"Some men are forged by Misery. Others… are shattered by it first."
A pale boy stood alone in the dark night, his right arm missing, blood was streaming from thier. Blood soaked his tattered clothes and pooled at his feet.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his body swaying from blood loss yet his grip on the dagger remains firm. He trembling, but unyielding. His eyes burning not with fear, but with fury.
He screamed into the abyss, voice hoarse but unbroken.
"Come get me, you damn dogs!"
And then, he lunged.
---
Three Weeks Earlier
A sleek, black RFC a Road-Floating Car came to a silent halt, its smooth, tireless frame hovering just inches above the cracked asphalt. Unlike other conventional vehicles, it glided effortlessly over any kind of rough terrain, as it was designed as a high-performance and cost-efficient taxi.
The door of car slid open with a soft hiss, releasing a gust of warm air that clashed against the coolness of winter.
A lone figure stepped out.
He wore a long, high-collared coat, its heavy fabric tailored with precise, intricate buttons. Beneath it, a layered vest hugged his frame, giving him an air of quiet authority despite the cold gnawing at his skin.
As he exited the RFC, he ran a hand through his hair with his left hand, pushing back unruly strands while shooting a glance at the sky. A Redrone—a drone equipped with an Artifact of resonance—hovered in the distance, its sensors scanning for any signs of gate openings.
"It seems the rumors were true. A gate had opened in the outer area of Sector 7. But at least no one had died."
With that thought, his gaze shifted toward the pristine building ahead.
For a brief moment, he cast a quick glance at the RFC as it silently glided away, its sleek frame vanishing into the night. Light blue neon light flickered overhead, their dying glow painting fractured reflections on the wet pavement. The air fill with the smell of rust, oil, and decay a sharp contrast to the polished luxury he had just stepped out of.
The streets were nearly empty, save for the scattered silhouettes of the forgotten. Figures huddled in shadowed doorways, wrapped in layers of ragged cloth, their hollow eyes tracking his every movement.
He exhaled slowly, his breath curling into the frozen air.
A tall, enigmatic figure, his pale skin contrasted sharply against the dim streetlights. His chiseled jawline was tense with quiet confidence, but his eyes—sharp, piercing, and glowing faintly red under the night sky—were clouded with exhaustion. If he were given a bed right now, he would collapse into sleep instantly.
Long, unkempt black hair fell over his face, partially veiling his unreadable gaze, as if he carried the weight of a thousand untold stories. Dark markings traced his skin like scars of an unspoken past, adding an air of mystery.
Then, without hesitation, he moved forward—his deliberate steps echoing through the newly made ruins of Sector 7.
And after what felt like an eternity of walking, he stopped.
Before him stood an enormous structure. Unlike the crumbling buildings around it, its polished surface gleamed under pristine white lights—untouched by the power failures plaguing Sector 7. Above the massive doors, an illuminated sign glowed:
"Sector 0 - Human Domain Awakening Center."
Though its physical location was in Sector 7, this building belonged to Sector 0, where the alliance headquarters lay—as symbol of their control over the entire human domain.
As he stood before the imposing structure of the Outer Awakening Center, Kaelvren let out a slow breath. This place wasn't for the privileged—it was for the ones without status, the forgotten, the non-privileged ones.
In contrast, the Inner Awakening Center stood at the heart of Sector 7. Officially, it was said to be for everyone, but the truth was well-known—it belonged to the noble families, especially the House of Terra, the so-called descendants of the Earth Goddess. Nothing much changed between the two facilities in purpose, yet the differences were undeniable.
Everything there was meticulously arranged—personalized guidance, state-of-the-art medical systems, and specialized support teams—all designed to protect and preserve the body while the soul ventured into the Seekers' Trial. In many Inner Awakening Centers across different sectors, awakeners were even provided with basic artifacts to aid their survival during the trial. But the contrast between centers was visible in every detail. In the Inner Awakening Center, soft leather chairs lined the halls, offering calm and comfort. Meanwhile, here in the Outer Awakening Center, the seating was made of cold, reinforced metal. This wasn't just about luxury—it was a silent reminder of where one stood in the grand hierarchy.
And here, in the Outer Awakening Center, you were on your own.
Kaelvren's fingers curled into a fist. He had known this truth for years, yet standing before it now, it felt heavier. Even so, he had no intention of backing down.
This was it.
The Awakening.
He had waited his entire life for this moment.
Or perhaps… not.
With slow, deliberate steps, he entered the facility.
---
Inside the Awakening Center
The moment he stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. The sterile air Cleanse over him, stripping away the stench of outside decay. The walls gleamed a pristine white, lined with dark blue light strips humming softly.
Rows of waiting seats stretched across the hall, filled with young candidates like him. Some fidgeted, their legs bouncing with nervous energy. Others sat stiff, their expressions unreadable. But they all shared the same look in their eyes—fear.
At the center of the vast reception hall stood a massive desk, but it wasn't manned by just one figure. Several women in crisp, pristine uniforms stood behind it, each observing the steady stream of newcomers with sharp, calculating eyes. They moved with practiced precision, their posture rigid, reflecting the authority of the noble families or powerful alliances they served.
Each woman bore the same emblem stitched onto her uniform—a pair of balanced scales resting on the hilt of an upright sword. It wasn't just a symbol. It was a statement.
They served one of the Nine—the revered and feared Houses of War.
The Warbringers.
As Kaelvren stepped forward, one of the women turned her gaze toward him. Her expression was composed, cold, and utterly controlled. She radiated quiet command, the type that didn't need to shout to be obeyed.
Her voice rang out—smooth and emotionless, devoid of warmth.
"Since when have you been experiencing the symptoms of the Seeker's Summons?"
Kaelvren met her eyes. "It's been two days," he replied firmly.
A faint smirk curved the edge of her lips. "Good timing. Any later… and you would've unraveled into strings of energy and vanished from this world. Just like one did today in the Chamber Hall."
Her tone never changed. It was simply a fact—chilling and final.
"ID," she requested.
Kaelvren reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a well-preserved ID card. Despite its age, the surface was clean, edges crisp. he placed it on the desk with a form look.
She scanned it.
— Name: Kaelvren Stormborn
— Age: Fourteen
— Registered Citizen of: Sector 4
— Permanent ID: 712-09-4035
Her expression remained unreadable—until her gaze reached the final line.
Then, she stiffened.
Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap! It seems I gave her my real ID.
For a fraction of a second, her controlled demeanor cracked. Her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the card, as if she had just touched something forbidden.
She hesitated.
Then, swallowing hard, she quickly returned the ID, her hands still unsteady.
Her voice faltered as she gestured toward the waiting area.
"You may proceed… sir."
Kaelvren noticed it. The reaction. The hesitation.
But he said nothing.
Taking back his card, he clenched his jaw and walked toward the waiting area. No hesitation. No turning back.
The doors to his Awakening had opened.
---
A Room Meant for the Chosen
Kaelvren stepped into the waiting room.
But this was no ordinary waiting area.
The luxury was undeniable. Dark mahogany panels lined the walls, sleek and polished. Hidden lights bathed the room in a warm, golden glow. Beneath his boots, a deep-blue carpet cushioned every step—an absurd contrast to the cold, unyielding tiles outside. Even the air smelled richer, tinged with something expensive.
And then there was the sofa.
A long, luxurious leather seat, placed perfectly in the center of the room.
Kaelvren's gaze hardened.
"Crap." He ran a hand through his damp, tangled hair. "They know who I am."
What kind of idiot am I? How could I make such a simple mistake? Now they're going to call the family. I'm in danger. I have to get out of here—now.
His mind raced. Should he bolt for the exit? No, too obvious. Maybe he could slip into one of the waiting rooms, buy himself some time. Think, Kaelvren. Think!
Still, there was no point in resisting now. What's done is done.
With a quiet exhale, he sank onto the sofa.
The moment he did, exhaustion crashed over him like a wave.
His limbs felt heavy.
His vision blurred.
"What…?" His mind scrambled for answers, but his body was no longer listening.
The warmth of the room wrapped around him, thick and suffocating, pulling him under.
And then—darkness.
---
A Voice in the Void
A voice shattered the silence.
"Sir."
His eyes fluttered open.
A figure stood before him—an older man in a perfectly pressed uniform. His posture was rigid, his expression unreadable, but his presence carried authority. The kind that needed no introduction.
Unlike the receptionist, this man wasn't just a worker of the system. The metallic insignia on his chest marked him as a Sector 0 Enforcer.
A soldier.
A high-ranking one.
Kaelvren met his gaze, his mind still sluggish from the forced sleep.
The officer studied him for a long moment. Then, without a trace of emotion, he spoke.
"Please Follow me."
Kaelvren hesitated.
Only for a fraction of a second.
Then, shaking off the lingering numbness, he stood.
And followed.
---
The Awakening Chamber
The corridor was cold. Metallic. The walls hummed with embedded circuitry, pulsating with a faint blue glow.
At the end of the hallway, a massive circular chamber loomed.
Rows of glowing pods lined the walls. Some were empty. Others held people in deep sleep. And some… looked like they had been there for far too long.
The officer turned to him.
"This is where it begins." His voice was even, unwavering. "You will now undergo the trial of your belief. For most, it lasts between seven to eight days. In rare cases, years… even decades and for unfortunate youth they die"
Kaelvren smirked, voice laced with sarcasm. "Tell me something I don't know."
The officer ignored him.
He gestured toward an empty pod.
"Lie down sir."
Kaelvren's instincts screamed at him.
But he stepped forward.
And climbed inside.
The cushioned surface adjusted to his body as the transparent cover slid shut.
A mechanical voice echoed through the chamber.
"Process beginning… entering sleep state."
His eyelids grew heavy.
Before the darkness could claim him, he forced out a question. "Do they know about it?"
The old officer hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Yes."
Kaelvren's breath hitched. "Did you call them?"
Another pause. Then, a simple, unwavering reply.
"Yes."
Kaelvren hesitated but then said coldly, "The moment I come out of this trial... I'm gonna kill you."
The old officer chuckled softly. "Sure, young master it done for your safety"
His eyelids grew heavy.
With that a darkness swallowed him whole.
And then—a whisper in the void.
"Welcome, chosen one to your first trial." Kaelvren's consciousness stirred. His thoughts felt fragmented, scattered like shards of glass. Then a sudden haze of memories surfaced. A field. Silent, still, untouched by time. In the center, two graves stood side by side. The names carved into the stone were familiar, achingly so: Hexon stormborn and Saptaliya stormborn Below their names, a single title was etched: "Brave Warriors of Humanity." Kaelvren stood before the graves, his body frozen in place. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the echoes of a past he could never escape. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. Memories surged through his mind—the last moments he saw them, the battle that claimed their lives, the helplessness that consumed him as they fell. He stood there, watching, powerless. He closed his eyes. "I only seek a life free of misery. I don't want misery in my life… after seeing both of you fall in front of me." Reaching forward, he traced his fingers over the cold stone. Then, beneath their names, he carved his own words—his vow to the ones he had lost. "A life free of misery." The wind howled. The memory faded. And then—silence. A voice broke this silence "Welcome to Temple of belief." Suddenly—he was falling. Darkness surrounded him, weightless and suffocating all at once. Then, without warning—he landed. His eyes snapped open.
The Temple of belief Kaelvren found himself standing before a massive temple, its stone walls covered in thick, creeping shadows. The structure loomed like a forgotten relic of time, untouched by the world outside. Torches flickered dimly along a narrow stone path, their flames barely pushing back the overwhelming darkness that surrounded him. Silence. There was nothing else—only the temple, the torches, and the suffocating void that stretched endlessly beyond it. Kaelvren took a cautious step forward. His foot hit solid stone, the impact echoing through the emptiness. He walked forward, the torches casting eerie shadows across his path. Then—pain. A sudden, sharp slash across his palm. His blood dripped onto the cold stone floor. The air trembled.Before his eyes, the spilled blood began to shift—spreading outward, pooling into a deep crimson mass that pulsed like a living thing. From its depths, burning red threads began to emerge, writhing and flickering like embers in the darkness.
Thin, smearing strands slithered across the floor, inching toward him like living veins. They coiled around his legs and arms, creeping up his body, constricting his chest.
Kaelvren gasped as the threads tightened, their pull relentless. His body lurched forward, dragged against his will.
"Crap! Why is it me?!" As he screamed, struggling against the unseen force.
Instinct took over and He clawed at the ground, fingers scraping against the cold stone in a desperate attempt to resist But it was futile.
The bloody pool beneath him rippled. Then, in a single violent surge, it swallowed him whole.
The trial had begun.