The truck rolled through the edge of Arandom with the same tired growl it had carried into the desert.

Neo sat in the back with one shoulder against the metal wall and let the city draw closer through the dusty window. Across from him, Alice had her arms folded and her head slightly lowered, not asleep, not resting either. Just quiet in that way she always had, except this time the quiet dragged weight behind it. Her Soul Essence had been scraped thin in Dry Scar, and even if she hid it better than most people, the body always collected its price in the end.

The old driver kept his attention on the road. He did not turn around once. He only spoke when the silence had stretched long enough that even he probably found it stubborn.

"You two run into trouble?"

Neo answered first. "A little."

From the front, the old man gave a short grunt. "That usually means a lot."

Neo did not bother denying it. Alice didn’t either.

The truck took a corner, and the city outside shifted from low streets into broader roads with cleaner lights. Dust still clung to Neo’s clothes. Blood too, a darker map dried into the fabric. His body felt different under all of it. The number itself had been absurd enough, but the actual change lived deeper than the Soul Window. More force in the muscles. More presence in the soul. The jump had left a rough kind of pleasure under his skin that he still hadn’t decided whether he liked or distrusted more.

’1258.’

It sounded beautiful.

Also obscene.

The old man spoke again after a while. "Good thing you came back before dark. Dry Scar grows teeth when the sun goes."

Neo leaned his head lightly against the wall. "We noticed it already had plenty."

That got the old man to huff once, almost a laugh. "Fair."

No one said much after that. There wasn’t much to say. The corpse stayed out there. The desert could chew him into sand at its own pace.

By the time the truck pulled into the part of the city where Neo and Alice needed to get off, the air inside had gone stale with fatigue. The old man stopped without ceremony and jerked his chin toward the door.

"You’re here."

Neo pushed it open and climbed down first. Alice followed a second later, slower than before, though not by much. The truck idled behind them while the old man waited, hands still on the wheel.

Neo turned toward her once they stepped onto the pavement.

"You good?"

Alice adjusted the strap of the bag she had brought, though it held little enough now. "I’ll live."

"That inspiring, huh."

Her mouth moved a little at that. Not really a smile. Close enough. "I’m low. I need sleep and Soul Essence."

Neo nodded. "Yeah."

He was about to leave it there when he added, "Next time, don’t spend yourself dry that early."

Alice lifted her chin slightly. "Next time, kill him faster."

Neo snorted under his breath. "That was my plan. He was rude about it."

Alice looked him over once, from the blood on his clothes to the posture that had changed since he consumed the Soul Core. "You’re stronger."

Neo’s expression stayed flat. "I know."

"That much?"

"That much."

She accepted that answer without asking for more. Alice was good at that. Most people pushed when they sensed something useful. She didn’t. Maybe because she didn’t care. Maybe because she knew better than to pull at threads just because they were hanging loose.

"Will you go out again before Gray Hand?" she asked.

Neo slipped his hands into his pockets. "Probably."

Alice nodded once. "Message me if you do."

Neo gave a small tilt of his head. "You’ll come?"

"I didn’t almost die in Dry Scar just to stop now."

That sounded more like her.

Neo looked at her for half a beat and said, "Good."

Alice turned first. "Rest."

"You too."

She walked off without another word, moving through the street with that same reserved steadiness she carried into everything. Neo watched her go only until she reached the next corner, then turned toward his own building.

His apartment felt smaller than usual when he stepped inside.

Not physically. Physically it was the same cheap place with tired walls and all the charm of a punishment. What changed was him. After the desert, after the fight, after consuming a man who had turned Dry Scar into his own ugly kingdom, the room felt meaner and thinner somehow, like it had lost the right to impress him with how miserable it was.

Neo shut the door, dropped his shoes near the entrance, and stood there for a few seconds in the quiet.

’Right. Home sweet home.’

He showered first.

Dust came off him in gray streams. Blood followed in darker ribbons. By the time the water cleared, the fight had stopped clinging to his skin, though not to his mind. He dried himself, pulled on fresh clothes, and sat on the edge of the bed with one hand against his knee.

Then he opened the Soul Window.

[Soul-Window]

Name: Neo

Age: 16

Soul Core: Vein

[1258/2500 Vein]

Primary Class: Soul Reaver

Rank: Divine

Secondary Classes:

Duskmane Beast - Ascendant

Soul Reader - Legendary

Glassbrood Spider - Ascendant

Berserk Swordsman - Saint

Dune Sculptor - Saint

Neo stared at the number first.

That was the part that still wanted another look.

From 222 to 1258.

A ridiculous leap.

A murderous one.

That bastard had carved his way through plenty of people before Neo ever got his hands on him. Their deaths had become fuel, and now that fuel sat inside Neo’s soul like it had always meant to end there.

His attention shifted down.

[Dune Sculptor - Saint]

[Description: A Saint-ranked class that shapes sand into weapons, traps, false bodies, and shifting terrain. In arid ground, its wielder becomes far more dangerous, turning the battlefield itself into a patient weapon.]

[Abilities]

[Sand Manipulation - Unlocked]

[Buried Spike - Unlocked]

[Shifting Ground - More mastery required]

[Sand Shell - More mastery required]

[Dune Domain - More mastery required]

Neo read it twice.

’This class is ridiculous.’

That was the only honest reaction.

Dry Scar had made the assassin look worse than he deserved at first because Neo had hated him too much to give him credit. Now, sitting on his bed with the class inside him, the truth came out cleaner. The bastard had been terrifying for a reason. In a place like that, with enough sand underfoot and enough room to make the ground itself lie, this class was filthy.

Neo closed the window and stood.

He didn’t stay in the apartment. No point. The room had no sand, and trying to test a desert class indoors would be the sort of stupidity people got mocked for after surviving the hard part.

So he went up.

The rooftop was empty at that hour, one stretch of concrete under the night with low walls, old vents, and a shallow collection of grit gathered in the corners where the wind had spent months sweeping the city’s leftovers. Not much. Enough.

Neo crouched near one of those corners and pressed his hand into the dust and loose sand collected there.

He pulled at it with his will.

The first response came awkwardly. A twitch. A thin line of grit climbing over itself like it wasn’t sure yet whether it obeyed him or only tolerated the idea.

Neo frowned.

"Come on."

He tried again.

This time the sand lifted more cleanly, a narrow ribbon coiling up from the corner and hanging above his palm. It moved badly, but it moved. He twisted his wrist and the little stream followed, slow and ugly, before collapsing back down when his focus broke.

Neo stared at it.

A grin tugged once at the edge of his mouth.

’Yeah. This one’s the real deal.’

He tested Buried Spike next.

The first attempt failed outright. The dust below his hand compacted a little, nothing more. The second gave him something better, a short, vicious shard punching out of the rooftop grit before breaking apart at once. On the third try, the spike came up fast enough to satisfy him, thrusting from the ground with a nasty little speed that would have gone straight through a calf if aimed well.

Neo straightened and exhaled through his nose.

The rooftop wind crossed his face. The city spread around him in towers, lights, windows, distant traffic, and all the things that still did not feel entirely his.

Gray Hand surfaced in his mind again.

Not as a vague future thing. Not as one possibility among many.

As the next step.

With Dune Sculptor, with Soul Reaver, with everything he had dragged into himself so far, entering Gray Hand no longer felt like ambition. It felt like the shortest road toward bigger prey.

Neo looked out over Arandom and slid both hands into his pockets.

"Yeah," he muttered to the night. "I’m getting in."