In the year 2076 of the New Threshold Calendar, on Planet Blue, the sky was torn apart.
Without warning or omen, a massive rift split open across the heavens, stretching above the planet like a wound carved directly into reality. Its depths were unfathomable, churning with dark, distorted light that did not belong to the known world.
Almost at the same moment, Planet Blue itself began to change.
Continental plates were forcibly stretched and rearranged. The planet's surface expanded hundreds of times over in an impossibly short span of time. Mountains rose, oceans shifted, and familiar geography vanished entirely.
Borders lost all meaning.
Human civilization, built upon centuries of order and structure, was shattered in a single instant.
From the rift emerged creatures later collectively referred to as demons.
They poured out endlessly, their forms grotesque and unnatural. There was no pattern to their appearance, no method of communication, and no sign of intent that humans could understand.
Humanity was given no time to prepare.
Modern weapons proved ineffective.
Bullets passed through demon bodies as if striking empty space. Explosions, heat, and shockwaves failed to harm them in any meaningful way. Conventional warfare, refined over centuries, collapsed overnight.
For the first time, humanity clearly understood the truth.
This was a war fundamentally beyond technology.
The question of nuclear weapons was raised—and abandoned.
Even if such weapons could theoretically erase the demons, the cost in civilian lives would be beyond anything civilization could justify. And if nuclear strikes failed, they would only accelerate humanity's extinction.
Thus, the option remained forever untested—a heavy, silent hypothesis in the records of history.
Despair became universal.
Whether hiding in ruined cities or fleeing into wilderness and seas, humans were relentlessly hunted. The demons, bearing horns and wielding bizarre abilities, tracked them with terrifying persistence.
Human flesh proved to be a valuable resource to these creatures, hunted and consumed with near-greedy obsession.
Within only a few years, human civilization stood at the edge of total collapse.
Then, change finally came.
After humanity was forced to retreat and consolidate onto a single region of land capable of maintaining relative stability, individuals later known as the Awakened began to appear.
At first, they were rare anomalies.
But soon, it became clear that the powers wielded by the Awakened could truly kill demons—destroying the cores that sustained their existence.
For the first time since the invasion began, humanity was able to fight back.
Seven Awakened stood above all others.
They led the counteroffensive, becoming the pillars upon which humanity rallied. At the cost of more than ninety percent of the global population, the demons were driven away from humanity's last stronghold.
Civilization survived.
Upon the ruins of the old world, humanity rebuilt.
Later generations would come to know these seven leaders as the Seven Thrones of Law—figures who embodied authority, sacrifice, and responsibility, guiding humanity through its darkest era.
After the war, historians uncovered a troubling anomaly.
The demons' retreat did not resemble defeat.
There was no chaos, no breakdown in coordination. Instead, their movements were orderly and restrained, as if they had simply completed a predetermined phase of action.
In a post-war analysis report, an organization known as Zero Seat recorded this observation and left behind a single remark that was never publicly interpreted:
"This does not appear to be failure. It appears to be a temporary suspension."
Following the great transformation, humanity formally named the reshaped world the Continent of Akerlos.
The hard-won safe region was designated the New Threshold Realm, symbolizing humanity's step beyond the old world and into an uncertain future.
As the remnants of old nation-states reorganized, authority gradually shifted toward the Seven Thrones of Law. They were no longer merely powerful individuals, but guardians of order, entrusted with humanity's continued survival.
As time passed, the number of Awakened steadily increased.
To ensure stability and prevent the unchecked concentration of power, the remaining governmental cores united to establish an independent authority responsible for oversight and regulation.
This organization was known as Zero Seat.
Zero Seat stood above all individuals and factions, accountable only to civilization itself. One of its core responsibilities was to systematize the awakening process.
After years of observation and research, Zero Seat enacted the Awakening Adjudication Act.
Under this law, all individuals undergo an awakening assessment at the age of sixteen, typically during the opening ceremony of their first year of high school. Their abilities and potential are evaluated, and those deemed high-potential are transferred to regions governed by the Seven Thrones for advanced training.
As humanity's awakened system stabilized, demon activity diminished.
Large-scale invasions ceased.
The demons remained active only within approximately one thousand kilometers beyond the New Threshold Realm, observing, probing, waiting.
Any individual demon attempting to breach the defenses was swiftly detected and eliminated by Zero Seat's frontline forces.
Yet this prolonged silence offered no true reassurance.
Early frontline observers recorded a disturbing consistency: the number of demons had not decreased. They had simply stopped feeding and stopped attacking.
As if waiting for a predetermined moment.
Humanity paid an almost unimaginable price to secure several decades of fragile peace on the Continent of Akerlos.
And everyone understood—
This peace was not an ending.
It was merely the calm before the storm.