The room Sergeant Seraph had assigned him was simple and clean. It had a bed built into the wall, a small desk, an empty closet, and a single, sealed window that looked out onto the plain concrete courtyard.
Compared to his ruined home in the Undercroft, it was a palace. But next to the fancy Academy, it was like a modern prison cell.
He sat on the edge of the stiff mattress. One week. Seven days to produce a "tangible, repeatable result." It was a test designed to make him fail. How was he supposed to demonstrate a power he didn't even understand?
His first instinct, the one honed by years of scavenging, was to gather information.
He'd already read through the digital "Awakened's Primer" on the train, the one given to all newly awakened. He'd studied the sections on Elementalists, Manifestors, and Summoners, hoping for a clue. Nothing. Not a single mention of a nine-headed beast mark or a "Beast Weaver" class. His power was off the map.
He pulled up the Primer again on the room's desk terminal. He remembered the feeling in his mind when he'd first connected to his power - that silent, empty space. The Workshop.
A workshop needed two things: materials to build with, and something to build upon. A canvas.
He'd found his material when he'd pulled that glowing mote of Crystalline Beetle Essence from his own memory. But a canvas? That was a different problem.
Jonah typed "Summoner" into the Primer's search bar and scrolled through the advanced class sections. Summoners didn't just make beasts appear. They made deals with them. Or, if they were very strong, they used a catalyst to anchor a spirit. The highest-level Summoners, the ones who created entirely new spiritual companions, used something called a "Genesis Core."
The Primer's description was brief and intimidating: "A Genesis Core is full hidden power, a source of pure, unshaped energy. Only the best Summoners use them. These Cores are the seed to grow a unique magical pet. Getting them is very rare, often needing big national trips or many years of study."
Jonah leaned back, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Exceedingly rare." "National-level expeditions." The entry might as well have said: *"Cost: more money than you will see in ten lifetimes. Good luck, scrapper."
There was no way the Academy was just going to hand one over to an unproven "dud." He had no credits, no connections, no family name to pull strings for him.
For a painful moment, his old desperation choked him, like in the Undercroft when he had no food and a huge nest blocked the only safe route to the trade post. He was in a rich, new world, full of amazing chances, but poverty still held him captive. He held the key to the greatest power, but he couldn't pay to open that door.
He stood up, pacing the small room like a caged animal. His fists clenched and unclenched. He hadn't survived the Undercroft or risked everything on the Awakening just to fail because he couldn't pay.
No, he thought, his jaw tight. I refuse.
A scrapper doesn't wait for someone to hand him the tools. A scrapper finds them. He makes them. He digs them out of the trash.
His eyes landed on the dirt-stained bag on the floor. It was his entire life from before the Pillar. His only possessions.
His power wasn't going to guide him. The Academy wasn't going to help him. Sergeant Seraph was waiting for him to fall on his face. He could only rely on one thing: his sharp eye. The same eye that could see a shiny, useful power wire in a pile of junk from far away.
With a grunt, Jonah knelt and emptied the bag. Its contents spread over the clean floor, a messy pile of Undercroft junk. It was a strange mix: old circuit boards he hoped to fix, a twisted piece of shiny metal, and some odd rocks he just liked.
He started looking through the junk, his fingers moving over things in knew. He pushed aside a cracked data chip and a coil of copper wire. His power wasn't giving him a sign, his God Mark was silent. It was just him and his junk.
Then his fingers brushed against it.
A smooth, palm-sized, stone-like object. It was shaped like an egg, grayish-brown and covered in a fine web of old cracks. He'd found it months ago, deep in a part of the Undercroft that felt ancient - a collapsed cave even older than the city above. He'd picked it up because, even then, it felt… different. It was always strangely warm to the touch. He'd kept it thinking it might be a valuable fossil, something he could trade for a week's worth of food. He'd just never found a buyer who cared.
He held it now, the familiar weight settling in his palm. It was just a rock. A weirdly shaped, warm rock. He was being stupid. Desperate.
But then, as he focused on it, a faint hum started in the back of his mind. It wasn't a sound; it was a feeling, a vibration that resonated with the mark on his arm. His God Mark, which had been dormant since the train, was waking up.
He closed his eyes, channeling the newfound senses his Awakening had given him. He pushed his awareness toward the object in his hand, not just looking at it, but feeling it.
He felt the hard shell of the old rock. He felt how old it was, and the earth's force that made it. But deep down, almost impossible to feel, he found something else. A tiny spark. It wasn't the wild power of a normal Beast Core, but a sleeping life force, untouched and clean.
The hum from his God Mark grew stronger, a pulse of recognition.
And then, clear as day, a line of golden, text-like light bloomed in his mind's eye. It was a message from his power, a confirmation delivered with absolute certainty.
[Suitable Genesis Core Detected: Terrestrial Type, Dormant]
Jonah's eyes snapped open. He stared at the fossilized egg in his hand, a triumphant smile spreading across his face.
The researchers and national-level expedition teams could keep their expensive, high-tech Cores. He had his. He'd found it himself, carried it with him from the ruins of his old life into the heart of his new one.
He had his material.
He had his Workshop.
And now, thanks to an old item from his junk bag, he finally had what he needed.