The sky over Sector 4 was the color of a fresh bruise, a swirling mix of purple and gray smog that choked the sunlight before it could reach the rusted rooftops of the slums.
Sebastian Vance sat on the edge of his narrow bed, staring at his trembling hands. Today was the day. The day that would decide if he would rot in this industrial graveyard or ascend to the gleaming spires of the inner sectors.
"Sebastian?"
The voice was raspy, wet with a cough that sounded like tearing paper. Sebastian snapped his head up, his expression softening instantly.
"I'm here, Aunt Elara. Just getting ready."
He walked into the small main room of their dwelling. It was a shack, really—sheets of corrugated steel welded together, patched with industrial sealant. In the corner sat Elara, a woman who looked twenty years older than her forty-five years.
She was polishing a piece of metal with a rag. It was her old Awakened focus—a Heater Shield. But it was tragic to look at. A jagged crack ran down the center of the steel, pulsing with a faint, sickly yellow light every few seconds.
Every pulse made Elara wince.
"Stop cleaning it," Sebastian said softly, taking the rag from her hand. "You know it drains your mana just to touch it."
Elara smiled, the lines around her eyes crinkling. She shifted in her chair, and the heavy metallic clank of her prosthetic leg hit the floor. Her real leg had been lost in the Second Dimensional Incursion, eaten by a Void Stalker.
"It's a big day, Seb," she whispered, her chest heaving. "The Day of Choosing. You need to look your best. I can't have my nephew walking into the Academy looking like a slum rat."
Sebastian looked down at his clothes. They were clean but threadbare. A gray tunic and canvas trousers that had been patched a dozen times.
"It doesn't matter what I look like," Sebastian muttered, clenching his fists. "It only matters what the Altar says. If I awaken a combat-grade Talent... I can join the Academy proper. I can get a salary. I can buy the Tier-3 Regeneration Potion."
He didn't finish the sentence. I can fix you.
Elara reached out, her calloused fingers brushing his arm. "Don't carry that weight, boy. You awaken for yourself. Not for me. Mana returned to this world two hundred years ago to give humanity a fighting chance, not to pay for an old woman's medical bills."
"It's the only chance we have," Sebastian thought, though he didn't say it aloud.
The world outside was cruel. Since the Mana Awakening, society had fractured. Level 1 and 2 Awakeners were commoners, destined for manual labor or basic infantry. Level 3 and above were the elites, the ones who fought the monsters in the Wilds and brought back cores worth millions of credits.
And then there were the Unawakened. The dregs. If Sebastian failed today, he would be lower than dirt.
"I have to go," Sebastian said, grabbing a piece of stale synth-bread from the table. He kissed Elara on the forehead. "I'll come back with good news. I promise."
"Just come back," she replied.
**
The walk to the Awakening Academy took an hour. Sebastian moved through the crowded streets of Sector 4, keeping his head down.
The environment changed the closer he got to the city center. The rusted tin shacks gave way to concrete apartments, which eventually gave way to the pristine, mana-reinforced glass of the Academy district.
Students were flooding the gates. Most of them arrived in hover-cars, stepping out in silk uniforms, laughing and comparing the expensive mana supplements their parents had bought them to boost their awakening chances.
Sebastian walked through the pedestrian gate, the scanner beeping as it read his ID chip.
[ID: Sebastian Vance. Sector 4. Status: Orphan/Ward. Financial Tier: F.]
The red light on the scanner made the guard sneer. "Move along, slum trash. Don't block the line for the paying citizens."
Sebastian gritted his teeth and kept walking. He was used to it. In this world, strength was the only currency that mattered. If he awakened a high-tier talent today, that guard would be bowing to him tomorrow.
He entered the Grand Auditorium. It was a coliseum-sized hall, the ceiling dominated by a massive holographic projection of the current global rankings.
Thousands of students were filing into rows. The air buzzed with tension and the smell of ozone—the scent of raw mana.
"Hey! Biff!"
Sebastian spotted a familiar face near the back. Biff, a chubby boy with nervous eyes, was trying to squeeze into a seat. Biff was Sebastian's only friend, mostly because they were both from the lower sectors.
"Seb!" Biff waved frantically. "Over here! I saved a seat. Can you believe it? My hands are sweating so much I think I'm dehydrating."
Sebastian sat down, forcing a smile. "Just breathe, Biff. It's just a rock. You touch it, it glows, we go home."
"Easy for you to say," Biff whimpered. "You have the eyes of a killer. I have the eyes of a pastry chef. If I awaken a Cooking Talent, my dad is going to disown me."
"Cooking talents can make a fortune in the logistics corps," Sebastian pointed out.
"Yeah, peeling potatoes for the front lines while a goblin eats my face," Biff retorted.
Before Sebastian could reply, a hush fell over the auditorium.
The lights dimmed. Spotlight beams cut through the darkness, focusing on the center of the arena.
A man walked onto the stage. He wore a white military uniform adorned with medals made of monster bone. His presence was suffocating. Just looking at him made Sebastian's chest feel tight.
It was Principal Darius. A Level 8 Awakened.
"Welcome," Darius's voice boomed without a microphone, amplified by mana. "Two hundred years ago, the rifts opened. Monsters flooded our world. Humanity was pushed to the brink of extinction."
He raised a hand, and the air in the room grew heavy. Gravity seemed to double.
"But the mana that brought the monsters also brought us the Gift. The Talent. Today, you find out who you are. Will you be a shield for humanity? A sword? Or will you be the dust beneath our boots?"
"CHEER!"
The students from the wealthy sectors roared. Sebastian stayed silent, his heart hammering against his ribs.
'Please,' he thought, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. 'I don't need to be a god. I don't need to be a hero. Just give me something useful. Anything.'
"Let the Awakening begin!"
A massive stone slab rose from the floor in the center of the stage. It was the Altar of Souls. It pulsed with a deep, rhythmic blue light, like a beating heart.
The roll call began.
"Aaron Ainsley!"
A boy walked up, placed his hand on the stone. It glowed green. A spectral bow appeared above his head.
[Talent: Wind-Walker Bow. Grade: C.]
"Combat Class!" the examiner shouted. The crowd clapped politely.
"Beatrice Kroll!"
The stone glowed yellow. A hammer appeared.
[Talent: Stone Mason's Hammer. Grade: E.]
"Logistics Class."
The crowd murmured. E-grade was barely useful. It meant a life of construction work.
Sebastian watched, his anxiety spiking with every name. It was a lottery. A cruel, random lottery.
He looked up at the VIP box. He could see the scouts from the major guilds and the military. They were bored, scrolling through tablets, waiting for something impressive.
"Jax Thorn!"
The name cut through the noise.
A collective gasp went through the student body. Jax stood up from the front row. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with blonde hair slicked back. He wore armor that cost more than Sebastian's entire neighborhood.
Jax was the undisputed king of the bullies, the son of a wealthy merchant who supplied mana crystals to the army.
Jax walked to the stage with a swagger that screamed arrogance. He didn't just walk; he owned the space. He stopped before the Altar and slammed his hand onto the stone.
"BOOM!"
The reaction was instant. The blue light of the altar didn't just glow; it turned a violent, angry red.
A wave of heat blasted outward, rolling over the front rows. Sebastian felt the temperature spike even from the back.
Above Jax's head, a massive, two-handed sword materialized. It was wreathed in roaring flames that licked the air, distorting the visuals around it.
[Talent: Flaming Broadsword.]
[Type: Weapon/Elemental.]
[Grade: B+.]
"Incredible!" the examiner shouted, his voice cracking. "A dual-attribute weapon! Heat Aura and Physical Damage! Potential for A-Grade evolution!"
The crowd erupted. This was a future elite. A B+ Talent was a ticket to the capital city.
Jax grabbed the spectral handle of the sword as it solidified into reality. He swung it once, leaving a trail of fire in the air. He looked up at the crowd, grinning.
"Is that all?" Jax shouted. "I expected more resistance from the stone!"
He walked off the stage, high-fiving his sycophants.
"Sebastian Vance!"
Sebastian froze. It was his turn.
"Go," Biff whispered, shoving him. "Good luck, Seb."
Sebastian stood up. His legs felt like lead. He walked down the aisle, conscious of every eye on him. He could hear the whispers.
"Who's that?"
"Some slum kid. Look at his clothes."
"Probably going to awaken a shovel or a mop."
Sebastian ignored them. He focused on the Altar. It was larger up close. The stone surface was covered in ancient runes that shifted and writhed like living snakes.
He stepped onto the platform. The examiner, a bored-looking man with a clipboard, didn't even look up.
"Place your hand. Hold for five seconds. Move along."
Sebastian took a deep breath.
'For Elara.'
He placed his palm on the cold stone.
One second. Nothing.
Two seconds. Nothing.
Three seconds.
Suddenly, a sensation crawled up his arm. It wasn't the fiery explosion Jax had produced. It wasn't the rush of wind or the stability of earth.
It felt cold. Wet. Like sticking his hand into a bucket of stagnant water.
The Altar flickered.
It didn't glow red. It didn't glow gold.
It glowed a dull, dirty gray.
A silence fell over the auditorium. It was the color of a failed awakening.
Then, the particles coalesced above Sebastian's head. They swirled sluggishly, forming a shape.
It was small. Crooked.
It solidified into an object that clattered onto the stone altar with a pathetic ting.
It was a dagger. But not a sleek, assassin's blade.
It was a lump of rusted iron. The handle was wrapped in rotting leather. The blade was chipped, covered in reddish-brown corrosion so thick you couldn't see the edge. It looked like something dug out of a scrap heap after a hundred years.
The holographic display flickered to life above it.
[Talent: Rusty Iron Dagger.]
[Type: Weapon.]
[Grade: F.]
[Description: An old, brittle weapon. Low durability. Low damage.]
Sebastian stared at the floating text. His world shattered.
F-Grade. The lowest possible rank. And a weapon type that looked like it would break if he hit a pillow.
"Pfft..."
Someone in the front row snickered.
Then, the laughter started. It began as a ripple and turned into a wave.
"Look at that thing! Do you give the monsters tetanus?"
"Hey, don't touch it, you might catch something!"
"A scrap metal talent! Perfect for a slum rat!"
The examiner sighed, typing something onto his tablet. "F-Grade Potential. Logistic Support... or Sanitation. Move along, kid."
Sebastian's hand shook as he reached out and grabbed the dagger. It felt cold and rough against his skin. It was heavy, dead weight.
He turned to leave, his face burning.
As he walked past the VIP section, he saw Jax leaning over the railing.
"Hey, Vance!" Jax shouted, his voice carrying over the laughter. "Nice toothpick! If you need a job, my dad's company needs someone to clean the latrines. That thing looks perfect for scraping sh*t!"
The stadium roared with laughter.
Sebastian didn't reply. He gripped the rusted handle until his knuckles turned white. He walked out of the light, into the shadows of the exit tunnel, carrying his broken future in his hand.