Jinra bolted upright in her cramped Sector F apartment, gasping for air.
Her breath came in short, jagged bursts. Sweat glistened on her forehead. Her entire body shook as if she had just fled a waking nightmare. Outside, the world remained frozen. Snow had draped Valdris in a veil so thick the surrounding buildings were mere ghosts in the white. Despite the biting winter, the young girl felt like she was burning.
The digital clock on a wobbling table blinked 5:43 AM.
The first rays of dawn filtered through torn curtains, staining the walls with a pale, sickly light. Jinra swung her legs out of bed. She hesitated, then stood up slowly. Her knees popped a sharp, painful sound that felt wrong for someone her age.
"Tch... happy birthday to me," she whispered.
Seventeen years old. Yet she already moved with the body of an old woman.
Her hands trembled slightly from sheer exhaustion. Every scar and every bandage on her arms served as a map of her years in the Rifts those abysses that had swallowed the world. Jinra was one of the Awakened, but she occupied the lowest rung of the ladder. She possessed no destructive spells, no unique gifts, and no superhuman strength.
She only had permission to enter. And, quite often, permission to die there.
Her status as a Porter reduced her existence to that of a pack animal. She carried crates, supplies, and occasionally corpses for the high-ranking Awakened. Other children her age built dreams. She survived between collapses.
She sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, forcing her breathing to slow before getting up to prepare breakfast.
On the counter sat a few dented cans of synthetic food and a carton of milk substitute that tasted like wet cardboard. She mechanically mixed the enriched cereal. Her mind was elsewhere. The tap water ran lukewarm and tainted with rust. The Sector F grid had always been a decaying relic.
She sat back down on the bed, bowl in hand, and stared out the window. It was still snowing. It was always snowing. The entire city seemed buried under a perpetual shroud.
Each bite made her stomach churn. She ate without hunger, forcing the food down simply to fill the void. Her gaze drifted to her phone. The cracked screen weakly caught the morning light. She scrolled through videos aimlessly: footage of distant Rifts, documentaries on S-Rank Awakened, and advertisements for combat implants. It was a world of heroism and glory. She was not a part of it.
Then, a vibration. A notification.
Jinra frowned and wiped a trail of milk from her chin with the back of her hand. The sender ID appeared immediately: The Awakened Association.
She opened the message with a hesitant thumb.
Urgent Mission – Expedition.
Incomplete team. Porter needed.
300 credits. Departure 08:30.
Confirm immediately. — J.V.
The letters burned into her mind with the cold precision of a bullet.
Three hundred credits. To anyone else, it was nothing. To her, it was two months of decent meals. It was two months of guaranteed survival.
But one word destroyed the illusion: Urgent.
In the language of the Awakened, an "urgent mission" meant one thing. Extreme danger. Lethal risks. Often, there were casualties before the expedition even began.
A heavy silence filled the room. She watched the snowflakes and the shifting shadows on the glass. A tired part of her whispered: Delete the message, Jinra. Go back to sleep. Let someone else risk their skin this time.
But the other voice the lucid, ruthless one
hissed back: And your rent? And your meal tomorrow?
Her eyes fell back to the screen. Without further hesitation, she typed:
Confirmed. I'll be there on time.
The message sent. It was done. Death had made an appointment once again.
Jinra set the bowl on the table, stood up, and pulled on her jacket. Her Porter's pack waited on the back of a chair, massive and nearly empty. She checked the straps and buckles before taking one last look at the room.
Outside, the wind howled as she opened the door. Snow swirled into the apartment, dancing around her. The temperature bit at her skin, but Jinra walked on without slowing down.
The streets of Sector F stretched out in silence, half-buried under drifts. Bundled figures crossed the avenues with closed faces and hurried steps. Neon signs cast a spectral glow through the white mist, creating the illusion of a mechanized dream.
Her boots sank into the snow with a muffled crunch. A few passersby recognized her vaguely "the girl from the south post" or "the porter who survived two Rifts in a row." Their gazes slid over her, never lingering. In this world, looking at someone for too long was an unnecessary burden on one's memory.
The underground station finally appeared. It was a black metal arch covered in ice. Steam from the vents formed clouds that mimicked the breath of a sleeping monster. Jinra passed through the security gate, scanned her ID bracelet, and descended.
The metro-pod was already waiting at the platform. It was a silver cylinder, fast and windowless, reserved for inter-sector travel. Inside, the air smelled of iron and disinfectant. Jinra settled into a corner, clutching her bag between her knees. Around her, the passengers wore the same hollow expressions office workers, technicians, laborers. They were all people in a hurry to reach their daily lives.
She had nothing to reach. She only had a life to return to.
The metro launched with a hiss. The landscape blurred behind the holographic display, showing a succession of tunnels and info-screens.
Jinra closed her eyes. Her eyelids burned. She slid her hand into her pocket. Since yesterday, she hadn't stopped thinking about her inheritance. A simple USB drive. What could it possibly hold? A thousand questions raced through her mind.
Thirty minutes later, the metro-pod stopped with a metallic sigh. An automated voice announced:
Sector 5: Silver Wolf Guild Complex.
She stood up immediately. Around her, the other passengers exited without spare a glance for the young girl. That suited her fine. Jinra breathed easier when no one saw her.
Outside, the snowstorm was intensifying. Flakes struck the ground like fine silver needles. The buildings of Sector 5 loomed large, constructed of black glass and brushed steel. They stood in violent contrast to the poverty of Sector F. Here, the ground shone, the streetlamps all functioned, and the air hummed with the charged energy of high-level mana manipulators.
Before her stood the imposing complex of the Silver Wolf Guild. Fifteen floors topped with a glowing crest a stylized wolf tearing through a Rift.
C-Rank and B-Rank Awakened entered and exited in silence, draped in armored coats and radiating barely contained auras. The streetlamps flickered as they passed.
Jinra tightened the straps of her pack. A part of her wanted to turn back. But the other part the one that had learned to obey necessity rather than desire pushed her forward.
She took a deep breath. The cold burned her chest, and her breath formed a cloud of steam that vanished instantly. The sound of her footsteps was swallowed by the snow, every movement muffled by the morning silence.
She stopped for a moment before the building's glass doors. Her reflection stared back: a pale, tired girl, lost between the world of the living and the world of shadows.
She forced a small smile. It was the kind of smile one makes not for others, but to remember that they still exist.
Without a word, Jinra pushed open the doors to the Guild.