The Riftborn Hunter

Aiden stepped out of the Hunter Association facility and into the open air.

The cold hit him like a slap—sharp, biting, slicing through his jacket and sinking into his bones.

The city sprawled before him—towering buildings piercing the night, neon signs flickering like dying stars, the distant hum of traffic buzzing like a swarm he'd never noticed. It looked normal.

It wasn't.

He stood frozen, letting it sink in deeper than the chill.

He'd walked these streets before—not as a Hunter, not as anything worth a damn, just a blind man scraping by. Every step, every curb, every shift in the wind—he'd mapped them with memory, sound, instinct. The Kains had drilled it into him: sight was for the worthy, and he'd never be that.

Now?

Now he could see.

And it was too damn much.

His eyes darted snagging on details he'd never known existed. Fine cracks spiderwebbed building edges like scars. Neon signs pulsed with faint electric snaps, buzzing like a headache. Dust hung in the air, drifting in slow, creepy swirls that didn't obey gravity.

It wasn't just sight.

His brain kicked into overdrive, registering things faster than it had any right to.

Aiden's breath hitched as he turned his head—and the world lagged.

A tiny delay, barely a blink, but he felt it—like reality was a glitchy holo-display struggling to keep up with him.

His stomach churned. "Great. Even the universe can't handle me now," he muttered, half-sarcasm, half-dread.

A cab rolled to a stop ahead. Aiden didn't look at the driver—but he knew. The guy's grip tightened on the wheel, foot easing the brake a heartbeat before it happened.

Not seeing—knowing.

"Blind guy perk, huh?" he grumbled under his breath, taking a shaky step forward.

The city churned around him—people walking, shouting, laughing, oblivious to the freak in their midst trying to act like he still fit. A normal night for them. For him? A circus of overstuffed senses and a gut screaming he didn't belong.

The Association had cut him loose—Varyn's smirky "tests later" threat ringing in his ears.

But something sharper gnawed at him: they were watching.

And worse?

So was something else.

Aiden wandered for hours—no destination, no plan, just moving.

Because he was waiting.

For what? Hell if he knew.

But his gut—same one that'd kept him alive in that Rift—whispered that if he kept going, kept looking, something would crash into him.

He cut through side streets and back alleys, hood up, instinct steering him like a damn compass.

It should've felt reckless—stupid, even—but that freaky clarity in his head made it… natural.

Like some invisible bastard had already paved the path.

He stopped in a narrow alley, rubbing a hand over his face—still half-expecting darkness when he opened his eyes. "Get it together, Kain. You need food, not a breakdown."

The air shifted—wrong, sudden, like a breath held too long.

Aiden froze, hand dropping.

His pulse spiked as space ahead warped—a faint ripple, barely there, like heat off pavement.

But it wasn't heat.

It was wrong.

The air bent, glass under strain, something clawing to break through.

That Rift stench—decay and shadow—crawled up his spine again.

"Not again," he hissed, fists clenching.

A flicker—a glitch.

The world cracked open.

A screen snapped up, glowing in his face—not the System's usual trash, but something raw, burned into his skull.

[SYSTEM WARNING: CALIBRATION INCOMPLETE.]

Aiden flinched, the text pulsing like a migraine.

It glitched—words warping into jagged symbols, then back.

[VISIONARY CODE: PARTIAL ACTIVATION.]

[SEEK THE SOURCE.]

His breath caught, sharp and cold.

Muscles locked, fingers twitching like they'd snap.

This wasn't the Hunter System—not the cold, flat voice his family worshipped.

This was something else.

The screen twisted, distorting into static, folding in on itself.

And then—like a punch to the brain—he remembered that figure in the Rift.

That tall, faceless thing, its hollow voice echoing from the dark—low, ancient, a shiver in his bones.

"Wake up, Seer."

Aiden's gut turned to ice, a chill that had nothing to do with the breeze.

He'd chalked it up to a hallucination—a dying man's fever dream as shadows tore his squad apart.

Now?

Now he wasn't so sure.

Aiden clenched his fists, heart hammering like it'd bust through his chest.

This wasn't over—never had been.

Something had changed in him—something that wasn't supposed to exist.

And it was calling.