Sylvie crouched at the edge of the ravine, her silver hair tied back to keep from catching the dim Voidlight. Golden eyes tracked the two figures navigating the terrain below—careful, quiet, clueless. Her ears twitched at every sound.
So they really came all the way in.
Her tail flicked once, annoyed.
She didn't like surprises. Especially not now.
She'd been tracking this rift since the moment it cracked into existence—beating even the guilds to it. With the right timing and no interruptions, she could've cleared it solo, just like always. A clean kill. Every monster defeated. Every core harvested. Every rare drop stuffed into her bag.
But now… they were here.
Liora and that boy.
Reynar, wasn't it?
She remembered him from the beast rescue incident—foolish, loud, kind. She'd only stepped in to make sure the situation didn't spiral and get her involved. Nothing more. But now, watching him move through the dungeon with practiced caution, a thought pricked at her mind.
He's grown stronger.
Sylvie hated that it mattered. That she noticed.
She exhaled silently and turned away from the ravine's edge, slinking through the shadows like a ghost. Her boots made no sound. Her senses stretched through the twisted forest like threads of instinct—counting every heartbeat that wasn't hers.
She had to stay ahead.
This rift was part of her current quota.
If she didn't return with enough cores… her master would not be pleased.
The thought brought a weight behind her ribs. Not fear—no, not anymore. She had learned to numb that emotion long ago. But something colder. A burn of duty. Of chains she no longer felt, yet could never break.
Master wanted results. Loot. Rare items. Clean dungeon clears.
And she was his best collector.
His little beast.
Sylvie's gloved hand tightened briefly around the hilt of her blade as the memory flared—flashes of another dungeon, another time. Blood-soaked walls. Screams. Chains. Being thrown into the dark with nothing but a rusted weapon and a whispered command: Bring back the core, or don't come back at all.
She had always come back.
Even when it cost her everything.
Shaking off the memory, Sylvie picked up her pace, moving ahead of the pair. She couldn't let them catch up. If they interfered with her run—if they claimed the final boss or the rare spawns—she might fall short. And if she fell short…
No. That wasn't an option.
She leapt across a shattered root bridge, landing in perfect silence, then scaled a dead pillar tree. From there, she had a clear view of the inner sanctum of the rift, where voidlight pooled and pulsed like a heartbeat.
The boss would be there.
Her prize.
She watched the blackened skyline for signs of movement. A single distortion flickered—another elite beast stalking the periphery. She could take it now. Quick and quiet.
But…
Her golden eyes flicked back behind her. Faint traces of aura. Liora and Reynar were catching up.
Tch.
They were moving faster than she expected. Coordinated. Efficient. That girl—Liora—was a solid fighter. The boy wasn't deadweight anymore either. He moved with intent. Still sloppy, but not suicidal.
Sylvie crouched on the branch and pulled her hood up.
She didn't care about them.
They weren't her friends. They weren't her allies.
They were intrusions.
But… as her hand rested briefly on the warm core pouch tied to her belt, her fingers stopped.
Intrusions… who risked their lives to protect others.
Who didn't work for profit. Who didn't kill for quotas.
They fought for something different.
"When someone is in need, I will help them."
Reynar's words from before echoed in her mind—simple, naive… and strangely warm.
Sylvie clicked her tongue and looked away.
She didn't have the luxury of idealism.
All she had was the job.
The loot.
And the promise of one more day of freedom.