Klein finally woke up, his head screaming in pain. When his vision cleared, the first thing he saw was a nurse standing beside him, busy checking his vitals.
"Oh, you're finally awake. That's good," she said, adjusting his IV line.
Klein tried to sit up but winced, clutching his head. The nurse noticed.
"Here," she said gently, handing him two pills and a cup of water. "These should help with the headache."
Klein stared at her for a moment. Something deep inside told him that her being here wasn't going to bring good news—but he dismissed the thought, took the pills, and drank the water.
"What about my grandpa? Is he okay?" Klein asked, handing the empty cup back.
The nurse sighed softly. She placed her clipboard on the counter, tucked her pen into her pocket, and sat down beside him.
"I don't know how to say this," she began carefully. "But your grandfather passed away… right after you lost consciousness."
Klein just stared at her. His eyes were blank—no tears, no reaction, just stillness.
"Can I at least see him?" he asked quietly.
"We've actually been waiting for you to wake up," she said gently. "Your grandfather asked to be cremated immediately upon his death. Don't you want to say your goodbye before we honor his wishes?"
Klein didn't answer. He simply swung his legs off the bed and stood. For someone who had just lost not only his grandfather but his guardian, father figure, and only family—he looked hollow, his sadness heavy but silent.
"Come on, let's go," the nurse said softly.
As they walked through the hospital corridors, every nurse and patient they passed gave Klein strange looks—some whispering, some sneering.
"Can you believe they're treating nobodies now?" one old woman muttered as he passed.
Klein ignored it.
They reached the furnace room. The nurse opened the door and stepped inside, then gestured for Klein to follow. Before he did, he noticed the overhead light flicker. He sighed deeply and entered.
The furnace was already burning, its glow reflecting off the metal walls. Another nurse wheeled in a stretcher—Klein's grandfather's body lay covered in a white sheet.
"Do you want a moment alone before we proceed?" the nurse asked gently.
Klein shook his head. "No… if I keep him any longer, he'll probably haunt me in both my dreams and my nightmares," he said, managing a faint, bitter grin.
The nurses exchanged a look. Then, with a nod, they slid the stretcher forward. As the furnace door opened, the flames roared higher, blazing brighter—as if reacting to something unseen. The sudden flare nearly made them stumble back.
"Whoa… that's new," one nurse whispered, stepping away.
Klein didn't flinch. He just watched. Watched as the fire devoured the body of the only person who had ever cared for him.
He stood there long after the nurses had left. The room grew quiet, the air heavy with the smell of smoke and silence.
When the nurse eventually returned, she looked surprised. "You're still here?"
"Yeah," Klein said softly. His voice was low, dull—like he'd used up every emotion he had.
"Well," she said, holding something out, "I thought you might want this."
Klein looked down—and froze. She was handing him his grandfather's black bag… and the urn of ashes.
He said nothing. Just took them, nodded once, and left.
Outside, the rain was pouring hard. He had no money for transport, so he walked. The streets were cold and gray, puddles reflecting the dull glow of neon lights. He clutched the bag close to his chest, each step heavier than the last.
By the time he reached his apartment, he was soaked. The first thing he saw was the eviction notice taped to his door. When he tried the knob, it was locked.
"Of course," he muttered bitterly.
He made his way to the back, where an old trash can sat beneath a vent. He climbed on top, pried at the ventilation cover, and knocked hard on each corner where the nails held it in place. The cover loosened. Klein climbed inside, then replaced it behind him.
He dropped down into his apartment—two bedrooms, dusty, and completely trashed. It looked like no one had lived there for months.
He threw his grandfather's bag onto the carpet and began cleaning. As he moved around, the urn rolled out of the bag and bumped against his leg.
Klein bent down and picked it up. He stared at it for a long time—his reflection warped across the smooth surface.
Then something inside him broke.
"AHHHHH!"
He screamed, hurling the urn across the room. It shattered against the wall, ashes spilling everywhere. Klein dropped to his knees and began to cry—loud, raw, uncontrollable.
This apartment had been their home ever since his parents died in the Second Astral War. It held every memory, every ghost.
The TV suddenly flickered on by itself, the news droning in the background.
"As everyone knows, it's been ten years since the war with the Astral ended, and twenty years since the Ancestors came to save us from that dark time. Though there have been no Astral attacks in over a decade, experts warn we should prepare for a possible third war at any moment…"
Klein muted the TV. He didn't need to hear it. He already knew the story—everyone did.
The Astral were beings from another plane—monstrous, intelligent, and relentless. Humanity had almost been wiped out until the Ancestors descended—warriors who could move between both realms. They won the first war.
But the second was worse. The Astral returned stronger, more organized. The Ancestors taught humanity their secrets, helping them survive before vanishing again.
Now, years later, humanity waited in fear for their return—or for the next invasion.
And because of that fear, every teenager—regardless of bloodline—was required to join government training camps to prepare for battle.
But not Klein. He couldn't even use an ability. His bloodline had nothing to offer. Sometimes, he blamed his grandfather for that—for keeping him from learning the ways of the Ancestors. For keeping him weak.
The thought alone filled him with rage. He clenched his fists as a low growl rumbled from his throat.
Something inside him shifted. His breathing grew ragged. His eyes flickered—brown one second, glowing yellow the next.
He turned toward the shattered urn, glaring down at his grandfather's ashes.
Then, a holographic screen appeared before his eyes:
[ Congratulations, you have been selected. ]
[ Daily Quest: Deal with your anger. ]
[ Time limit: 00:02:30 – starting now. ]
"What the hell—?" Klein growled, swiping his hand through the hologram. It disappeared instantly.
The rage inside him boiled over. He started pacing, punching the walls, kicking furniture. His strength was unnatural—tables flipped, the couch crashed against the wall, and cracks formed across the floor.
Still, the anger didn't fade.
[ 01:00 remaining. ]
Klein gasped for air. His heart pounded violently in his chest. He couldn't breathe—it felt like a panic attack, worse than any he'd ever had.
He stumbled and fell beside the pile of ashes. Tears streamed down his face. He tried to wipe them, sniffing hard—and accidentally inhaled the ashes.
"Ugh—!"
He coughed, shocked, but it was too late. He'd breathed them in. All of them.
The holographic screen flashed again.
[ Congratulations, you have dealt with your anger. ]
[ Reward: 10 XP. ]
[ Progress: 10 / 100 XP. ]
Klein froze, trembling. He stared at the glowing text, his mind spinning, his breathing uneven.
Then—
BANG!
A loud knock thundered against the door.
Klein snapped his head up, heart still racing.