[Twenty-Fifth Year of the Gates' Appearance]
A man stood in the center of the room, his athletic frame glistening. He was not wet from rain, but from the honest sheen of spent effort, every muscle etched by routine and resilience. At six feet tall, he carried a sharp, almost devilish handsomeness—the kind that could captivate with a glance. His hair, sleek and styled in a modern mullet, was darkened with sweat. But it was his eyes that truly caught the light: a burning, luminous orange, like embers in a forge.
His skin was a canvas of intricate tattoos from the neck down. The most striking spanned the broad plane of his back: a fallen angel with tattered wings, positioned above a stylized sun. The angel's expression was not one of agony, but of manic laughter as it plummeted, a single finger pointed accusingly at the very radiance that had cast it down.
This man was Hope.
He dripped sweat in the quiet of his living space—could it still be called a home? It was a monument, a shell. Both his parents had been Awakened. Both had died on the battlefield, leaving him and his younger brother alone in a world that had been saved, yet forever forsaken.
They lived comfortably, insulated by substantial government benefits—a gesture of gratitude from the nation for their parents' ultimate sacrifice. The world outside had found a precarious stability, even advancement, learning to build its new bones around the persistent scar tissue of the Gates.
On his eighteenth birthday, Hope, too, Awakened. The surge of mana was a revelation, a feeling of holding the world's levers in his hands—a heady, unforgettable power.
Hunters were classified by a rigid hierarchy, measured by the quality and quantity of their mana. E-Rank were the lowest, often relegated to support or cannon fodder. D-Rank could hold their own against lesser monsters. C-Rank wielded unique skills, becoming valuable national assets. B-Rank formed the core fighting force, capable of small-scale devastation. A-Rank stood at the peak of conventional power, individuals sought after by nations for their city-leveling potential.
And then, there were the S-Rank. Rare existences that surpassed established limits. Mana-measuring devices shattered trying to quantify them. They were walking calamities, capable of shifting the global balance of power on their own. Beyond rank, Hunters were segregated by class: Fighter, Tank, Mage, Marksman, Healer, and Utility.
Upon his Awakening, Hope was classified as an A-Rank, Utility Class. His power manifested as the ability to create barriers at will. Analysts tried to pigeonhole him as a defensive type, but Hope quietly disagreed. He saw not just walls, but potential. Through relentless innovation, he learned to shape his barriers into weapons—swords, spears, arrows of solidified force—controlling them with a telekinetic will. He became offense and defense intertwined, a self-contained phalanx.
Within a year, his unique combat style drew the attention of multiple elite guilds. He chose the Scavenger Guild, led by the formidable S-Rank Hunter, Thomas Andre. It was there, amidst high-stakes raids and under the guild's demanding ethos, that Hope honed his ability to its razor's edge. The pressure forged something new within him, triggering a Reawakening—a rare event where a Hunter's latent potential violently blooms, causing a seismic surge in their mana core.
After the storm of his Reawakening subsided, Hope emerged as the 10th S-Rank Hunter of the United States, and the 3rd S-Rank within the Scavenger Guild.
As Hope's breathing steadied in his post-workout cool-down, the sound of footsteps approached. The door opened, revealing his brother, Kai, ten years his junior. Kai shared the same striking orange eyes—looking at him was like gazing into a gentler, younger reflection of himself.
"You're being called by Uncle Thomas," Kai said.
"Just a sec. I'll be right there," Hope responded.
Kai gave a silent nod and retreated to his room.
Hope rose, the tattooed angel on his back shifting with the motion of his shoulders. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the embers in his eyes banked but burning steadily. Duty called from the Guild. Another day in the unforgiving game.