The Riftborn Hunter

Aiden woke slowly, body heavy like he'd been dragged through hell and stitched back together with rusty wire. His head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache—each pulse a reminder of the Rift's slaughter. His throat scraped raw and dry, like he'd screamed himself hoarse.

He exhaled, forcing his breath steady.

For a moment, everything was still—no shrieks, no shifting shadows, no whispers clawing at his skull.

Just silence.

A dream, right?

The Rift. The massacre. That thing in the dark. The light.

Had to be fake.

He'd been blind his whole damn life—Kains didn't get miracles, especially not the reject they'd tossed out like trash.

Aiden clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. His fingers twitched, brushing fabric—smooth, crisp sheets. A faint hum of air vents buzzed overhead, joined by the low beep of machines. The air hit clean—sterile, processed—not the blood-soaked rot of the Rift.

His pulse kicked up.

Something was off.

His hand jerked to his eyes—an old habit—then froze midair.

He could see.

Fingers hovered, trembling. It should've been pitch black—always had been. But now? Creases lined his palm, dim hospital light glinting off his skin, sterile white sheets glaring under his grip.

Panic twisted his gut like a knife.

This wasn't normal.

Then a worse thought slammed him: Oh, crap. The Association.

If they knew—if the Kains' precious little empire found out their failure wasn't so useless after all—he'd be dissected faster than a Rift beast.

His heart slammed against his ribs, instincts howling to look around, to drink in every damn thing he'd missed his whole life—colors, shapes, the world his family said he'd never deserve.

But he couldn't.

Not if he wanted to walk out alive.

So he played the game—stared straight ahead, expression blank, eyes unfocused, the way a blind man would.

Just in time.

The room stretched bigger than he'd guessed—too clean, too white, stark walls and smooth floors gleaming under dim lights that hummed like a swarm of flies. Monitors flickered beside him, graphs pulsing in jagged rhythms he couldn't read.

A soft hiss cut the quiet.

The door slid open.

A figure stepped in—tall, broad, moving with the tight control of a predator in combat gear, dark fabric lined with silver glinting like a warning.

Aiden didn't react. Didn't look.

Even though he could see the bastard clear as day in his peripheral—boots scuffing the floor, eyes drilling into him.

He listened instead, playing the blind card hard.

"…You survived an S-Rank Rift."

Aiden nearly flinched—caught it just in time.

Varyn.

Commander Varyn—Association hardass, Rift anomaly hunter. Guy didn't waste time on weaklings. Or miracles.

If he was here, Aiden wasn't just lucky—he was a problem.

Varyn stepped closer, door sealing shut with a click. His stare never wavered, heavy as a blade.

Aiden kept his gaze off-center—just a hair from meeting those eyes, natural enough to sell the act.

"No one else made it," Varyn said, voice flat but probing.

Aiden exhaled slow, brows twitching like the news still stung. "Yeah. I know."

Inside, he smirked—barely made it myself, you smug prick.

Varyn studied him, then huffed a slow breath. "Reports say Squad Eclipse snuck into that Rift—less than official. Explain."

Aiden kept his face blank, voice steady. "Thought we could contribute. Big dreams, small brains."

Varyn scoffed, a dry bark. "You? A handful of D-Tiers crashing an active Rift breach? That's not a plan—that's a suicide note."

Aiden bit back a grimace. Okay, fair point, jackass.

"And yet," Varyn leaned in, "you're the only one who crawled out."

Aiden forced a sigh—grief-edged, Oscar-worthy. "Don't know why I'm still breathing either."

Varyn tapped a holo-display, the glow flickering across his sharp jaw. "System says different."

Aiden's stomach dropped like a stone.

"Your readings? Still F-Rank. No Core Trait. No mana. But—" Varyn's eyes narrowed, "—your ID flagged 'Potential Trait: UNKNOWN.' That doesn't just happen."

Aiden swallowed, throat tight. "No clue what that means."

Varyn's stare sharpened. "Neither do I. But every high-rank Hunter in that Rift? Dead. No survivors."

He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Except you."

The room went dead quiet—air thick enough to choke on.

Aiden tilted his head, brows furrowing in fake confusion. "That's… what they keep telling me."

Varyn exhaled hard, almost a snort. "Right. And you're still blind, I assume?"

Aiden held his gaze steady—just off, casual. "Unless you're hiding a cure in that fancy gear, yeah."

A beat. Then Varyn snapped his fingers right by Aiden's face—loud, sudden.

Aiden's gut lurched, but he locked it down—blinked slow, deliberate. "What, testing for echoes now?"

Varyn hummed, low and skeptical. "Guess not."

Aiden nearly sighed—caught himself. Too close.

Then Varyn grinned—sharp, like a wolf spotting prey. "More tests coming soon. Hope you like surprises, kid."

Aiden matched his neutral mask. "Can't wait. I'm a sucker for a good shock."

Varyn chuckled, dark and dry, turning for the door. "You should be."

The door slid shut with a hiss.

Aiden exhaled, shoulders slumping, tension bleeding out.

This is gonna be a problem.