful as the legends claimed? And more importantly, could he survive it?

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small pouch of spirit stones, pouring them onto the table. They were few in number, barely enough to buy the supplies he would need for the journey ahead. If he was going to make it to the Labyrinth, he would need more than just his sword and these stones. He would need powerful artifacts, cultivation techniques, and maybe even a team.

But trust… trust was something that didn't come easily to him anymore.

He picked up one of the spirit stones, rolling it between his fingers. The faint glow of mana flickered within it, a small reminder of the power he was chasing. These stones, though low in quality, were still the foundation of cultivation. They were the currency of power, the means by which cultivators strengthened their bodies and minds. But here, on Terra Minor, even these stones were hard to come by.

His mind wandered back to the academy. Back then, spirit stones had been plentiful, their glow bright and full of promise. He had been a prodigy, a rising star in the world of cultivation. His teachers had praised him, calling him gifted, telling him that his future was bright. They had said he would one day reach the stars, that his power would rival the greatest cultivators in the universe.

But that was before everything fell apart.

Rabaston clenched the spirit stone in his fist, feeling the rough edges bite into his skin. He had believed them back then, believed in the future they had promised. But now, after years of stagnation and failure, that future felt distant, almost unreachable. The world he had once dreamed of had slipped through his fingers, replaced by the harsh reality of life on Terra Minor.

He had watched his fellow students ascend, one by one, leaving Terra Minor behind in search of greater strength, while he remained trapped in the same place, his potential wasted. He had watched his father leave as well, chasing after the promise of power, leaving Rabaston and his brother to fend for themselves. The academy had offered hope, but it had been a false hope—one that had crumbled under the weight of Terra Minor's limitations.

Rabaston rose from his seat, pacing the small room. His frustration boiled over, his thoughts racing with anger and regret. He had been promised so much, and now, all he had was a map to an ancient dungeon that might not even exist. But it was more than he had yesterday. It was a chance, and that was all he needed.

He glanced back at the map, his resolve hardening. He would find the Labyrinth. He would survive it. And when he did, he would leave Terra Minor behind, once and for all. The weight of the past, of his father's abandonment, of the academy's empty promises, would no longer hold him down. He would forge his own path, one that led to the power he had always sought.

But first, he needed to prepare.

Rabaston grabbed his sword and strapped it to his back, his hand resting on the hilt for a moment, feeling the familiar weight of it. The blade was old, worn from years of use, but it had been his father's. It was one of the few things he had left of him, and though he resented the man for abandoning him, the sword was a reminder of the legacy he had inherited—a legacy of power, one that he would claim for himself.

He knew what he had to do next. Supplies, weapons, anything that could give him an edge once he reached the Labyrinth. And maybe, just maybe, he would need allies.

As much as he hated to admit it, Kazan had been right about one thing: the Labyrinth wasn't something he could face alone.