At Lunaris High, power isn't just admired—it's measured.
It glows on your wristband, pulses through your voice, and flashes red or gold on your name tag. You can't fake it. You can't hide it. And if you don't have any?
You're me.
They call me Rank Zero.
No letter, no symbol, no category. Just a hollow profile and a gray uniform that flashes like a splurge in a hallway of color-coded uniforms. I'm the ghost everyone doesn't want to acknowledge but everyone loves to harass. I get the smallest servings, the thinnest locker, and the remaining water supplies. Even the janitor drones pause around me as if I'd weigh them down.
"Hey, Zero!" someone shouts behind me.
I don't turn.
I understand now, after all these years, that attention keeps them going. If you let them believe you care, they'll never give up.
Humiliation today is a timed kinetic relay drill. Three loops around the Vortex Arena—an amphitheater of suspended walkways and glass staircases that alter mid-course. The high ranks love it. It's meant for them. High-rankers can warp gravity or teleport. Me? I stumble on flat ground.
I line up last, as always. Gray jacket. No gun. No halo.
Jaro, Rank B+ and part-time sadist, stretches out in front of me and flaunts himself with lethargic, calculated confidence. His fingers leave blisters on the practice pad. That's the kind of power we're working with. He can fuse metal with a touch of his fingertips.
He looks back at me and smiles. "Don't worry about falling into the Vortex again, Zero. I heard rescue drones are on cooldown."
Laughter.
I pretend I didn't hear him and stretch out my fingers. I do it when I'm nervous—twitch each one slowly, feel the sting of cold beneath my skin. There's always a spark. No one notices it. No one ever has. Not even Jin.
Nephew.
A whistle cuts through.
The race is on.
The quickest six blast out the starting gate like rockets. The arena buckles beneath them platforms spinning, stairs tilting mid-air, and gravity wells opening indiscriminately. I'm still at the back of the pack, racing like my life depends on it because, in a way, it does.
The first lap's a blur. I duck a falling platform. Leap over a sparking wire. Somebody crashes behind me—Rank D, probably. I don't let up.
On the second lap, the platforms start to spin faster.
Jaro zooms past me with fire devouring his back.
Another flash to my right—Kya, Rank A-, slicing through air with a scissoring hiss of air. She doesn't even glance at me. Why should she?
Then the jump.
Fifteen feet of open air between platforms. Most power users jump. Some just float.
Me?
I run right up to the edge and—
Stop.
The platform tilts.
And my foot goes out.
I fall.
The air shudders up in a scream. I tense for impact.
But it never comes.
There's a snap of flame in my chest, lightning bound in my ribs. My hands burn—glowing, white-hot—and the earth slows—just for a moment. As if the air thickens. As if the world distorts around me.
And then I bounce off the safety net twice, stunned, windless.
The moment's over.
I lie there, panting, hearing the tail end of cheers from above.
The crowd doesn't cheer for me.
They never do.
After the drill, I'm pulled aside for a "rank performance review." That's code for a lecture by a bot with no face.
"Student Vane. Your score remains unranked. Anomaly persists. Recommendation: Reclassification pending medical clearance."
I nod without answering. It's easier than arguing.
Outside, sunbeams glance off the obsidian dome of the academy. Everything at Lunaris High is high-tech and sleek, designed to show power—literally. Even the windows are mirrored. You can't even see in unless you're where you're supposed to be.
I'm not.
I sit in the canteen alone. Gray jackets are served last. I take my tray of reconstituted paste and sit by the dim light. Same spot every day. No one sits with me. I'm the only Zero in my class. Perhaps in the whole school.
At the other side of the room, the Rank A table laughs and sparks and glitters with waves of ambient power. Aura pervades them like perfume.
I don't look.
But I see Lio.
He stands at the edge of the Rank D table, jacket a sandy hue, rolled-up sleeves. He sits there always—close enough to view, far enough to remain unseen. And he observes. He is the only one.
He glances up and nods.
I nod.
We don't speak much. We don't have to.
But that silence is broken when the wall screen explodes.
[EMERGENCY TEST – SYSTEM RESPONSE INITIATED.]
Red lights flash.
Security doors grind shut.
Everyone tenses up.
Then the ground shakes.
Not simulation.
Real.
There's a scream. A shockwave hits the west wing. Glass shatters.
I toss my tray aside and run—instinct. Years of keeping a low profile make you fast.
A student slams into a wall in front of me—Rank C. Smoke pours out of her uniform. Her eyes roll back.
I don't think.
I kneel beside her.
Something inside me pulls asunder.
The heat returns.
My fingers warm through—only for an instant.
Her breathing levels out again.
Nobody sees. I hope.
Except. A drone flies over.
Recording.
I run.
I arrive at the secondary evac tunnel as the lights in the hall flicker off. My trembling hand on the biometric reader. It doesn't respond. It never does.
"Access denied," the panel says.
Story of my life.
A shadow drops behind me.
I turn.
It is not a student.
Not human.
Its face is blank—except for the red glowing symbols that beat like a drum.
It takes a step towards me.
I back away until my shoulder meets the locked door.
My breath misting.
My hand throbs again.
The heat builds.
No. Not now. Not again.
The flying drone buzzes.
The figure comes forward.
And I—don't.
I stand up.
The air thickens again.
I lift my hand.
And the thing freezes.
Frozen mid-lunge. Red symbols glitch. Static crackles around me.
My eyes burn white.
I step forward once, twice—and the thing shatters.
Explodes into fragments of twitching light.
Silence.
Then—
A voice from above. Small. Faint.
"Who… are you?"
I look up.
The drone is still recording.
I don't answer.
Because the truth?
I'm starting to wonder the same thing.
The drone clicks once and zips upward through the ceiling vent like a startled insect.
I'm alone again.
Except I'm not.
Footsteps echo from the other side of the passage. I turn, fists aloft.
A woman emerges around the bend, hands upraised. No uniform, no military gear. Mid-thirties minimum, with long black braids and a flat face that's too peaceful for this kind of thing.
"You're safe," she says.
"Am I?" My throat is sore. "Because you're the first face I've seen since that thing attempted to slice me in half."
"I know what it was. More importantly…" Her eyes leap to the metal splinters still squirming on the floor. "I know what you are."
I flinch.
She advances a step.
"You're not just a Rank Zero, Sera. You never were."
I retreat. "How do you know my name?"
She stiffens. "Because I've been observing you for six years."
That should sound scary. But her voice is even. Not threatening. Just matter-of-fact.
"Who are you?" I demand.
Her lips form a hesitant smile. "My name's Nessa Vale. I used to be Rank A. Now I'm a ghost. Just like you."
"I'm not a ghost. I'm just—"
She interrupts me gently. "You're a Conduit."
The word hangs between us like a blade.
I've read it. Once. In a redacted history file in Jin's terminal. A class of power lost centuries ago. Too powerful to wield. Rumored to have unleashed a civil war centuries ago.
A myth.
I shake my head. "That's not real."
"It is. You are."
I attempt to open my mouth, then close it.
What could I possibly say?
"You need to leave the school," she says. "Tonight."
"My sister—
"She'll be safer if you're not here when they come."
A chill hits my spine. "Who's they?"
But Nessa's already moving, pulling a crystal-slab tablet from her coat and sliding it into my hand. "This will guide you. Don't trust anyone ranked above you. Especially not the headmistress."
The door behind me finally clicks.
"Go now," Nessa whispers. "Before your life is decided without you."
I don't remember the walk home.
The city is too tidy. Too bright. All of it cries order and precision, from the droning of the hover-trams above to the beacons scanning every face. My jacket's still gray. Still worthless. But for once, people glance twice.
Maybe it's the electricity in my hair.
Maybe it's the fear.
Jin is outside the apartment. She doesn't even yell when she sees me. Just wraps her arms around me in a too-long, too-tight hug with a stench of solder and burnt cotton.
"You're okay," she says, her voice cracked.
"I don't know."
We sit in the dark kitchen for an hour. I tell her all of it. The drill. The monster. The light. The woman.
When I say the word conduit, she wincingly hesitates.
Then—quietly—she extends down under the sink.
A crystal ornament. Dark purple. Frosty to the touch.
"What is it?"
"Your birthright," she speaks quietly.
"I thought I was born broken."
"No." She radiates light. "You were born hidden."
That night, I stay awake and stare at the ceiling.
My fingers still tingle. Every breath is… hoarse. Like I'm full of something that won't calm.
I remember the fear on the robot's face. The stunned silence that followed when it was broken. The stare of the drone.
I don't know who I am.
But I do know this: I'm not Zero anymore.
And if they're going to come at me, they'd better bring more than numbers.