Rain.
It always started with the rain.
In the city of Vanta's Reach, the sky was rarely clear. Smog hung in the air like a suffocating shroud, and the rain—blackened with soot and industrial ash—fell endlessly, washing the grime from rusted rooftops and filling the gutters with oily streams. Beneath the towering spires and glowing billboards of the Central District, a maze of alleys, tunnels, and ruined subways made up the Lower Tiers—where people like Ash Vale belonged.
Ash didn't remember the last time he'd seen the sky.
He pulled the frayed hood of his jacket tighter around his head as the acid drizzle stung the back of his neck. The electronic billboard above him buzzed, flickering between military propaganda and corporate ads: "Stay Pure. Stay Safe. Register Today." Beneath it, a line of broken-down drones sat idle, their red eyes dim, waiting for a charge that would never come.
Ash's boots sloshed through ankle-deep filth as he moved quickly, instinct guiding his path through the alleys. He didn't have a destination—he rarely did—but hunger clawed at his gut and he needed something. Food. Credits. A warm place to sleep. Anything.
The world was cruel to people without power.
And Ash? He had none.
At least, not yet.
Twenty-seven years ago, something changed. No one knew how or why, only that the World Pulse occurred—and after that, powers began to manifest. Not in everyone, of course. Just a select few. They were called Awakened, and they made up less than one percent of the global population. The rest? The unawakened masses. Powerless. Expendable.
The Awakened governed the world now—not through politics, but through raw, unchallengeable force.
Governments fell. Corporations rose.
And the strong took whatever they wanted.
Each Awakened had a Mark, a manifestation of their soul's resonance. Some gained elemental control, others summoned weapons or altered their bodies. Powers evolved—Tiered, they called it. From Tier 0, the dormant state, to the near-godlike Tier 9, only achieved by a handful in history.
Ash knew all of this. Everyone did. It was taught in the government-run shelters, printed on the walls, blared through speakers.
But knowing didn't make it any easier.
He was seventeen. And his Mark had never appeared.
*----------*
Ash crouched beside a rusted dumpster and peered through the haze. The market square was up ahead—if you could call it that. A scattering of broken tents and vending stalls run by scavengers and street gangs. Nothing was free. Everything had a price. And Ash had nothing to trade.
His eyes flicked to a woman selling protein cubes—scraps molded into nutrition bars and wrapped in plastic. She looked distracted. Ash's stomach twisted.
"Just one," he muttered to himself.
He darted forward like a shadow, weaving between piles of scrap and slow-moving pedestrians. His fingers snatched the cube in a fluid motion, and he turned to run—
"Hey!"
A meaty hand clamped around his wrist.
Ash's heart sank. The vendor's enforcer—a massive man with metal implants and a buzzed head—pulled him back effortlessly. "You little street rat. Think you can steal from us?"
Ash struggled, but the man's grip was like iron. A small crowd began to gather, some watching with amusement, others with pity. No one intervened.
"Please," Ash gasped. "I'm starving."
"Should've thought of that before you stole." The enforcer's arm glowed faintly—he was Tier 1, at least. Strength-enhancement, maybe. His Mark shimmered on the side of his neck like a tattoo made of light.
Ash's face slammed into the metal stall. Pain flared behind his eyes.
Then something strange happened.
The shadows around him… shifted.
They didn't stretch with the light or flicker with movement. They pulsed. Like they were alive. Like they were listening.
Ash blinked blood from his eyes. The vendor raised his fist again.
And the shadows moved.
A jagged tendril of darkness shot from beneath the stall and wrapped around the enforcer's wrist. He froze, confusion overtaking his rage.
"What the hell—?"
The shadow yanked.
The man screamed as he was pulled back, slammed into the ground. Chaos erupted. People shouted. Ash scrambled to his feet, chest heaving. The tendril writhed, then vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Silence fell.
Everyone stared at Ash.
He stared at his hands.
"What… was that?"
A cold voice echoed in his mind.
[MARK ACCEPTED: SHADOWBORN]
Tier: 0
Progress: 0.01%
Description: "Those touched by the Abyss are feared for good reason. You are the vessel. You are the veil. You are the knife in the dark."
Begin awakening process?
[Yes] / [No]
Ash's blood turned to ice.
A Mark.
He had a Mark.
He didn't hesitate.
Yes.
*----------*
Everything went black.
Not in the metaphorical sense—but utterly, absolutely black. The sounds of the market vanished. The ground beneath him disappeared. Ash floated in a void, a sea of endless, consuming darkness.
But he wasn't alone.
Shapes moved in the distance. Eyes blinked open. Whispers slithered through the dark, speaking in tongues he didn't recognize but somehow understood.
"Welcome, Child of Shadow."
"Another vessel, at long last."
"Will you break… or become?"
Ash couldn't speak. He could barely breathe.
"Reach," the voices said.
He did. His hand extended—and something cold, and alive, grabbed his wrist.
Power surged into him.
His body convulsed as the void filled him. Images flashed across his mind—warring kingdoms, forgotten gods, towers of bone and obsidian, beasts of shadow, and a throne left empty.
Then… light.
Blinding, painful light.
Ash collapsed onto the ground, coughing, shaking. He was back in the alley. The rain still fell—but something was different.
He felt stronger.
More than that. He felt… complete.
A notification shimmered in the corner of his vision.
[MARK AWAKENED: SHADOWBORN - TIER 0]
Active Ability: Shadow Grasp — Bind an enemy with shadow tendrils.
Passive Ability: Veilstep — Your presence blends into shadows. Detection reduced.
Progress to Tier 1: 0.3%
Ash blinked.
This was real.
He wasn't a street rat anymore.
The Price
A pair of heavy boots splashed through the alley behind him. Ash turned, heart pounding.
A tall figure stepped into view—cloaked in black, face hidden behind a sleek mask. Silver armor peeked through the folds of his coat. A strange, sigil-shaped badge glowed on his shoulder.
An Inquisitor.
Ash's breath caught.
"By Order of the Aegis Concord, all unregistered Awakened are to be detained or eliminated," the man said, voice distorted through his mask. "You've manifested without sanction."
Ash took a step back. "I—I didn't choose this."
The Inquisitor raised a hand.
Shadow surged through Ash's veins.
The alley exploded into darkness.