The wind was cold that evening, brushing across the empty sidewalks like a whisper from some faraway place. The neon lights of the city cast shifting reflections onto puddles of melted ice, painting the streets in fractured colors. Among the crowd that moved like a restless tide, one figure walked without destination, quiet and distant. Ice, the elemental embodiment of frost and blizzard now had chosen the name Friz for himself after the separation, carrying with it a silent promise. It was the name had decided upon for his new journey — one that was his own, shaped not by the unified being's direct will, but by the echo of his final wish.
The city was strange to him. Though familiar in structure — buildings, streets, vehicles, people — the atmosphere was charged with something else. Something different from the ancient world he once knew. There was technology humming under every surface, screens embedded in walls, hovering transports sliding through the air like metallic fish in an invisible ocean. The sky itself seemed to hum faintly with the low vibration of energy conduits that powered the floating billboards above.
Friz adjusted the white scarf around his neck, letting his hands sink into the pockets of the thick coat he had taken from a street stall earlier. His crystalline eyes scanned the surroundings absently. He didn't have a goal, not yet. Since the unification shattered and they each followed their own path, his journey had been a wandering one — aimless but not hopeless. Somewhere inside him, he knew he would find the path that was meant for him.
That was when the air began to ripple.
At first, it was subtle. The kind of fluctuation one might mistake for dizziness or a heat haze. But Friz felt it immediately. His sensitivity to disturbances in spatial fabric was unparalleled; it was as if the entire street had suddenly exhaled. The neon lights flickered. The crowd slowed. And then, right in the middle of the road ahead, space tore open.
A gate.
It expanded like an iris, swirling with violet light and jagged lines of black energy at its edges. Friz had seen phenomena like this before in the fragmented timelines he had traveled through — distortions that connected worlds, rifts between dimensions. He took a step back instinctively, but before he could properly react, a pull seized his body.
The gravitational drag of the gate was immense, a current stronger than any storm. He dug his heels into the ground, frost instantly spreading beneath his feet in a desperate attempt to anchor himself. But the gate had already decided its prey. The street blurred around him as the pull intensified, and within seconds, his body was yanked forward into the glowing maw.
The city disappeared.
He landed hard. Dust and loose debris scattered into the air.
Friz pushed himself up slowly, his cold breath visible in the suddenly frigid air. Except — the air wasn't naturally cold. It was him. His instincts had activated the moment he was pulled through. He looked around carefully.
He was still in the same city district — at least structurally. The same buildings stood around him, but their surfaces were cracked, aged, and covered in strange moss. The sky was different, too — an unsettling purple hue stretched endlessly overhead, with no sun in sight. He knew this environment well. He was inside the gate's enclosed domain — a pocket space designed by whatever creatures or forces controlled the gate.
And then he heard the sound.
Hissss.
From the shadows, they came.
Lizards. Dozens of them. Some the size of large dogs, others even bigger, all of them with glistening black scales and glowing green eyes. They crawled over the ruined walls and streets with unnerving speed, surrounding him in a loose formation. And then the crowd parted, and something far larger emerged — the Boss.
It towered over the rest, twice their size, with a jagged frill around its neck and fangs that dripped a viscous green liquid. Its presence was predatory, commanding.
Friz sighed. His expression didn't change much — just the faint narrowing of his eyes.
"I don't have time for this," he muttered softly.
The lizards didn't care. With another collective hiss, they lunged forward, their claws scraping against the broken pavement.
Friz didn't move immediately. He simply looked at them with a detached gaze, the way a man might look at rainclouds before opening an umbrella.
And then, everything stopped.
A gust of unnatural cold swept through the air. The first wave of lizards froze mid-leap, encased in crystalline ice that spread across their bodies like lightning. The frost raced outward, coating the pavement, the ruined buildings, even the distant cliffs. Within moments, the entire battlefield had become a silent frozen landscape, each lizard turned into a perfect sculpture of its final movement.
The Boss roared, trying to resist the creeping frost, its claws scratching deep trenches into the ground. But Friz was already walking toward it slowly, each step radiating calm authority.
"You should have stayed hidden," he said quietly.
He raised one hand. A spike of ice shot upward from the ground, piercing the Boss through the chest. The creature let out a gurgling cry, then fell silent.
Friz exhaled softly. The cold mist of his breath drifted upward and vanished.
He stood alone in the dead quiet, surrounded by frozen enemies.
That was when the portal behind him shimmered again. A group of Rankers — uniformed fighters, heavily armed and alert — stepped through cautiously. Their boots crunched against the icy ground. The moment they saw the scene, their movements faltered.
"What the… happened here?" one of them whispered.
Another pointed toward the center of the frozen battlefield. "Look… there. Someone's still here."
Their eyes fell on Friz, standing calmly beside the corpse of the Boss. He turned his head slightly to acknowledge their presence.
They exchanged shocked looks. This gate had been classified as Rank C — not something world-ending, but dangerous enough that it usually required a well-coordinated team to clear. Yet here was a single person, someone they didn't recognize, who had done it alone — and so quickly that the gate still hadn't fully stabilized.
"Who are you?" a woman in the front demanded cautiously, gripping the hilt of her energy blade.
"Friz," he replied simply. His voice carried no pride, no arrogance, just cold fact.
The Rankers hesitated. Then someone whispered, "Wait… Friz? I've never heard that name before. Check the registry."
One of the younger members quickly pulled up a holographic screen from a wrist device and began typing furiously. After a few seconds, he shook his head. "Nothing. There's no Friz on the Ranker list at all."
"What? But if he can clear a Rank C gate alone, he should be at least B, maybe even A…"
"He's… unregistered," the woman concluded, narrowing her eyes.
Friz tilted his head slightly. "Ranker?" he asked.
She looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "You don't know the Ranker system? Where have you been living, under a rock?"
He didn't answer.
Another member, more good-natured, stepped forward and explained quickly, "Rankers are the individuals officially registered and ranked by the International Ranker Association. They protect humanity from threats like this — gates, monsters, disasters. Ranks go from F to S, then special national and continental levels above that. Registration gives you access to missions, rights, and recognition. If you can do… this," he gestured to the frozen landscape, "you should definitely register."
Friz considered this for a moment. A path, perhaps. A structured system, challenges, a way to measure his power in this new world. He nodded slightly. "I see. Thank you."
Without waiting for more questions, he turned and walked toward the still-open gate.
"Wait! Where are you going?" someone called after him.
"To register," he answered simply, and disappeared through the portal.
The International Ranker Association headquarters was an imposing building of steel and glass, shaped like a massive crystalline tower that stretched toward the sky. Its facade shimmered faintly in the sunlight, a symbol of both power and hope. People moved in and out in constant streams — Rankers in their uniforms, staff in crisp suits, civilians staring in awe.
Friz walked through the entrance without hesitation. A receptionist greeted him and, after a brief explanation, handed him a form and directed him toward the testing facilities.
The registration process was systematic. First came the physical evaluations: strength, endurance, agility. Friz passed through each one effortlessly. His physical power was far beyond human norms, though he made sure to keep it controlled, giving results that were impressive but not godlike.
Then came speed and reflexes. The examiners exchanged puzzled looks as he consistently hit the top thresholds of their measuring devices.
"Who is this kid?" one muttered.
"Never seen him before," another whispered.
After that, he was asked to demonstrate his abilities. In the ability chamber, Friz extended his hand, and a flurry of snow and frost erupted, coating the walls in seconds. The examiner stared at the frozen room in silence, then at Friz, then back at the ice.
"…Impressive," he finally muttered, still bewildered.
The final stage was combat evaluation. Friz was taken to an indoor arena, where several fighters were training.
"Your last test will be a combat evaluation against one of our current applicants," the staff member explained. "Please wait while we arrange your opponent."
Friz nodded and waited near the edge of the arena. As he did, he noticed a girl nearby, standing with her arms crossed, watching another applicant spar. She had sharp eyes and carried herself with casual confidence. Earlier, when he first arrived, he had seen her casually knock down a man twice her size without effort.
Friya.
It seemed fate had decided for him.
The staff soon called his name and hers together. She looked surprised for a moment, then smirked faintly and walked toward the arena.
They stood across from each other, exchanging polite greetings.
"Friz," he introduced himself curtly.
"Friya," she replied. Her tone was light, but her eyes were already analyzing him.
As they both took their stances, the atmosphere shifted subtly. They were strangers, yes, but each could feel something unusual in the other. Friz sensed an aura from her — a latent power that reminded him strangely of something familiar, something original. She was no ordinary applicant.
Friya, for her part, felt the sharp chill radiating from him, not just physical cold, but the cold of presence — a stillness that belonged to someone who had seen countless battles.
The spectators whispered among themselves.
"They're both unranked, right?"
"Yeah, but did you see the reports from his earlier tests? This could be interesting."
The arena lights brightened.
Friz adjusted his footing. Friya mirrored him.
They studied each other carefully, neither rushing, both aware that the real test was about to begin.