Grayhaven City was never quiet. Even at midnight, its towers buzzed with neon lights, hovercars hummed across bridges, and digital billboards glared their promises of wealth and power. But beneath all that glow, every person shared the same fear.
The Gates.
Black scars in the sky. Rifts that tore open without warning, vomiting dungeons, monsters, and death into the world. Humanity had adapted with desperation: awakening rituals, guilds, hunters, pathways of power.
Classes meant survival. No class meant weakness.
And weakness meant death.
Noah West sat at the back of his academy classroom, chin resting on his palm, watching the teacher drone on about Awakening Day. His gray hoodie hung loose, his desk cluttered with doodles of stick figures stabbing dragons.
The teacher, a balding man with too much pride in his cheap suit, raised his voice:
"Tomorrow, your fates will be decided! The Awakening Ritual is not just ceremony — it is destiny. Warriors, Mages, Hunters, Priests — our world survives because of the awakened! Those who awaken weak or not at all…"
His eyes flicked to Noah, a pause too long. "…are burdens."
The class snickered.
A boy in the front whispered loudly, "Bet West doesn't even awaken as F-rank trash."
Another girl laughed. "He'll probably get 'Janitor Class.' Or maybe 'Professional Loser.'"
Noah gave them a slow blink. Then yawned.
Oh no. My fragile heart. What will I ever do with such savage insults.
He almost chuckled at his own thought. Instead, he stretched lazily, letting the ridicule wash over him like background noise.
If they knew the truth — if they even glimpsed the chains binding his real power — their laughter would turn to screams.
But that was the fun part.
Let them think he was nobody.
When the bell rang, students bolted out, buzzing about tomorrow. Some bragged about their family bloodlines, others prayed for a flashy class. Noah took his time, slinging his battered backpack over his shoulder.
He stepped out into the fading sunlight. The city's sky was streaked with orange and red, the sun half-swallowed by horizon. For a moment, it looked like an eclipse.
His lips curved. Just slightly.
How fitting.
Night fell.
Noah's "apartment" was a one-room shoebox above a noisy ramen shop. He pushed the door shut and exhaled, the tired mask of a nobody dropping.
The room darkened — not because of the flickering lightbulb, but because shadows bent toward him, curling like pets around their master.
A blade of pure darkness formed in his hand, its surface shimmering like liquid night. Umbral Edge. His true partner.
Noah's dull gray eyes shifted, glowing faint silver in the dark.
And then came the whisper, from nowhere and everywhere at once:
> "Eclipse…"
His true name. The one feared by gods.
He stared into the cracked mirror above his sink. The reflection showed an ordinary boy — forgettable face, lazy posture, messy hair. The kind of person people looked past without noticing.
But in the silver glow of his eyes, another truth pulsed.
He was the shadow at the end of all things.
He was the silence that swallowed prayers.
He was the one chained so the world wouldn't collapse too soon.
And tomorrow, he would stand in front of the world's sacred monolith and be told he was nothing.
The irony nearly made him laugh.
Far away, in the city's east district, the air tore open. A Gate yawned wide, spilling out monsters with twisted limbs and hungry jaws. Sirens began to blare. People screamed and scattered.
And in his shoebox room, Noah tilted his head, shadows writhing around him like snakes.
"An outbreak on Awakening Eve?" he murmured, a grin tugging at his lips.
He lifted his blade. Shadows bled across the walls.
"Guess I'll warm up."
And with that, the boy no one noticed vanished into the night.