The Riftborn Hunter

Four days had passed since the Rift—an ache-filled blur Aiden still couldn't shake. He stood in his dim apartment, the single bulb casting long shadows as he rolled his shoulder. His ribs should've been fractured—his wounds deep enough to keep him down, every move a fight. But here he was, upright, the pain a dull throb—nothing like it ought to be. Bruises had faded fast, cuts sealed overnight. That wasn't right.

He exhaled, pressing a hand to his ribs—fingers brushing smooth skin where scars should've lingered. "What's happening to me?" he murmured, voice low, a question for the Source that had burrowed into him. It wasn't just power—his body was shifting.

His phone buzzed—harsh, cutting the quiet.

Aiden's stomach tightened.

[Kain Family Group Chat]

Cailen Kain: He soloed a Rift? That's a mistake.

Lena Kain: Are they serious? He doesn't even have an ability.

Reiss Kain: I checked the logs. One entry. Cleared.

Lena Kain: No way.

Cailen Kain: What, hid in a corner 'til something else killed the boss?

Aiden exhaled slow—hand flexing, resisting the urge to smash the screen. Same old digs, now in plain view.

Cailen Kain: Association's calling it an anomaly.

Lena Kain: Figures. Another fluke.

Reiss Kain: I don't buy it.

He paused—fingers still.

Reiss wasn't brushing it off—not mocking, not this time. Suspicious. That stuck—unsettling, real.

Aiden tapped the phone off—screen blank, words left behind. They didn't matter—not now.

Another buzz—not family.

*[Unknown Number]: Vance's Café. 10 PM. You owe me—don't forget.

He stared—name clicking fast.

Jenna Vale.

He hadn't seen her since the cleanup raid—her quick cover keeping the Association off his back.

Aiden sank onto his bed's edge, fingers tapping the metal frame—steady, restless. He'd expected a call—a favor, a price for her silence. But now he wondered what she wanted.

The café's warmth hit as he stepped in—roasted coffee and burnt caramel filling the air. Near empty—late night left a few stragglers, bent over laptops or screens, lost in their own worlds.

Jenna sat waiting—boot resting on a chair, half-drunk espresso steaming beside her. Long black hair hung loose from a rough ponytail—untamed, framing a face that carried a quiet strength. Her leather jacket draped over the backrest—worn, patched, a badge of survival.

She looked up as he approached—eyes sharp, scanning him, holding a moment too long. "Four days," she said, voice low with a rough edge, "and you don't even look like you fought."

Aiden paused—instinct nudging denial.

He slid into the seat across her—face calm. "I heal quick."

Jenna raised an eyebrow, sipping her coffee—slow, deliberate. "Quick enough to shrug off that?" Her tone was even—not pushing, just probing.

He shrugged—dodging the question. "How'd you know I was in a fight?"

She leaned back—arms crossing. "I checked the Rift logs after you slipped out. People talk when someone solos a dungeon—and lives." She nodded at him. "Caught some attention."

Aiden exhaled—fingers tapping the table, steady but guarded. "So why am I here?"

Jenna met his eyes—direct, unflinching. "I've got a job for you."

He blinked—surprised. "You're serious."

"Yeah," she said, leaning forward—elbows on the table. "A guild wants you."

Aiden tilted his head—cautious. "Which guild?"

"Black Summit Mercenaries."

His eyes narrowed—he knew them. Not a standard Hunter Guild—high-tier mercenaries, Rift experts who handled artifact grabs and dirty jobs the Association sidestepped. They didn't take greenhorns—they took fighters.

He tapped the table—processing. "Why me?"

"They heard about your solo clear," she said, voice steady. "A Rift that should've killed you. They want to know how you pulled it off."

Aiden let out a short breath—thinking it over. "Thought you'd just call in that favor."

"You still owe me," she said, a faint smile tugging her lips—not sharp, just real. "This is extra. Figured you could use it."

He exhaled—watching her. That smile softened her edge, but her gaze held—firm, like she'd seen worse and kept going. She wasn't just here to deal—she cared, in her own way.

"There's more to it," he said, head tilting. "If I say no, you'll keep asking, won't you?"

She nodded—simple, honest. "Probably. I don't let things drop easy."

Aiden sighed—rubbing his temple. "What's your angle?"

"Guild pays me a bonus for bringing you in," she said, arms crossing again—jacket creaking. "And I want to see what you're hiding."

He frowned—wary. "Hiding?"

"You survived an S-Rank Rift," she said, voice low, earnest. "Cleared a dungeon alone. Association still lists you F-Rank." She leaned closer—eyes steady, warm but piercing. "That's not luck. What's going on with you?"

Aiden's fingers curled—table edge pressing into his skin.

She was right—too right.

But he wasn't ready to crack open—not yet.

Jenna stood—grabbing her jacket, slinging it over her shoulder with a quiet confidence. "So? You in, or do I give you a few days to stew?"

Aiden exhaled—rubbing his temple again, weighing it. "It's not a quick yes."

She nodded—understanding, not pressing. "Fair. Most big calls take time. Coffee's just here to soften it."

He gave a faint grunt—almost a laugh. "If I pass?"

"I'll keep asking," she said, voice firm but kind. "I don't back off when I see something worth betting on."

Aiden leaned back—fingers tapping the guild file she'd left. He could walk—let it fade. But she was right—people were watching. Black Summit could be a shield—or a tool.

He sighed—settling. "I'll consider it."

Jenna's smile returned—small, genuine. "Good enough for now." She headed for the door—stride steady, leaving a quiet strength behind.

Aiden watched her go—her presence lingering, solid, real.

He glanced at the file—Black Summit's jagged peak staring up.

Trust wasn't there—not fully.

But this? A chance he could shape.

One step at a time.

For now—he needed coffee—black, strong, steadying.

A pulse stirred—deep, faint—beneath his heartbeat.