CHAPTER 74: MESSAGES

Unknown number. But local. Short message.

Interested in private contract work? Discreet. Big reward. Ask for "Sedge."

He muted that one too.

Another ping.

This one had a name attached.

Jaleen (Weapons Clerk)

So NOW you’re famous? You owe me a mana crystal and a coffee for every time I vouched for your dumb "support class."

Don’t ignore this. I know where you live. Probably. Sort of.

’No you don’t.’

Lucen stared at the phone.

Then exhaled hard and dropped it on the couch.

The buzz of one more message came in two seconds later.

He didn’t look.

’Not like I can answer any of them honestly.’

No one knew. Not one of them.

Just guesses. Hunches. Glimpses of a profile half-lit by spelllight and smoke.

Lucen stood up and walked to the window.

Still dark out.

Still quiet enough that the drift break scars hadn’t even been cleaned yet.

He dragged the curtain halfway closed.

Then glanced back at the phone.

Still buzzing.

He turned the ringer off.

And went to get something cold from the fridge.

—

Lucen sat back down.

Fridge door still hanging half-open behind him. A bottle of something vaguely citrusy in one hand.

He stared at the phone again.

Still quiet now.

Muted threads. Blocked contacts. Group chats archived into silence.

He tapped open his recent calls.

Scrolled past Gen. Past the half-dozen "unknowns."

Stopped on the last direct one.

Varik.

No last name. No photo. Just the time stamp: Yesterday. Duration: 0:47.

Lucen hesitated.

Not long.

Just enough to register how weird it felt to want to call someone.

He tapped once.

No ring.

The line connected immediately.

But no voice.

Just silence.

Lucen waited.

Then said, "You screening me already?"

Static.

Then, Varik’s voice. Dry. Flat. Not surprised.

"You’re still standing. That’s good."

Lucen leaned back, arm over the couch. "Didn’t think I wouldn’t be."

A pause.

Then, "No. You didn’t."

Lucen rolled the bottle against his knee.

"I want another round."

Another pause.

Then Varik said, "You’re at 400 now?"

"Close enough."

"Not the same as ’ready.’"

Lucen shrugged, knowing full well the man couldn’t see it.

"I didn’t ask to fight you. Just said I want the next step."

A faint hum from Varik’s end. Background noise. Like wind cutting through a vent.

Then, "Tomorrow. Late. Same contact point. Bring everything."

Lucen’s eyes narrowed. "Everything?"

"You’re going to see what happens after the level. Might be better if you’re not wearing discount boots when it does."

Lucen looked down at his boots.

Then at the patch of melted spell-thread near the laces.

He muttered, "They were eighty creds."

"They look it."

The line clicked off.

No goodbye.

Lucen didn’t call back.

He just stared at the dark screen for a second.

Then picked up his coat and tossed it onto the desk chair.

"Fine," he muttered. "Tomorrow it is."

He stood. Popped the bottle cap with his thumb.

And took a long drink.

—

The clock read 4:18.

Not late.

Not early.

Just that annoying part of the afternoon where everything’s quiet enough to make your thoughts louder.

Lucen pulled on the second glove. Tightened the strap around the wrist. Didn’t look in the mirror. Just glanced once at the corner panel, his reflection barely visible in the chrome outline of the mana converter.

Jacket. Light armor under it. Standard stuff.

Boots weren’t eighty creds anymore.

New pair. Reinforced sole. Arc-reactive pads under the heel.

Bought them this morning. Spent almost half the envelope Gen gave him.

Didn’t regret it.

He stepped toward the door and opened it without hesitation.

No announcement. No dramatic music.

Just the clunk of the latch and the quiet creak of apartment hinges that still hadn’t broken in yet.

Lucen walked out.

The hallway was empty.

No neighbors. No kids playing system tag in the corner nook.

Even the mana lights overhead felt quieter.

He took the stairs down. One flight. Two. Didn’t rush. Didn’t loiter.

His mana ticked in the background. Calm. Centered.

[112 / 112]

[Recovery: Passive]

[Thread Drift: Stable]

He stepped into the lobby and pushed the outer door open.

The wind outside smelled like city metal and distant mana exhaust. Not bad. Just... normal.

A black car idled by the curb.

Not military. Not guild-branded.

Just sleek. Quiet. Clean glass. Back window slightly cracked.

Varik stood beside it.

Same coat. Same eyes.

Lucen walked right up.

No nod. No handshake.

Just stopped in front of him and said, "Let’s get it over with."

Varik raised an eyebrow. "That’s your version of enthusiasm?"

Lucen replied flat, "I didn’t bring snacks."

Varik stepped aside and gestured toward the back seat.

Lucen got in without another word.

The door shut with a soft click.

Varik slid into the front.

The engine hummed like it wasn’t even real.

The car rolled forward.

No music. No chatter. Just the road.

Lucen leaned his head back against the window.

Didn’t close his eyes.

Just stared out at the rooftops rushing past.

’Let’s see what’s worth fighting for at Level Eight.’

—

The car slowed.

No brake squeal. No sharp shift. Just a gradual glide that came to a stop so smooth it felt like the world paused with it.

Lucen opened his door and stepped out.

First thing he noticed, no signs.

No fences. No posted level. No registry glyph pulsing above the break line.

Just cracked pavement and silence.

The drift tear hung in the lot ahead like a wound.

Floating six feet off the ground. No anchor. No distortion mesh. Just the raw split of mana chewing the air open in jagged vertical arcs.

Lucen narrowed one eye.

’That’s not Tier Four.’

The space around it didn’t buzz like low-level zones did. This wasn’t some overgrown Ash Drift.

This was older.

Colder.

And it knew it didn’t need to announce itself.

Varik stepped up beside him.

Said nothing for a beat.

Then: "Ever seen one like this?"

Lucen didn’t answer.

He just walked forward, slowly.

The lot used to be a freight dock. Storage crates rusted against the walls. Mana-stabilizers lay broken near the chain fence. Burn marks around them.

Someone had tried to anchor this zone once.

It didn’t work.

Lucen stopped a dozen feet from the tear.

The wind shifted wrong on the left side. Didn’t blow. It looped. As if the world inside had its own weather.

"Why here?" Lucen said.

Varik’s voice was steady. "Because this one isn’t registered. The guild doesn’t know about it. Neither does the city."

Lucen turned his head slightly. "And you do?"

Varik stepped past him.

Toward the tear.

It didn’t react.

Didn’t flare or shrink or scream. Just hovered. Existing.

"I’ve been inside twice," Varik said. "Never to the core. Never all the way. I couldn’t make it alone."