Reivo's training was off that day.
His strikes were mistimed. His footwork, sloppy. Twice, he nearly slipped on a patch of frost in the training yard. And once, during a spar, he left his side open—an opening Baker exploited without hesitation. The flat of the old man's wooden blade slammed into Reivo's ribs so hard, it knocked the breath from his lungs.
"Focus, boy!" Baker barked, looming over him as he gasped for air. "Your enemy won't care if it's your birthday or your head's full of clouds. One mistake on the field, and you're dead. Again!"
Reivo pushed himself up slowly, jaw tight. "Understood."
Baker's one good eye narrowed, his remaining arm resting on the hilt of his cane. "You've been sharp for months. What's crawling under your skin today?"
Reivo said nothing.
The veteran grunted. "Fix it by tomorrow, or I'll beat the sloppiness out of you with my boot."
Training ended without further comment. Reivo went through his evening drills on autopilot, every movement technically correct but empty. Even Lira noticed. She gave him a worried glance at dinner but didn't say a word. No one did.
No one knew what tomorrow meant for him.
No one but Reivo.
This was it.
The final day of his seventeenth year.
The last day before the Awakening.
And if the Will of the World passed him by—if he didn't Awaken—then everything he'd worked for would vanish into ash.
Strength. Discipline. Endurance. All useless in a world where power came from the System.
---
By the time the moon was high in the sky, Reivo sat alone in his room, stripped down to his undershirt. He perched on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the flickering candle on the desk.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
His body ached from the day's drills. His knuckles were split and scabbed. But that wasn't what bothered him. It was the silence. The weight of unknowing.
What if nothing happens?
What if I stay like this—strong, but powerless?
What if I never leave this fortress?
What if everything I've done still isn't enough?
He didn't fear death anymore.
He feared insignificance.
The clock on the wall struck midnight.
Once.
Then twice.
And then—
Nothing.
No warmth.
No light.
No voice.
Just silence.
Reivo sat still, shoulders tense. His hands trembled slightly.
"…That's it?" he whispered into the dark. "After everything?"
No one answered.
He looked down at his palms. Strong hands. Scarred hands. Hands that had buried his family. Hands that had once held back a goblin boss.
And yet… still not enough.
A dry, bitter laugh escaped his throat. He reached for the knife on his table.
Maybe it would've been better if I had died back then.
The cold steel pressed against the skin of his neck. Just a touch.
If the Will doesn't want me… why should I want myself?
He inhaled—
And then—
DING.
A chime rang out, deep and unnatural.
A pale screen of light blinked into existence before him, hovering silently in the air. Reivo froze. The knife slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.
Letters began to form, glowing with a cold, silver-blue shimmer.
---
[Welcome to the System, Reivo.]
[Processing Class...]
[Class Selected: Summoner]
[Analyzing Personal History, Traits, and Resonance...]
[Condition Met: Title Granted.]
[Cursed Title Selected: Voice of the Dreamless Depths]
> He speaks the language of what should never have stirred—calling from the abyss where even dreams are swallowed.
Caution: This title exerts passive influence. Every time the host sleeps, nightmares will haunt him.
---
Reivo could only stare.
"Summoner…?" he whispered.
A class. He had a class.
A real class.
But the title… those words gnawed at the edge of his sanity. The Dreamless Depths. The phrase alone made his skin crawl. It felt old. Wrong. Like something he shouldn't remember but somehow did.
A second screen opened.
---
[System Interface Unlocked]
> Class: Summoner
Level: 1
Mana Core: Dormant
Titles: Voice of the Dreamless Depths [Cursed]
Summoning Path: Nightmare Pact
Contracts: None
Passive Effect (Title): Dreamless Murmur — Your presence distorts dreams and weakens mental defenses nearby. Others may feel as though creatures are observing and whispering to them.
---
Reivo stood slowly. The system's glow reflected in his sharp green eyes. He reached out mentally, touching the skill slot. A new menu unfolded.
Choose First Skill:
Warning: The strength, type, and rarity of available skills are determined randomly. Higher-tier skills may have dangerous prerequisites.
---
1. Waking Terror (Normal)
> Unleash a minor mental shockwave through a summoned Nightmare. Enemies within range experience illusions and fear for 5 seconds.
Drawback: Overuse causes sharp pain in the user's eyes and possible temporary blindness.
---
2. Veil of the Forgotten (Rare)
> Cast an ethereal veil around you and your summoned creatures, distorting your presence and dulling detection.
-Minor stealth effect
-Reduces noise and visibility
-Boosts evasion for summoned Nightmares
Drawback: If used repeatedly, begins to blur your sense of self, making it harder to distinguish reality from illusion.
---
3. Nightborn Pact (Epic)
> Enter a self-induced sleep state to reach a Nightmare's personal realm. Within this dream-territory, you must survive its test.
If successful, forge a permanent contract with a powerful Nightmare.
The summoned creature will be bound to your will.
Drawback: If you fail… you may not wake again.
---
Reivo didn't choose right away.
His breathing slowed. The panic and despair still lingered—but they no longer ruled him.
He had a system.
He was chosen.
But not like the others.
Not like anyone.
"…Nightmare Pact," he murmured, sitting down again, his gaze locked on the glowing screen.
And for the first time in years—
He smiled.
Not a warm smile.
Not a happy one.
But something colder. Sharper.
Real.