Solen sat on the railing overlooking the slow-moving river, legs dangling in the breeze, head empty.
He wasn't thinking. Just... waiting.
After all, he only had twenty-four hours left to live.
"Ugh. Why did I have to be born beautiful?" he muttered, shifting just enough to almost slip off the edge. His balance wobbled, but he didn't care. If he fell, he fell. Maybe that'd save him the trouble.
Somewhere above — if souls could laugh — his would be doubled over in hysterics.
And it would laugh.
In twenty-four hours.
Solen cursed under his breath, eyeing the glittering river and the lush forest beyond. It was beautiful, sure. But not as beautiful as him.
Pale skin like polished marble. Silver hair that shimmered gold in the light. Eyes like storm-wrecked oceans.
He hated it all.
Because the pretty ones? They were always chosen. Always taken. Always forced into the Soul World.
The ugly ones got to stay behind.
"They get to farm potatoes," Solen grumbled. "I get to fight soul-eating monsters."
If you were beautiful — ethereal, otherworldly beautiful — you were "blessed." You became a Soul Walker. Whether you wanted to or not.
He wasn't one yet. Not officially.
Right now, he was just a soul fragment. A soul without form. A test subject. A draft.
And the clock was ticking.
He slid off the railing and began walking back to the village, each step heavier than the last. Not from fatigue — just dread.
He thought about his chances.
Monsters that tore people apart like wet paper. Shadows that moved on their own. Screams that echoed long after the body was gone.
He remembered the horror stories his grandma used to whisper when he was a kid, voice shaking like she'd seen those things herself.
She died last year.
"Damn you, Grandma," he muttered. "I hope you're suffering."
He glanced over his shoulder, half expecting her ghost to jump out of the bushes and smack him upside the head.
"Even your stupid superstitions are still haunting me. You made me like this. You and your stories."
The trees rustled.
Solen flinched — then stopped.
Something moved by the roots of a nearby tree.
A bird. A small one. Wounded.
It twitched weakly, wing bent at an unnatural angle. Solen blinked at it.
Something in him stirred — not pity exactly, but something close. Or maybe just curiosity.
He crept closer, knelt down, and scooped it up.
"Poor thing," he said softly. "Look at me. Saving helpless animals now. Maybe I am secretly a good—"
ScreeEEEE—
The sound punched through the air like a war cry.
Solen froze. The bird wasn't screaming.
Its mother was.
A massive shadow dropped from the canopy above, talons extended like razors. Solen barely had time to scream.
"Wait— That's not a bird! That's a—"
WHAM.
Pain exploded in his shoulder as a talon grazed him. He bolted, clutching the baby eagle to his chest like it was precious cargo.
Branches tore at his face and arms. Dirt and leaves flew under his feet.
Above him, the mother eagle screamed again, wings slicing through the air like living swords.
"CURSE IT ALL! Curse my soul, curse the eagle, curse this entire STUPID WORLD!"
If his soul could laugh, it was probably howling now.
"If I were a Soul Walker, I'd have turned you into dinner already!"
But he wasn't.
He was just a pretty face with no powers and even less survival instinct, running for his life from a very pissed-off bird.
He'd only get his powers after entering the Soul World.
If he survived it.
And right now, it felt like the eagle might get him first.
But just as he turned to flee—
Time slowed.
A strange warmth pooled in his chest, then spread to his fingertips. Just like that, his soul — the one that had been silent this entire time — finally decided to show him a glimpse of its power.
"Now?!" Solen shouted, ducking as a shadow passed overhead. "You choose now?!"
He barely dodged the eagle's talons.
"What are you, a stand-up comedian?"
A symbol lit up in the air around him, faint but pulsing — like something ancient trying to remember how to breathe.
Suddenly, he was no longer in the forest.
He stood on nothingness, facing a vast pitch-black sea.
He didn't want to look at it — afraid of what might look back.
But he couldn't look away. He was finally going to see what kind of life he might have in the Soul World.
His soul finally spoke.
Solen didn't know why, but it felt like it was holding back laughter.
> [Soul Fragment: Solen. You are now going to get a glimpse into your strengths.]
He focused, breath sharp with anticipation.
Soul rank. The most important factor.
It determined everything: your potential as a Soul Walker, how far you could grow, what limits you had — or didn't.
They went from:
Solar.
It was a death sentence — or forced you into utility work. As long as I don't get this one, I'll be fine.
Solace.
Eclipse.
Black Void.
Exotic.
Divine.
Angelic.
Angelsong.
Heavenly.
The strongest one out of all of them.
Those upper ranks practically erased the ceiling — granting massive boosts the more monsters you killed. Power without limits.
Anything past Exotic was stupidly rare.
Angelic soul ranks were enough to start wars.
And the last two? Most people thought they were just myths.
Solen stood still, waiting. His chest felt tight — not with fear, but something heavier. Something watching.
He looked inward.
You were supposed to see a radiant field.
A sea of glowing light.
A sky full of stars.
A garden full of color.
But his?
It was a black ocean.
Endless. Still.
And somehow... staring back at him.
Then the words formed in glowing white script:
> [Soul Rank: Divine]
He staggered back.
Divine?
That was one step away from being a living weapon. One step from legends.
He could barely breathe.
But then something even stranger followed:
> [Can Be Improved]
"…What?"
He blinked. "Can be… improved?"
That wasn't possible. Soul Ranks were fixed. Permanent.
No one had ever mentioned a rank being able to change — let alone evolve.
Before he could process it, a second evaluation began.
Soul Type.
Almost as important as the rank itself.
Soul types were like categories — reflections of your nature.
Your personality, your instincts… even your fate.
They shaped how your power would grow.
In Solen's village, most people awakened with Fire or Nature souls.
Some had rarer ones — like Kinetic Tails, which amplified reaction time and allowed brutal hand-to-hand styles.
Or Black Void, which gave control over space itself and let you tear through the air with raw force.
Both were prized for one reason:
They massively boosted physical output — the most sought-after trait for frontline combat.
Solen hoped for something like that.
But then, the words shifted again:
> [Soul Type: Ancient and Dead]
His mouth went dry.
"…Dead?"
He didn't understand.
He'd never heard of it —
not in any book, scroll, or whispered tale.
And Ancient?
It sounded like something that shouldn't exist anymore. Like something buried for a reason.
"…What even is this?"
His voice was barely a whisper.
What the actual fuck?.