Twelve years after the first Mana Pulse, Earth had become a stranger to itself.
The lands that once bustled with humanity's ambition now echoed with howls of beasts and the humming of corrupted energies. Cities had fallen like dominoes, their skyscrapers turned to tombstones beneath skies torn open by interdimensional rifts. Time and reason had warped. Reality was fraying at the edges.
In place of the old world stood thirteen great bastions—colossal fortress-cities called Ley Cities—built where ley line nexuses burned brightest. These nexuses, ancient mana veins hidden beneath Earth's crust, had once lain dormant. But the Pulse had awoken them, along with so much more.
Ark fortress, perched on the broken shoulders of the Himalayan fracture, was the easternmost of these sanctuaries. A marvel of desperation and hope, it rose from shattered bedrock and hovered on stabilized anti-gray pillars. Its towers gleamed under mana-charged light, crowned with spires that touched the clouds. Streets hovered, stacked in vertical rings. Mana conduits ran like veins through every wall, every lamp, every screen. Floating drones patrolled overhead, and the faint hum of mana barrier-fields vibrated through the air like a second heartbeat.
To an outsider, it was a living jewel—a defiant declaration that humanity would not go quietly into extinction.
But for those born inside its towering walls, it was something else entirely. A cage. A gilded bunker. A last resort.
Because beyond Ark's fortress translucent mana domes, chaos reigned.
The Wild Dominions stretched endlessly beyond the safety zones—mutated territories no longer subject to the laws of physics or sanity. They were the hunting grounds of the beasts and the fallen, territories claimed by the twisted spawn of invading races that had slipped through multiverse breaches. These were no mere aliens, no monstrous beasts—these were apex predators of dimensions that had consumed their own stars. Titans of war. Kings of psionic empires. Entities that had tasted the blood of gods.
And now, they wanted Earth.
Over 60% of the planet's surface had been swallowed by these Wilds. Every forest, mountain, and ocean now harbored anomalies and predators unseen in Earth's mythologies. Trees that whispered murder, wind that cut like blades, and rivers that drowned not the body, but the soul.
The remaining 40% was held under siege.
The Ley Cities stood only because of the Thirteen Pillars—humans who had been chosen, or perhaps created, by Earth's Will itself. These beings, gifted with elements and superpowers beyond human understanding, had pushed back the first wave of destruction. They forged the barriers, awakened the bloodlines, and bought the last remnants of humanity time.
But time was a currency rapidly running out.
Today, however, was not about war. Not about horror.
Today was Awakening Day.
Held once every three years, Awakening Day was a sacred event that summoned every un-awakened youth sixteen years old to the Hall of Will's, where they would place their hand upon the Will Crystal named after Earth' Will and be judged.
Would they awaken to power—or fall into obscurity?
Would they be one of the chosen—or remain unknown?
In Ark's Academy, nestled in the heart of the third ring, young voices stirred in anticipation and dread. The academy tower—formed of glass-steel and living metal—pulsed with energy. Its corridors twisted in spirals, and its walls occasionally shimmered with elemental phenomena. Teachers in cloaks of elemental rank patrolled the hallways, their footsteps silent against runic floors.
Inside Class 3-A, a dozen boys and girls whispered and fidgeted. Each wore a black uniform embroidered with their family sigil and house emblem. A few adjusted their mana cuffs, ensuring they wouldn't suppress their resonance by accident. Others read silently, already resigned to fate.
But one figure didn't stir.
In the far-left corner, by the window that overlooked the skyscrapers, a boy sat with his arms folded and his head leaning against the shimmering pane.
He didn't move. Not even when the mana bell chimed thrice to signal the final hour.
Arin Vale.
Fifteen years old. A name barely whispered in school corridors. No known elemental bloodline. No exceptional grades. No family connections.
And yet, there was something wrong with him.
Not "wrong" in the usual, juvenile sense—but unplaceable. Unreadable.
Today, Arin's expression was particularly distant. His pale fingers twitched slightly in his lap. His eyes remained closed, but behind those lids, visions danced.
He was dreaming.
But not in the way one normally dreams.
He saw two Earths. Two lives. Two histories woven together like incompatible threads.
In one, he was just a student. Grey buildings, chalkboards, traffic lights. In the other, he was a stranger among titans. He knew of mana. Of awakenings. Of the thirteen cities and the Wild Dominions.
Of beasts that wore human faces.
But the memories weren't syncing. They were colliding.
He flinched.
Arin Vale. The name echoed again in his thoughts.
He didn't remember falling asleep. He didn't remember arriving here. Yet here he was.
And his heart wasn't racing with panic—it was still. Like a lake in winter.
A knock against his desk jolted him from the loop.
"You're spacing again, aren't you?" said a warm, teasing voice.
Arin looked up.
Rei Damaris stood there, arms crossed, his expression one of half-worry, half-exasperation. His auburn hair was a mess of curls, his eyes bright with restrained confidence.
Beside him stood Kaela Voss, calm and quiet, with green hair braided into a spear-thin tail. Her uniform was pristine. Her eyes, however, missed nothing.
"Still thinking about those dreams?" she asked, voice quiet enough only Arin could hear.
Arin said nothing. The light from the mana-pane lit his face, half-shadowed.
Rei slid into the seat beside him and grinned. "Well, maybe your dreams are prophetic. Maybe you'll awaken with Sight. Or some mysterious third eye nonsense. That'd be cool."
Kaela frowned. "Or maybe he's just tired. You did skip breakfast again, didn't you?"
Arin shook his head. "Just… distracted."
"Right." Rei gave him a pat. "You better snap out of it fast. It's almost time."
The moment those words left his lips, the air in the classroom thickened. A chime rang—not from any bell, but from the sky itself. A pulse from the Will Crystal.
The Awakening had begun.
Mana stirred in the halls. The Will Crystal had activated.
Footsteps approached. The door opened without a sound.
A tall man stood there, draped in midnight blue robes, his hair silver, his eyes like lightning compressed into orbs.
Instructor Helros.
"Class 3-A," he said in a voice that cracked the air like thunder, "follow."
Arin look at the city skyline—floating barges drifting through the sky, skyscrapers of steel and sapphire, and clouds of mana weaving in silent currents above Arkspire's spires.
Beneath the awe, something in his soul shifted.
The Will Crystal waited. Ancient. Watching. Judging.
It would read them—soul and spirit, truth and lie.
For within the Will Crystal lay fragments of forgotten empires, echoes of multiversal grief, and secrets not meant for mortal minds.
It would not simply awaken power.
It would remember.
And in its memory, it would choose who to crown...and who to erase.