Light. Fresh air. The scent of damp earth and blooming moss.
Thorne stumbled out of the dungeon portal into the twilight of early evening. Trees loomed around him, their leaves rustling in a light breeze. The world outside felt jarringly peaceful compared to the chaos he'd left behind.
He dropped to one knee, sucking in breath. His body was battered, his armor cracked, but he was alive.
[System Update: Level Increase – Stats Enhanced][Skill Growth Noted: Eye of Perception, Dungeon Assimilation][System Commentary: Adequate performance. You did not die.]
Thorne couldn't help but smirk. "Thanks for the compliment."
He took out the pendant—the Crest of the Fallen Sovereign. Even now, it radiated faint warmth. The vision he'd seen… it hadn't been a hallucination. It was a fragment of memory, sealed within the item.
He examined the sigil closely. A sword crossed with a pair of wings. It was the same as the crest on the artifact he'd found in the slums as a boy—the one that revealed the truth about his past.
His thoughts drifted back to that day. The small, dusty room. The servant who had risked everything to hide him. The recording left behind by his father.
"If you're seeing this, it means I've failed to protect our legacy.They came for us—not because we were weak, but because we held knowledge they feared."
Back then, Thorne hadn't understood. But now, after the dungeon, after the pendant… it was starting to make sense.
He stood slowly, determination hardening in his gaze.
"I won't let it end here."
As he made his way down the mountain path toward civilization, the system buzzed again.
[New Quest Chain Available: Legacy of the Sovereign – Part I: Investigate the Clan Archives]
"Archives?"
He knew of a place. A ruined outpost at the edge of the Obsidian Sanctum's territory. It was said to contain old relics—too dangerous for public access, guarded by mercenaries and the occasional zealot from the clans.
If his clan had hidden knowledge, it might be there.
But that meant venturing close to faction lands. Risky.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Thorne reached the outskirts of a small town. Smoke curled from chimneys, and laughter echoed from inns. He slipped through the gates unnoticed, pulling up his hood.
First, he needed supplies. Then, he'd set out.
But even as he moved among the people, a feeling nagged at him.
He was being watched.
From a shadowed alley, a figure stepped back into darkness, speaking into a crystal communicator.
"He's alive. And he has the crest."
The voice that replied was cold, amused.
"Then the real hunt begins."