Chapter 2: Altar of Awakening
A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the Awakening Plaza as a man in pristine, silver-trimmed robes walked towards the grand dais. The ambient chatter of a hundred anxious sixteen-year-olds died instantly, replaced by the sound of nervous, shallow breathing.
This was Overseer Vane, the man appointed by the city lord to govern the Outer Ring.
Even from fifty feet away, Kael could feel the oppression feeling weighing down on his shoulders. It wasn't just authority; it was a physical, crushing power of an Ascendor. Overseer Vane was a Novice Level 7 Ascendor. To the unawakened youths standing in the smog-choked plaza, the man might as well have been a deity descending from the heavens. Every subtle movement he made seemed to ripple with condensed power.
Vane stepped up to the edge of the dais, his sharp, hawk-like gaze sweeping over the crowd of ragged slum-dwellers and the handful of well-dressed merchant children. He did not need a microphone; when he spoke, his voice resonated with Astral Force, carrying perfectly to the very edges of the plaza.
"Three hundred years ago, the sky above our ancestors tore open," Vane began, his tone clear, echoing with a grim solemnity. "The Great Rifts appeared, and from them poured nightmares that defied all human comprehension. Monsters of unknown origin rained down upon the earth, bringing with them a slaughter that pushed humanity to the absolute brink of extinction. Our cities were reduced to ash. Our weapons proved useless against their mutated hides."
Kael's jaw clenched. He didn't need a history lesson. He had lived the reality of those nightmares three years ago. But he kept his eyes locked on the glowing runes of the Altar of Awakening, forcing himself to listen.
"We were corralled, hunted, and slaughtered in large numbers," Vane continued, raising a hand toward the sky. "But the Rifts did not just bring destruction. They also brought salvation. They brought the Astral Force—the cosmic energy that saturated our dying world. Through this special force, humanity found a way to fight back. We learned to absorb it, to harness it, and to awaken the dormant potential within our very souls."
Vane lowered his hand, his eyes piercing the crowd. "Those who can harness this energy become Ascendors. They step onto the path of ascension. Today, you will stand upon this Altar. If the Astral Force accepts you, you will awaken a Martial Soul. You will gain strength, and a chance to defend our Black-Dust City. If you prove truly exceptional, you may even one day step beyond the Novice Realm and reach the legendary Elite Realm—the pinnacle of power, the realm of our City Lord and the supreme rulers of our city."
A murmur of awe rippled through the teenagers. Elite Realm. It was a title whispered with absolute reverence in the Outer Ring. Even a Novice Level 3 guard commanded immense respect, but an Elite Ascendor could single-handedly annihilate a horde of mutated beasts.
Vane held up a hand, silencing them instantly. "But power is not equal. If you awaken, your Martial Soul will be graded. The vast majority of you, if you are blessed enough to awaken at all, will possess an F-Rank soul. Above that lies the E-Rank, a higher than only appears once in a decade. And beyond that... the legendary D-Rank."
He paced slowly around the glowing altar. "Within your rank, your soul is further divided into Levels, from Level 9 to Level 1. Level 9 is the weakest, the barest minimum of power. Level 1 is the absolute peak of that rank. Furthermore, every Martial Soul comes with an innate talent—a unique trait or ability that will define your combat style. Do not dream of the impossible, but pray that your foundation is strong. Let the Awakening begin."
The Overseer gestured to a subordinate, a stern-faced guard holding a long scroll. The guard stepped forward and loudly announced the first name.
"Jonas Vance!"
A skinny, trembling boy in patched overalls stepped out of the crowd. He walked up the stone steps of the dais, his legs shaking so badly he nearly tripped. Following Vane's curt gesture, the boy stepped into the center of the runic circle.
The runes flared with a dull, bluish light. The boy gasped, his back arching as ambient Astral Force rushed into the array, attempting to stimulate his soul. For five agonizing seconds, the light flickered, struggling to find a vessel.
Then, the light died. The runes faded back to a dull, dormant gray.
The boy collapsed to his knees, his face pale. No phantom manifested. No energy radiated from his body.
"Failure," the guard announced coldly. "Unawakened. Next. Elara Vance!"
Jonas let out a gut-wrenching sob as two guards hauled him off the dais. He was doomed. Without a Martial Soul, he would spend the rest of his short, miserable life working in the toxic slag-mines or cleaning the industrial vents of the Inner City. He was nothing but manual labor now.
Kael watched without a shred of pity. Pity was a useless emotion. It didn't kill monsters, and it didn't fill empty stomachs.
Over the next hour, the brutal reality of the world made itself known. Out of the first fifty youths, forty-two failed to awaken anything. They were dragged away weeping, their dreams of glory and a better life shattered.
Of the eight who succeeded, five awakened F-Rank Level 8 souls, and two awakened level 7 souls. The moment the Astral Force stabilized in their bodies, they officially broke through to Novice Level 1. Their postures straightened, their muscles slightly bulking up as the cosmic energy refined their mortal flesh. They had officially become the Ascendors, a being of higher level.
"Marcus Thorne!" the guard called out.
The crowd parted as a boy with sleek, combed hair and a finely tailored jacket stepped forward. He was the son of a wealthy Inner City merchant, sent to the Outer Ring plaza to build his reputation among the commoners. He walked with a swagger that spoke of expensive nutrient supplements and preliminary physical training.
Marcus stepped confidently onto the center of the Altar. The moment his feet touched the runes, the array didn't just flicker—it erupted.
A brilliant, blinding white light shot into the sky. The ambient Astral Force in the plaza violently rushed toward the dais, kicking up a gust of wind that rustled the ragged clothes of the slum youths. Marcus threw his head back and roared, a sound that bizarrely mixed with a deep, guttural bellow.
Above his head, the Astral Force coalesced into a massive, solid phantom. It was an ox, but its skin was forged of dark, gleaming iron, its eyes burning with a fiery red light. The sheer pressure of the soul made the nearby students stumble backward.
Next to the altar, a large, crystalline measuring pillar began to glow, lines of light shooting up its surface before stopping squarely in the middle.
Overseer Vane's eyes widened slightly, a rare smile gracing his stern face. "F-Rank, Level 3. Iron-Ox Martial Soul. Innate Talent: Iron-Skin."
The plaza exploded into an uproar.
"Level 3!" a boy next to Kael gasped, his eyes wide with absolute worship. "He's a genius! An absolute prodigy!"
"With an innate defensive talent like that, he could take a direct hit from a Slag-Beetle and not even bruise! He's going straight to the Academy's elite class!"
Marcus stepped down from the dais, his aura completely transformed. He had instantly broken through to Novice Level 1, but his physical presence felt as heavy as a boulder. The crowd parted for him like the sea, treating him as though he were already a future god.
Kael's cold, dark eyes tracked Marcus for a moment before returning to the altar.
The names continued. More failures. A few more F-Rank Level 7s and 8s. The sun began to set, casting long, bloody shadows across the smog-filled plaza. Kael's patience was wearing terrifyingly thin. His blood hummed with anticipation.
Finally, as the crowd dwindled to the last handful of youths, the guard looked down at his scroll.
"Kael Rive!"
Finally, it was his turn.
Kael exhaled a slow, controlled breath. He stepped out of the crowd, his face a mask of absolute calm, though beneath his ribs, his heart pounded like a war drum.
Kael walked up the stone steps. and stepped into the center of the runic circle, planting his feet firmly on the cold stone.
Overseer Vane barely glanced at him, clearly exhausted and uninterested in another slum rat. "Begin," Vane muttered.
The runes beneath Kael's feet ignited.
Instantly, a sensation unlike anything Kael had ever experienced slammed into him. It felt as though a torrent of liquid fire had been injected directly into his veins. The Astral Force didn't just enter him; it violently invaded him, tearing through his unrefined meridians and carving pathways of power into his flesh.
Kael gritted his teeth, his jaw locking so tight it threatened to crack. He refused to scream. He closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to the horrific imagery that haunted his every night.
Blood. Jagged claws. The sound of tearing flesh.
I need power, Kael thought, his willpower condensing into a singular, razor-sharp point. Give me the power to rip them apart. Give me a weapon. Give me a beast. Give me the power!
A loud CRACK echoed in his mind, like a pane of glass shattering.
The barrier of mortality broke. Pure, potent Astral Force flooded his newly opened energy center. His muscles tightened, his senses expanding exponentially as his body was instantly purged of its mortal frailties.
Novice Level 1. He had done it. He was an Ascendor.
The ambient energy around him swirled violently, gathering above his right shoulder to manifest his Martial Soul. Kael felt the dense concentration of power. It felt sharp. It felt precise. He opened his eyes, with expectations.
The light faded.
Kael turned his head to look at his shoulder.
There, perched lightly on his collarbone, was a bird.
It was tiny—no larger than a sparrow. It was made of a fragile, translucent golden light, its form so faint it looked as though a strong breeze might snuff it out entirely. It didn't roar. It didn't radiate a terrifying aura. It just tilted its little head and let out a weak, silent chirp.
Kael stared at it, his mind going completely blank.
Beside the altar, the measuring crystal barely managed to flicker to life. The light crawled agonizingly up the base, stopping at the absolute lowest millimeter of the stone.
The guard read the crystal.
"F-Rank, Level 9... Bird Eye."