They say the world changed two years ago.
But for me, it started long before that—before the Gates, before the monsters, before the word "Hunter" meant anything.
For me, it began the day I was left outside an orphanage in the pouring rain, wrapped in a shawl with no name and no one to cry for me.
I never imagined I'd matter to anyone.
I sat on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over rusted tiles, staring at a night sky that didn't feel like it belonged to us anymore.
The city below was quiet, unusually quiet for a place like Delhi. Even the neon lights seemed dimmer now—like the earth was holding its breath.
It always gets like this when a Gate is about to open.
I can't explain it exactly, but the air goes heavy. Dogs howl. People close their windows even if they don't know why. Maybe deep down, something inside us remembers what the surface has forgotten—fear.
But none of the kids know that. Not down in the orphanage. They were all asleep, finally, curled up in tight little bundles under torn blankets. That place barely had enough for dinner tonight. That's my job—to make sure they don't notice the world is falling apart.
I sighed and leaned back, arms spread behind me.
No powers. No money. No family.
And still, I felt responsible for them.
I'd taken the Hunter Awakening test three times.
Three failures.
They told me I was average. "No signs of divine resonance."
Whatever that means.
But what the hell do they know?
"Brother! You burned the rice again!"
Ah. There it was.
The voice came from inside, filtered up through a cracked window—Meena, seven years old, loud enough to be mistaken for a police siren.
"I didn't burn it, it's just... aggressively toasted!" I
shouted back.
Lies. I sprinted downstairs before the smoke alarm could prove me wrong.
The kitchen looked like a small war had broken out—blackened rice stuck to the pot, gas still hissing, kids fanning the air like it owed them rent.
"Again?" Sahil groaned.
"Don't start with me," I muttered, twisting off the knob and pulling the pot off the flame.
I scraped off what little I could salvage and dropped it into a tray. "We've got rice... and crunchy bits. That's gourmet where I'm from."
"You're from here, Brother," said Meena, arms crossed.
"Exactly. I'm speaking from experience."
The room erupted into giggles. I faked a scowl but couldn't stop myself from smiling. Even with the chaos and the constant hunger, they smiled. And I'd kill to protect that.
I didn't need powers to protect them.
I just needed a chance.
He returned to the rooftop after dinner. The stars were out now, faint but present. The clouds had scattered, leaving only silence and the hum of distant traffic.
A few blocks away, the ruins of an old temple loomed like a sleeping beast. Abandoned years ago after a fire, people said it was haunted. That monsters came out of it.
Idiots.
It was the Gate that made it cursed.
They sealed it off a few months back when one of the minor rifts nearly leaked into the slums. But no one really believed the danger. Not here. Not when people cared more about tomorrow's food than tomorrow's apocalypse.
But I remembered.
I remembered the first time I saw a Gate open on TV. The way it twisted the air like water, how monsters the size of cars emerged from nothingness, tearing through soldiers like paper. The camera guy didn't even make it past the second minute.
And I remember thinking…
I want to stand in front of one of those things.
Not because I wanted glory.
But because if it came near the people I loved…
…I'd rather die facing it than running from it.
They said only the chosen awakened powers.
Chosen by whom?
Gods?
Destiny?
Or maybe... monsters chose us. To fight back against our own kind.
Whatever the reason, I was never picked.
Every scan, every test, came back the same: nothing.
But I kept showing up.
Kept swinging wooden poles at trees like they were ogres.
Kept running laps with a backpack full of bricks.
Because maybe, just maybe, there was something in me that hadn't woken up yet.
And maybe I could force it to wake.
The ground trembled.
Not like a truck rolling by. Not like the thunder you hear from distant weather.
This was different.
This was... wrong.
I stood, heart hammering, eyes narrowing toward the temple ruins.
The air shimmered like a heat wave.
Then came the light—bright, unnatural, purple-blue like someone cracked open a galaxy.
A Gate.
I didn't move at first.
Then I remembered something—the kids.
They're just a few blocks away.
No hunters around. No alarms. No time.
Ididn't have weapons. No armor. No backup.
Just me.
But I was already running.
My feet pounded the pavement as the streetlights flickered and dimmed. The air grew colder with each step. My breath fogged in front of me even though it was summer.
By the time I reached the temple's edge, the Gate was fully formed.
A swirling portal of light stood tall in the temple courtyard, cracking stone tiles under its glow. The surrounding trees bent toward it, as if drawn by something ancient and wrong.
And something... stepped through.
I ducked behind a pillar, peeking carefully.
It was tall—maybe eight feet. Vaguely humanoid but bent, with bones sticking out like broken armor. Its eyes glowed red, and its mouth had too many teeth.
It wasn't just any monster.
This was a Gate Beast—the kind that usually doesn't appear without an S-Rank warning.
Why here? Why now?
Then it sniffed the air—and turned toward the orphanage.
No.
I clenched the iron rod I brought from the kitchen. It was stupid. I knew that. But I didn't care.
That thing was not getting anywhere near them.
I stepped out from cover.
"HEY!" I shouted.
The creature froze. Its eyes snapped toward me.
Good.
Come to me.
Stay away from them.
It snarled and lunged.
I raised the rod.
"COME ON!