Two years had passed since Kaien Vlorian's master walked away down a road that never looked back. Two years since the final lesson, the final correction, the final quiet nod of approval that said you are no longer a child who follows.
Now, at twelve years old, Kaien stood at the edge of the city gates, the towering divine barrier shimmering faintly behind him like a receding dream.
He had grown.
Not tall enough to be mistaken for an adult—but no longer carrying the softness of childhood. His black ebony hair fell naturally around his face, slightly unruly yet fitting him well. His skin was clear and healthy, untouched by hardship, while his jawline—subtle but well-polished—gave definition to his youthful features. His blue eyes were calm, deep, and observant, carrying a quiet sharpness that did not belong to someone his age.
Before stepping forward, Kaien adjusted the straps across his chest.
He wore a clean white long-sleeved tunic, simple yet durable, tailored to allow freedom of movement without excess fabric. Over it rested reinforced brown leather shoulder guards, well-maintained from years of training. A broad leather belt wrapped firmly around his waist, securing small travel pouches and holding his gear in place.
A cross-body leather strap ran diagonally across his torso, distributing weight evenly, while his hands were covered by fingerless leather gloves, the knuckles slightly worn—proof of discipline, not neglect. His trousers were dark and sturdy, designed for travel rather than display, tucked neatly into reinforced leather boots with thick soles meant for unforgiving terrain.
Draped over his shoulders was a deep blue cloak, its fabric heavy enough to shield him from wind and cold, yet short enough not to hinder movement. It fluttered faintly behind him, framing his figure and lending him a presence far more composed than his age suggested.
At his side rested his sword strapped behind his back it was the Vlorian family sword, placed within a well-forged dark sheath, its surface carved with the image of a coiled dragon—ancient, proud, and unyielding. A weapon passed down through generations, now entrusted to him.
Two years of solitary training had shaped him more than any ceremony ever could.
After his master's departure, Kaien had refined every form, every stance, every breath. He had walked the path of the blade until it no longer felt like a tool—but an extension of thought. During countless nights beneath moonlight and rain, he had unknowingly refined something new.
A technique born of instinct.
A moment where darkness, silence, and precision aligned.
He called it Stealth Piercing Strike—a technique that erased sound, intent, and hesitation in a single decisive thrust. Born by coincidence while practicing the Darknight technique, it had since been refined patiently, carefully.
Not everything needed to be loud to be lethal.
His thoughts drifted briefly to his siblings.
Jay Vlorian had grown rapidly—both in body and in reputation. His once-boyish features had hardened, his swordsmanship refined to such a degree that guild raiders had begun calling him the Sword Monster. Jay now led missions against demonic beasts and A-grade spirits with frightening consistency.
"I hope he stays safe," Kaien muttered quietly.
"So he can witness my progress."
His sister, Alora, had risen in a different way. Her ice affinity had matured into an overwhelming force, earning her the title Freeze Queen among the cities.
Kaien gave a faint laugh and cleared his throat.
"Freeze Queen… that sounds like something exaggerated by gossip."
Popularity never interested him.
Strength did.
Preparation did.
Before leaving, there had been a final discussion.
His mother had tried to hide her trembling hands as she packed supplies—rations, healing salves, spare clothing, and small necessities. His father had said little, but his presence was steady as he placed the family sword into Kaien's hands.
"This blade has protected our family through generations," Luca Vlorian said. "It will protect you too."
Kaien bowed deeply.
"I'll return stronger," he promised.
His mother embraced him tightly.
"Come back alive."
And then—he walked away.
The guild branch was loud and crowded, steel clashing and voices overlapping. When Kaien requested solo raid missions, the guild master stared at him in disbelief.
"You're a child," the man said gruffly. "And your rank—"
"Rank doesn't define survival," Kaien replied calmly.
"It measures potential, not preparation. I know my limits, and I don't cross them blindly."
After a long pause, the guild master stamped his registration.
"Don't die."
Kaien turned toward the portal.
From the depths of the Dark Kingdom, Lucifer watched through a massive crystal orb as Kaien stepped into the dark red portal.
"This is going to be interesting," he murmured, crimson eyes glowing faintly.
The moment Kaien crossed through, the world vanished.
There was no ground.
No sky.
Only falling.
An endless abyss swallowed him whole, wind roaring past his ears as gravity dragged him downward. He drew his sword mid-fall, driving it into a jagged wall, sparks flying as his descent slowed—
Only for a dark force to surge upward.
Not alive.
Not dead.
A natural phenomenon of the abyss itself.
It wrapped around him and yanked him free, dragging him deeper into darkness with overwhelming force.
Kaien clenched his teeth.
So this is the outside world.
And the abyss answered—by swallowing him completely.