"Do you know what you're going to do after graduation?"
That was the question Aeron Cross heard every single morning — for the past few months. As if repeating it would somehow unlock the answer.
He didn't answer.
He kept his eyes on the tablet, pretending to scroll through the newsfeed while chewing his buttered toast. The headlines blinked in soft blue across the screen:
"Guild War Erupts between Eagle Merchants Guild and Ironbear Guild: 87 Casualties Confirmed."
"Plague Bloom Contained in New Moscow."
"New S-Class Artifact Discovered by Generational Talent Elian Stroud."
Same chaos. Different day.
"Aeron," his father said, more firmly this time. "When we ask you something, you answer."
Aeron finally looked up. Across the small kitchen, his parents wore tired expressions — his mother in her faded dress, making synthetic coffee; his father in his security jacket, worn from too many patrol shifts near D-Class Zones.
"I'll figure it out," Aeron said, his voice calm. Not too bothered.
"That's not good enough," his mother snapped. "You think you can just walk through life without a plan? The world doesn't wait for the indecisive, Aeron."
"You're nineteen," his father added. "Half your class already has Guild internships or private sponsorships. You? You're sitting here reading Zone gossip and eating breakfast with my money."
"I am your kid, you are supposed to pay for me," Aeron muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
He pushed his plate aside. Appetite gone.
His father leaned forward, voice softer now — like he was trying to be reasonable.
"Aeron, I'm saying this for your sake. Apply for the upcoming Guild exams. You're smart. Even if you can't get combat placement, they'll offer you something — cleaning crew, logistics… maybe even a post in the science department."
Aeron shook his head, eyes suddenly sharper. "I don't want to be a fucking bum, Dad. I want to experience Zones firsthand. I want to traverse alien environments. I want to interact with creatures no one's catalogued yet."
Aeron got up from his chair. "You won't get it, Dad. The only reason we are still poor is because you lacked ambition. I won't be like you, Dad. I'll be better."
A heavy silence filled the kitchen.
His father clenched his fists but didn't shout back. He wanted Aeron to agree with him, and shouting would just make him sound more unreasonable.
"You think I lacked ambition?" his father said quietly. "You think I wanted this life? I work double security shifts near Zones so you could have a roof over your head, Aeron."
He paused, then sighed, disappointed. "Your genetic ability was classified as dormant. You'll never qualify for combat in any official Guild. That's not me talking — that's the system."
Aeron didn't flinch.
"I'll go freelance," he said, looking away from his father. "I don't need their or your approval. I'll make it on my own."
His mother remained quiet, pretending to busy herself with the dishes, but the way her shoulders tensed said it all.
"You're chasing ghosts," his father muttered. "There's nothing out there but monsters and madness."
Aeron grabbed his bag from the back of the chair.
"Then it sounds like the perfect place to start."
His father remained quiet, sipping his coffee with an annoyed look. This was normal in the Cross household; he had grown accustomed to daily arguments.
As Aeron slung the bag over his shoulder and made for the door, his mother finally turned around.
"You're heading to college?" she asked, trying to act like nothing happened.
"Yeah," he said, without turning back.
She reached toward the counter, grabbed a wrapped lunch box — simple rice rolls and nutrient paste, packed in a thin thermal wrap.
"Take this," she said, holding it out.
He paused, just for a second. Then kept walking.
"I'm not hungry."
Her hand dropped slowly, the lunch still in it.
Aeron slammed the door behind him. The first thing that hit him was the stench — raw sewage mixed with rotting garbage.
Beggars lined the street, backs bent, hands out. Their clothes were rags. Flies swarmed their faces.
Rats darted between cracks in the pavement, slipping into piles of trash and human waste. Every building was half-collapsed — broken windows, crumbling brick, metal sheets nailed over gaping holes.
[Image]
Above it all, drones with different designs and logos from various guilds scanned everything to make sure no Zone appeared without them noticing.
Aeron moved fast, hands in his pockets. Not because he wanted to reach college earlier or anything — he just wanted to escape this disgusting view as soon as possible.
By the time he reached the outskirts of the university sector, the air had cleared a little. The buildings here were taller, cleaner — covered in sleek glass and carbon frames. Automated sweepers buzzed along the pavement, wiping away any trace of the lower zones.
Aeron kept his eyes low. He didn't want his friends to notice him today.
But, just like the rest of his life, Aeron's luck was garbage.
"Yo, there he is!" a loud voice rang out across the corridor. "Aeron!"
He sighed as a group of students approached — laughing, loud, too full of energy for this early in the day.
One of them, a lanky guy named Riko, clapped him on the back.
"So," Riko grinned, "how'd the Genetic Ability Assessment go? With how jacked you are, you probably scored something insane, right? Like kinetic absorption or grav-lift?"
Aeron forced a thin smile. "Yeah. Something like that."
"Man, with your physique, you're a certain candidate for Eagle Merchants," said another classmate, a broad-shouldered boy named Brant. "My cousin's in logistics there — he says they're always scouting for elite rookies."
"Yeah," Riko added. "They'd probably make you a squad leader straight out of training. Imagine the pay. The travel. Zone traversal with full Guild clearance."
They kept talking, laughing, patting him on the back like he was already one of the greats.
Aeron just stood there, hands stuffed into his pockets, silent.
If only they knew.
His genetic report hadn't given him super strength, elemental control, or energy manipulation. It had slapped him with one word — Dormant. No active ability. No system enhancements. Nothing but meat and bones. For combat placement, that put him behind 90% of the applicant pool.
He cursed his genes for failing him.
But college was almost over. After this semester, they'd all scatter — to internships, Guilds, private labs. So he didn't bother correcting them.
The bell rang.
They filed into the lecture hall — the desks were made of metal and hologram screens were lined at the front.
The professor, an aging woman with cybernetic eyes, tapped the screen behind her.
"Let's begin. Last lecture we discussed the early exploration protocols during first contact with Zones. Can anyone explain the energy fluctuations that occur during a Zone bloom?"
Aeron raised his hand without thinking.
"Yes, Mr. Cross?"
"They spike erratically for the first 30 minutes," Aeron said, voice steady. "Because the Zone core hasn't stabilized. That's when entities and landscape is most unpredictable."
The professor smiled. "Correct. Excellent, as always."
He nodded and sat down, ignoring the approving looks from his classmates.
'Maybe Dad was right,' he thought bitterly. 'Maybe I should just settle for a lab coat. Be a scientist. Even if I can run faster and hit harder than most — without an ability, I'll always be backup. Never frontline.'
Just then, the sirens blared.
A low, vibrating wail echoed through the walls — different from the usual notices. This one was sharper. Urgent.
A mechanical voice rang out from the ceiling speakers.
"Attention: This is not an evacuation drill.
Energy readings in this area have surpassed threshold levels.
Estimated Zone classification: C-Class.
Closest Guild response: 45 minutes.
Please remain calm and hide under your seats until containment personnel arrive."
The lecture hall erupted into gasps and murmurs. Some students dove under their desks immediately. Others froze.
Aeron's breath caught in his throat.
'Forty-five minutes. That's too long.'
The ground began to shake violently. Kids screamed, some praying to God to save their lives. Aeron clenched his desk's leg tightly.
Lights began to flicker, and ceiling tiles came crashing down.
Then, finally, a screech—not any student, not any animal they were familiar with. It was something that the Zone had brought with it.