The apartment smelled faintly of take-out and ozone. Elena had kicked off her boots, dropped her duffel by the door, and now sat cross-legged on the couch, elbows on knees, staring at Max like she was trying to see through his skull.
Max sat opposite, hands clasped, face neutral. The perfect unawakened little brother.
Elena exhaled through her teeth. "I'm only telling you this because if I vanish for three months, I don't want you hearing it from the news."
She leaned forward, voice dropping. "Antarctica. Eight-star monolith. Buried Ice. It's surfacing in nine days. Estimated boss is continent-level threat. Every major guild is sending their best. Vanguard's detachment leaves in seventy-two hours. I'm on the roster."
Max didn't blink. "You're going to die."
The words came out flat. Not a question.
Elena barked a humorless laugh. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, squirt." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Maybe. Probably not. But if that thing breaks containment, the spore clouds alone could reach Australia. Billions, Max. So yeah, I'm going."
Silence stretched.
Max's mind raced behind the mask he wore even now, the invisible one. Eight-star. A realm where his current thousand-stat perfection might still be laughable. Where Elena, proud, blazing Elena, could become a red smear on ice.
He made the decision in the space between two heartbeats.
"I'll get stronger," he said quietly. "Strong enough that no one I care about ever has to roll those dice again."
Elena's eyes softened. She reached out, ruffled his hair like she always did. "That's sweet, kid. Grind some 1-stars, awaken soon, okay? Then we'll raid together when I get back."
Max let her ruffle. Inside, the administrator ticked: *More AP. More points. More cores. Whatever it takes.*
An hour later he kissed her cheek, claimed he needed air, and left the apartment.
In the stairwell he unfolded a fresh brown paper bag, punched eye holes with a finger, slipped it over his head. Hood up. Paper Face reborn.
Three-star dungeon downtown. Quick clear. Sell the cores. Buy bulk hoodies, sneakers, snacks, and another thousand paper bags. Simple night.
He never made it to the subway.
A pressure, sudden, absolute, yanked him upward, like the planet itself inhaled. The city shrank beneath him in a heartbeat. Wind screamed. Clouds parted.
He stopped, suspended ten thousand feet above the earth, toes dangling over nothing.
A girl floated twenty meters away.
Fifteen, maybe sixteen. Dark skin, blood-red hair whipping in the jet stream, eyes glowing the same crimson. A wild aura of red mist coiled around her like living fire. She wore a black bomber jacket and combat boots, hands in pockets, grinning like Christmas came early.
"Hi there, Paper Face," she called, voice carrying perfectly despite the howling wind. "Didn't expect to snag you this easily. Lucky me."
Max's gauntlets materialized without thought, frost crackling along his forearms.
The girl tilted her head. "Look, I'll be polite. Remove the mask. I want to see who's been making my favorite city smell like butcher shop and ice."
Silence.
Max answered by flicking his wrist. A spear of pure frost formed mid-air and launched, Mach 3, straight at her face.
She leaned sideways, casual, almost lazy. The spear missed by inches, kept going, and vanished into the stratosphere.
The girl tsked, shaking her head. "I'll take that as a no."
Her aura flared, red light bleeding into the clouds, turning them the color of fresh blood.
Far below, unseen, the mountain range waited.