The city never truly slept anymore.
Somewhere far away, sounds always lingered past dark. Sirens stretched into nothing. Tires rolled over broken roads. Sometimes there was only that thick pause, the kind that meant trouble had come and gone without leaving witnesses behind.
A man crouched where Sector Twelve thinned out, fingers sorting coins under a flickering streetlight.
The building behind him barely glowed. One window awake. Then another went dark.
Cold metal rested against his skin. Uneven. Light. His thumbs moved slowly, separating worth from scrap, checking each coin twice. There was no hurry. Dust curled near his boots, stirred by nothing at all. The light blinked again.
Then stayed on.
Not many.
After buying flour, only a few coins remained. Maybe enough for eggs too—unless the market raised prices again. Which it probably would.
He closed his fingers and let out a quiet breath.
Past twenty-five now. No guild mark stitched onto his coat. No title worth remembering. No one waiting for him except two kids pretending they didn't need him as much as they did.
If fairness ruled the world, his life might have stayed quiet.
Ordinary.
Fairness had left this planet ten years ago.
That was when the ground first split open.
No explosions. No fire. Just silence—and then the earth giving in, like it had been holding its breath for too long. Round holes appeared overnight. Clean edges. Too clean. So deep that even daylight failed to reach the bottom.
People gave them names at first.
Holes. Scars. Graves.
Eventually, everyone stopped thinking about it.
They called them Crater Dungeons.
Monsters followed soon after.
A transport drone drifted overhead, its lights stuttering as the man raised his eyes. Somewhere deeper in the city, a siren cried out. Not urgent. Just caution.
Could be a drill. Could be another leak.
He didn't care enough to check.
A soft groan came from behind him.
"Brother."
A small voice.
He turned, and a smile slipped out before he could stop it.
She stood there at twelve, thin arms wrapped around herself like they were the only thing holding her together. Silence clung to her shoulders—far heavier than it should for a child. Waiting had shaped her before growth ever could.
"Did you eat?" he asked.
She nodded quickly. "Just a bit."
A lie. A gentle one. She was already good at those.
Inside, a boy sat among open books. Thirteen. Head down. Focused. Too focused. Like someone trying to grow faster than time allowed. Each page turned felt like practice for a future he wasn't supposed to reach yet.
From somewhere unseen, the narrator observed.
What a miserable little den.
Truly pitiful. Three people pressed into a space held together by habit and fear. Hunger lingered like a guest that never left. Tomorrow meant nothing when today barely survived.
A slum rat clutching his scraps while the world cracked beneath him. Though honestly, it was never whole to begin with.
The door shut behind him. The lock clicked.
Ten years ago, their parents had walked into a dungeon.
They never walked out.
Footsteps faded. Silence followed. The door stayed open for hours after they left, as if waiting for a mistake to correct itself.
Only a letter came back. Official. Cold. Along with some money that vanished faster than hope ever could.
After that, the world kept changing.
Crater dungeons multiplied. Some shallow. Some deep enough to swallow entire teams. If a dungeon wasn't cleared in time, it shattered.
And when it shattered, things crawled out.
Slowly at first. Then faster.
Blocks of the city fell quiet one by one.
That was when the Awakened appeared.
People changed after the system arrived. Not everyone. Just a few unlucky—or lucky—ones. Stronger bodies. Faster reactions. Strange abilities that ignored logic. Scientists tried to explain it. They failed every time.
Rules existed.
They just didn't care to make sense.
Lists were created. Numbers assigned. Order enforced.
And rewards paid.
He stood outside it all. Watching. Working. Surviving.
For now.
Groceries hit the table. He dropped into a chair, exhaustion settling deep in his bones, like it had always lived there.
Tomorrow meant the warehouse again. Sweeping floors. Carrying boxes. Sometimes worse, if the pay justified it.
Survival was his only skill.
And even that felt borrowed.
Boredom whispered inside him.
Careful now. Drowning comes faster when you stop moving.
The lights flickered.
Once.
He froze.
That wasn't normal.
The air grew heavy. Not cold—weighted. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
A sound reached him. Soft. Rotating. Not a voice.
Then it appeared.
Better keep quiet when he's around.
Not where people gather. Not near a dungeon.
Inside.
---
[World System Detected]
---
The words burned behind his eyes.
A chair tipped over as he staggered back.
"What…?"
---
[Awakening in Progress]
[Compatibility: Unstable]
[Evaluation: Incomplete]
---
His heart slammed against his ribs.
This wasn't how it happened. Awakening came near dungeons. Under pressure. Under death.
Not here.
Not now.
The system paused.
Then—
---
[Secondary System Detected]
Continuum System — Incomplete
[Authorization: Partial]
---
Pain exploded in his head.
He dropped to one knee, breath tearing out of him. Fragments filled his vision—broken stars, torn skies, something vast enough to scar reality just by existing.
Then nothing.
The text vanished.
Fear filled her eyes. "Brother…?"
He forced himself up, swallowing the ache.
"I'm okay."
A lie.
Something shifted inside him. Quiet. Wrong. Like a door left open that should have stayed sealed.
Broken.
Hungry.
Something unseen turned its gaze toward him.
Well done, the voice sneered.
You've just stepped into something you were never meant to survive.