That night, alone in his dormitory—a converted storage closet, because even the academy's housing assignnts reflected status—Varyan sat on his cot and stared at the ceiling.
No cracks here. Just damp stone and the sll of old moss.
The room was barely large enough for his cot and a small wooden chest that held his few possessions. The walls were rough-hewn stone, cold to the touch. A single torch bracket hung empty—he wasn't important enough to receive light after curfew.
He was fourteen. He'd survived twelve years of ridicule, two years of outright sabotage from other noble houses, and one assassination attempt disguised as a "training accident."
His father hadn't visited in three years. His mother—a half-blood from a minor trading family—had died when he was seven. Fever. Or so they said.
Varyan didn't believe that anymore. He had stopped believing most things.
[Notification: Emotional threshold detected.]
Varyan jolted.
A translucent blue screen flickered in front of his eyes. He blinked. Rubbed his face. It didn't go away.
[「ECHO」: Initializing…]
[Designation: Crumb-Bearer – Order Fragnt 07]
[Status: Awakened – Level 1]
[Warning: Chaos Fragnt detected in proximity.]
"What the—"
[Passive skill gained: "Endure" – Reduces perception of physical pain by 15%.]
[Quest generated: "Survive the Onslaught"]
[Objective: Remain undetected by Chaos-aligned entities for 72 hours.]
[Reward: ???]
[Failure: ???]
Varyan's heart hamred against his ribs.
The myth. The crumbs. The Architects.
*Nobody believed*, the old stories said. *Until the crumbs fell.*
They'd fallen on him.
He looked at his hands. Ordinary hands. Small for his age. Calloused from years of nial work that other noble students never had to do.
But sothing was different. His aqua-gold eyes reflected faintly in the dark—brighter than before.
[「ECHO」tip: You are not the only one. Hide.]
Outside his door, footsteps stopped.
Not student footsteps. Too heavy. Too slow. And there was no breathing.
Varyan grabbed the small iron dagger hidden under his pillow—the only weapon he owned—and pressed his back against the wall.
*72 hours*, he thought. *I can hide for 72 hours.*
The door handle began to turn.
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