The world ended before Calder Draco was even born.
They called it the Veilfall—a cataclysmic rupture in the sky above the Pacific Ocean that bled silver fire and cracked the boundaries between dimensions. From the rents in reality came the first beasts, and with them, the unraveling of everything mankind thought permanent: governments, borders, religions, laws. Monsters crawled out of the sea like the Earth was vomiting up its regrets. Cities were flattened. Armies broken. Humanity, arrogant and unprepared, nearly ceased to exist in a week.
And then, the Awakened came.
People whose bodies reacted to the Veilfire in their blood—who manifested powers no human should ever possess. A woman who commanded gravity with her hands. A man whose bones turned to obsidian and eyes burned blue. Children who walked through walls, who screamed and split the air like glass.
These abilities were labeled Echoes, and those who possessed them were both weapon and salvation. They turned the tide. They sealed the worst of the rifts. They began to rebuild what the world had lost. The governments that reformed under new names knew what they had to do:
Harness the Awakened.
Elevate them. Control them. Worship them.
It became standard across the fractured globe: all children, between the ages of ten and sixteen, were scanned by government-licensed System interfaces. Aether-thread detectors, bio-weavers, Veil-seers—tools developed to isolate and record whether a person had the Spark. If the System found you compatible, your Thread would awaken. You'd receive an assigned Echo Class, a government ID, and a clear path to fortune, fame, and power.
For the Awakened, the world bent to their will.
For everyone else?
You were invisible.
---
When Calder Draco went for his System scan at the state-run Diagnostics Facility in San Arlen, he was fifteen. Pale. Quiet. Taller than most, but thin like a streetlight, face too narrow to be handsome. Other kids whispered about him in the waiting line.
"His parents died to Veilbeasts, right?"
"Probably trauma-locked. You know that can screw the reading."
"I heard unawakened kids get sent to labor zones in the northern districts."
He ignored them. He always did. There wasn't much left inside him to care—not since the monsters tore apart his home and left nothing but static on the emergency broadcast. No caskets. No burial. Just names on a wall and government rations for orphans.
Calder stepped into the scanning chamber.
He placed his hand on the Veil-thread interface.
The machine whirred. Lights traced up his arm like fireflies. The attendant blinked. Looked again.
Then the monitor flashed red:
[THREAD ERROR: NO DATA FOUND] [RECOMMENDED STATUS: VEIL-EMPTY] [ASSIGNMENT: ARCHIVAL / NON-COMBAT LABOR]
"Error?" Calder asked.
The attendant avoided his eyes. "It means you don't have a Thread."
"That's... not possible."
"It happens sometimes," the man said, already flagging the next student. "Bad genes. System glitch. Just go. Next!"
He walked out past the jeers and silence and never looked back.
From that moment, Calder Draco was officially nothing.
Not Unawakened. Not Dormant.
Just glitched.
---
For the next three years, life blurred. He aged out of the orphan lists. Picked up bottom-feeder jobs in broken sectors. Lived in a complex where rats outnumbered people. Spent his nights eating dried noodles and watching rich Awakened teens post fight clips for fame, girls, and digital sponsorships.
He never complained. Not once. Not when the heat cut out. Not when he had to wash in cold water and scrub monster blood off train seats for minimum credits.
But a part of him—deep, buried, silent—raged.
It wasn't fair.
Not when he'd lost everything.
Not when monsters had eaten his future.
And especially not when the world crowned cowards and fools just because they had a goddamn Thread.
---
The night Calder Draco died wasn't special.
He'd just gotten off work. Back aching. Clothes stiff with chemical cleaner. He stripped off in the dark and stepped into the half-working shower. The water came out brown. Then clear. Then ice cold.
He leaned against the tile. Let the stream hit his back. Eyes half-closed.
Then he slipped.
His foot caught the edge of the tub. The curtain snapped. His skull cracked against the porcelain.
Everything went black.
---
Silence.
Then a sound like wind through bone.
Then—
> [UNCLAIMED THREAD DETECTED] [SOUL VESSEL DAMAGED – CORE AWAKENING INITIATED] [THREAD TYPE: HYBRID – DRACONIC / DEMONIC / VAMPIRIC / DIVINE] [STATUS: VEIL-REJECTED – ACCESS GRANTED] [SYSTEM CALIBRATING…]
"You are no longer of the broken. You are no longer of the weak." "Welcome, Sovereign. The Throne awaits."
Calder's eyes snapped open.
He gasped, choking on blood, limbs jerking as nerve endings reignited like fireworks. His spine cracked. His vision pulsed.
And then—he saw it.
A screen. Floating. Glowing. Etched into the air like burning glass.
> [NIGHTBORN SOVEREIGN SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[TIER 1 UNLOCKED – NIGHTBORN INHERITOR]
[NEW TRAITS: Blood Sigil | Predator's Archive | Breath of Dominion]
[WARNING: EXISTENCE NO LONGER RECOGNIZED BY STANDARD SCANNERS]
[STATUS: SOVEREIGN CLASS – ONE OF ONE]
Calder stared at his shaking hands. His blood was glowing.
He laughed.
Then he screamed.