Cain followed the warrior's outstretched finger, his gaze landed on a patch of ground that looked completely ordinary.
There were only dead leaves, a few stones, and some bugs crawling through the dirt.
'What should I look for, then?'
His Uncle J had once told him the Syndicate was built by men alone, a hidden pact between power and the underworld that stretched back to the Bronze Age.
Its entryways would never be obvious, but the signs were always there for those who knew how to look.
Cain knelt and spread out his innate magicules in the ground, searching for any trace of fluctuation nearby.
When he sensed nothing, he picked up a few stones scattered across the ground.
'Maybe this is what the statue wanted me to find.'
He held a mix of stones. Some were dull black, gray, or white, while others glinted with obsidian edges that caught the faint light.
A few even had metallic shards embedded within, likely remnants of lost technology.
But Cain wasn't one to take things at face value. He had studied the roots of humanity's rise. In the end, they were still just sticks and stones.
The most powerful secrets often wore the plainest masks.
One stone caught his eye. It was ugly and misshapen, with a splintered stick conspicuously jammed into its surface.
He ran his thumb along its edge, feeling the weight of time carved into its grain.
'Maybe they wanted it to be found if it was this easy.'
Cain stepped up to the statue and ran his hands along its surface, careful not to probe with magicules in case he triggered something.
"I apologize, old hero. This young one shall intrude on your resting place."
After a while, he found what looked like a subtle indentation on the statue's belt.
"I got it."
With a bit of force, he pushed the stone into place. It slid in perfectly, and a faint click echoed from somewhere deeper inside.
'I hope this is it.'
For a few heartbeats, nothing happened.
Then, the ground trembled beneath him. Dust shook off the statue as the warrior's hidden hand, locked for an unknown length of time, suddenly shifted and pointed in a new direction.
Stone grated against stone, echoing in Cain's ears as a deep rumble shook the ground, then a passageway opened beneath the statue's feet.
He didn't hesitate, dashing toward the dusty stairway, and the moment he crossed through, the steps began to retract behind him like the closing teeth of a metal jaw.
Finally, an entire wall slammed shut behind him, sealing off any chance of retreat.
Now surrounded by complete darkness, Cain tried to cast a spell, but his magicules stayed silent. With no other choice, he kept moving, his footsteps echoing along the dry steel floor.
Cain's heart thudded against his ribs.
His fingers trailed along the smooth, unmarked wall, searching for something, anything, to hold on to. Something to keep the fear from spilling over.
'I should start shouting for help now, should I?'
Then the floor shifted beneath him, sudden and subtle, sending a jolt through his spine.
'I'm not scared at all! Aunt Roberta said I'm a man now.'
Suddenly, everything stopped.
A thin beam of green light sliced through the darkness.
Cain stiffened and his eyes shut on instinct.
It started at his head and swept slowly down to his feet. He knew better than to resist. If they meant to kill him, they would have done it without the ceremony.
The light vanished, returning the cold silence. Then, a panel to his right lit up, glowing with a crimson outline that cast eerie shadows along the metallic floor.
A fractured voice crawled through the chamber, like rusted steel grinding against itself.
"Channel energy into the panel."
Cain swallowed hard. His eyes scanned the chamber.
He could feel massive energy signatures lurking nearby, ready to strike at the slightest misstep.
'Grandpa, I should be fine, right? What if... what if they changed their policies all of a sudden?'
He couldn't even pinpoint their locations. The pressure felt like it came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Then the mechanical voice repeated the prompt.
"Channel energy into the panel."
Reluctantly, he raised his left hand to the panel, fingertips brushing the smooth surface where his palm was meant to rest.
Magicules surged from his cells, flowing through every pore in his skin.
Ding!
A crisp tone echoed through the chamber. All the crimson lights turned green, their sudden brightness confirming he had passed.
'Thank goodness.'
Cain exhaled, his muscles loosening as he moved forward.
He still felt the weight of unseen eyes, but the pressure of hostile energy had faded.
As he stepped further inside, he found a bar stretching beneath an arched stone ceiling. Its surface gleamed with polished wood, offering both sophistication and simplicity.
Rows of crystalline bottles, ancient and flawless, lined the walls in perfect symmetry, their reflections fractured across the stone floor.
The air carried the scent of aged whiskey and curling recreational smoke.
Cain swept his gaze cautiously across the room, careful not to linger on any single figure.
The man on the leather sofa pulled Cain's attention first. He sat slouched, arms stretched like he owned the air around him. A white collar wrapped his neck, metallic veins trailing up his bare arms. His fingers flexed slightly, as if testing invisible strings.
Cain swallowed and shifted his gaze to the far corner, where a woman sat shrouded in shadow.
She remained still, hands folded neatly over a small, unmarked book. A hood concealed most of her face, but strands of silver hair slipped through at the edges.
His eyes moved again, this time to the bar. A man with a metal arm leaned against the counter, tapping a quiet rhythm with his fingers.
Cain watched his fingers tap lightly against the wood, four quick beats, pause, four again.
Then a flicker of motion caught his eye.
The barkeeper, dressed in a sharp suit with one eye burning through a mask of living flame, was calmly polishing a glass.
His movements were fluid and exact, like someone who had done it a million times and would keep doing it long after this world ended.
When the man's gaze reached Cain, it didn't linger. It acknowledged him briefly, like noticing a new painting hung on the wall.
His hand moved in a smooth arc, gesturing toward the empty seats.
"Young master, a multitude of seats await your choosing."
The words carried politeness, even a touch of warmth, but beneath them lay something firmer. This place had rules, and the barkeeper had drawn the lines where no one else could see.
Cain nodded and forced his feet to move. The pressure in the man's presence was suffocating, like stone pressing into his spine.
'This man was the most terrifying of them all.'