⟟ Vault Seeker VI ⟟
Rowan remained crouched beside Alina, watching as silent tears slipped down her cheeks. The weight of everything—her sister's sudden appearance, the battle, the chaos—seemed to be pressing down on her all at once. He didn't speak. He knew there was nothing he could say right now that would make it better.
Then, the low, distant sound of something shifting against stone reached his ears.
Rowan's instincts flared. He glanced over his shoulder. Dark shapes loomed at the far end of the alley, silhouetted against the dim streetlights. Ruinborn.
His body tensed. More than one. Their outlines were blurred in the gloom, but he could make out at least four, their unnatural movements slow but deliberate.
"Alina," he whispered urgently. "We have to move."
She hadn't noticed them yet. Her gaze was distant, lost in memories.
"Now," he pressed, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.
Alina snapped out of it, her breath hitching as she saw the figures. Without a word, she wiped her face and nodded.
They moved carefully, keeping to the deepest shadows, Rowan guiding Alina as they slipped through the alleyway and into the maze of the city. The Ruinborn hadn't noticed them yet, but if they made a single wrong step—
A sharp clatter echoed down the alley.
Rowan froze. Alina had brushed against a loose tin can. The noise rang out unnaturally loud in the night.
The Ruinborn's heads snapped toward them in eerie unison.
Rowan didn't wait to see what happened next. He grabbed Alina's wrist and pulled her forward, weaving through the alleyways. The Ruinborn let out a guttural, inhuman screech.
They ran.
After several minutes of navigating the darkened streets, Rowan finally led Alina into an abandoned building. The air inside was thick with dust, the wooden planks beneath their feet creaking under their weight. Old, rusted furniture lay scattered, some pieces broken beyond recognition. The place smelled of mold and decay.
Rowan listened for any signs of pursuit. The city outside remained eerily quiet.
Alina, still catching her breath, finally spoke. "My father…" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Rowan turned to her, waiting.
She hesitated, then continued. "He used to show affection to both me and my sister. He'd take us to the market, tell us stories before bed, teach us about the world. I remember… I remember how safe I felt."
Her fingers clenched into fists. "But then something happened when I was young. I don't know what it was, but after that, he changed. He only paid attention to her. He acted like I barely existed."
Rowan studied her expression. It was a mixture of pain and confusion, as if she still didn't fully understand why it happened.
"…I just wanted to know why," she finished quietly.
A silence settled between them. Rowan wanted to offer some kind of reassurance, but he knew this wasn't something words could fix.
Instead, he simply said, "We'll find out."
Alina glanced at him, eyes searching his face. She gave a small nod, but didn't say anything else.
A sudden noise interrupted them.
A man stumbled into the room, barely managing to keep himself upright as he leaned heavily against the wall.
Rowan reacted immediately, stepping toward him. The man's clothes were tattered—a torn black leather jacket, ragged gray shirt, and black pants coated in dust. His posture was weak, his movements sluggish.
Rowan moved to steady him. "Are you okay?"
The man tensed under his touch. His voice came out hoarse. "Leave me. It's dangerous."
Rowan ignored the warning and helped ease him down, letting him sit against the wall. His breathing was unsteady, his body shivering despite the warmth of the night.
Then Rowan saw his face.
He stumbled back, eyes widening.
The man's skin was grayish, parts of it looking decayed, as if something had been eating away at him. His features were human—mostly—but there was something deeply wrong.
Alina took an involuntary step back. "What…?"
The man, still catching his breath, didn't seem surprised by their reactions. Instead, he let out a slow, strained sigh.
"You'll get caught if you stay here," he muttered.
Rowan forced himself to move past the shock. "By who?"
The man's eyes, dull and distant, flicked up to him. "My people."
Alina stiffened. "The Ruinborn?"
The man's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Yes… and no."
Rowan narrowed his eyes. "I'm afraid we don't understand."
The man exhaled. "The Annihilation Surge."
The name meant nothing to Rowan. But the way Alina suddenly paled told him that she knew exactly what it was.
"It happened thirty-six years ago," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "Dungeons appeared all over the world. Ruinborn emerged from them… The world was thrown into chaos. Thirty percent of the human population was wiped out."
Rowan absorbed the information in stunned silence.
"There was a leader among the Ruinborn," Alina continued. "One unlike any other. It commanded them, led them, pushed the world to the brink of destruction."
"But it was eventually defeated," the man murmured. "By five people."
Alina nodded. "The System first appeared then. Those five were the first to gain abilities from it. They fought the leader and won—but all of them, including the leader, died."
"And after that, more people began to awaken with the System's power," Rowan finished, piecing it together. "Enough to push back the Ruinborn."
The man's expression darkened. "Yes. But it's not over. Another Annihilation Surge will emerge."
A heavy silence followed.
Rowan felt an uneasy chill settle in his chest. If that was true—if what happened decades ago was only the beginning—then…
Footsteps.
Rowan's head snapped toward the entrance. He had spent too long in dark places, too long tracking danger. He knew that sound wasn't normal.
"Someone's coming," he said sharply.
The man's face twisted with something between urgency and dread. "Hide. Now."
Rowan grabbed Alina's wrist, pulling her toward a shadowed corner. The man, despite his weakened state, dragged himself behind a pile of debris.
Then, they entered.
Five figures.
They moved with an unnatural stillness, dressed head-to-toe in black tactical gear, their movements eerily lifeless. Their faces were obscured by gray masks, each painted with a pitch-black smile.
They carried C8 Carbines.
A cold sensation crawled down Rowan's spine. These weren't just soldiers. Something was wrong with them.
Alina tensed beside him, her hand hovering over her weapon. Rowan slowly pulled out his Keris, the weight of the blade familiar in his grip.
The man, still hiding, locked eyes with Rowan. He didn't speak, but the message in his gaze was clear.
Run.
They couldn't win this fight.
Rowan's breath steadied as he took in the situation. The masked figures were spreading out, their heads scanning the dimly lit room with unnerving precision. Their weapons remained lowered, but their movements were unnatural—too precise, too synchronized. They weren't ordinary soldiers.
Alina tensed beside him, her grip tightening. The injured man's breathing was ragged. They didn't stand a chance if they were caught. Fighting was out of the question. A direct escape would only guarantee a chase.
Rowan's mind raced. No, they don't need to run. They need to disappear.
He took a slow step back, his eyes flickering across the room. The broken shelves, the scattered debris, the exposed pipes lining the walls.
Use the environment. Create chaos. Redirect their attention.
A plan formed in his mind. He grabbed a loose wooden plank from the ground and hurled it into the farthest corner of the room. The sudden clatter echoed through the silence, bouncing off the walls.
The masked figures' heads snapped toward the sound in eerie unison.
Rowan didn't stop there. He reached out and twisted the nearest rusted pipe, loosening a valve just enough to send a sharp hiss of steam flooding into the air. The white mist billowed, distorting their vision.
Another plank, this time thrown toward the exit. A second sound, opposite direction.
Multiple distractions, multiple points of focus.
The masked figures adjusted, their movements hesitant for the first time. The one nearest to the steam took a cautious step back, scanning the shifting air. Another aimed his rifle toward the exit, uncertain where the threat lay.
That was their chance.
Rowan gestured sharply to Alina and the injured man. Stay low. Move slow. They slipped into the shadows, weaving through the wreckage while the masked figures focused on the false leads.
As they reached the exit, Rowan risked a final glance back. The figures were still scanning, their synchronization momentarily broken. They hadn't noticed.
Rowan exhaled silently. No chase. No wasted energy. Just a clean escape.
He pressed forward, leading them deeper into the city.