"Let's do it… one more time."
The camera's red light blinked. Mark adjusted his seat, cleared his throat, and forced a crooked smile.
"I am Mark. Usually, my story would start with some really boring life, but I recently became a Resonant. Sounds awesome, doesn't it? Yeah, I thought so too at first… until I realized everyone would shame me if I didn't enroll with the Knights." He sighed, scratching the back of his head. "I just wanted a normal life. But oh well—it's in the past now. At the very least, I won't have to keep trudging through those boring school days anymore."
His eyes softened. "But… I'll miss you guys. Love you, Aunt Ruby. Hope you're not forgetting your meds on time." A quiet laugh slipped out. "I'll make you proud… I hope. And don't you dare give away my manga collection to Brook. I'll be back to get them soon."
Mark paused, his smile fading into something more fragile. "That's all for today. I'll make my name remembered in the stars. See you soon, everyone."
He clicked the recorder off. Silence filled the small cabin. Mark leaned back, staring at the ocean of stars beyond the window. His chest tightened with something between fear and awe. He never imagined this would be his fate. Him—Mark E. Adams—a Resonant, chosen for a path he never asked for.
Being a Knight wasn't glory; it was a sentence. Every day meant living with death at your heels. Monsters from other worlds could be fought, yes—but betrayal from within? That could gut you before you even drew your blade.
The stars blurred in his vision. For a moment, the weight of it all nearly crushed him.
Then—
"I overslept again! No, no, no, no!"
Mark bolted upright, nearly tripping over his own boots as he scrambled for the door.
Half-eaten toast clenched between his teeth, he darted through the mess of his tiny quarters. "How am I supposed to be a Knight like this?!"
The city air was sharp with exhaust and chatter as Mark hurried along the streets, searching for academies that would take him. He hadn't asked for this life, but now that it was his, he had no choice but to find a place to belong.
Everyone already knew who he was. The moment someone Resonated, their name and face went public. Newspapers. Online headlines. Even the evening news cycle. Overnight, Mark had gone from just another kid to a headline story. There was no hiding it.
And it showed in the way people looked at him.
Parents pulled their children close when he walked past. A man spat near his shoes.
"Resonant trash," someone muttered.
Mark's hands balled into fists. To most people, resonants weren't heroes—they were walking disasters waiting to happen. The Knights might save lives, but ordinary folks only saw the destruction left in their wake. After the calamity, the perspective about Knights and resonants changed for the common folks. To them, they are freaks of nature.
Still, he pressed on.
One academy. Then another. Then another. Each turned him away with the same words:
"Too new."
"Not strong enough."
"We're not taking amateurs right now."
By sundown, his legs ached. His stomach growled. And all he had to show for his effort was rejection.
Now he sat on a cracked pavement near a glowing food stand, chewing through a cheap sandwich. Grease dripped onto the wrapper as he stared blankly at the streetlights buzzing overhead.
Maybe this was all a mistake.
"Rough day?"
The voice came low, almost drowned by the hum of passing cars. Mark glanced up. A man stood before him, hidden under a long white coat, hood drawn tight, a black mask covering everything but his eyes. Those eyes—calm, steady, sharp—locked onto him.
Mark stiffened. "Do… I know you?"
The man tilted his head. "Not yet. But I had a feeling I'd meet you here."
Mark swallowed the last of his sandwich, unsure if he should laugh or run. "That's creepy as hell, you know."
"Maybe. Or maybe it's instinct." The man crouched slightly, meeting him at eye level. "You're important, Mark. More than you realize."
Mark blinked. "Wait—how do you even know my name?"
The man's gaze didn't waver. "Because I've been waiting for you."
A chill crawled down Mark's spine. He tried to brush it off with sarcasm. "Right. And let me guess—you've got some secret academy that's totally gonna take me in?"
The man's eyes crinkled, just slightly, as if smiling beneath the mask. "Exactly."
Mark stared at him. "…Are you serious?"
"Come tomorrow," the man said, rising to his full height. He handed Mark a slip of paper with an address. "If you want to prove yourself—if you want to be more than just another forgotten Resonant—be there."
Mark turned the paper over in his hands. His first instinct was to crumple it and toss it. Some random masked stranger promising him a future? It sounded insane. But then again… so did his life now.
"…Fine," Mark muttered, mostly to himself. "But if this turns out to be a scam, I'm suing you."
The man gave a soft chuckle. "You'll thank me later." Then, without another word, he melted into the crowd.
The next morning, Mark followed the address.
His breath caught in his throat when he saw it: tall gates of steel and white stone, engraved with an emblem of wings and flame. Above it, the name carved in bold letters:
HEAVEN'S ORDER ACADEMY.
Mark rubbed his eyes, half-convinced he was dreaming. Heaven's Order was legendary. The academy. The one every Resonant prayed to enter. It wasn't just popular—it was nearly untouchable. It is one of the strongest academies in all of Belvaria—maybe even the world.
And there, waiting at the entrance, stood the man in the white coat. Hood down this time, mask removed, his sharp features revealed in full daylight. Dirty blonde hair tied back into a low ponytail, with a few loose strands falling over his forehead in sharp, deliberate locks. His dark blue eyes were piercing, intense, the kind that seemed to measure a person in a single glance. He stood tall—with a lean, athletic frame that hinted at power beneath the calm. Despite looking no older than his late twenties, there was a quiet authority in the way he carried himself, like someone who had seen far too much and survived all of it.
Mark froze. He knew that face. Everyone did.
Samael Lucerne. One of the Guardian Knights—the strongest knights in the world who fought in the calamity, each one a living myth.
Samael raised a hand in casual greeting. "Morning, Mark. Welcome to your new home."
Mark's jaw dropped. "…What the hell?"
The academy grounds stretched across rolling hills, its architecture a mix of the old and the modern. Stone halls with archways and carved beams sat beside buildings wired with electricity. Courtyards and shrines dotted the landscape, incense lingering faintly in the air. It wasn't futuristic, but it wasn't ancient either. Timeless.
Samael led Mark along a stone path toward a wide terrace. Students trained there—barely fifteen of them, the resonants gathered from across the country of Belvaria.
Mark slowed, eyes wide. Two of the students clashed before him. One swung a sword, sparks flashing with each strike. The other met him bare-fisted, her knuckles colliding with steel so hard the blade bent.
Then, with a single kick, another boy shattered a stone pillar into chunks, dust spilling across the ground.
Mark flinched. "He just—he just broke a whole pillar."
Samael laughs, "That—is resonance."
He guided Mark away from the noise, into a quiet garden where a fountain bubbled. Sitting at its edge, Samael motioned for Mark to join him.
"Body and soul..." Samael began, "are not one. Your body may hunger for food, for rest. But your soul hungers for something else. Desire. Craving. Ambition."
Mark squinted. "So....my soul's on a diet plan..."
"Think of a soul as a painting. The canvas is raw energy—white, empty. The colors are emotions. Your soul is not conscious thought. It is subconscious. You cannot control it with your hands, but it drives you more deeply than your mind ever will."
Mark stayed quiet, his usual sarcasm faltering.
"When a soul desires something so strongly that the body cannot ignore it, a bond forms between them. That bond unlocks a world beyond limits. That bond is resonance. And those who achieve it become resonants."
Mark scratched the back of his neck. "So… people get superpowers because they… want something too hard?"
"Not wanting. Needing." Samael's gaze sharpened. "The soul is an infinite well of energy. Once linked, a Resonant draws from it. At first, only drops—barely two percent. Yet even drops can harden flesh, extend stamina, or shatter stone. Strengthen that link, and the soul bends reality to its craving."
Mark swallowed, remembering the pillar exploding under a single kick.
"Resonance has three stages," Samael continued. "First is simply Resonance—the link, manifesting desire in partial form. My own allows me to summon any weapon I wish."
Mark looked in awe, as Samael summoned a short dagger out of thin air.
"Second is Hex or Grace. If your soul craves dominance, you wield a Hex—curses, debuffs, breaking others down. If your desire is to uplift, it becomes Grace—buffs, blessings, strengthening yourself or others."
Mark leaned forward despite himself.
"And the third stage," Samael's voice lowered, "is Celestial Dominion. The truest desire, manifesting in full physical form, bending nature itself. Dominion is rare. Singular. No two are alike. Only a soul burning with immense purpose can reach it."
Mark stared at him, lost for words.
Then Samael asked: "Tell me, Mark. What is it that you desire?"
Mark hesitated, staring at the rippling fountain water. The words felt childish, embarrassing, but they were real.
"…I want to help people," he said softly. "Help them become the best versions of themselves. Lift them up, push them forward. But… I also want to surpass them. Not to crush anyone, not to destroy. Just… to prove I can rise high enough to be remembered. To form a legend, without stepping on the ones I care about."
Samael studied him in silence. Then, slowly, he smiled. "Balanced. Not selfish. Not selfless. Interesting. I knew my instincts won't be wrong"
"...That's good, right?"
"That depends on how far you're willing to go to make it real."
Samael rose and led Mark further into the academy grounds. They passed shrines, training yards, and quiet dormitories until they reached a tall building with arched windows that glowed warmly in the evening light.
Inside, a hallway stretched with rows of simple rooms. Samael stopped at one and slid the door open.
"Your room," he said.
Mark stepped inside. The space was small but clean: a single bed with a thick wool blanket, a wooden desk beneath a window that looked out over the academy grounds, and empty shelves waiting to be filled.
Mark set his bag down, exhaustion crashing over him.
"Get some rest," Samael said from the doorway. "Tomorrow will tell—if you should continue in academy or if this is the end of your journey."
Before Mark could reply, Samael slid the door closed, leaving him alone.
Mark collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. His chest was tight with fear, but also something else he couldn't name.
Maybe awe. Maybe dread. Maybe both.
But one thought echoed louder than the rest:
Tomorrow, his life would be in a crossroad of decisions.
As soon as Mark's eyes began to flutter shut, a sudden knock jolted him upright.
Knock knock knock.
He groaned. "Seriously?!"
Dragging himself to the door, he opened it — and blinked.
There, swaying slightly in the hallway, stood the girl who was in the training grounds fighting bare fisted. Her wild, windswept hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, her training coat halfway unzipped, and her cheeks flushed red.
She blinked up at him, squinting hard. "Took you long enough..."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Uh… can I help you?"
She ignored the question, stumbling past him like she owned the place.
"Phew," she muttered, "finally back… my legs are gonna fall off."
Before Mark could react, she collapsed face-first onto his bed with a muffled groan. Her limbs sprawled everywhere like a starfish, boots still on, one sock halfway off.
"…What are you doing? And who are you?!" Mark asked, baffled.
She turned her head toward him, eyes half-lidded. "HUHHH?? YOU SHOULD KNOW ME IF YOU'RE IN MY ROOM."
Mark blinked. "I think you're in my room."
Her brow furrowed like she was trying to do algebra in her head. "Huh… that doesn't sound right."
"Well, unless your room has a bag with my name tag on it, a desk with my notebook, and a very confused me standing next to it… yeah, pretty sure."
She waved a hand dismissively, already burying her face into the pillow. "Tch. Details. Whatever. I'm too tired to care. Just don't be weird."
"...Not planning on it."
Mark stared at her for a moment, debating whether to call someone, shake her awake, or just let it be.
She was already softly snoring.
With a long sigh, Mark sat down in the chair near the desk. He crossed his arms on the wooden surface and rested his head against them, watching the stars through the window one last time.
"…This place is insane," he muttered.
The snoring got louder.
He chuckled under his breath. "And apparently, so are the students."
Sleep came slower this time, but eventually it came — and with it, the silent hum of something beginning.