Jester Eventide stood amidst the crowd of teenagers. A sea of anxious faces. Within the colossal City Stadium.
His gaze was usually alight with mischievous intent. But, it was now flat and grim. This was it. The Awakening Day. The day every last-year middle school student in Sherra faced their fate.
Most of them were hoping for a miracle. Jester was hoping for validation of his research.
He wasn't from here. Not originally. He remembered a different world. Modern Earth during the Information Age. A place of screens and endless information. A place where the biggest threat was usually a bad internet connection. Or a truly awful boss.
Sherra, in contrast, was Earth... if Earth had gone sideways before the internet even hit its stride. It was a modern world. Yes. With cars and electricity. But beneath that layer of normalcy, it was a supernatural battleground.
Mystical Dungeons ripped open reality. Spewing monsters when they were not handled correctly.
Undeath Energy seeped from forgotten necropolises. Affecting the unlucky dead bodies. Turning them into undead creatures. Or the soul of the deceased. Turning them into ghosts.
And demons, actual demons, frequently breached the veil. Bringing fire and fear. It was not uncommon to hear the news of a district razed. Many lives lost. Due to the demon invasion.
Sherra was definitely not a peaceful world.
But, worse thing was... it had no internet. Information was difficult to access. News and entertainment shows were still rigid. And mainly came from newspaper and TV. As a content creator active in social media in his past life, this was... terrible.
A tap on his shoulder pulled him from the grim assessment. He didn't need to turn. He knew the touch.
It would be Valiant Bardean. Vale. His closest friend. And one of the few people on Sherra, of the same generation, who could genuinely compete against him. Despite his reincarnation advantage.
Jester looked ar Vale. He was tall. Athletic. With hair like fresh snow. And eyes the color of spring leaves.
He carried the aura of a perpetually distracted artist. Which he was. A musical genius. Prone to silence. But when he spoke, it was usually important.
"It's set." Vale said. His voice was a low melodic hum. "My uncle adjusted the roster. We go first."
Jester just nodded. He hadn't expected anything less. The Mayor, Vale's uncle, was a pragmatic man. He understood the stakes. And he understood that sometimes, breaking tradition was necessary if it meant survival.
Today, Jester and Vale were about to pull off the biggest tradition-break in recent memory. The history changing stunt... if it succeeded.
Awakening Day was simple in concept. Brutal in execution. At fifteen, every teenager received their chance at acquiring a Soulheart Gear. It was a permanent bond. An object linked to their very being. Shaping their power progression. Their future.
Without one, you were just another civilian. Helpless against the encroaching horrors. With one, you had a chance. A slim one, maybe. But a chance.
The process was straightforward. Each teen brought two objects they had chosen. Believing them to be important, meaningful, or lucky.
They would step onto an Awakening Platform. Nearby was an ancient bell. A supernatural gift that every town in Sherra possessed.
The bell would chime. And the two objects would fuse. Transform. And manifest into their Soulheart Gear.
The problem, the truly agonizing problem, was the success rate. Or rather, the power grade. In their town, over seventy percent of the gears acquired in previous Awakenings had registered a 'zero power grade'.
This meant the fused object was just inert junk. It offered no potential. No path to power acquisition. No future beyond the constant threat of death.
Those people, the zero-grades, were pretty much the same with people without soulheart gear. They were effectively written off. They could lived normal lives. Until a dungeon burst or a demon appeared. Then they... died. That was the stark reality.
Zero grade was a death sentence. A slower one.
Jester and Vale had spent the last two years fighting against that statistic. They had locked themselves away. Obsessively researching. Experimenting. Trying to crack the code of Soulheart Gear creation.
They had a theory. A wild, improbable hypothesis born from whispered legends. And obscure texts Jester had managed to dig up from the city archives.
And they were confident. Truly confident for the first time in months, that they had succeeded. They believed they had found a way. A way to guarantee a high-power grade. Independent of the cruel whims of luck.
"Jester! How is it?"
A familiar voice cut through the noise of the crowd. It was Daisy. A girl from their class. One with nervous eyes and hair tied in a practical bun.
She waved from a few rows back. Her two chosen objects were clutched in her hands. A small, worn wooden carving of a bird. And a thick, leather-bound journal.
Jester forced a grin. "It'll be fine, Daisy. Vale and I are going first. If it works for us, you guys just follow the plan."
Daisy looked skeptical. Then hopeful. She nodded. Her hands were tightening around her objects.
Their classmates were clustered behind her. They also seemed to take a collective, hesitant breath. They were all in this together.
It hadn't been hard to convince them. No one, absolutely no one, wanted to walk onto that platform... believing their future was decided by a coin toss.
They had been desperate. Desperate enough to trust two 'eccentric' boys. And their increasingly bizarre experiments.
The core idea that Jester and Vale designed revolved around resonance. The old texts hinted that the Soulheart Gear wasn't just a physical fusion. It was a spiritual one.
The objects had to resonate with the individual's soul and heart to gain the power. Thus it was called 'Soulheart'. But how did one find that resonance? That was the main question.
Jester had deduced that the Awakening Bell wasn't just a signal. It was a catalyst. Emitting a specific frequency that amplified the soul's natural vibrations.
If they could replicate that frequency, they could effectively create an imitation of the Awakening environment. And that might help a lot with the search of resonance.
That was where Vale came in. Vale, with his perfect pitch, could discern any note. Any tone. With impossible accuracy.
Last year, and the year before, they had snuck into the stadium. During the Awakening Ceremony. Placing themselves in the spectator's seat as close to the ancient bell as possible. Listening to the thunderous chimes of the Awakening seriously.
Vale had then spent weeks, even months, painstakingly recreating that exact, unique sound. He tried on various instruments until he found the perfect match. A specially tuned singing bowl.
The reverberation, the pitch, the sheer vibrational power... it was identical. Or so Vale swore. And Vale never swore wrong about sound.
Once they had the sound, the next phase of the experiment began. They needed a place devoid of external influences. A place where the subtle vibrations of a soul could truly manifest.
They repurposed an old, abandoned underground warehouse. Blacking out every possible light source. Then, they gathered hundreds of objects.
Everything from rusty tools to broken toys. From ancient books to modern electronics. From discarded weapons to mundane kitchen utensils. They tried it themselves and invited their classmates. One by one. Into this pitch-black, silent chamber.
Vale would then strike the singing bowl. The sound... a deep, resonant hum, filled the room. Vibrating through the bones. Through the very air.
In the darkness, the teenagers were instructed to simply walk. To reach out. To feel. They weren't looking for anything specific. They were looking for a feeling. A pull. A resonance.
If they felt nothing, they would replace the objects. And try again. And again. And again. For two years, this was their ritual. Every weekend.
The failures were numerous. The frustrations were immense. Many times, some of their classmates gave up. Only to return a few weeks later. Unwilling to face the grim reality of a luck-based Awakening. Preferring weirdness to futility.
The experiment, shockingly, worked. Eventually. Every single one of them, Jester included, found two objects. But the objects were... weird. That was the polite term.
In the previous Awakenings, most people opted for things like swords, shields, rifles, or even advanced communication devices. Things that suggested power. Utility. Combat capability. Their current objects suggested nothing of the sort.
Jester's two most resonant objects, for example, were weird. An old, worn fairy-tale children's book (the kind with faded cartoon illustrations of a hare and a dragon). And a tarnished silver pocket watch. One that had long since stopped telling time.
They had absolutely no discernible combat utility. No evident power. The book was for kids. The watch was broken.
Vale's objects were equally baffling. A small, battered ukulele. Its strings were loose and dusty. And a miniature electric fan. The kind you would prop on a desk on a hot day.
An instrument for lullabies and a device for cooling. Both about as far from a weapon as you could get.
The others were similar. A set of knitting needles and an electric razor. A brand new fishing pole and an old lodestone. A porcelain teacup and a bandage.
They were so utterly, hilariously mundane. So far removed from the expected artifacts of a hero, that it made them all nervous. They trusted the process. They had felt the resonance. But still… doubt gnawed.
Now, they were standing on the stadium field. Surrounded by hundreds of other teenagers. The bizarre nature of their chosen objects felt even more pronounced.
Each teen, from other classes and other schools, clutched their two items. Some had gleaming swords. Others brought high-tech looking energy pistols. A few even had what looked like pieces of salvaged industrial machinery.
Jester's book and watch felt ridiculously out of place. Almost like a joke. A very expensive, potentially life-ending joke.
The stadium itself was an impressive, yet utilitarian, structure. The field was a vast circular expanse of packed earth. Surrounded by terraced spectator seats that were already filled to capacity.
Parents, siblings, friends... all hoping to see their loved ones ascend to a higher grade of existence. Or at least avoid the dreaded zero-grade.
At the center of the field was the ancient Awakening Bell. A hulking, bronze mass. Etched with swirling, indecipherable runes.
Around it, eight circular stone platforms were arranged in a wide circle. Each platform had a ten-segment measurement pole. One that would presumably light up to indicate power grade. From the unlit zero to the all-lit ten.
A hush fell over the crowd as Mayor Bardean stepped forward onto a raised podium. He was a stern-faced man with a neatly trimmed beard. And the same piercing green eyes as his nephew, Vale.
His voice, amplified by the stadium's crude sound system, boomed across the stands.
"Citizens of Oakhaven! Another year, another generation stands ready to face the world and claim their destiny!" His words were standard. But his eyes, Jester noticed, flickered towards him and Vale.
"Today, we stand united against the creeping dark. Today, we hope for strength. We hope for heroes." The mayor continued.
There was a pause. A tense, expectant silence. Usually, eight names would be called now. The first batch. The mayor would read them off. The designated teenagers would step forward. And the ceremony would begin. This time, it was different.
"For this year's Awakening Ceremony..." Mayor Bardean announced. His voice carrying a note of unusual gravity. "... we will begin with a deviation from tradition. For reasons of... civic importance, the first two individuals to step onto the Awakening Platforms will be Jester Eventide and Valiant Bardean."
A ripple went through the crowd. Whispers broke out among the teenagers on the field. The spectators in the stands leaned forward. Their faces a mix of confusion and curiosity.
Two names. Not eight. And those two names were well-known eccentric geniuses by many. Jester, the mischievous orphan who never seemed to take anything seriously. And Vale, the Bardean scion. Known more for vanishing into music halls than for any serious endeavors.
Jester felt the eyes on them. He met Vale's gaze. Vale just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. The plan was in motion. This was it. No turning back.
Jester clutched his old children's book and his broken pocket watch tighter. His stomach felt like a knot. He just hoped their weird, chosen objects, and two years of secretive, bizarre experiments, were about to change everything.