Red.

  The color, a fiery bloom staining the heavens above the forsaken warehouse, struck Hoàng Minh D??ng’s gut with the precision of a blade. It was not the simple red of a sunset or the polite blush of a new season; no, this was a visceral shade, as if the sky itself bled. Red Portals—these were no trifles of fate, no random bursts of cosmic mischief. They did not flicker like hesitant flames; they were not capricious in their winking ambiguity. Red Portals were the epitome of certainty. They were final.

  They were death.

  And that certainty clawed at his insides.

  The earth beneath him gave a reluctant groan as he landed, boots slamming against the cold pavement, an audible punctuation to the chaos unspooling around him. The air, thick with the metallic tang of mana residue, felt wrong—sharp, brittle, unnatural—as if it had been peeled from another world entirely. Local Enforcement officers scurried like ants, hurried in their rituals of barricading, their frenzied movements accentuated by the whirring drones overhead, each one a mechanical wasp probing at the rift's enigmatic surface.

  > “Status!” D??ng's voice boomed, a low rumble of authority tempered by a visible undercurrent of something darker.

  The commander, a pale, thin-faced man, snapped to attention, his salute more a reflex than anything born of military decorum.

  > “Sir—rift manifested thirty minutes ago. Initially cataloged as a C-rank dungeon. A small-time team entered, using what we suspect are forged temporary licenses.”

  D??ng’s brow furrowed, sharp as the crack of a whip. “Forged licenses? Who?”

  The commander hesitated, then handed over a scroll—real parchment, but already imbued with the delicate glow of enchanted runes. D??ng unfurled it with a languid flick of his fingers, his eyes scanning the text like a predator over its prey. And then—there it was, that name, like a dagger piercing the air, like a sickening rupture in the quietude of his chest.

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  >Lê Thu Hà.

  Age: 14. Rank: D.

  Weapon: Polearm

  Type: Support-type

  A fake. But no, not a fake. Not to him.

  The name, familiar as the curve of his own hand, struck with the force of a long-forgotten memory—one that broke against him like a wave against jagged rocks.

  Goddammit, Emily.

  The words were a whisper, torn from his throat, a strange echo of grief and guilt wrapped in a shudder of recognition.

  John and Rose’s child.

  The girl who had once called him “chú (uncle)” with that soft innocence only a child could manage, the same girl who had once fallen asleep in his arms after crying over her absent sister. The one whose tiny fingers had clutched a phoenix-feather pendant—the one he’d given her on her eighth birthday, promising that it would bring luck if she ever really needed it.

  And now? She was inside a Red Portal, alone, unknown.

  Without them knowing.

  > “Sir, we’ve tried pinging the rift for responsiveness. There’s no echo. No reaction. We believe it’s sealed... from the inside,” the commander added, his voice now as thin as his complexion.

  “Of course it is,” D??ng growled, the words scraping from his throat, a bitter bitterness rising in his chest.

  He kneeled, placing his palm against the stone ground, as if expecting it to offer some salve, some answer. His fingers splayed against the surface, and magic—wild, untamed—surged upward, crackling up his limbs in electric whispers. Sparks like molten gold danced across his skin, igniting the air with their feverish glow. His pupils narrowed into slits, the runic symbols etched into his arms burning into reality itself.

  He reached.

  He pressed.

  But nothing came back.

  > “She’s alive in there,” D??ng muttered to no one in particular, more as a quiet defiance to the universe itself than a reassurance. “I know it. She has to be.”

  The portal pulsed. Mockingly silent. Impossibly calm.

  One of the technicians shifted uncomfortably beside him. "Sir, we've reached out to Ellis Dawn HQ. They've informed us that if this rift remains sealed for more than twenty-four hours... it will be classified as an Eternal Veil."

  The words cut through the air with a chill that could freeze even the most desperate of hearts.

  Eternal Veil.

  A Red Portal that would never open again, a tomb sealed forever beneath the weight of time and space—a grave no hand could reach, no hope could touch.

  D??ng’s blood turned to ice. His hands clenched into fists, as if to contain the fury that threatened to explode.

  > “No,” he snapped, standing sharply, his posture stiff with an unseen burden. “Not this one.”

  He stepped forward, his hands igniting with runic fire, his mana sizzling the air around him. The ground groaned beneath him, cracked, splintered. The rift shuddered as if to respond, but the seal held.

  > “This is my niece in there,” he said, his voice rising now—something fierce in it, something primal, like a war drum calling its army to battle. “Get me ten mana amplifiers, a stabilizing array, and every high-tier mage in this damn city. We're breaking it open, even if I have to burn my soul.”

  The commander’s hesitation was palpable, a breath drawn too shallow for comfort. “And what do I tell Rose and John?”

  D??ng didn’t answer.

  He couldn’t.

  Because the thought of facing them, of telling them this cold, merciless truth—that their child, their precious little girl, was lost in a world that might swallow her whole—was a weight so monstrous, so inescapable, that even his S+ rank seemed fragile in its grip.