The shadow in the chair unfolded into a man. Thin, almost gaunt, wearing an impeccably tailored suit that absorbed light rather than reflected it. His face remained mostly hidden, but his eyes caught what little illumination filtered through the window blinds.

  "The Void Seed," the man said. "And the Necromancer's Ring. Both relics of significant value to certain interested parties."

  Magi reached into his pocket, feeling the small black cube. The ring remained cool on his finger. "The loot box gave them to me."

  "Ah." The man's voice carried no emotion. "So you believe finder's rights apply to dimensional artifacts?"

  "I believe I'm tired," Magi replied. "And you're in my chair."

  A soft chuckle. "Most people would be terrified to find a Syndicate operative in their home."

  Magi shrugged. "Most people have nice furniture worth protecting."

  This earned a longer pause.

  The shadow man stood, his movements fluid and economical. "The Obsidian Syndicate tracks all artifacts above B-class. Those in your possession qualify as A-class, possibly higher. We cataloged them for acquisition before the Rift closed."

  "So you came to buy them," Magi concluded.

  The man's posture shifted slightly. "Not exactly."

  "To steal them."

  Another pause. "To acquire them through appropriate channels."

  Magi leaned against the wall. "What are the appropriate channels for breaking into someone's apartment?"

  "This is merely an information-gathering exercise." The man moved toward Magi, staying just at the edge of the shadows. "The Syndicate is willing to compensate you. The ring alone would fetch six figures."

  "I don't need money."

  The man stopped. "Everyone needs money."

  "I need less paperwork."

  Silence stretched between them. The intruder seemed to reassess his approach. "What do you need, Mr. Necros?"

  Magi considered the question. "Sleep. Right now."

  "You're either very brave or very stupid," the man said, his voice hardening slightly. "The Syndicate doesn't make offers twice."

  "I didn't hear an offer. I heard a threat wrapped in business jargon."

  The shadow man slipped something from his pocket, a small card.

  He placed it on Magi's kitchen table with a soft tap. "When you reconsider, call this number. The Syndicate can offer more than money. We can offer answers."

  "About what?"

  "About why your powers don't follow the rules everyone else has to live by."

  Magi kept his expression neutral. "I follow the basics."

  "Indeed." The man moved to the window. "We'll be in touch, Anomaly."

  He slipped through the window before Magi could respond, his form dissolving into the night air like smoke.

  Magi locked the window, checked his wards. Basic protections he'd created using combinations of his attributes, and then went to bed without looking at the card on his table.

  Sleep came quickly, as it always did. His dreams were empty and restful.

  ***

  Sunlight pressed against his eyelids, warm and insistent. Magi opened his eyes to brightness filling his small bedroom. He checked his watch: 8:42 AM.

  Late. Very late by his standards.

  He sat up, momentarily disoriented. Had last night happened? The conversation with the Syndicate operative felt dreamlike in the morning light.

  He quickly checked his door. Still intact, no signs of forced entry. The window remained locked from the inside.

  Magi dressed methodically: jeans, t-shirt, hoodie. The Necromancer's Ring still sat on his finger, neither warm nor cold now, simply present. The Void Seed remained in his pocket where he'd left it.

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  He entered the living room cautiously.

  The chair was empty. No shadows lurked in corners. His sparse belongings remained undisturbed.

  Except for the small white card sitting perfectly centered on his kitchen table.

  Magi approached it slowly.

  The card was simple… expensive cardstock, no logo, no name. Just a phone number in elegant black typography. He picked it up, feeling the weight of the paper between his fingers. High quality. The Syndicate didn't skimp on details.

  His first instinct was to burn it. Basic Fire would reduce it to ash in seconds.

  Instead, he carried it to his desk drawer and placed it inside, shutting it firmly. Postponement.

  He made breakfast with mechanical efficiency. Two eggs, exactly three strips of bacon, toast with precisely twelve grams of butter. While eating, he checked the Guild news feed on his tablet.

  The headline immediately caught his attention:

  GOLDEN LIONS FINED FOR FALSIFIED MISSION REPORT

  Below that, a smaller headline:

  Echo Squad Receives Unusual Field Promotion

  Magi skimmed the articles. The first detailed how Keller's team had attempted to claim primary credit for the bone construct's defeat, only to have multiple witnesses contradict their report. The fine was substantial, enough to erase any profit from their last three missions.

  The second article was shorter but more concerning. It listed Echo Squad's promotion to C-Rank and mentioned Magi's "unconventional combat certification" specifically.

  There was speculation about his abilities, referencing the arena incident where he'd stopped Keller's attack. Phrases like "administrative exception" and "unprecedented qualification" appeared multiple times.

  So much for keeping a low profile.

  His tablet pinged with a message from Marc:

  Meeting at the Guild Hall at 11. New contract options. Don't be late.

  Magi responded with a simple "Acknowledged" and finished his breakfast.

  He washed his plate and utensils immediately, dried them, and returned them to their exact positions in the cabinets. Routine mattered. Structure mattered.

  Before leaving, he checked his bank account. The payment for yesterday's mission had been processed overnight, a substantial sum, the largest single deposit he'd received since the Awakening.

  His promotion to combat status had triggered an automatic pay scale adjustment.

  And there it was, already deducted: the higher tax rate. C-Rank Raiders paid a "specialized service" tax that D-Ranks didn't. The government needed funds to rebuild infrastructure damaged in Rift breakthroughs, and higher-ranked Raiders were expected to contribute more.

  Magi frowned at the numbers. The net gain was still positive, but less than he'd calculated. He'd need to adjust his apartment budget.

  He closed the app and pocketed his tablet. The Void Seed pulsed once, almost like a greeting, as he touched it. The Necromancer's Ring remained inert.

  His neighbors avoided eye contact as he walked down the hallway. Yesterday they'd barely noticed him. Today they stepped aside, gazes flicking to his face and then away quickly.

  Word traveled fast in Raider circles. His building housed mostly D and E-Rank teams, people who scraped by on minimal contracts.

  Now he was C-Rank. Different category. Different rules.

  The street outside felt different too. A Blackstone Guild car slowed as it passed him. Two enforcers inside watched him until they turned the corner. Raiders from other teams noticed him, whispered to each other. A few nodded respectfully.

  This was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid.

  He took a detour, avoiding the main thoroughfares where Raiders congregated. The longer route added seven minutes to his journey but reduced potential interactions by approximately eighty percent.

  Guild Hall Plaza was busy when he arrived. Teams gathering, contracts being negotiated, equipment vendors hawking their wares. Magi kept his head down, but it didn't help. Conversations paused as he passed. People pointed discreetly.

  "There he is," someone whispered too loudly. "The guy who reflected the necrotic blast."

  "I heard he took down half the skeleton army alone," another voice added.

  Magi ignored them all, heading straight for the Guild Hall entrance. The security scanner beeped as he passed through, registering his newly upgraded credentials automatically.

  "Mr. Necros."

  He turned to find Administrator Whitehall standing nearby, tablet in hand.

  "Your team is waiting in Conference Room Three," she said, studying him with analytical precision. "The Certification Committee would like to schedule your formal assessment next week."

  "I thought I was already certified."

  "Provisionally," she clarified. "The formal testing is a formality at this point, but required for permanent status."

  More paperwork. More attention. More complications.

  "You don't seem pleased with your promotion," Whitehall observed.

  Magi didn't answer immediately. Finally, he said, "Higher tax bracket."

  The corner of her mouth twitched. "Indeed. The price of success." She gestured toward the elevators. "Your team is waiting."

  He nodded and moved past her. The elevator was mercifully empty. As the doors closed, he caught sight of a man in a dark suit watching from across the lobby, not the same man from last night, but similar in bearing and attention.

  The Syndicate was watching. The Guild was watching. His promotion had dragged him directly into the spotlight he'd been avoiding since the Awakening.

  Conference Room Three was small but comfortable. Marc, Layla, Jax and Eli were already seated around the table, reviewing contract options on the display screen.

  "There he is!" Layla called. "The legend himself!"

  Magi frowned. "Don't."

  "Too late," Jax said with a smirk. "You're trending on Raider forums. 'The Basic Badass' they're calling you."

  "That's horrible," Magi said, taking a seat.

  "Could be worse," Marc offered. "At least they didn't go with 'The Fundamental Force' like some were suggesting."

  Eli smiled sympathetically. "Fame was inevitable after yesterday. The good news is we have our pick of contracts now. C-Rank opens up much better options."

  Magi glanced at the display. The contracts paid well, very well compared to what they'd been working before. But each came with additional requirements: reports, debriefs, coordination with other teams. More structure. More visibility.

  "We don't have to decide immediately," Marc said, noticing Magi's expression. "We can take until tomorrow to consider our options."

  Magi nodded, already calculating the time investments each contract would require against the financial compensation.

  The tax rate changed everything. His apartment fund would take longer to accumulate than he'd planned.

  He sighed quietly. "I should've stayed D-rank."