Three months had passed since the night the sky burned.
The people of Nexus Prime called it The Night of Oblivion, whispering the name like a curse. Whole districts were reduced to ashes. Monuments lay shattered. Heroes who once walked the skies like gods were now only names carved into stone memorials. The city was still rebuilding, but the scars remained—burnt towers that loomed like skeletons, streets littered with rubble, and eyes that no longer shone with hope.
Kael lived among those ruins.
He woke to the creak of broken blinds swaying in the wind, sunlight spilling into his cramped room. The mattress beneath him sagged with age, its springs groaning whenever he shifted. The walls were cracked, water stains spreading like veins across the ceiling. A soft buzz echoed from the neon sign outside his window, flickering between "HOTEL" and "OT L."
He sat up, clutching his chest. The pain was always worst in the morning—a dull ache that throbbed with every heartbeat. It wasn't the kind of pain doctors could fix. It was something deeper. Something left behind from that night.
He dragged himself out of bed, pulled on his uniform, and slung his worn satchel over his shoulder. The fabric had once been white; now it was closer to gray, frayed at the edges. He caught his reflection in the cracked mirror by the door—messy black hair, pale skin, eyes shadowed by exhaustion.
Just another invisible boy in a city that had no room for the weak.
The academy loomed at the center of District Seven, its spires piercing the sky like blades. Rebuilt faster than most buildings, it stood as a symbol: proof that Nexus Prime's youth would carry the torch where fallen heroes could not.
Kael slipped into the courtyard just as the bell rang. Students in crisp uniforms filled the space, each one radiating power. Some summoned sparks across their fingertips. Others hovered inches above the ground, wings or energy fields keeping them aloft. A girl shaped water into glowing ribbons, laughing as her friends clapped.
Kael kept his head down. His steps quickened as whispers followed him.
"That's him, right? The powerless one?"
"Still here? What a waste of a uniform."
"Didn't his class almost die in the collapse? Should've been him instead."
The words stung, but he didn't flinch. He was used to it. In Nexus Prime, gifts defined worth. They came in every form—strength, speed, fire, shadow, lightning. Some were simple; others bent reality itself. Kids awakened by the age of ten. By fifteen, most could pass the Hero Aptitude Test.
Kael had never awakened.
The classroom buzzed with energy as Instructor Renn strode to the front. His sharp gaze swept the room, landing on Kael last.
"Late again, Kael," Renn said, voice clipped.
"Sorry, sir," Kael muttered, sliding into the corner seat.
Renn didn't press it. He didn't need to. The smirks and muffled laughter of Kael's classmates said enough.
"Today," Renn began, "we review combat tactics. Power means nothing without discipline. Heroes fall when arrogance blinds them."
His words rang hollow to Kael. He could memorize strategy, recite hero codes, study villain psychology—but without a gift, it was meaningless. Heroes weren't chosen for their hearts. They were chosen for their strength.
The session moved to the training hall, a cavernous arena lined with reinforced glass. Students paired off, their powers lighting the room. Sparks flew as electricity clashed against metal skin. Flames roared against waves of water. Shouts and cheers echoed through the chamber.
Kael stood at the edge, unchosen as always.
"Hey, powerless." A boy named Jerrik sneered, sparks dancing across his arms. "Don't stand too close. Wouldn't want you to get fried."
Laughter rippled through the group. Kael bit back a retort, clenching his fists.
He hated this. The stares. The pity. The ridicule.
Invisible. Useless. Forgotten.
Then it happened.
A flicker beneath his skin. At first faint, like a whisper. Then stronger, pulsing with heat. His vision blurred, then sharpened unnaturally. He could see every spark Jerrik produced, every crack in the floor, every droplet of sweat sliding down the students' faces.
Not here. Not now.
He pressed his hands against the wall, willing it to stop. His chest burned as if fire clawed at his ribs. Black smoke coiled at the edges of his vision.
Then—crack.
The wall beneath his palm splintered. Black lines spread across the concrete like veins of burning coal. Heat radiated outward, warping the air.
Students gasped. Jerrik stumbled back, his sparks flickering out.
"What the hell—?"
"Is he awakening?"
"No way…"
Kael ripped his hand away, staring in horror at the marks seared into the wall. His breath came in ragged bursts.
The instructor's eyes narrowed. "Kael… what was that?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
The whispers grew louder. Some students edged closer. Others retreated, fear etched across their faces.
For the first time in his life, Kael wasn't invisible.
For the first time… they looked at him not with scorn, but with fear.
And deep down, Kael knew this was only the beginning.
Something inside him was waking.
Something the world wasn't ready for.