Alph sprawled across the cave floor, limp and still. His arms and legs flung wide, one twisted under his chest. Blood dribbled from his nose, smearing dark over the stone. Tears cut through it now. Metal hung sharp in the air, salt stung his tongue. His chest hitched with shallow, ragged breaths. Pain clawed his ribs, body broken, mind numb.

  Father. Mother.

  Two figures he had never known in this life or the last. He had been an orphan on Earth, left on the steps of a church with no clues about his parents. In this life, he was also an orphan, but he at least knew who his parents were, even if he had no memories of them. That fact had always been a cold comfort.

  Now, though, he recalled their voices—no faces, but the sound of their voices left a heavy mark on his analytical mind, shattering it into emotional chaos.

  They were Lucia and Einar, my parents, Alph thought over and over.

  The repressed memory vanished as quickly as it had come. He craved more; he wanted to see their faces, to feel their warmth in a loving embrace. But reality was harsh; it was just a fleeting memory, a thread buried deep in his mind that had surfaced from the heavy toll Alph endured during the fusion process.

  Finally, Alph pushed himself up and wiped the tears and blood from his face.

  "Get a hold of yourself," he muttered, trying to reassure himself.

  A low rumble echoed through the cave, a rhythmic thudding that vibrated through the stone floor. Alph froze, his breath catching.

  Could it be the Mountain Cat or the Rock Goats?

  The sound grew, not closer, but larger, deeper.

  No, the Rock Goats travel in packs, and mountain cats would not make these kind of sounds. They were silent predators.

  Panic flared, cold and sharp, then he remembered. These mountains housed cliff wyverns, massive beasts with leathery wings and razor claws, something he never wished to encounter alone.

  He scrambled to the farthest corner, his body screaming with protest. He pushed his back against the rough rock, forcing himself flat. His mind raced, trying to ascertain the threat, searching for an escape. He had none. The sound was coming from outside the entrance.

  He closed his eyes, then activated Reduced Presence, cranking the Tier 1 skill to its absolute limit. He held his breath, every muscle rigid, listening to the approaching thud. Hoping the skill's cognitive concealment would mask his presence.

  Then he saw it; a beak appeared first, then the entire body as the creature peered into the cave entrance. It was a Griffin, not a Cliff Wyvern.

  Crap, Alph cursed. Griffins had incredible eyesight. His Reduced Presence skill could hide him from almost anything, but not a Griffin, and this one was staring right at him.

  The beast stepped inside; its front paw snapped the fishing line alarm he had rigged. Stones clattered across the cave floor. The griffin spooked, retreating from view. Alph's mind spun, searching for a move, any move. Something shifted, then. His body became transparent; light bent around him, rendering him invisible to the naked eye.

  Alph killed the surprise bubbling in his mind and tried not to make any sound. The griffin peered in again, but confusion filled its eyes as it tilted its head, looking at his position. It could not see him. He held his breath, focusing entirely on maintaining the skill. He recognized it; this was Invisibility, one of the more obscure Tier 1 skills a Rogue could inherit upon advancement.

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  The griffin advanced deeper into the cave, each step deliberate. It reached the spot where Alph had collapsed, where his blood still stained the stone, and lowered its head to examine the marks. The beast's confusion deepened; the scent was there, but the prey had vanished. It swept its gaze across the entire cavern, searching for movement, for any sign of life. Finding nothing, frustration rippled through its massive frame. It raked its talons across the wall near the entrance, gouging stone, then pivoted and stalked back out into the mountain air.

  Alph heard the wings flap and the sound grew distant. Only then did he breathe out. His back was sweaty; he had been this close to death. Griffins were Tier 3 creatures. Encountering one in the wild meant death for any Tier 2 professional, let alone a Tier 1. It had superior eyesight and sense of smell, with aerial advantage to boot. Yet its strength became its fatal weakness against a Rogue specialized in stealth. The cognitive filter of Reduced Presence combined with the visual obscurity of Invisibility had saved his life.

  Alph's thoughts sharpened in the darkness. The griffin marked the cave as its territory. No other predator would venture inside now. That did not mean he was safe. He pressed his back against the rough stone wall, feeling the cold seep through his shirt. His muscles ached; the adrenaline that had kept him upright during the confrontation drained away, leaving only exhaustion and the dull throb of his heart.

  He needed rest. The aerial threat overhead made leaving impossible until dawn broke across the mountain peaks.

  Wait for daylight. Hope the beast has flown far enough away, or better yet, that it's sleeping. His eyes closed, but his mind remained taut, alert to every sound echoing through the cavern. Water dripped in the distance. Wind whispered through cracks in the stone. His jaw clenched as he forced his body to settle into something between wakefulness and sleep, never fully surrendering to either. This was survival; this was all he could afford.

  Darkness clung to the cave entrance before sunrise; the rough stone was cast in shades of charcoal and deep shadow. Alph opened his eyes and rose, every muscle protesting. His body ached from the night spent motionless on the cold stone.

  He stepped out into the crisp mountain air. The sky above was a canvas of soft blues and emerging light. The air tasted clean, sharp with the scent of pine and damp earth. He scanned the horizon. No sign of the griffin. He began his trek, following the winding path mentioned in the contract.

  The sun warmed his skin. The landscape shifted from jagged peaks to rolling hills, sparsely dotted with hardy, wind-stunted trees. He walked for two to three hours, his gaze sweeping the terrain for the griffin or any other predators lurking in these mountains. His hunter's instincts, honed by countless hours in the wilderness, guided him.

  The mine came into view by late morning—a modest, rough-hewn operation tucked into a shallow valley. Four thatched-roof buildings clustered together, a lone chimney exhaling thin smoke. Miners emerged from the mountain's dark mouth, hunched and slow, their shapes stark against the shadows.

  Alph activated stealth skills and circled the small colony, studying its layout. The mine entrance gaped before him, shored up with rough-hewn timbers. A narrow path, worn smooth by countless footsteps, connected the buildings to the mine's mouth. He entered and moved toward a scaffolding that stood near the entrance. His gaze fixed on the small, elevated wooden structure; an administrative lookout, he surmised. When he crept onto it, he found him.

  A figure sat there, legs propped on the railing, munching on the bread. Alph focused his vision. The man wore clothes of finer weave than the miners, his hands clean, his posture relaxed. He held a piece of freshly baked bread, tearing at it with relish. This was the supervisor. Rook's description matched; a portly man with a neatly trimmed beard, a gold ring glinting on his finger.

  The mission parameters rang in his mind: make it look like an accident.

  Alph withdrew from the scaffolding. He needed to find the right spot inside the mine, a place where he could engineer a collapse that looked natural. He crept inward into the mine. The air grew colder, heavy with the scent of damp earth and minerals. He slipped past the few guards holding their clubs and whips, lazing at the forks. Inside, the mine was a labyrinth of dark tunnels, supported by rough timbers.

  Picks struck rock, and the low murmurs of the miners echoed through the cramped passages. Alph moved deeper, senses alert, searching. He needed a tunnel section with a weak ceiling, a natural fault line he could exploit.

  He located it after twenty minutes of careful exploration, a tunnel section where the ceiling bulged precariously. A rough seam of rock held a cluster of massive boulders in place. Roots and vines, remnants of the surface, snaked through the cracks, further weakening the structure. The vegetation held the boulders tight, preventing an immediate collapse.

  This was the spot. A perfect collapse point; a slight application of his druidic skill would make the ceiling fall.

  His plan solidified. He would lure the supervisor here, trigger a cave-in, and the supervisor would die in a tragic mining accident; no one would suspect foul play. Alph smiled grimly. The pieces were in place. Now, he needed the supervisor. He needed to create a situation that brought the supervisor to this location willingly.