The heavy doors creaked open, and Cain stepped inside. The corridor vanished behind him — now he stood in a spacious, yet cold chamber where restrained austerity and merciless authority reigned.
Kael's office, his father's domain, occupied the heart of the Ravenshade residence. The dark, nearly black walls loomed ominously, wrapping the space in chill and silence, broken only by the echo of Cain's own footsteps. The furniture, carved from heavy blackwood, reflected the cold gleam of candelabras. The air was saturated with the scent of ancient leather, sword oil, and the bitter freshness of cold steel.
Behind a massive obsidian desk sat Kael — a man of commanding presence, an S-rank sovereign, and the ruler of Nocthollow. His long black hair fell in straight strands over broad shoulders, and his violet eyes, deep and frigid, studied his son's every movement. His face was stern, almost expressionless, as if carved from stone, but within those eyes flickered a faint spark of cold cruelty.
Cain stepped forward, trying not to show tension, though his body tensed under the oppressive atmosphere.
"You want to clear a dungeon?" Kael asked, his voice calm but laced with unhidden doubt.
"Yes," Cain replied without hesitation. "Rank G. I've thoroughly studied the data — research on the awakening of unique skills. It's a known fact — unique skills exist and are publicly documented. They are classified from rank G up to legendary SSS. Their power can radically change the life of the one who awakens them."
Kael watched him intently, as if trying to pierce through to his very soul.
"But awakening such skills is rare," he said. "What makes you think you will succeed?"
Cain squared his shoulders, feeling power gathering in his chest.
"I am the only one in the world with the trait [Affinity to All Energies]. It's a rare gift — but also a heavy burden. It is slowly destroying me from within. Only the awakening of a unique skill can cure this affliction."
A tense silence fell across the room. Kael seemed pensive for a moment, then, with a cold smirk, said:
"The document you sent earlier — your statistics claim that the probability of awakening rises to fifty percent if a dungeon is cleared before the age of ten."
"Exactly," Cain confirmed. "These aren't abstract numbers — I've studied real cases. I have a chance."
Kael leaned forward, his voice quieter now, but far more menacing.
"And what if you don't awaken the skill?"
Cain didn't answer.
He simply stood there, inside his father's office, as cold silence descended upon them like an immovable curtain. The pale light reflected off the smooth dark surfaces, and the heavy curtains clung to the windows, letting in not a single ray of warmth. Here, in the very heart of the Ravenshade family, time paused — thick with expectation and the weight of inevitability.
Kael sat behind his massive desk, but his gaze didn't wander to papers or scrolls. He watched his son carefully, as if examining every move, every breath. Cain could feel every cell in his body tightening under the weight of that stare — the stare of a man who lived in a world with no place for weakness, where every decision was a matter of life or death.
"You will not go alone," Kael said, his voice calm but unyielding. Cain noticed that his father didn't say who would accompany him, nor did he offer reassurance. It was an order, absolute and final.
Cain knew: in this world, his father's word was not merely law — it was fate.
Kael silently turned back to his work, eyes lowered, exuding an aura of unquestionable authority.
Silence filled the room — so thick it felt like a fog pressing against the lungs. Cain understood: this wasn't just a precaution — it was a test. Perhaps more than a test — a condition for survival. His father had left no room for choice, and the cruelty of that was clear as day.
Cain felt the cold seeping into him — not just physically, but deeper, into the soul. It was the chill of indifference — so easily seen in Kael's eyes. There was no compassion here, no understanding — only the strict logic of power and strength.
Kael lifted his gaze, as if sensing the turmoil in his son's thoughts, and spoke softly, yet each word cut sharply into the heart:
"There is no place in this world for those who are not ready to pay the price. If you don't awaken the skill — so be it. But remember: the world does not wait for the weak."
He said no more — nothing about the fate that awaited those who failed. He didn't mention death. Didn't voice an ultimatum. But in the silence that followed, Cain knew his fate had been decided long before this conversation.
Standing there under the weight of inevitability, Cain felt his trait — [Affinity to All Energies] — pressing on him like chains slowly tightening around his soul. This trait was no gift. It was a heavy curse. It tore him apart from within, disrupting the balance between life and death. But there was hope — the awakening of a unique skill that could restore him. A skill that could become a turning point — the path to a different fate.
Unique skills were no myth. No secret. Everyone knew about them. They were real, powerful, and incredibly rare. Classified from G to SSS, awakening one didn't just grant power — it meant a chance to live. A rare miracle chosen by fate among millions.
Cain had researched it himself — analyzed data, collected fragments of stories about those who dared to take the risk and waited for their skill to emerge. According to his estimates, there was a nearly fifty-percent chance he could awaken a skill if he cleared a dungeon before his tenth birthday — just two days away. It was a fragile hope — but the best one he had.
If he succeeded, he could heal the instability within him — restore the balance disrupted long ago.
A unique skill — it was a key to life, to freedom from pain, to a new beginning.
But if he failed — then what?
The question hung in the air, unspoken. He didn't dare to voice it.
Cain bowed his head slightly, catching the gaze still fixed on the papers.
— Father... with your permission, I will leave. I must finish my preparations.
The voice was even, restrained — neither a request nor a challenge. Just a statement of fact, cold and formal.
In response — silence. Only the rustle of a pen, and no movement.
Cain waited a few seconds, then, without waiting for permission, cautiously moved toward the door. He didn't hear any farewell words. Nor did he expect them.
Cain felt the cold creeping in from all sides — not just physical, but the cold of power, the cold of indifference that hid danger. When he finally stepped out of the office, the corridors seemed darker, deeper — like an abyss he was about to plunge into.
Kael remained alone in the spacious room. His eyes gleamed in the half-darkness, and a cold, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his face — the smile of a man who had made a final decision.
"If he does not awaken the unique skill — then it's the end. There is no room for mistakes, no room for weakness in our family. I will get rid of him. Everything will be as it should be."
This decision nestled deep in his soul like poison slowly spreading through his veins, ready to activate at the right moment. Kael did not speak it aloud, he did not voice his intentions. He had already made up his mind and had no intention of changing it.
Cain's fate was sealed by the silence hanging over them — heavier than any words.