Two years had passed since Lucian Solryn became an A-rank hunter. Now, at thirteen, he was an S-rank—a title that both inspired admiration and instilled fear.
His once boyish face had sharpened, his eyes colder, more calculating. His movements were fluid, deadly—each step a dance of precision honed through countless battles. Those who witnessed his power whispered his name in awe or terror, calling him the "Fallen Angel of Death" or the "Angel of Salvation," depending on whom you asked.
He stood at the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking a sprawling forest, his silver hair rustling in the wind. Xeran stood beside him, arms crossed, his face grim.
"They fear you," Xeran said quietly. "They say you're more monster than human."
Lucian's eyes remained fixed on the horizon. "Maybe they're right."
Xeran's jaw tightened. "You're not a monster. Don't let their words get to you."
Lucian's lips curved into a ghost of a smile. "I've heard that before." He looked at Xeran, his eyes softening. "Thanks for sticking around."
Xeran scoffed. "Like I'd let you have all the fun."
Behind them, two new faces approached—their companions and friends: Eira, a fiery redhead with piercing green eyes, and Thorne, a quiet boy whose calm demeanor belied his deadly precision with a spear.
"You're brooding again," Eira teased, hands on her hips. "We've got a dungeon to clear."
Lucian's eyes flickered with resolve. "Right. Let's move out."
They descended the cliff, their destination an A-rank dungeon rumored to be the most challenging in the region. But none of them knew how quickly that rumor would become an understatement.