The world ended before Calder Draco was even born. The cataclysm known as the Veilfall tore through the sky above the Pacific Ocean, a silver fire that cracked the very fabric of reality. Dimensions bled into one another, and from the rents in the veil, beasts of nightmarish proportions emerged, crawling onto land like a plague of ancient regrets. Cities were reduced to rubble, governments crumbled, and the foundations of society shattered. Armies, once mighty, were broken and scattered like chaff in the wind. Humanity, in its arrogance and unpreparedness, teetered on the brink of extinction within a week.
And then, from the ashes, the Awakened rose.
These were people whose bodies reacted to the Veilfire, manifesting powers that defied human comprehension. A woman who could bend gravity to her will, making mountains crumble with a mere gesture. A man whose bones turned to obsidian, his eyes burning with an otherworldly blue flame. Children who walked through walls as if they were mere illusions, and others who could split the air with their screams, shattering reality like glass.
These abilities were dubbed Echoes, and those who possessed them became both weapons and saviors. They turned the tide against the monstrous horrors that had emerged from the rifts, sealing the worst of these dimensional tears and beginning the arduous task of rebuilding a shattered world. The reformed governments, under new names and banners, knew exactly what they had to do:
Harness the power of the Awakened.
Elevate them, control them, and if necessary, worship them. It became a global standard: all children between the ages of ten and sixteen were subjected to scans by government-licensed System interfaces. Tools like aether-thread detectors, bio-weavers, and Veil-seers were developed to isolate and record the Spark within individuals. If the System deemed you compatible, your Thread would awaken, granting you an assigned Echo Class, a government ID, and a clear path to fortune, fame, and power.
For the Awakened, the world bowed to their will. They were the elite, the chosen, the ones who held the keys to survival and prosperity. For everyone else, however, life was a different story. You were invisible, a cog in the machine, expendable and forgotten.
---
When Calder Draco went for his System scan at the state-run Diagnostics Facility in San Arlen, he was fifteen. His tall, lanky frame cast a gaunt shadow on the faded tiles of the waiting room. His pale skin and sharp features gave him an almost ethereal appearance, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—were a piercing ice-blue that held a depth of pain and determination far beyond his years. The other kids in the line whispered and pointed, their voices a buzz of speculation and cruelty.
"His parents were torn apart by Veilbeasts, right? He must have seen it all."
"Probably trauma-locked. That can mess with the System reading."
"I heard unawakened kids get sent to labor zones in the northern districts. He's screwed."
Calder ignored them, as he always did. There was little left inside him to care, not after the monsters had torn his world apart and left him with nothing but the echo of his parents' screams and the cold comfort of government rations. No caskets, no burials, just names etched on a wall and the hollow promise of a better future.
He stepped into the scanning chamber, the sterile smell of antiseptic and ozone filling his nostrils. The Veil-thread interface hummed to life as he placed his hand on the cool metal surface. Lights danced up his arm like fireflies, tracing intricate patterns on his skin. The attendant, a man with a face like a weathered stone, blinked and looked again, his brows furrowing in confusion.
Then, the monitor flashed a harsh red:
[THREAD ERROR: NO DATA FOUND] [RECOMMENDED STATUS: VEIL-EMPTY] [ASSIGNMENT: ARCHIVAL / NON-COMBAT LABOR]
"Error?" Calder asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The attendant avoided his gaze, shuffling papers to hide his discomfort. "It means you don't have a Thread, kid. You're empty."
"That's... not possible," Calder insisted, his heart sinking like a stone in his chest.
"It happens sometimes," the man said, already waving in the next student. "Bad genes, System glitch. Whatever. Just go. Next!"
Calder walked out past the jeers and the silent stares, his steps heavy with a newfound weight. From that moment, Calder Draco was officially nothing. Not Unawakened. Not Dormant. Just a glitch in the system, a mistake, a ghost.
---
For the next three years, life blurred into a monotonous haze of survival. He aged out of the orphan lists and picked up whatever odd jobs he could find in the broken sectors of the city. His days were filled with menial labor, scrubbing monster gore off train seats, and cleaning chemical waste for minimum credits. He lived in a complex where the rats outnumbered the people, and the walls were thin enough to hear your neighbors' every moan and whisper.
His nights were spent eating dried noodles and watching holographic feeds of rich Awakened teens, their faces smeared with war paint, as they posted fight clips for fame, girls, and digital sponsorships. He never complained, not when the heat cut out and the cold seeped into his bones, not when he had to wash in ice-cold water, and not when he scrubbed the stench of monster blood from his clothes.
But deep inside, a part of him raged. It was a silent, smoldering anger that burned like a furnace, fueling his every movement and thought. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair. He had lost everything—his home, his parents, his future—and the world had the audacity to crown cowards and fools just because they had a goddamn Thread.
---
The night Calder Draco died wasn't special. It was just another night in a long line of endless, dreary nights. He had just gotten off work, his back aching from the relentless labor, his clothes stiff with chemical cleaner. He stripped off in the dark, the cool air of his dilapidated apartment biting at his skin. The shower was half-working, the water coming out in sporadic spurts, first brown, then clear, then ice cold.
He leaned against the tile, letting the stream hit his back, his eyes half-closed as he tried to find a moment of peace in the chaos of his life. Then, his foot caught the edge of the tub, and the world tilted. The shower curtain snapped open, and his skull cracked against the porcelain with a sickening thud.
Everything went black.
---
Silence.
Then, a sound like wind howling through ancient bones.
Then—
> [UNCLAIMED THREAD DETECTED] [SOUL VESSEL DAMAGED – CORE AWAKENING INITIATED] [THREAD TYPE: HYBRID – DRACONIC / DEMONIC / VAMPIRIC / DIVINE] [STATUS: VEIL-REJECTED – ACCESS GRANTED] [SYSTEM CALIBRATING…]
"You are no longer of the broken. You are no longer of the weak," a voice like thunder rumbled in his mind. "Welcome, Sovereign. The Throne awaits."
Calder's eyes snapped open, his body convulsing as nerve endings reignited like a symphony of fireworks. His spine cracked and realigned, his vision pulsing with a kaleidoscope of colors and symbols. And then—he saw it.
A screen, floating in the air like a hologram, glowing with an otherworldly light. It was etched into the very fabric of reality, burning like glass.
> [NIGHTBORN SOVEREIGN SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[TIER 1 UNLOCKED – NIGHTBORN INHERITOR]
[NEW TRAITS: Blood Sigil | Predator's Archive | Breath of Dominion]
[WARNING: EXISTENCE NO LONGER RECOGNIZED BY STANDARD SCANNERS]
[STATUS: SOVEREIGN CLASS – ONE OF ONE]
Calder stared at his shaking hands, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His blood was glowing, pulsing with an inner light that seemed to dance beneath his skin. He laughed, a sound bordering on hysteria, and then he screamed, a primal roar that echoed through the small apartment, shattering the remaining glass in the shower.
He was no longer Calder Draco, the glitched, the forgotten. He was something more. Something ancient and powerful. Something that would never be ignored again.