The city didn't slow down for anyone.
Astra Prime never did.
Lira Kael walked the elevated transit path in silence, the glow of passing vehicles washing over her face in waves of white and blue. The evaluation complex was far behind her now, but the weight of it still clung to her shoulders, invisible and stubborn.
D-rank.
She didn't need the hologram to tell her. Her body already knew.
She paused near a quiet overlook where the city dropped away into layered districts, each one dimmer than the last. Far below, normal humans moved like dots of light, their lives untouched by rankings, simulations, or survival percentages.
For a moment, she wondered if that ignorance was peace.
"Thinking too hard usually makes it worse."
The voice came from behind her, calm and familiar.
Lira turned.
He stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed like he hadn't just appeared in her personal space without her noticing. Same clothes. Same unremarkable presence. Same eyes that looked like they were seeing something other than what was in front of them.
"You follow people out of evaluation halls often?" she asked.
"Only the ones who don't look relieved," he replied.
She scoffed softly and turned back to the city. "Then you must stay busy."
"Less than you'd think."
They stood side by side again, separated by inches but worlds apart.
"Why are you here?" she asked after a while.
He didn't answer immediately.
"Because you didn't stop," he said finally.
She frowned. "Stop what?"
"Trying," he said. "Most people do. Quietly. Long before their bodies force them to."
Her fingers tightened on the railing. "Trying doesn't change ranks."
"No," he agreed. "But it changes what happens when ranks stop mattering."
She looked at him sharply. "You keep saying things like that."
"And you keep listening."
That irritated her more than she expected.
"You don't even know me," she said.
"I know you chose to stand when no one was watching," he replied. "That's enough for now."
She exhaled slowly. "You still haven't told me your name."
"Names create expectations," he said. "I'd rather avoid those."
She laughed once, short and dry. "That's convenient."
"Truth often is."
A silence settled between them—not awkward, just… heavy.
"Do you believe people have limits?" she asked.
"Yes."
"And you think mine isn't here?" she pressed.
He turned to face her fully now. Up close, she noticed how steady he was. No tension. No subconscious bracing like every superhuman carried.
"No," he said. "I think yours hasn't been reached yet."
That should have sounded comforting.
Instead, it scared her.
She stepped back. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why?"
"Because if you're wrong," she said quietly, "you're just giving someone hope they'll have to kill later."
He studied her for a long moment.
"Hope only hurts," he said, "when it's empty."
Then he stepped away, melting back into the crowd as naturally as he had appeared.
Lira stayed there long after he was gone.
Three days passed.
Lira trained. Rested. Trained again.
On the fourth day, she stood in front of the guild mission board.
Her guild emblem flickered weakly on her sleeve as assignments scrolled past. Most were routine. Low threat. Low reward. Designed to keep D-ranks occupied without letting them die too quickly.
Then she saw it.
Frontier Zone K-17.
Unstable gravity.
Unknown hostile presence.
Casualty rate: High.
A mission most sane people avoided.
She didn't hesitate.
Her name locked in before doubt could catch up.
The dropship launched at dawn.
Six members this time. All D-ranks. One low C-rank leader who looked nervous enough to give himself away.
As the planet came into view, Lira felt it again—that quiet pressure in her chest. Not fear.
Anticipation.
They landed in a broken valley where gravity twisted unpredictably, pulling debris sideways instead of down. The air shimmered with distortion.
The first attack came without warning.
Creatures emerged from folded space itself, their bodies flickering in and out of alignment with reality. One of the D-ranks screamed as gravity inverted around him, crushing him into the ground like paper.
"Formation!" the leader shouted.
Too late.
The battlefield collapsed into chaos.
Lira reinforced herself and moved, dodging warped strikes, pulling teammates out of collapsing gravity wells. Pain tore through her muscles as she exceeded safe thresholds again and again.
Something massive shifted above them.
The air thickened.
Not pressure.
Authority.
A presence descended.
The C-rank froze.
"That's—" he whispered. "That's not supposed to be here."
The creature didn't roar.
It didn't need to.
Gravity bent around it, obeying without resistance.
Lira was driven to one knee, bones screaming as reinforcement fractured under the strain. Her vision blurred, red bleeding into the edges.
This was death.
She knew it.
Then—
Tick.
A sound so small it almost didn't register.
Something struck the creature.
Not energy.
Not a weapon.
A stone.
A simple pebble crossed the warped space between ground and sky.
There was no explosion.
No shockwave.
The moment it made contact, the creature's body collapsed inward—not violently, not dramatically, but completely. Gravity folded into itself, compressing the mass until it could no longer exist.
The creature vanished as if it had never been allowed to be real.
The pressure disappeared.
The world snapped back into place.
Lira gasped, air rushing back into her lungs. Around her, the remaining guild members lay unconscious, spared but unaware.
Footsteps crunched softly across the broken ground.
She looked up.
He stood there.
Same clothes. Same calm expression. Same ordinary presence that now felt impossibly wrong.
He glanced down at the small stone resting near his foot.
"You're reckless," he said mildly. "Another second and your body would've failed completely."
Her heart pounded violently.
"Y-you—" she tried to rise. Failed. "What… was that?"
He nudged the stone lightly with his shoe.
"A throw," he said. "Nothing more."
"That thing controlled gravity," she whispered.
"So does a planet," he replied. "Yet stones still fall."
He crouched beside her.
The closer he came, the heavier the air felt—not oppressive, not crushing, but absolute, like the world itself refused to act against him.
"I told you," he said quietly. "Ranks stop mattering."
She stared at him, shaking.
"What are you?" she asked.
He met her eyes.
"Someone who didn't want you to die before you reached your answer."
He stood.
When the rescue team arrived minutes later, sensors found nothing unusual.
No hostile remains.
No residual energy.
No anomalies.
Only survivors.
Only questions.
And Lira Kael—still D-rank—knew with terrifying certainty that she had just seen the edge of something the world had never measured.