Frank Hagan sat in silence at his terminal, the encrypted message still glowing at the top of the screen.
"Come find us."
He didn't move. Didn't answer. Not yet.
Instead, he clicked into another tab.
Inventory Management – Dimensional Category Update [v.3.1]
A new overlay popped up: colored markers, cross-realm indexes, effect tiers.
He murmured to himself, "If I'm going to walk into madness, I want to know what I'm walking in with."
His screen divided into three core panels:
Source Realm
Effect Type
Compatibility Rating
He dragged each item into categories, one by one.
→ Frostlink Grapple (Realm: Arktis | Effect: Mobility | Use Class: Combat, Escape)
→ Nullglyph Cuffs (Realm: Umbra-3 | Effect: Magic Suppression | Use Class: Detention, Escape)
→ Echo Thread (Realm: Unclassified | Effect: Sound Cloaking | Use Class: Stealth, Recon)
A progress bar ticked upward. He adjusted tags. Added alert filters. Wrote warnings.
"Caution: Tier-2 materials react violently to high-tempo spellcasting. Not for novice users."
"Avoid mixing Umbral and Radiant items. Polarity drift may trigger internal seal collapse."
After an hour, his online store auto-refreshed.
New Section Unlocked: Premium Dimensional Kits
New Subcategories: Cross-Realm Loadouts | Advanced Tactical Tools | Hybrid Support Gear
Frank sat back and exhaled. "Better."
Then the system pinged.
[New Order Received – Earth-Based Client | Bulk Tier]
Client Tag: Evergreen Security – Corporate Clearance Verified
Order Details: 20x Silentstep Cloaks | 30x Compression Field Kits | 15x Glyph Jammer Bracelets]
Total Value: 47,800 credits
He blinked. Then smiled.
[Order Status: Processed | Delivery Node Initialized | Trader Margin: 16,220 CR]
[Notice: Your business is now officially operating at a profit.]
He leaned back in his chair, letting that moment settle.
From quiet seller to recognized supplier—and now, profitable trader.
"I've got a foothold," he said aloud, softly. "Took me long enough."
His eyes flicked back toward the encrypted message window. Still waiting. Still glowing. Still daring him.
Frank Hagan rubbed the side of his jaw, thinking.
You've built the system.
Balanced the books.
Proved your worth.
Now it was time to find out what it all meant.
He stood and crossed the room to his travel pack.
Pulled out his best gear.
Inspected every strap.
Checked every seal.
No assumptions. No backups. Just tools, grit, and logic.
He fastened the final lock on his belt.
Then looked at the coordinates one more time.
"Alright," he whispered, "let's see what you wanted me to find."
He tapped NAVIGATE.
The route loaded.
***
The road ended an hour ago.
Now Frank was hiking through uneven stone paths and overgrown brush, guided by his wrist-mounted nav-chip. The only sound was the crunch of his boots and the occasional hiss of wind through crooked trees.
He glanced at the coordinates again. The system showed no known guild markers. No dungeon alerts. No warnings.
"Unmapped," he muttered, ducking under a low branch. "Which means illegal… or someone's gone to a lot of effort to scrub it."
A few more steps brought him to a steep ridge. His boots slipped slightly on loose gravel as he reached the top.
And there it was.
Half-hidden behind a collapsed stone wall and thick vines: an archway, carved into the earth itself.
The stone was old—too old. Covered in moss, time-worn carvings, and just faintly… humming.
Frank narrowed his eyes.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Definitely not a warehouse."
He stepped closer.
The vines recoiled slightly as he brushed them aside, revealing symbols etched into the arch's inner curve. He recognized some of them—dimensional anchor points, threshold sigils, spatial buffering runes—but others…
"These weren't made for access," he said. "They were made to hold something back."
He reached out and touched the stone. It felt cold, but not dead. Like something was breathing behind it—slow and ancient.
His system pinged softly.
[Unregistered Gate Detected]
[Warning: This gate is not bound to the Association registry.]
[Activate Personal Entry Protocol?]
Frank stared at the prompt.
"Not bound," he echoed. "So whoever used this… wanted it off the books."
He paused. Thought.
Then spoke aloud, because silence was starting to feel too loud.
"You could turn back now. Go home. Sell ten more kits. Build your rep. Stay safe."
The words hung there for a moment.
Then he added, quieter:
"But you're not here for safety anymore."
He tapped Activate.
The arch pulsed—faint and slow, like a heartbeat starting up after a long sleep.
Frank stepped back.
And then, for the first time, the gate shimmered open—revealing darkness beyond.
Not cold. Not empty.
Just waiting.
He checked his straps, pulled his hood up, and stepped to the edge of the threshold.
"One step in," he muttered. "Just to look."
And then he disappeared into the black.
The dungeon gate pulsed faintly behind Frank—dim runes circling slowly, whispering with quiet arcane breath.
He was just about to step through when—
"Didn't expect to see another vendor type out here."
Frank turned.
A tall man in a gray combat coat leaned casually against a sleek, branded cargo crate. Three support-class hunters stood nearby, loading gear marked with slick red insignias: VexGear™.
The man smiled. Clean-cut. Shiny teeth. Ambition in the eyes.
"Name's Laros," he said. "Laros Vex."
Frank didn't move. "Should I know that name?"
"Not yet," Laros said easily. "But you will."
He nodded at the gate behind Frank. "Bit of a coincidence running into someone else here, considering how… off-grid this site is."
Frank's eyes narrowed slightly. "Funny how coincidences always show up in high-potential zones."
"Right?" Laros chuckled. "I run a small logistics brand. Tactical kits, scroll bundles, the usual."
He gestured to a table being set up just off the trail—already lined with potions, flares, and compressed field packs.
"Figured we'd offer convenience to any hunters coming through. Real competitive stuff."
Frank took one step forward, hands in his pockets. "You're selling?"
"Of course," Laros said. "One-time setup, fast draw stock, priced to move. Some of us know how to serve the market before it forms."
One of the nearby hunters picked up a VexGear vial, turned it in his hand, and frowned. "Cap's loose."
Frank leaned in, curious. "Let me see that."
He checked the vial, sniffed the contents, then handed it back. "Stabilizer's cut. Cheap filler."
Laros's smile stiffened. "Not everyone needs premium gear."
Frank looked him over. "No, just the ones who plan on walking out of a dungeon."
Another hunter nearby glanced between the two. "You got stock too?"
Frank pulled a reinforced glyph wrap from his pack and set it on a crate. "Test it."
The hunter tapped it once. The glyph bloomed with clean white energy, forming a brief shield bubble that shimmered smooth and silent.
Another hunter whistled. "That's high-grade compression. No stutter. Where'd you get that?"
Frank shrugged. "Trade secrets."
Laros folded his arms. "Huh. You must be Frank… Hagan, right?"
Frank paused. "You've heard of me?"
"You've been nibbling at market share in the Nexus. People talk."
Frank smiled faintly. "Hope they're charging you full price."
Laros stepped forward, voice smooth but firmer now. "Friendly advice? Markets are shifting fast. You can't run solo forever. Scaling matters."
"I'm not scaling," Frank replied. "I'm adapting."
He turned toward the gate.
"You coming in?" Laros asked.
Frank glanced back. "No. You're waiting for traffic. I'm following questions."
With that, he stepped through the shimmering gate, leaving the cold air and Laros Vex behind.
For now.
Frank stepped through the gate, and the shimmer snapped closed behind him with a hush.
Outside, Laros's crew stayed behind—setting up shop on folding platforms and arranging kits with practiced hands.
One of the younger hunters, a wiry scout named Kez, glanced down at the glyph wrap Frank had left behind.
He tapped it again. The protective shimmer returned—quiet, clean, no energy bleed. "This guy… Hagan, right? His gear's weird."
"Custom-stitched," another hunter said. "You feel that tension response? It scales with your motion."
"Probably costs more," Kez muttered, "but it feels right. Not like that snap-coil junk you sold me last run."
Laros, sitting nearby with his boots up, didn't miss the comment. He sipped from his flask and kept his smile in place.
"It's preference," he said smoothly. "Some folks like boutique builds. But if you're moving units and clearing dungeons, consistency matters. I deliver scalable logistics."
The older hunter—Garran, a grizzled archer with a permanent scowl—held up a VexGear emergency barrier charm and turned it over.
"Pretty logo," he said. "But this rune's stamped, not carved."
Laros's voice sharpened just slightly. "Stamped means fast production. It works."
Garran sniffed. "Until it doesn't."
He pulled a different charm from his pouch—a dull black one with no branding. "This saved my arm last season. No seal. No sparkle. Just results."
Kez muttered, "The glyph wrap Hagan left behind felt like that."
Laros set his flask down and stood. "You're all missing the bigger picture. Flashy doesn't mean fake—and handcrafted doesn't mean holy."
Another scout nearby whispered, "Still, weird that Hagan just walked into a dead-zone gate without backup."
Garran smirked. "He didn't walk in to sell. He walked in to find something."
They all paused.
Even Laros.
Then Kez said, "Guess we'll see who walks back out."