At exactly noon, the world screamed.
It did not begin with explosions.
It began with silence.
Across the city, sound vanished—as if reality itself held its breath. Birds froze mid-air. Cars stalled. People looked up, confused.
Then it happened.
A man on a crowded street collapsed, clutching his chest. Light poured from his skin, searing white and blinding. The air warped around him.
When the light faded, the street no longer existed.
A perfect crater replaced it.
Screams erupted everywhere.
On another screen, a woman convulsed in her apartment—her body twisting, bones reshaping. When she stood, she was no longer human.
Hope's sister grabbed his arm.
"Hope… what is this?"
Before he could answer, the sky darkened.
A voice echoed—not through sound, but through existence itself.
"Ten percent of humanity has awakened."
The words were cold. Absolute.
Buildings crumbled. Fires erupted. People ran.
Governments fell within hours.
Hope pulled his sister close. "We're leaving. Now."
They ran through streets filled with chaos—men tearing tanks apart with their hands, figures wrapped in light hovering above burning rooftops.
Gods walked among humans.
Hope did not awaken.
For days, they hid. For weeks, they survived on scraps. For months, the world continued to rot.
Factions rose. Monsters ruled.
Hope remained ordinary.
One night, his sister whispered, "Why not you?"
Hope stared into the darkness.
"I don't know."
But deep down, he wondered—
Was he unworthy?
Or was he being saved for something worse?
The answer came three months later.