Rain hammered down like it had a grudge against the world. It soaked through my thin academy uniform, turning the fabric into a cold, heavy weight that clung to my skin. The mud under my boots squelched with every shift of my feet, sucking at me like it wanted to pull me under. Around me, the academy grounds stretched out in a miserable sprawl—flat fields turned into a swamp by the storm, dotted with wooden platforms where students stood in neat rows. Or at least, they tried to. The wind whipped at us, carrying the sharp tang of ozone, like the air itself was about to crack open.
I wiped water from my eyes, but it was no use. The drops kept coming, mixing with the sweat on my brow. My heart pounded in my chest, a steady drum that matched the thunder rolling overhead. This was it. The Awakening Ceremony. The one day that could change everything—or nothing. For most kids here, it was the start of their new life. Skills blooming like flowers in spring. Sword mastery. Fire bursts from their hands. Speed that made them blur across the field. I'd seen it happen last year, from the safety of the back lines, hauling supplies like the worthless unawakened I was.
But today? Today was my turn. Or it was supposed to be.
The crowd around me shifted, murmurs rising like steam from the wet ground. Other students, all older by a year or two, stood taller now. Their eyes glowed with that fresh spark of power. A girl two spots down from me had awakened something wild—vines snaking up from the mud at her feet, wrapping around her legs like loyal dogs. She laughed, the sound cutting through the rain, her face lit up with pure joy. Next to her, a boy summoned a shield of ice, cracking it against his palm to test its strength. The air shimmered with their new energies, little lights flickering like dying stars in the storm.
And me? I stood there, hands clenched at my sides, feeling smaller than ever. The jeers started soft at first, from the back of the group. "Freak." It was whispered, but I heard it clear as the thunder. Then louder. "Freak! No light for the orphan!" A few laughs mixed in, sharp and mean. I kept my head down, staring at the mud pooling around my boots. Let them talk. I'd heard worse. In the lower zones, where the rifts leaked their poison into the slums, words like that were just noise. But here, in the academy? It stung deeper. This place was supposed to be fair. A chance for anyone to rise. Not for kids like me, scraping by on stolen scraps and odd jobs.
The instructor's voice boomed over the storm, amplified by some cheap artifact clipped to his collar. He was a big man, broad-shouldered with a scar running down his cheek from some old rift fight. His coat flapped like a banner in the wind, but he didn't flinch. "Last call for the unawakened! Step forward if the light hasn't touched you yet. This is your final chance before the guilds take their picks."
My stomach twisted. Final chance. Like I had a choice. I glanced sideways at the others who'd already awakened. They were being herded toward the guild scouts now—tall figures in crisp uniforms, standing under massive banners that loomed like giants in the rain. Ironfang Guild's banner, a snarling wolf head, dripped water from its edges. The scouts there eyed the new awakeners like fresh meat, already whispering offers of training grounds and artifacts. Empires and guilds fought over talent like dogs over bones. One skill could mean a full belly for life.
Protection from the wilds. A spot in the walls where the monsters couldn't reach.
But without a skill? You were nothing. A shadow. Sent back to the lower zones to rot, or worse—drafted as bait for the rifts.
I took a breath, tasting the wet air, and stepped forward. My boots sank deeper into the mud, but I forced my legs to move. The platform creaked under my weight as I climbed up, alone in the center of it all. The rain picked up, drumming harder on the wood like it was mocking me. Around the edges, the crowd pressed closer. Faces blurred in the downpour—some pitying, most just hungry for the show. "Look at him," someone muttered. "Bet he glows like a dead fish."
The instructor's eyes met mine. They were hard, but not cruel. Just tired. He'd seen this before. Dozens of kids like me, hoping for a miracle that never came. "Name?" he barked.
"Arin Vale," I said, my voice steady despite the knot in my throat. Vale. It was all I had left of her—my sister, Elara. She'd picked it from some old storybook, back when we huddled in our tiny shack, dreaming of better days. Before the Church took her.
He nodded, pulling a small crystal from his pocket. It hummed faintly, blue light pulsing inside like a trapped heartbeat. "Chant the words, boy. Call to the rift energy. Let it find you."
I swallowed and closed my eyes. The words were simple, drilled into us since we could walk. "By the rifts that bind us, awaken my strength. Let the chaos flow through me." My voice cracked on the last part, but I pushed on, feeling stupid and small. Heat built in my chest, or maybe that was just the cold rain turning to shivers. I waited. Seconds stretched into forever. The crowd's murmurs grew louder, mixing with the wind.
Nothing.
I opened my eyes. The crystal in the instructor's hand stayed dull, its light flickering out like a snuffed candle. No glow on my skin. No rush of power. Just the rain, colder now, sliding down my back.
The jeers exploded. "Freak! Useless!" A rock sailed through the air, smacking wet against the platform near my feet. Another followed, clipping my shoulder. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot, but I didn't flinch. I wouldn't give them that. Instead, I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms until I felt the sting of blood. Mud caked my knuckles, mixing with the red. Powerless... never again.
The memory hit me then, hard as a rift beast's claw. I was eight, Elara ten. We'd been scavenging near the outer walls, picking through the trash the guilds tossed out. She was always the brave one—tall for her age, with hair like spun gold and eyes that sparkled even in the dim light of our zone. "One day, Arin," she'd say, holding up a shiny scrap of metal like it was treasure. "We'll awaken something big. We'll leave this mud pit behind."
But that day, the Church found us. Men in white robes, their faces hidden behind masks carved with glowing runes. They called it a "blessing." Said Elara had the mark of the divine—a faint scar on her palm from a childhood burn that looked like a holy symbol to them. I remember screaming as they dragged her away, her fingers slipping from mine. "Arin! Don't let them—"
The ritual happened in the square, under the watchful eyes of the faithful. I hid in the crowd, too small to fight, my heart hammering like it would burst. They tied her to an altar, chanting words that twisted the air. Elara's screams... gods, those screams. They echoed in my nightmares still, sharp and broken. "It burns! Arin, help!" Her body arched, light pouring from her skin like liquid fire. The priests smiled, calling it ascension. A gift from the gods.
But I saw the truth. Her eyes met mine one last time, wide with terror, not glory. Then she dissolved—flesh turning to ash, bones to glowing motes that floated up into the sky like fireflies. Gone. Just like that. For what? Some divine game? The priests said she was chosen. Blessed. But all I saw was murder.
I blinked, rain stinging my eyes. Was that a tear mixing in? No. Couldn't be. Not here, not now. The crowd's laughs pulled me back. The instructor sighed, pocketing the crystal. "No light, Vale. You're done. Report to the lower gates at dawn. The guilds don't take blanks."
Blanks. That's what they called us. Empty shells. No skill, no future. I stepped down from the platform, mud splashing up my legs. The jeers followed me like a shadow. "Go back to the slums, freak!" A girl with fresh wind wings on her back sneered, her friends giggling. I kept walking, head high, toward the edge of the field where the unawakened waited— a ragged group of five or six, all looking as broken as I felt.
One of them, a skinny kid with freckles, clapped my shoulder. "Hey, it's not so bad. Lower zones got their own ways. We stick together." His voice was kind, but his eyes said different. Fear. The wilds were full of rifts—tears in the world that spat out monsters day and night. Without a skill, you were food.
I shrugged him off, gentle but firm. "Yeah. Sure." Inside, rage boiled. Not at him. At the gods. The ones who pulled strings from their hidden realms, meddling like kids with toys. They sent the rifts, the beasts, the blessings that twisted people like Elara into nothing. Why? For fun? For power? I'd make them pay. Somehow. If I had to claw my way up with bare hands, I'd find a way to—
A whisper cut through the storm. Soft, like wind through cracked stone. "Don't give up."
I froze. Elara's voice. It had to be. Her ghost in my head, same as always. But this time, it felt real. Close. I spun, scanning the rain-swept field. Nothing. Just shadows of guild banners whipping in the gale, students huddling under awnings, their new skills humming with untapped energy.
Thunder cracked overhead, louder than before. The ground trembled, a low rumble that built like a beast waking. Heads turned. Whispers spread. "What was that?"
Then the sky split.
It started as a crack—a jagged line of purple light ripping across the clouds, like claws tearing fabric. Ozone thickened, burning my nose. The rain hissed as it hit the glowing tear, steam rising in curls. A rift. Here? Now? Rifts didn't open in the academy grounds. The walls were warded, the artifacts strong. But this one grew, fast, edges pulsing with chaotic energy. Winds howled from it, pulling at my clothes, yanking leaves and mud into the void.
Screams erupted. The crowd surged, panic rippling like wildfire. "Rift! Get to the barriers!" The instructor bellowed orders, his voice lost in the chaos. Students with new skills flared to life—fireballs sputtering in the wet, ice shields cracking under the pull. But it was too late. Shapes poured from the tear. Not beasts, not at first. Shadows, writhing like smoke, with eyes that burned red. God-touched horrors, the kind the Church whispered about in their sermons. Fragments of something bigger. Something divine.
One lunged toward the platform, tentacles of black ink whipping out. It snagged a girl—the one with the vines. Her scream cut short as it dragged her in, her powers useless against the pull. More followed, spilling like a flood. The air filled with their hisses, low and hungry.
I backed up, heart slamming against my ribs. Run. Hide. That's what blanks did. But my feet wouldn't move. Elara's whisper echoed again. "Don't give up." Rage surged, hot and blind. I grabbed a loose plank from the mud, splintered wood biting my hands. Useless? Maybe. But I'd go down swinging.
The nearest shadow turned toward me, its red eyes locking on. It slithered closer, the ground bubbling where it touched. Cold fear gripped me, but under it—fire. For her. For all of us they'd broken.
Then, a voice. Not Elara's. Deeper. Inside my head. Executor?
What the hell was that?
The rift widened, thunder roaring like laughter. And in that moment, as the shadow lunged, something inside me... stirred.
To be continued...