The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of Drax's home in Norn, falling softly on the blue-and-white coat draped across a chair. The city outside hummed with life, oblivious to the chaos that had just unfolded.
Drax stepped through the doorway, boots clicking against the floor, and immediately felt the familiar warmth.
"Mom," he said simply.
Lyra turned from the kitchen, eyes wide, worry etched into every line of her face. "Drax! You… you're back…"
He offered a small, almost sardonic smirk. "Don't worry. I'm fine."
Lyra moved quickly, enveloping him in a tight hug. Drax allowed it, though his mind already began to drift elsewhere—toward the next dungeon, the next threat, the next abyss to conquer.
Orion, his younger brother, peeked out from behind the table, curiosity mixed with awe in his wide eyes. "You look… stronger, Drax."
Mira, his sister, was still recovering from her stabilized inner world, but even in her fragile state she smiled faintly. "You came back safely…"
Drax's gaze softened for just a fraction. "Yeah. I always come back."
He didn't say it, but a thought lingered in the depths of his mind—everything he did, everything he became, was for moments like this. For them.
The sterile white walls of the Norn City General Hospital burned into Adam Veyr's retinas as he jerked awake. Sweat coated his brow. His hands trembled, reaching out instinctively to check his body—limbs intact, armor gone, exhaustion, and fear written all over his tall frame.
Beeping machines and murmurs of nurses surrounded him. Slowly, his awareness returned.
The first thing he saw on the digital news monitor was the report:
> "Abyssal Gate Incident: S-Rank Hunters Found Unconscious Outside Unregistered Abyssal Rank Dungeon."
Adam's stomach dropped.
He tried to stand, stumbled. The images replayed in his mind—the red moon, the black tree, the piercing crimson eyes.
Fury ignited.
"I didn't want to do this…" he muttered, voice low, jagged with control barely held. "But Drax… you leave me no choice."
A storm of hatred, calculated vengeance, and S-Rank authority built inside him, twisting every muscle into readiness.
High above the clouds, perched upon a mountain towering over Norn City, a lone figure sat atop jagged cliffs. The wind tore at his cloak, revealing only fragments of a mask—white, featureless, yet unsettling in its simplicity.
He looked down, surveying the city, the sprawling streets, the district gates, the bustling market squares. His gaze was calculating, measuring every movement.
Time slowed as his eyes followed a lone figure walking through the city streets—though the man barely moved, the entire mountain trembled under the gravity of his presence.
Then the perspective shifted downward. From the mountaintop to the foot of the mountain…
And before the viewer could process it, before the eyes could blink, the figure who had been on the peak was already standing on the ground, the wind from the mountain whipping around him, cloaked in shadows, mask glinting faintly.
Still silent. Still watching.
The city of Norn was unaware of the storm that had already arrived.
Drax's name lingered in the air like a curse.
And somewhere in the distance, a whisper of the abyss trembled.