Exactly fifty-nine years ago, the world burned.
It was called the Fourth World War, but most people today only know it as The Great Collapse.
The cause? Not ideology. Not pride. Not even the usual thirst for power.
It was hunger.
Nations, stripped of resources by decades of overconsumption, turned on each other like starving beasts. Oil dried up, fertile land became barren, and water itself was rationed like treasure. Every country wanted what the other had… but no one had enough to give.
That's when the wars began.
Continents fractured, then rebuilt themselves in alliances, desperate packs banding together against extinction. And at the center of it all were five countries—nations so large, so feared, that their names alone carried the weight of empires.
Japan. China. The United States of America. Russia. Korea.
The Five Powerhouses.
Some say they dragged smaller nations into their orbit like planets circling a dying sun. Others say those nations willingly flocked to them, begging for protection. Either way, the Five became the axis on which the new world spun.
But wars are not endless. Even the greediest machine eventually runs out of fuel.
And that's when it happened.
No one knows the exact day the first "power" appeared. Some claim it was in Moscow, where a boy summoned fire from his bare hands in the middle of a frozen battlefield. Others swear it was in Tokyo, when a girl raised her palm and stopped a rain of bullets midair. Still others whisper that the first was in the deserts of Nevada, where a soldier lifted a tank with nothing but his strength.
Wherever it began, the result was the same.
Across the world, in the middle of the chaos, humans awakened abilities no one could explain. The exhausted armies of the Powerhouses, already on the brink of collapse, found themselves facing soldiers who could tear through steel, command lightning, or heal wounds in seconds.
Science offered no answer. Religion claimed it as divine punishment—or a gift.
But in the end, no theory mattered. Only results did.War… could not continue.
Not when a single individual could destroy an entire battalion.
And so, after twelve years of fire and famine, the leaders of the Five Powerhouses met in a single chamber. History calls it the Crimson Accord.
Signed in blood—literally, if the legends are true—the Accord was simple: the war ends here.
Borders would be redrawn, territories divided, and the use of these newly born "powers" would be monitored under a fragile but necessary peace.
The world didn't stay quiet after the war.
Peace… is never that simple.
When powers spread across humanity, it didn't take long for people to abuse them. Some robbed banks with fire that could melt safes in seconds. Others murdered entire families with shadows no one could escape. And some… simply reveled in destruction for its own sake.
The world was terrified. If a single gifted human could crush a city, how could laws still matter? How could governments survive?
That's when the idea was born.
A special agency, created by the Five Powerhouses themselves. An organization dedicated to controlling those who strayed too far from order. They named them Exorcists.
It was… ironic, really.
The word once meant priests driving out demons. But now it meant humans—driving out humans.
Exorcists became the hand of justice, a symbol of balance in the new age. Some called them protectors. Others called them executioners. But everyone knew one truth: once an Exorcist set their sights on you… there was no escape
Of course, Exorcists didn't appear overnight. They had to be trained, molded, sharpened into weapons that wouldn't break. And so, schools were built—one in each of the Five Powerhouse nations.
The one in America was rumored to be a fortress in the desert, its students wielding powers as big and brash as the country itself. Russia's academy was hidden beneath the ice, where only the strongest survived the endless cold. China's was said to be a sprawling city of stone, an empire within an empire. Korea's… a labyrinth of steel and glass, buzzing with technology.
And in Japan…
There was Aether Academy.
Stationed in Tokyo, its towers stretched into the sky like blades of glass. It wasn't just a school. It was a crucible. The place where the strongest of Japan's gifted were forged into Exorcists. The place where names of legends were born.
Everyone dreamed of entering Aether Academy. To graduate from there meant power, status, respect. To walk its halls was to step into the center of Japan's new era.
But not me.
I didn't dream of Aether Academy. I didn't dream of becoming an Exorcist.
Because unlike everyone else… I had no ambition to save the world.
After all, how could an emotionless boy—someone who couldn't even believe in his own destiny—pretend to drive out the "evil" of others?
That was fifty-nine years ago.
Now, I—just one boy born in the aftermath—walk in the shadow of that history.
In a world rebuilt on the ashes of war, where powers have become as common as the air we breathe… I can't help but ask myself one thing:
Did peace truly begin that day… or did the true war only just start?
After the Crimson Accord, the world shifted.
In Japan, where history and myth always seemed to intertwine, society found a new way to survive the age of powers. No longer were people grouped by wealth or birthright alone. Instead, they were sorted by their abilities.
Thus were the Clans born.
Some families carried the blood of flame, others the blood of storms. Lightning, shadow, steel, wind—each clan carved its name into the new world, rising to fame and authority by the strength of their descendants. The strongest ruled. The weakest were trampled. That was the law.
At the top stood the Heavenly Clans, powerhouses within Japan itself. They produced warriors who could level mountains, heal entire armies, or split the sea with a single swing of their blades. Their names were etched into every history book, their emblems flying proudly above academy gates and government halls.
And then… there was my clan.
The forgotten one.
The Kage Clan.
We had no flame. No lightning. No weapons that could break the earth. To the rest of Japan, we were barely even a clan at all—nothing but powerless descendants destined to live in the shadows of giants.
And maybe they were right.
Except… on the night I was born, everything changed.
The elders whispered of an omen. A prophecy, sealed within the old texts, long before the first power ever appeared. "When the world drowns in its own hatred, one child shall be born to the lowest clan. He shall carry within him the five gods of emotion, and by their hand, salvation or ruin will be chosen."
The Five Gods of Emotion.
Legends said they were ancient beings, fragments of humanity itself, sealed away at the dawn of time. Love. Hate. Joy. Sorrow. Rage. Emotions that shaped civilizations, emotions strong enough to move heaven and earth.
And somehow, impossibly… I was born with all five.
Of course, to the Heavenly Clans, that meant nothing. To them, prophecy was just a fairy tale. A "savior" from the weakest clan? They laughed. They mocked. They called me a mistake of blood.
But deep down, I've always felt it.
Whenever my chest tightens, whenever my hands tremble, whenever my heart screams louder than words—something stirs within me. A fire not of flame, but of feeling. A power I can barely control, one that terrifies even me.
And so I live… caught between scorn and destiny.
A boy from the weakest clan. A child burdened with gods I don't understand.
And somewhere, deep in the silence of my soul, a single question keeps echoing:
If I really am the savior of this world…
Then what exactly am I supposed to save it from?
They call me a "savior."
But honestly… I don't care.
Prophecy, destiny, gods, whatever—they can all burn for all I care. My life doesn't belong to some dusty book or to the whispers of old men clutching their scrolls. My life… is mine.
And yet, people never stopped staring at me with those eyes. Some filled with pity. Others with fear. But most of all—expectation.
He will save us.
He will change everything.
He will become the strongest.
That's what they wanted me to believe.
That's what they forced on me.
But the truth is far simpler.
I am not a hero. I am not a savior. I am just… empty.
Somewhere along the way, I lost it. My emotions. The things that make people human. I don't even remember when it happened. Was it when the kids in the academy laughed at me for being clanless trash? Was it when my mother cried in secret, knowing she couldn't protect me from the scorn of the stronger clans? Or was it when I realized that no matter how much I screamed inside, nobody would ever hear me?
I don't know.
I don't remember.
And maybe I don't even want to.
Now, when I look in the mirror, I see a face that doesn't smile. Eyes that don't shine. A mouth that doesn't laugh or cry.
An emotionless shell, wearing the skin of a boy who was supposed to carry the gods of emotion.
…The irony isn't lost on me.
They say I was born with the five gods of emotion inside me—love, hate, joy, sorrow, rage. That my feelings alone could someday save the world.
But how can I save the world with emotions… when I can't even feel them myself?