The streets here were clean. Too clean. The kind of place where every window had glass, and the stone roads didn't have cracks or weeds growing out of them. People walked slower, dressed nicer, and talked quieter, like they were all pretending to be more important than they were.
A boy walked through it all, out of place from the first step.
His hair was black and unkempt, falling messily around his face. His clothes were simple - plain tunic, worn trousers, and a faded cloak that hung awkwardly off his shoulders. Nothing matched. His boots were scuffed, the soles uneven. He looked like someone who didn't care how he looked, or someone who'd gone too long without the chance to care.
People noticed.
A pair of finely dressed man glanced his way, whispering behind their hands. A woman pulled her child closer, eyeing him like he might be dangerous. Even a nearby guard straightened a bit, watching him without saying a word.
But the boy kept walking.
He didn't look back, didn't say anything. He just moved through the neat, polished streets like it was nothing. Every now and then, he glanced at a folded piece of paper in his hand. A map, maybe. Old and creased. His eyes scanned it briefly, then dropped back to the road.
He didn't seem lost. He didn't seem bothered. Maybe he just didn't care.
Or maybe he had other things on his mind.
A few more turns took him away from the noise. The streets grew wider, cleaner. The walls were smooth and pale, built from reinforced synth-stone. Glass panels lined the upper floors, and lights hummed softly under covered walkways. Security drones floated overhead in slow, lazy arcs.
He reached the building without pause.
DEPARTMENT OF RESONANCE AND ECHO STABILIZATION was engraved into a long panel of black glass beside the entrance. Below it, smaller letters read: Awakening & Integration Division, East Sector Branch.
It looked more like a high-end clinic than a place where lives changed forever. The lobby inside was white, bright, and silent. Staff in pale blue uniforms moved behind desks and terminals, their expressions unreadable.
He wasn't impressed, not exactly. But even he had to admit - this place was... something else. Cold, quiet, and almost too perfect. It made the rough paper in his hand feel heavier than it should.
He walked toward the front entrance where two officials stood just past the inner security gate. Both wore the same pale blue coats, but their badges were edged in black - a sign of authority.
They noticed him before he could say anything. One of them, older, with sharp lines around his mouth, gave him a look.
"Can I help you?" the man asked.
The boy hesitated for a second, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. The paper was slightly wrinkled from the walk.
He handed it over without a word.
The official took it, broke the seal, and scanned the contents. Whatever was written there changed his expression - subtly, but enough. His eyes flicked back up.
"This way," he said.
Then turned and started walking.
The boy followed.
***
They moved through quiet hallways lined with smooth white panels and softly glowing lights embedded in the ceiling. Passing by a wide window on the right. Inside, rows of strange pods filled the room - like vertical coffins made of metal and glass. People were inside them, motionless, eyes closed. Breathing steady. Sleeping?
Or... something like it.
There were too many wires. Tubes. Lights blinking on panels that meant nothing to him. The boy slowed for a second, but the official didn't pause, so he moved on.
The next room had people sitting in chairs facing projection walls, some of them shaking. Some screaming. Staff stood nearby, taking notes as glowing patterns pulsed across the walls. Tests, maybe. Or simulations.
Another hallway revealed rooms where people sat in meditation, surrounded by rings of shifting light. One of them suddenly collapsed forward, clutching their chest, but no one rushed in. A system beeped, and someone calmly typed something into a console.
The boy didn't ask. He didn't need to.
Eventually, they stopped.
It was a plain room. Small. A table in the center, two chairs - one on either side. One wall had a glass square, dark-tinted. Either a window or a mirror.
The official motioned with a nod. "Sit. Someone will speak with you shortly."
The boy did as he was told. No questions.
He sat down, rested his hands in his lap, and stared at the glass.
Waiting.
***
The silence stretched for a few minutes - just long enough to become uncomfortable - before the door finally opened with a quiet hiss.
Two people entered.
The first was an older man in a long, white coat that brushed just above his ankles. His hair was mostly gray, thin at the sides. He carried a tablet in one hand.
The second was a woman in a muted blue nurse's uniform, pushing a sleek, wheeled device that softly hummed as it moved. The machine looked too advanced to guess its purpose - smooth, with screens and cables neatly wound into its sides.
The man took the seat across from the boy. The woman stayed standing.
He glanced up, then asked, "Your name?"
The boy answered without much thought.
"...Cassius."
The man tapped something on his tablet, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the envelope - the same one Cassius had handed at the gate. He inspected the seal, eyes narrowing slightly as he turned it over in his hand.
Meanwhile, the nurse walked up beside Cassius and gave him a small, polite smile.
"Can you raise your right hand for me?" she asked gently.
Cassius hesitated, looking from her to the machine and back again. Then, slowly, he lifted his arm.
She worked quickly. Cool pads pressed against his skin as she wrapped thin wires around his forearm and wrist, then fastened a few clips to his fingers. A soft chime came from the machine as it powered up.
The man spoke again.
"Based on this handwriting... this must be from Father Reulan." He gave a brief nod to himself.
"Are you from the Orphanage?"
Cassius nodded once.
The old man studied him for a second longer, then looked down at his tablet again.
The nurse finished her work, taking a step back before pressing a few keys on the side of the machine. It let out a soft tone as it activated - screens flickered to life, displaying fluctuating graphs and streams of real-time data. Lines danced across monitors in sharp spikes and waves. Numbers scrolled.
The old man leaned forward, eyes scanning the readouts.
Then he froze.
His brow tightened, lips parting slightly in surprise. He blinked, looked again, and then slowly turned his gaze back to Cassius - longer this time, more focused. He studied the boy like he was trying to see something beneath the skin.
"How are you feeling right now?" he asked with sudden concern.
Cassius tilted his head slightly at the question. "Just... fine?"
The old man let out a slow breath, sitting back as if unsure what to make of the answer. He gestured toward the screen.
"...You shouldn't be. Your heart rate is dangerously low - barely half of what it should be. Your EKG's irregular. Blood pressure's abnormally low. Brain activity is-" he stopped himself, eyebrows furrowing.
"You're showing every physiological marker for someone on the brink of systemic failure. And you're telling me you're just... fine?"
Cassius blinked, glancing at the screen, not fully understanding what all those lines meant - but he could tell enough.
"Maybe," he said after a moment, "it's because of my... condition?"
The old man narrowed his eyes slightly. "What do you mean by that?"
Cassius looked at him, unbothered. "I've... had it since I was little. They said it's rare. I don't feel... pain. Or anything like that. Not really."
A heavy pause followed. The nurse gave the old man a quiet look, but said nothing.
As if confirming something, the old man tapped at his tablet - swiping, typing, cross-referencing data. His brows drew together. Then, after a moment, his posture eased. He turned the screen slightly toward himself, eyes narrowing as he read.
"I see…" he muttered under his breath.
"You have CIP."
Cassius blinked. "What's that?"
The old man leaned back in his chair, tapping a knuckle against the side of the tablet.
"Congenital Insensitivity to Pain. A rare neurological condition. You're born without the ability to feel physical pain."
"You can still feel pressure. You can tell if you're touching something. But pain - the burning, stinging, stabbing kind - it just doesn't register. And that can be dangerous. You wouldn't know if you're seriously injured unless you see it."
He looked toward the screen again, then back at Cassius.
"There are only a few handful of known cases worldwide. Most are discovered early. It's... extremely rare."
Cassius sat quietly, his expression unreadable.
"That explains your vitals," the man added. "Your heart rate is abnormally low, your stress response is flat. Your body just doesn't react the way it should."
Cassius looked down at the floor for a moment.
'That's... new'
All this time, he thought it was just... him - something wrong in the head, maybe. Something broken that no one else talked about.
He never would've thought it was some kind of a medical condition.
The old man cleared his throat gently, breaking the silence. "Well then… let's get back to the matter at hand."
He adjusted the tablet on his lap and looked Cassius in the eye. "Do you know why you're here, Cassius?"
Cassius gave a small nod. "Yeah."
His fingers twitched slightly in his lap as he answered.
"I came for the... SAT."
The old man nodded slowly.
"Yes... the Soul Ascension Test, otherwise known as the SAT."
***
The world hadn't always been like this.
There was a time - centuries ago - when life was ordinary, bound by science, politics, and the slow grind of progress. Then came the event no one fully understood. Some called it the Great Resonance, others the Sundering of the Veils. But in time, history settled on a single name: The Great Apotheosis.
It was the moment soul eclipsed flesh.
It shattered the boundary between spirit and substance, and from that fracture came the Echoes - spiritual inheritances, fragments of forgotten truths, and power beyond reason.
The world broke, but it also evolved.
And in this so-called 'new world,' power wasn't taken.
It was awakened.
***
He tapped on his tablet, then continued, "The Soul Ascension Test is mandatory for all individuals who've reached the legal apotheosis age. It's the first step - meant to determine if your Echo is active, dormant, or… something else."
He paused briefly, studying Cassius again. "It measures your spiritual frequency, strain thresholds, Echo response latency, and a few dozen other things we barely understand. Most come out with nothing. Some come out changed."
His voice dipped, quieter now.
"And a very rare few… don't come out at all."
Cassius didn't flinch. He didn't blink. His expression stayed flat - indifferent, as if the idea of not coming out at all was just another line in a conversation he wasn't invested in.
The old man exhaled slowly, rubbing his thumb along the edge of his tablet.
"Given that you're from the orphanage… and that you had to walk here on your own, I'm sure you've already seen the difference..."
"...Between the low and high castes. Between kids groomed for this moment, trained from the moment they could read - and those like you."
He shook his head. "It isn't fair. A boy with no mentor, no preparation, no real understanding of the Apotheosis, suddenly being tossed into a trial like this… it's cruel."
He paused, as if weighing whether he should say what came next.
"I wish I could do something," he said quietly. "But given the seal and directive from Father Reulan… you're scheduled to undergo your trial today."
The old man sighed and stood, motioning toward the door.
"Come then."
***
They walked in silence down a long corridor lit by sterile white panels. Cassius followed quietly, until the old man stopped in front of a glass door and pressed his palm to a scanner. A soft hiss sounded as the locks disengaged and the door slid open.
Inside, the room buzzed faintly with energy.
Cassius stepped in and looked around, his expression neutral - but his eyes drifted across the strange, humming machinery that lined the walls. It was another world to him - foreign, complex, incomprehensible. Thick cables coiled like veins across the floor, feeding into tall metal pillars and monitors that blinked with cryptic patterns.
But the thing that stood out most was the large, transparent pod in the center of the room.
It stood upright like a capsule, surrounded by a ring of support arms and connected by thick wires that pulsed with pale light. Mist clung to its base, and something inside it - some mechanism - hummed with restrained power.
The old man stepped forward and spoke:
"This is the Aether Conduit Pod. We simply call it the Gate."
Cassius blinked slowly, saying nothing.
"The SAT isn't a simple aptitude test," the man continued.
"Your Echo - whatever it is - already exists within you. Every soul has one. Some are faint and fragile. Others... dangerous and ancient."
He glanced at the pod, then back at Cassius.
"There are five known classification of Echo. But the truth is... that doesn't matter right now. Not for you."
He tapped something on the screen beside the machine.
"What does matter," he said, "is that this machine will teleport your entire existence. Not just your body - but your soul, your sense of self, your presence. You'll be sent to somewhere, and to somewhen."
Cassius frowned faintly at that.
"...Somewhen?"
"Yes," the man confirmed, seeing the look. "Time and place are... unstable. The process doesn't obey linear rules. You could awaken in the ashes of a fallen empire, or in the heart of a war not yet fought. You might be alone. Or hunted. Or tested."
He let the words settle in.
"Every trial is different. Tailored. Personalized. But whatever you face - whatever you survive - will shape the Echo inside you."
He looked Cassius in the eyes, his voice quieter now.
"Once the trial begins, there's no way to stop it."
***
Cassius stood inside the pod now, its curved walls cold against his back. In his hand, he held a small, intricate device - no bigger than his palm. All smooth black metal and etched glyphs that glowed faintly at the edges.
The old man had handed it to him minutes earlier, offering only a vague reassurance:
"You'll know what to do with it once the time arrives."
He hadn't pressed for more.
Outside the pod, the old man moved between monitors, adjusting dials and tapping commands on the terminal. Blue light flickered across his face as lines of data scrolled past.
Cassius shifted slightly, the quiet hiss of the seal around the pod making the space feel even smaller than it was. He wouldn't call himself claustrophobic, but the fact that he was inside this pod - locked in, sealed off - felt like standing in a coffin made of light and glass.
His fingers curled a little tighter around the device.
A soft chime echoed, and the machine beneath his feet began to hum. Low at first, then rising into a faint, pulsing rhythm that vibrated through his bones.
The old man looked up, met his eyes one last time, and gave a short nod.
"Godspeed, young man."
Then, with a single press of his finger-
The boy's entire existence fractured into light.
Everything - the pod, the room, the hum of the machine - vanished.
And the world rewrote itself around him.