For a century and a half, mankind had fought wars. Robots, aliens, the Achnuds, and the Symbols… all left scars on humanity. The bloodshed had changed how humans saw power. A mutation called The Awakening had swept through the population — a gift, or a curse, granting abilities to some, but not all. At the dawn of the new civilization, humans evolved with these powers, and with them arose systems to control, grow, and survive. Yet for some, no power could save them from loss.
The alarm rang loudly, shattering the dormitory silence.
"Huuuh…" Arel groaned, dragging himself upright. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and peered out the window. The city beyond glittered with early morning light, but today it felt hollow.
In less than seven minutes, he had brushed his teeth, showered, and dressed. By the time he stepped out of the dormitory, a tall figure's shadow fell over him.
"Fash, good morning, sir," Arel mumbled nervously.
In a flash, a sharp strike hit his jaw, sending a jolt of pain up his face.
"What are you doing while your mates are in the training ground?" Fash barked, his voice booming and cracking like thunder.
"Move out NOW!"
Panic surged. Arel sprinted down the hallway, faster than his body should allow, ignoring the throb in his jaw. His feet pounded against the floor, the emptiness of the corridors amplifying his fear. Finally, he reached the elevator, empty of any living soul. Pressing the button, he leaned against the wall, holding his jaw. Tears burned his eyes.
"Papa… where are you?" he whispered, the silence answering him like a cold echo. He had always relied on his father's guidance, his presence, his power. And now… nothing. The absence wasn't just physical; it gnawed at him, hollowing out confidence and courage alike.
---
Three years ago…
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!" The chorus echoed across the small Livingston living room. Balloons floated lazily near the ceiling, and golden light spilled from the chandelier. The whole Livingston clan had gathered to celebrate the young heir.
Annette raised her wineglass, eyes glinting.
"To Livingston and her legacy! To Arel and his future path!"
The room echoed in unison, a chorus of cheers. Ruben, ever the jokester, nudged Arel.
"C'mon, young prince, make a wish — but not too big. We don't need another incident like last year!"
Laughter rippled through the room, and for a brief moment, tension melted like morning mist.
Then the phone rang. Ruben answered.
"Excuse me."
That was the last anyone saw of him. No messages, no corpses, just silence.
---
Arel stared at the empty hallway, the absence of his father echoing in his chest. The Livingston legacy felt suddenly fragile. And for the first time, he understood that life could take everything without warning.