Where am I… I was still fuzzy from the Vigil.
"A hospital," a feminine voice answered. "You were out for three days when I found you."
Three days. Damn. I'd nearly died dozens of times in the Vigil—for only three days of absence.
The woman standing beside the bed was pale, with short black hair and skin so clear it almost looked unreal. She was beautiful—the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She wore an all-black, skin-tight suit that clung to her frame like it was made for her.
"What's your name, kid?" she asked.
"Why do you want to know?" I replied quietly, my tone grim. I couldn't afford to trust anyone anymore. Survival came first.
She smiled slightly. "Smart. Withholding information." She folded her arms. "Most people who wake up from their first Vigil tend to blab to anyone who'll listen about what they experienced."
Her voice stayed calm, measured. "My name is Hela. And I won't ask for unnecessary details about what you went through. From what I can tell, you're smart enough to think for yourself. I'm only here to guide you—for now."
She turned toward the window. "I found you laid out flat in the slums."
So she knew where I came from.
"All right," I said. "I survived my first Vigil. And from what I can tell… you're one of the Chosen too."
"Yes," she said simply. Then she looked back at me. "But I do need your name. You have three months before the first solstice. That means three months to get you to the School of the Chosen and train you for what little time you have."
"Asher."
"All right, Asher. Get dressed. We're leaving. I'll explain more on the way."
She stepped out of the room. As I followed, I noticed something strange—people avoided her. Their eyes slid away, bodies stiffening as she passed. Like instinct had decided before thought could. Who was she, really?
"All right, Asher, let's go."
Outside, a limo waited. She must be high-ranking to afford this. How strong is she?
"What are you staring at, kid?" she asked without looking over.
"Sorry," I muttered. "It's just… you're probably the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
She laughed softly. "Really? Then you haven't seen many of the Touched. Among us, I'm fairly average."
Damn. Really?
"Listen," she said as the car began to move. "You have three months. You'll put all your time into two classes—combat and environmental."
"Environmental?" I frowned. "What about learning my attribute?"
She glanced at me then. "In your Vigil," she said, her eyes sharp but unreadable, "what came closest to killing you?"
I paused. Careful.
"The cold," I said slowly. "Starvation too. The environment more than anything."
A faint smile touched her lips, like that answer told her enough. "That's usually the truth people miss," she said. "Not the monsters. Not at first."
I stayed quiet. She didn't know. I wasn't going to tell her.
"Environmental training will teach you how to endure the world itself," she continued. "Because if you can't survive the cold, the hunger, the exhaustion—your attribute won't save you."
I nodded.
"We're here," she said as the limo stopped. "Go inside. Tell them your name. They'll handle the rest—classes, lodging, even new clothes."
Her eyes flicked to my worn sleeves. "Because those look ancient."
I clenched my jaw. Yeah. I know. I'm poor.
When I reached the massive gate at the school's entrance, I saw clusters of students gathered together, talking among themselves. Some stared at my clothes. Most of these kids came from high-ranking, wealthy families—lineages with multiple Chosen. Tutors since childhood. Drilled. Everything I didn't know.
I kept my head down as I scanned the crowd.
One girl stood apart. Pale skin, sunlight-golden hair, headphones resting over her ears. She looked like she shared the same thought I did—keep to yourself.
Inside, an elderly woman sat at the front desk. She took my identification and entered it into the school records. Then, in an unexpectedly cheerful tone, she said,
"Asher, please go to the waiting room to your right and wait for further instructions."
I walked in. Immediately, I noticed the clusters—groups of kids huddled together, all different yet the same. New. Like me. Every one of them had just survived their first Vigil. Some laughed too loudly, others whispered, but all carried the same raw edge beneath their voices.
Most of the attention hovered around one boy in particular. Red hair, neatly parted. A white, tailored suit that looked untouched by hardship. He stood straight, confident, surrounded by eager faces. I didn't need to hear the whispers to know he was high-ranking.
One kid suddenly shouted, unable to contain himself.
"I got a Sacred ability rank!"
The room buzzed instantly. Sacred was rare. Usually, power ranks were set in stone, and landing that high still meant you were exceptional.
Still… nothing compared to mine. Not that I could explain it. Not that I even understood it yet.
I needed to make sure no one asked questions. And the fastest way to do that was simple: make myself unbelievable.
I walked straight up to the red-haired kid and said, loud enough for everyone to hear,
"Really? That's nothing compared to my Divine attribute."
The room froze. Every head turned toward me like I'd just spoken a forbidden language. In my head, I almost laughed. Of course they'd look at me like that—no one had ever heard of a Divine ability.
I didn't stop there.
"I killed an Awakened Hellhound leader during my Vigil."
Silence. Disbelief. Whispers. Good thing I wasn't wearing the garb. No proof. No evidence. Just words.
A kid behind me grabbed my shoulder hard.
"Hey—look," he snapped. "You're insane. Bragging about lies like that? A regular Touched killing a Hellhound? Divine attribute?"
He shook his head in disgust. "Get real."
Before I could respond, the red-haired boy raised a hand.
"Leave him alone," he said calmly. "He's obviously traumatized from his Vigil. People say nonsense when they're pushed too far."
Then he looked at me—not mocking, not cruel. Just… measured.
"My name's Cedrick. If you need help, come ask."
I nodded and walked away, a flicker of excitement curling in my chest.
It worked. People began to part when I passed. Conversations died. Eyes avoided me. Whispers followed. Crazy. Liar. Delusional. Perfect.
But I wasn't completely alone. Across the room, I noticed another student standing apart—a girl no one approached, avoided just as carefully as me. Different reason. Same result.
Then the door opened. A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped inside, dressed in a black tux so sharp it seemed to cut the air itself. The moment he entered, the room went dead silent.
Every student straightened. Every breath stilled.
And I knew—this was someone important.