The sun hit the grease on the kitchen window, turning the glass into a blurry, orange mess. Atlan didn't look at the view; he looked at the clock. Every tick felt like a hammer against his skull. He wiped his brow with the back of a damp hand, his eyes fixed on the seconds ticking away.
"Hey, are you done with the dishes?" Atlan called out. His voice sounded thin in their cramped apartment, bouncing off walls that still smelled like the cheap dish soap they'd used for two years.
From the doorway, a younger voice drifted in, lazy and practiced. "Almost done, bro."
At eighteen, Atlan's frame was hardened by two years of grueling hours at the store—not the "gym-fit" kind of lean, but the "double-shifts" kind of skinny. His face still had a bit of youth to it, but his eyes were heavy, the kind of tired that belonged to a boy who had forgotten how to act his age. Across from him stood Ander, his younger brother.
They were a duo forged in a mess of tragedy. Two years ago, their parents had left for a honeymoon and never came back. The actual cause of death was never revealed—all the boys knew was that they only had each other left. Atlan had traded his childhood for a cash register just to keep a roof over their heads.
But today, things might change. Today was the first day of the 2026 Mana Evaluation.
Sixteen was the minimum. The moment when the "normies" were separated from the coveted Walkers. To be a Walker was to be awakened, to have that spark that let you hit the Gates and bring back riches. Atlan had missed his window at sixteen, anchored by grief and the sudden, sharp need to survive. But he had waited. He refused to take the test alone. Their dreams had fused; Atlan's childhood obsession with the supernatural had rubbed off on Ander until it was the only thing they cared about.
"Hey, we want to make it out there as quickly as possible," Atlan said, pacing the floor as he watched Ander slowly dry the last of the cutlery. "Today's the opening day. It's only going to last a week as usual. What's with the holdup? Let's get going already!"
Ander rolled his eyes, though a small, nervous smile tugged at his lips. "Oh, come on, don't rush me. It's two years too late for you to still be this ecstatic. Come on."
"Whatever, just hurry up," Atlan shot back, though there was no heat in it.
He turned to the window, watching the city stir. It's been a wild two years, he thought, catching his reflection in the glass. Working at the store... now I can finally chase my own dreams. The pay is sure to be juicy. We can do the things we missed out on. Holidays. The usual stuff boys our age actually enjoy.
He took a deep breath. The scent of cheap dish soap suddenly felt like the promise of a new life. "It's going to be a whole new chapter for us," he whispered to himself.
"I'm all set," Ander announced, tossing the towel aside and grabbing his jacket.
The journey to the Union for Awakeners (UA) Headquarters was a blur of high-speed transit and muffled nerves. The HQ was a massive spike of glass and reinforced steel, looming over the skyline like a needle threading the clouds. As they rounded the final corner, the brothers skidded to a halt. The crowd was a wall of people stretching blocks away from the main gates.
"Wow," Ander breathed. "Despite how early we left home, there's still a lot of people who made it out here before us."
Atlan sighed, tugging at the collar of his worn jacket. "Well, maybe if someone hurried up a bit, we could have made it a lot sooner."
Guards directed them toward the tail end of a line that moved slower than a glacier. Now that they were here, the adrenaline turned into a cold, buzzing anxiety in Atlan's stomach. He looked around, spotting kids their age, but also "adult-adults"—men with lined faces and the look of a last-ditch effort for a better life.
A rush of thrill hit him. This is it, he thought, his pulse drumming in his ears. I can finally become a Walker. I just have to hope I awaken an elite talent and get scouted. His mind raced—mansions, high-tier armor, glory. Woah, woah... I'm thinking way too far ahead. One step at a time. Then, a darker thought crept in. What if Ander doesn't awaken something just as cool? Wait... what if he doesn't awaken at all?
He shook his head, trying to disperse the fear. Statistics said eight in ten people awaken. The odds weren't against them. All this thinking is killing the mood.
"Hey, Atlan, chill," Ander said, noticing his brother's white-knuckled grip on his sleeves. "Don't go overthinking like usual. It's a test, and we'll ace it like we would a written test."
Atlan managed a dry, shaky chuckle. "Look at you, sounding all confident. You do know that's not how this works, right? This is not the same thing as algebra."
"I know, I know," Ander grinned, bumping his shoulder against Atlan's. "I just wanted to ease you a bit."
"I know you did," Atlan said, his posture finally relaxing. "And it seems it worked. This is going to go great for us." He declared it loudly, a verbal charm to ward off the darkness.
Hours bled into a grueling wait until they reached the basement. It was cold, sterile, and dominated by the God-Meter—a crystalline pillar that hummed with a low frequency Atlan could feel in his teeth.
"Next," a man said.
It was Ander's turn. Atlan gave his brother a firm nod, his heart swelling with pride and a tiny bit of envy.
"Okay, put your hand on the God-meter so we can take your readings," a lady said over the mic. Her voice was surprisingly gentle.
Ander stepped forward, looking small next to the glowing pillar. He reached out and pressed his palm against the cold surface. Immediately, the room erupted in a rhythmic, golden chime.
[SUBJECT 0001720: AWAKENING CONFIRMED.]
[SUBJECT CLASS: MAGE.]
[RANK AWAKENING: S-CLASS.]
The silence lasted a fraction of a second before the booth exploded. The woman behind the glass jumped up, screaming in shock and hugging a co-worker. An S-Rank. A literal miracle.
Ander's legs gave out. He fell to his knees in tears. "I... I made it? I'm an S-Rank? Me?"
He was still sobbing when the guards, their faces full of newfound respect, escorted him toward the exit. They handed him a gold-tinted card—a pass to the elite orientation.
"Next," the man said, snapping Atlan out of his daze.
Atlan stepped forward, his stride confident, almost bouncy. The attendants took his name, their eyes still wandering toward the door Ander had just exited.
"Okay, you're Atlan Elza," the lady said, her voice trembling. "Are you by any chance related to the young man who entered just now?"
"Well, yes," Atlan responded, his chest puffed out. "He is, in fact, my younger brother."
"Okay, wow. That's good. Please, put your hands on the meter," she replied with a small, encouraging smile. "Your brother awakened as an S-Rank class."
Atlan let out a triumphant scream of joy, a release of two years of suppressed hope. He slammed his hand onto the God-Meter, waiting for the golden light to unite him with his brother.
The machine hummed. A low, dull red light flickered at the base. No chime. Just a flat, mechanical buzz.
[SUBJECT 0001721: FAILED TO AWAKEN.]
The world stopped. The air in the room seemed to vanish. The joy on Atlan's face curdled, freezing into a mask of pure horror. His hand remained glued to the cold stone, waiting for a correction. A joke. Anything.
"What?" he let out, despair filling his voice.