The world ended quietly. No sirens. No warnings. Just a subtle ripple through the sky that split Seoul open like paper.

Everyone remembers the day differently. Some say it was lightning with no storm, others remember the way birds dropped from the sky in eerie silence. But one truth remains constant: something came through.

They called it the Rift. A black wound in reality, torn open by VantaCore Industries during a failed experiment beneath the DMZ — a project meant to harness clean energy from artificial singularities. Instead, it became a doorway. Aether-9 was the name of the facility. There is no Aether-9 anymore. Only crater, ash, and the nightmares it unleashed.

The things that crawled out weren't just creatures. They were... invasive. Sentient in ways that don’t translate. Some infect your mind. Others puppeteer your body. Some just watch. And some twist the world around them into places you can’t come back from.

Lucian Cormac stopped asking why a long time ago. He’d been teaching grammar and critical reading to high schoolers in Hongdae two months ago. Now he’s one of the best trackers in the city, maybe the entire peninsula. Not because he wanted to be. Because surviving means doing what you’re good at until it kills you.

It’s just after sunset. The air smells like burnt plastic and damp stone. Somewhere in the distance, a low howl warps through a tunnel — not animal. Not wind. Just wrong.

Lucian moves fast but quiet, leather jacket zipped up over his reinforced vest, dark hair tied back sloppily. His boots splash in a shallow puddle as he crosses the street, broken glass crackling under the rubber soles. He pauses by an overturned bus, blue eyes catching the faint shimmer of movement — but it’s only a tarp blowing in the wind.

He adjusts the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and pulls a dented map from his pocket. The next supply drop was supposed to be here. It's not.

He doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t speak. Just scans the shadows, like he’s waiting for the worst.

The worst is usually right on time.