The oak tree at the farthest edge of the Academy grounds had been dead for longer than anyone alive could remember. Its bark had split like cracked skin, dark lines carved into a body too stubborn to fall. The branches bent like skeletal arms reaching skyward, as if begging for light from a sun that had long abandoned it.
No birds perched there.No squirrels made their nests there.No students lingered there.
To sit beneath that tree was to invite curses.
And yet, that was where Cha Hae-won always sat.
The grass around its roots had withered long ago, soil dry as ash. But Hae-won dug his fingers into it as if the earth might still remember him. His hands were thin, bones sharp beneath skin, the kind of hands belonging to someone who had grown up surviving scraps rather than feasts. His Academy robe sagged on his frame, sleeves torn at the edges from years of neglect.
But it wasn't his body that made him a target.
It was the crest stitched on his sleeve.
A coiled dragon, abyss-black, its jaw biting into its own tail. The threads shimmered faintly, darker than cloth should allow, like a stain cut into existence itself.
Chaos Division.
Not Holy, not Arcane, not Abyssal.
A mark rarer than gold, yet hated like plague. It should have been a crown of rarity. Instead, it was treated like rot. Chaos was not a path. It was the enemy of paths. A division birthed not from reverence, but from fear. The Academy had not chosen to honor it—only to contain it.
The whispers followed him everywhere.
Monster.Aberration.Why is he still here?
"Still alive, peasant?"
The voice was mocking, sharp enough to pierce the air.
Hae-won didn't have to look up. He already knew.
Three noble-born boys stood over him, their robes embroidered with bright suns—the radiant crest of the Holy Division. Their uniforms were spotless, pressed, golden trims glowing faintly under the light. Their very existence screamed divine approval, as though heaven itself had brushed them with favor.
Renald, the tallest of them, crouched down. His golden hair glimmered like a polished crown. He tugged at Hae-won's sleeve, forcing the dragon crest into view, and sneered.
"Look at this," he said, voice carrying enough to reach anyone nearby. "Our little dragon that devours itself. The orphan who doesn't know whether to crawl to heaven or sink into hell."
The boy on his left spat onto the soil, just beside Hae-won's hand.
"Chaos should have been erased. It's filth. No place for it among us."
The third leaned closer, his tone venom-soft, designed to cut deeper than shouting.
"You don't belong here, Hae-won. This Academy is for heirs of saints, magisters, nobles. Not for… whatever spawned you."
The words barely registered anymore. He had lived with them for years. With the glares of professors when his name appeared on rosters, with the mocking laughter in the dorms, with the trays of food shoved into his hands like scraps for a starving dog.
Silence had always been his answer.
And silence infuriated them.
Renald pressed his boot against Hae-won's chest, pushing him back against the dead oak's trunk. The bark bit into his spine.
"Say something, peasant."
Hae-won stared at the crest stitched into his sleeve. The black dragon. The curse that had been branded into him since the day of his Division confirmation. His lips barely moved.
"…I don't need to."
Renald's boot pressed harder.
And then, a voice cut across the courtyard like steel.
"That's enough."
The three boys turned.
Yun Arin stood framed in the doorway of the hall. Her Arcane Division robes shimmered faintly with silver-embroidered runes, her black hair falling in a sleek curtain over her shoulders. Her eyes—sharp as cut glass—narrowed on the three boys.
Even nobles hesitated before her. She was not only highborn, but gifted. Favored. Respected.
The Holy Division heirs sneered, but they pulled back.
Arin's gaze lingered on Hae-won. For the briefest heartbeat, it softened. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. Her face hardened again, as though it had never faltered.
"If you're so desperate to prove your strength," she said coolly, "prove it at the ceremony. Not here."
They muttered curses under their breath, but retreated.
Hae-won exhaled slowly. He wanted to thank her, but the words caught in his throat. She didn't expect them anyway.
"Get up," she said. Almost impatiently. "It's starting."
The lecture hall was a cathedral of cruelty masquerading as knowledge. Hundreds of students filled the tiered seats, their voices rising in waves of excitement and tension. The professors sat above, a row of cold eyes watching the proceedings like judges at a trial.
At the center of the hall, carved into the polished stone floor, was the circle of awakening—a glyph older than kingdoms, lines etched in white that glowed faintly like a heartbeat.
One by one, students stepped inside. One by one, the system of the world inscribed its verdict upon their souls.
[ Division Confirmed: Holy ][ Modifier: Blessed Inheritor ]
Cheers erupted.
[ Division Confirmed: Arcane ][ Modifier: Child of the Stars ]
Applause. Whistles.
Each student's fate was written, and each name was celebrated. The prestige of divisions drew lines of power, separating those destined for greatness from those destined to kneel.
When Hae-won's name was called, the hall fell silent.
The silence was heavier than any roar.
He stepped into the circle. His footsteps echoed against the stone, the sound unnaturally loud. Whispers crawled like insects across the seats.
"Chaos…""He shouldn't even be here.""A mistake. A curse."
The glyph beneath him flickered. Its glow faltered, dimmed.
And then darkened.
A chill spread through the air.
The voice that followed was not the professor's. Nor was it the usual neutral tone of the system. It was deeper, older. A voice like stone cracking beneath endless weight.
[ Your Modifier has been determined. ]
The glyph flared black. Letters jagged as blades carved themselves into his vision.
[ Modifier: The Enemy of Every Path ]
Gasps tore through the room.
The presiding professor stumbled backward, his staff clattering against the stone floor. His face drained of blood. His lips trembled.
"No… that Modifier was sealed… it cannot exist—"
Students shoved against one another, seats screeching as they tried to flee. Some bolted for the exits, others pressed themselves against the farthest walls, as if distance alone might shield them.
Even Renald and his gang, minutes ago so bold, now looked pale, eyes wide with fear.
Hae-won's heart hammered in his chest. The words weren't just in his vision—they were branded into his bones. His very breath burned with them.
Enemy of every path.
What did it mean?
The answer came not in words, but in agony.
Not fire. Not ice. Not blades. Something deeper.
His soul split.
And through the wound poured voices.
[ Fable Awakened: The Spear of Fallen Ashes. ]A battlefield drowned in corpses. Ash falling like snow into his lungs. A broken spear shoved into his hand. "Burn with us."
[ Fable Awakened: Hymn of the Silent Martyr. ]A woman's throat cut mid-song, blood spilling down her chest. But her hymn continued, silent notes echoing in his skull.
[ Fable Awakened: Curse of Black Salvation. ]Children wailing as fire consumed a city. His own hands—hands that weren't his—dripped with their blood.
[ Fable Awakened: Thousandfold Sword Memory. ]A thousand blades, each with its own whisper. A thousand strikes, a thousand deaths, lived all at once.
[[ Fable Awakened: Chains of the First Demon. ]]Iron hooks tearing into flesh, dragging him into fire. A laugh that promised freedom but gave only slavery.
[[ Fable Awakened: Bloodveil Regeneration. ]]Flesh ripped open, stitched shut with threads of crimson. Pain eternal. Pain endless.
[[ Fable Awakened: Phantom Steps of the Departed. ]]Footsteps that weren't his guided his body. The paths of the dead walked through him.
[[ Fable Awakened: The Devouring Tongue. ]]Mouths sprouting where none should be, gnashing, consuming. His words were not his own.
[ [Fable Awakened: Eyes of Forgotten Time.] ]A sky that never moved. A clock with no hands. He saw himself die in every reflection.
[[ Fable Awakened: Hands That Bury the Sky.] ]Pale fingers clawing through the heavens, pulling the light into soil.
Ten Fables. Ten curses. Ten graves.
They screamed in his skull, voices colliding, twisting, suffocating. Not blessings. Not gifts. Chains.
He collapsed to his knees, clutching his head. The world spun.
Students shrieked. Professors chanted sealing scripts, but their magic fizzled in the air, useless, shredded before it formed.
The insignia on his sleeve—the black dragon—shifted.
The stitched jaws uncoiled. Black thread writhed, like scales waking from slumber. An eye opened. A slit-pupil, abyss-deep.
And when Hae-won screamed, it was not his voice alone.
It was ten thousand voices.
The dead oak outside shuddered. Its trunk cracked. Branches tore away. Leaves of ash rained against a sky that had never known them.
The hall fell into silence.
Silence thicker than death.
And at its center knelt Cha Hae-won—enemy of every path