Part 1 – The Return
The gate creaked a little as Thomas pushed it open.
The same gate as always.
Same sidewalk, same smell of damp morning mixed with the neighbor's stale coffee.
He had an old backpack on his shoulders, his body heavier than it looked.
Lean, arms more defined, hollow eyes, unshaved beard and uneven hair.
Olivia opened the door before he could knock.
She didn't say a word. Just hugged him.
— You smell like the woods. — she murmured into his shoulder.
— Yeah. That's the glamour of training life. — he replied with a tired smile.
When she pulled back, she held his face for a few seconds, eyes scanning every detail. Like trying to see what had changed.
— You look different. — she said, no judgment in her voice.
— I am. But I'm okay.
Gabriele came running through the living room right after — barefoot and still in her Minnie pajamas.
— DAAAAD!
Thomas crouched instantly, arms wide open, and the impact almost knocked him over.
— Whoa, my girl got stronger, is that it?
She started rambling without stopping — about her painting class, spilling juice at school, almost biting Rafael but not doing it because she remembered "emotional control."
— That's right, Gabi. Priorities. — he said, laughing.
The morning passed slowly.
Coffee on the table, Thomas eating buttered bread and recounting everything, little by little.
He didn't hide anything from Olivia.
Told her about the forest, the training, the fights, the pain.
Told her about Hector. About the Yandu in the cave.
Olivia listened attentively.
She didn't interrupt, only asked practical questions from time to time.
— I can't even imagine what it was like… Are you okay?
Thomas looked at her, honestly.
— Now I am.
She smiled.
— You're back.
And it was true. He was there.
But something inside him no longer fit into a normal routine.
His mind kept looping everything that had happened: the training, his conversations with Hector, the memories from Thag'Zhul, the creatures he'd killed — repeatedly.
Just a few months ago, Thomas didn't like killing bugs.
Now he executed monsters over three meters tall without blinking.
Something deeper was behind all this — something more than just hunting.
Still, the days went on.
The first night, he slept like a stone. No dreams. A monk-like REM cycle.
Woke up sharp, body restored like a soldier.
Second night — scattered images: a forest, fire, muffled screams.
Dream training.
That day he took Gabi to school, fixed an old socket, caught up on work.
Third night — more dreams.
Short fragments. A man with long hair. Voices in another language.
A strange pressure in his chest.
And like clockwork — dream training.
This time, Thag'Zhul appeared in the dream… training him.
The next morning, Thomas showered longer than usual.
Then made coffee and stared into the cup, reliving the training.
Feeling the physical strain — as if it had actually happened.
Until Olivia joked he looked like he was in a trance.
He laughed… but didn't answer.
Fourth night.
Another dream — more like information than dream.
A ritual circle. Body paint. Ayvu flowing through lines on the floor.
And more training — techniques about Ayvu's concentration, density, and flow.
How to use it differently for attack and defense.
Thomas woke up drenched. Took notes on his phone.
That same day, he began a long-dreamed project:
An AI assistant — a personal chatbot — to record all this.
Data. Dreams. Fights. Everything.
He called it "the system," as a placeholder.
Several nights passed. The dreams continued.
Until the ninth night — everything changed.
He was in an open field.
The grass moved like it was breathing.
Thomas looked to the horizon — but something behind him was watching.
When he turned, he saw the old shaman.
Thag'Zhul.
But this wasn't a memory.
It felt real.
— You can't come back home and pretend nothing's changed. You're not that man anymore.
What you carry will attract things your daughter should never see. — said the old man.
Thomas tried to argue, but he vanished.
And then Calil appeared.
Same man from their battle.
But with calmer eyes.
— You need to learn to hide it. Or burn it out. You're leaking Ayvu like an idiot.
If you don't fix that, they'll come for you.
Thomas woke up gasping.
Drenched in sweat. But the room was cold.
His daggers were slightly vibrating on the shelf.
In the following days, he started mapping his dreams.
Applying what he learned.
Writing down symbols, phrases in languages he didn't even recognize.
Not sure if he remembered them — or was inventing them.
And so, ten days after coming home,
Thomas typed into a private browser:
"Ayvu fragments — spiritual traces — shamanic engineering."
What he found…
Was a hidden world.
Obscure forums.
Some on the surface web. Others buried deep.
Photos of mutated bodies. Blueprints for weapons made from Yandu remains.
Encrypted threads. Anonymous contracts for shamans and hunters.
Scientific files about using tech to measure Ayvu.
Thomas spent nights immersed in it.
Until one night, while sipping coffee,
his phone buzzed.
[1 NEW EMAIL]
Subject: Interested in Dungeons?
No sender. Just a message:
"We know who you are, Thomas.
You are invited to a paid Hunt.
Confidential Class
Category: C
Role: Logger / Carrier
If you accept, go to the attached address.
Do not share this."
He stared at the screen for long seconds.
The cursor blinked.
In the next room, his daughter slept.
He hesitated.
But couldn't ignore it.
They knew who he was.
They knew where he lived.
The next morning, Thomas talked to Olivia.
Always understanding.
They agreed — he had to check it out.
Thomas was going.
Part 2 – Hazardous Job
The location was deep in the interior of Rio, in a small city called Seropédica — known locally as "Rural."
The street was narrow. Old pavement, low lamp posts — some no longer working.
Thomas walked the last two blocks.
He'd parked the motorcycle earlier, on purpose.
Arriving discreetly seemed like the smartest option.
The side streets were deserted, and the building ahead looked abandoned — except for a metal door left half-open and the cold light spilling from inside.
This was the address.
He stepped in without rush.
The place reeked of rust and old oil. But there were people inside.
About half a dozen.
Some sitting on crates, others leaning against metal beams.
A huge man in an unbuttoned denim shirt laughed loudly, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, showing off his scarred arm to another man in camouflage gear with a crossbow strapped to his back.
Two women argued over a list.
A kid in a hoodie twirled a floating dagger with precise finger movements.
Thomas walked in, observing everything.
— Another one showed up. — said a deep voice.
— Who is it? — someone asked from the back.
— The rookie who got the invite.
A few glanced up. Most didn't care.
A shaved-head guy approached.
Heavy build. Tattooed arms.
One cybernetic eye zoomed in with a soft mechanical whirr.
— Name? — he asked.
— Thomas.
— Just that?
— Yeah.
The guy smirked.
— Alright. Sit over there. Mission's about to start.
Before he could move, a red-haired girl waved at him from atop a crate.
— Hey, Thomas! — she called. — You seem less insane than the average. First time?
— First time with a group, yeah. — he replied, walking over.
— I'm Anahi. Welcome to the worst decision of your life.
— Or the most profitable. — said the man in the denim shirt, scars on his neck.
— Depends what you came looking for. — Anahi added, twirling a knife.
Thomas shrugged.
— Money.
She chuckled.
— Honest people don't last long around here.
— You got a role yet? — she asked, leaning forward.
— They called me in as a logger and carrier.
— Ah, the famous "mule"… — she smirked. — You carry Yandu cores, dead people's weapons, and take notes. But don't worry — we only lose two or three per mission.
Thomas wasn't sure if it was a joke or a warning.
Not long after, the tattooed man climbed a steel frame and raised his voice.
— Good evening. I'm Walter, for those who don't know. Tonight's mission is Category C.
— We've confirmed a creature active in a sealed ritual zone.
There's a history of human casualties and two missing hunters in the area.
Some shifted in place.
Category C wasn't a joke.
— Mission requires at least two C-class hunters, which is me — he pointed his chin toward the woman with the metal staff — and Lili.
All others must be C-rank minimum.
The exception is the rookie — he gestured to Thomas — He's here as logger and mule. Stays in the back. If he dies, it's his fault.
Laughter echoed in the back.
The man in denim again, half mocking.
— We've all been mules once. The difference is, not everyone comes back from their first run.
Good luck, rookie.
— Thanks. — Thomas replied with a faint smile.
They grouped up and got into vehicles.
Convoy-style.
The road was full of potholes. The van rocked constantly. The air inside was thick, the silence stretched between every curve.
— Hey, redhead… long time no missions. Still remember which side of the blade to hold? — the huge man teased through the rearview mirror.
— I do. Yours is the left side, right? — she shot back without even turning.
Muted laughter filled the space.
Thomas remained silent, staring out the window.
Expression blank.
Eyes unfocused on the trees flying past.
Elbow against the glass. Body relaxed — seemingly.
— And you, rookie… — the man leaned forward — Ever done a real mission, or just here to carry gear?
— Just here to carry gear. — Thomas replied calmly, eyes still on the road.
The two men exchanged glances.
— I think he's gonna be fun. — one of them muttered, half smiling.
The rest of the trip carried on in a strange tension — somewhere between boredom and alert.
Anahi crossed her legs and leaned back, eyeing Thomas more often.
Subtly. Curiously.
What's up with this guy?
The van stopped in a dirt clearing — grass flattened by larger tires.
They were in what looked like an abandoned lot, scattered with scrap metal, twisted beams, and the remains of a partially collapsed warehouse.
But in the center of the clearing, something stood out.
A cracked concrete circle, etched with raised symbols.
That was the spot.
— There's the hole. — said the driver, killing the engine. — Class B infiltration point. Drone confirmed, two levels deep.
Thomas stepped out calmly.
The air was damp.
The tall grass whispered low, but the night itself… was silent.
— The entrance was sealed with concrete when locals started vanishing. — explained the older woman, armed with what looked like a metal staff tied with red cords.
— But the corrupted Ayvu cracked the barrier. Now, the "seal" is basically a patch of cardboard.
— And that holds? — Thomas asked, staring at the circle.
— Not at all. — she answered.
— It's more of a warning. A "don't enter" stamped by some authority. But for whatever's inside, it's meaningless.
— So it's just for us? — Anahi muttered, crossing her arms.
— Exactly. And it works more than you'd think.