Ryne jolted awake, gasping desperately for air. Cold sweat drenched his body, his heart pounding violently against his ribs. The nightmare still clung to him — the shattering water barriers, the towering titan dragon, the overwhelming sense of impending doom. It had all felt so real.
*Four years.*
Four long, brutal years of relentless training, and he was still here. Still weak.
He ran a trembling hand through his damp hair, trying to shake off the lingering terror. I became an Awakener — one of the First Era — but even now, my hands shake, weapons slip away like they have a will of their own, and I remain… nothing.
Everyone had expected greatness from him. A First Era Awakener was supposed to inspire awe, command legendary power, and wield any weapon with effortless mastery. Instead, he was mocked daily, laughed at for his stagnant level and his humiliating inability to even hold a blade.
Ryne pushed the bitter thoughts aside and forced himself to stand, muscles stiff and aching from restless sleep. Another ordinary day. Another round of proving them wrong — even if only to himself.
"I can't afford to zone out now," he muttered under his breath.
He pulled on his worn training suit, laced his shoes tightly, and stepped out into the crisp morning air. The chill bit sharply into his lungs as he began his daily run. Four years had drilled iron discipline into him; he refused to let a nightmare break that routine.
As he jogged, he spotted a raid team gathered near a newly opened portal in the distance. Their eyes turned toward him. Whispers drifted on the wind, sharp with familiar disdain.
"Isn't that Ryne… the so-called First Era Awakener?"
"Look at him, still jogging like some weak civilian. Pathetic."
"Why's a loser like him even bothering? He can't even hold a sword properly."
"Why's he out here jogging instead of actually training with a weapon?"
Laughter followed. Ryne kept his pace steady, jaw clenched tight. He had heard it all before. The ridicule had become background noise, yet it still stung deep.
*Phew… this is mentally exhausting.*
He shook his head and pushed forward, fists tight at his sides.
By the time he reached the training center, his clothes were soaked through and his legs burned with fatigue. He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. A few Awakeners exiting the building shot him looks of disgust and muttered among themselves, but Ryne ignored them. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
At the counter, a cheerful girl with bright eyes waved at him enthusiastically. Unlike the others, she never looked at him with pity or contempt.
"Ryne! You're absolutely drenched in sweat!"
"I'm fine, I—"
Before he could finish, she ducked down and reappeared with a clean towel, offering it with a warm smile. He accepted it gratefully.
"Here, take this."
"Thanks…"
While he wiped the sweat from his face, she typed quickly on the registration terminal, already knowing his usual routine.
"Weapons training again? Room 18 is free. Go ahead!"
Ryne reached for his wallet, but she waved him off.
"No need today. Consider it my treat — I forgot to thank you properly yesterday."
"N-no, that's not necessary. I can pay—"
She smiled gently, her kindness genuine. "Just accept it, okay?"
Ryne hesitated, then nodded. "Alright… thank you. See you around."
He returned her wave and made his way down the corridor until he found Room 18. The moment he stepped inside, his eyes landed on the weapon rack: swords, daggers, knives, even a handgun. He reached out, fingers brushing the hilt of a sleek blade—
It slipped from his grasp instantly, clattering loudly to the floor.
"Tch… not again."
He tried again and again — sword after sword, dagger, gun, shield — each one rejecting him as if alive, sliding from his fingers like they were coated in oil. Frustration boiled over. Ryne slammed his fist hard against the table, splitting his knuckles. Blood dripped onto the cold metal as he glared at the useless weapons with burning eyes.
"I've been praying… just once. Just once, I want to hold a weapon properly!"
He had tried every combat path that didn't require wielding arms, but nothing ever worked. Despair crept in again, heavy and suffocating.
As he leaned back against the wall, chest still heaving, a faint shimmer appeared before him. A translucent system panel materialized:
System Interface
Name: Ryne
Class: Eternaless
Level: 7
Skills: None
Player stat: --> click to see stat
He stared at the painfully empty information, fists clenched until his nails dug into his palms. No flashy abilities. No powerful passives. Just a pathetic level and a blank skill list.
"Maybe… they're right," he whispered bitterly.
"Maybe I'm not even a real Awakener."
As he stepped out of the room, the door creaked behind him. The girl from the counter called his name softly, but the words barely registered through the fog in his mind.
Ryne walked out of the training room, still lost in thought, when he overheard two Awakeners talking nearby.
"If you can't hold a weapon, why not become a blacksmith? At least train your proficiency that way."
"Train proficiency… by making weapons instead of using them?"
Ryne froze mid-step. The words sank in slowly, then ignited something new inside him. Blacksmithing. A path to power that didn't require him to grip a blade at all.
"Blacksmith, huh…"
He muttered the word under his breath, his fists slowly unclenching as quiet resolve replaced the despair.
For the first time in a long while, a faint spark of purpose flickered in his eyes.