The land was dead.
Not barren — dead.
There was a difference.
Barren meant something could still grow.
Dead meant hope had long since rotted away.
Ash clung to the wind like a funeral veil. The sky was a permanent bruise, dim and heavy, like it mourned whatever tragedy had unfolded here. No birds. No rustle of leaves. Not even the wind dared to speak too loudly. It was a place the world had tried to forget.
And yet, something — someone — remained.
A man stood alone, surrounded by twisted creatures that didn't even look alive. Shapes forged from darkness and hate.
They should have attacked.
But they didn't.
They watched.
Their glowing eyes fixated on him, not with fear… but reverence.
As if they recognized him.
As if they knew.
Blood dripped from the sky.
At first, he thought it was rain.
He held his cracked, blistered hand out, let the drops touch his skin. They were warm. Sticky.
He dragged a finger across his lips. Tasted iron.
"It's blood…"
The words left his mouth like a prayer. Or a confession.
He raised his eyes. There was no sky anymore — only red.
"I forgot what rain feels like."
He dropped to his knees, sword slipping from his fingers and disappearing into the mush below.
The ground had softened over time, not from erosion… but from corpses.
So many bodies.
So many faces he no longer remembered.
"It used to be stone beneath me… cold and solid.
Now… it squishes like rotten fruit.
I stopped counting the bodies.
Stopped remembering who they were.
They were enemies.
They were people.
Maybe… they were friends."
His breath shivered as it left his lungs.
"How long have I been fighting?"
No one answered. Not even the monsters.
The silence was more brutal than any blade.
He hunched over, trembling, not from pain — but from absence.
No warmth. No touch. No voices.
Just the endless hunger of this place.
"I'm tired.
Please. Just let me rest.
I… I don't want to do this anymore."
He dug his fingers into the ground. The soil was damp with blood. Maybe his. Maybe not.
His voice cracked:
"What was the point of it all?
Why did I become this?
If I'd been stronger back then… would I still be alone now?
If I hadn't failed… would Maya still be alive?"
A sob escaped him.
His shoulders shook as the grief he'd buried clawed its way back up.
He screamed.
Not in rage.
Not in defiance.
In despair. In the kind of pain that can't be healed, only carried.
"You called me a hero.
Then a monster.
Then a curse.
But I was just… a boy.
I just wanted to protect her."
And now she was gone.
Everyone was.
He closed his eyes as the horde of monsters finally began to move, charging toward him with teeth and claws and fury.
"This is fine.
This is how it ends.
A villain's death… for a boy who broke the world."
Just before they reached him, just before oblivion could take hold—
A voice.
Faint. Far away. But familiar. Like a candle in the dark.
"Isaac… Isaac… wake up… It's time for school…"
---
His eyes opened.
Light spilled through a cracked window. The world was no longer red and ruined — it was soft, golden, quiet. A bird chirped in the distance.
Maya.
She stood by his bed, barefoot and smiling, tugging at his blanket with both hands.
Maya: "Wake up, dummy! You're gonna be late for your first day!"
He stared at her. For a second, he didn't speak. Couldn't.
His hands trembled beneath the blanket.
She was alive.
She was here.
Isaac (softly): "Maya…?"
Maya (tilting her head): "Huh? What's wrong? You look weird."
He smiled — but it cracked like porcelain.
Isaac: "Nothing… I'm just… glad you're here."
She laughed and ran toward the hallway.
Maya: "Then hurry up, sleepyhead!"
Isaac sat up in bed. Sunlight warmed his face.
But inside, his heart still ached. That cursed land hadn't been a dream.
It had been a memory.
And Maya's smile…
Was a second chance.
It began without warning — a quiet rupture in the fabric of reality.
One morning, the sky split open. Towering structures of twisting stone and glowing sigils appeared in cities across the world. They called them Gates. No one knew what they were or where they led at first, but curiosity quickly turned to fear when people entered… and never came out.
From those Gates poured monsters — creatures born of nightmare, immune to bullets and steel. Humanity teetered on the edge of extinction.
Then came the Awakened — people who developed abilities beyond comprehension. Their bodies grew stronger, their minds sharper, and the world began to shift around their presence. These people were called Hunters, and they were the only ones capable of entering the Gates and surviving the horrors within.
But not all Hunters were equal.
A global system was quickly created to measure their strength, a cold and calculating way to define a person's worth: F, B, C, D, A, and S — the official Hunter Ranks.
F-rank: Barely stronger than an average human. Powerless. Often cannon fodder.
D-rank: The minimum needed to join a raid. Useful, but easily replaced.
C-rank: The middle class of Hunters. Common. Functional. Forgettable.
B-rank: Respected. Feared by ordinary people. Valuable in large-scale Gates.
A-rank: Elites. Commanders. They didn't follow orders — they gave them.
S-rank: Legends. Walking calamities. There were only a handful in the world.
For some, the letter next to their name was a blessing.
For others, it was a death sentence.
---
Isaac sat on the edge of his bed, fingers clenched into fists as the morning light crept across the cracked wallpaper of the tiny apartment.
On his screen, another highlight reel looped endlessly — a silver-haired S-rank crushing a dungeon core with one hand while cameras flashed like fireworks around him. The crowd outside the Gate roared his name. Applauded his destruction. Worshipped him like a god.
"S-rank saves another city."
Another city. Another celebration.
But Isaac didn't cheer. Didn't envy. Didn't dream.
He just… watched.
The world had built pedestals for Hunters. They wore their ranks like crowns, walked through airports like kings, and spoke of sacrifice while riding in armored limousines.
But no one ever talked about the ones who didn't make it back.
The F-ranks who died in their first dungeon.
The families left with nothing.
The little sisters who waited at dinner tables that never got set again.
---
Maya's voice broke the silence from the other room.
"Isaac! Breakfast is ready. You're gonna be late!"
He blinked slowly. Dragged himself to his feet. His uniform was still damp from last night's rain — the walk home had been long, and they couldn't afford a second pair.
Isaac muttered:
"F… D… C… A… S… As if a single letter decides who gets to live."
"This world is broken. And I'm the only one who seems to see it."
He picked up his bag, forced a smile, and walked out of the room.