Sirens still screamed, from police cruisers crushed beneath fallen concrete, from armored vehicles split open like hollow shells, but no one answered them anymore. Their lights spun endlessly, casting red and blue across the ruins of the port city, over streets that no longer led anywhere. Towers leaned at impossible angles, their glass blown out, steel ribs exposed to the smoke, choked sky. Fires burned unchecked, reflected faintly in the waters beyond the harbor.
No warning had come.
No signal, no announcement, no sign that the world was about to fracture. One moment humanity moved through its routines; the next, reality tore open and allowed something else to step through. Later, survivors would struggle to name the moment, calling it an invasion, a catastrophe, a punishment, but in truth, it began with something far simpler.
Two figures appeared.
Only two.
They bore the same rough shape as humans, upright, symmetrical, familiar enough to invite hesitation. From a distance, they could be mistaken for people standing amid the chaos. But closer inspection betrayed the lie. Their skin held no warmth. Their expressions rested too easily on their faces. Their eyes observed the devastation not with shock or anger, but with quiet certainty.
They were not human. They never had been.
Across a ruined street near the harbor, a boy dropped to his knees beside a fallen body. His voice broke as he shouted his uncle's name, again and again, the sound cracking against shattered buildings that no longer listened. His hands trembled as he reached toward the man lying motionless on the asphalt.
There was a hole through his uncle's torso, perfectly clean, impossibly large. No torn flesh, no chaos. Just absence, as if something had passed through him and erased what it touched. Life had left him instantly. He had never felt pain.
The boy did not know that.
He only knew that the man who had protected him, who had pulled him away from danger moments before, would not open his eyes.
Grief consumed him fully, raw and unshielded.
One of the figures watched.
It stood amid the remains of a collapsed office building, posture relaxed, head tilted slightly as if examining a curiosity. When its gaze settled on the boy, something within it responded, not hunger, not anger, but recognition. It understood what the boy was feeling. It understood the weight of loss, the sharp fracture forming in the child's future.
And it smiled.
The smile was small. Controlled. Deliberate. It carried no warmth, only satisfaction. Then, from its throat came a sound utterly out of place in the ruins of a dying city.
Laughter.
Light. Amused.
The boy froze, his cries faltering as the sound reached him. Terror mixed with grief as his eyes lifted, meeting the creature's gaze. Across the street, the second figure remained silent, unmoving, observing the scene with equal detachment, as though this moment had been anticipated, rehearsed, perhaps even desired.
The city burned around them.
And though the boy could not yet understand it, the truth was already written into the ruins of city
These beings had not come to rule humanity. They had come to watch it break.
The boy's fingers closed around a jagged stone, its edge slick with dust and blood.
Something inside him snapped.
With a raw scream torn from his chest, rage, grief, fear, all tangled together, he lunged forward. His small body surged across the broken asphalt, the sharp rock raised high, his vision blurred by tears and smoke. He did not think. He did not hesitate. All that existed was the creature in front of him and the unbearable weight in his chest.
The distance vanished in an instant.
Before the stone could fall, the creature moved.
Its hand shot out effortlessly and wrapped around the boy's throat.
The impact lifted him off the ground.
Air vanished from his lungs as his feet kicked uselessly, the rock slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the street below. His hands clawed at the creature's arm, but it might as well have been iron. The grip tightened slowly, deliberately, as if savoring each second.
The creature leaned closer.
Up close, its face was perfect, too perfect. Human in every detail except for the eyes, which held nothing but cold amusement. Its lips curled upward again, that same cruel smile stretching wider as the boy's struggles weakened.
"You tried," it seemed to say without words.
Darkness crept in from the edges of the boy's vision. The sirens dulled. The flames dimmed. His uncle's face faded from his mind as the pressure on his neck grew heavier, his thoughts scattering like ash.
Then-
Seo Hyun-Jae jolted upright.
His breath tore violently into his lungs as if he had been drowning. His body lurched forward, hands gripping the sheets beneath him, fingers digging in as his chest rose and fell in ragged gasps. Sweat soaked his hair, clung to his neck, and dampened his clothes, his heart hammering so hard it hurt.
"…Hah… hah…"
For a moment, he couldn't tell where he was.
The image of ruined streets and laughing eyes lingered too vividly behind his eyelids. His throat burned as if something had truly been squeezing it. He lifted a trembling hand and pressed it against his neck, half-expecting to feel fingers still there.
Nothing.
Slowly, painfully, reality settled back in.
Hyun-Jae lowered his head, breathing deeply, forcing the rhythm to slow. Inhale. Exhale. Again. The pounding in his ears gradually softened, replaced by the familiar quiet of his surroundings.
"…Just a dream," he muttered hoarsely.
But even as he said it, the weight in his chest refused to fade.
He wiped the sweat from his face and sat there in silence, eyes unfocused, the remnants of the nightmare clinging stubbornly to his thoughts.
As if it were just a memory he didn't fully understand yet.
And somewhere deep inside him, something stirred.
Hyun-Jae let himself fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as his breathing finally steadied. The sheets were damp with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his back, but he didn't bother moving. The remnants of the dream still pressed against his thoughts, heavy and unwelcome.
Just as he closed his eyes again,
The door slid open.
"Hyun-Jae," a familiar voice said flatly. "Get up."
He didn't respond.
His older sister, Yuna, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Mom already made breakfast. If you don't come now, it's going to get cold."
"…Go away," Hyun-Jae muttered into his pillow.
There was a brief pause.
Then, thump.
Pain blossomed against the back of his head as something soft but heavy smacked into him.
He jolted upright just in time to see his pillow bounce off the wall and land on the floor.
Yumi smiled sweetly, far too pleased with herself. "Five minutes. Or Mom is coming herself."
The door slid shut before he could argue.
Hyun-Jae stared at the closed door for a long moment, then sighed deeply.
"…Tch."
Reluctantly, he dragged himself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. The harsh white light flicked on, instantly banishing the last shadows of sleep. He leaned forward, gripping the sink, then slowly raised his head to face the mirror.
The reflection staring back at him was… ordinary.
Average height of 5'9 . Average build. No sharp definition, no visible strength, just the body of a normal high school boy. He turned slightly, flexed his arm out of habit, then scoffed.
"…Great."
No matter how much he trained. No matter how hard he pushed himself.
Nothing changed.
For years, he had run farther, trained longer, ignored the pain and exhaustion others warned him about. And yet, he wasn't able to awaken.
But he didn't really mind either.
Hyun-Jae clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing at his reflection.
"Guess I am just not cut out for it."
If this was his limit, then it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Something inside him refused to accept it, an irritation that had followed him for as long as he could remember.
He turned away from the mirror and began his routine. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Stretching. Controlled breathing. Each movement was practiced, ingrained into his mornings like instinct. His muscles burned faintly, familiar and disappointing all at once.
When he finished, he washed up, changed into his uniform, and grabbed his bag.
As he stepped out of the bathroom, the weight of the day settled onto his shoulders.
His name was Seo Hyun-Jae.
And he is going to his third year of high school.
In the kitchen, his mother stood at the stove like she always did, apron tied neatly around her waist as she stirred a pan with practiced ease. The sound of sizzling oil mixed with the low hum of the ventilation fan. She glanced over her shoulder the moment she noticed him.
"You're up," she said, relief flickering briefly across her face. "Go sit. I'll bring your food."
At the dining table, his father was already halfway through breakfast, reading something on his phone with his usual serious expression. Across from him sat Yuri his little sister, her feet swinging back and forth beneath the chair as she ate, completely focused on her bowl. She looked up when she noticed Hyun-Jae.
"Hyun-Jae!" she said brightly, cheeks puffed out. "You're late."
"Not that late," Hyun-Jae replied, pulling out a chair next to her and sitting down.
His father glanced up briefly. "Don't skip breakfast," he said, tone calm but firm. "You'll regret it by second period."
"I know," Hyun-Jae answered with reluctant sigh.
His mother soon placed a plate in front of him, steam rising gently from the food. Everything felt normal, comfortingly so. The clink of utensils, Harin humming quietly to herself, his father muttering under his breath at whatever he was reading. It was the kind of morning that repeated itself endlessly, unchanged.
Hyun-Jae ate in silence.
When he finished, he stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'm heading out."
"Study hard," his mother said automatically.
"Be careful," Yuri added, grinning.
Hyun-Jae nodded once and stepped outside.
The walk to school took him through streets that were still healing.
Cranes loomed over half-rebuilt buildings, their steel arms stretching across the sky like skeletal fingers. Construction barriers lined the sidewalks, and patches of fresh concrete stood out against older, cracked pavement. New glass reflected the morning sun where broken windows had once been boarded up.
Most people walked past it all like it was normal now.
Hyun-Jae did the same.
Soon, the school gates came into view. Students poured in from every direction, laughter and chatter filling the air. He slipped inside with the crowd, unnoticed, just another face among many.
Inside the classroom, the usual noise greeted him, chairs scraping, voices overlapping, someone arguing loudly in the back. Hyun-Jae made his way to his seat near the window and sat down.
No one spared him a second glance.
"Yo."
His friend Minseok dropped into the seat beside him, already mid-conversation about a new game he found without waiting for permission. "Did you see the new update? They finally added ranked duos. It's actually insane."
Hyun-Jae nodded, resting his chin on his hand.
"Mm."
"I stayed up way too late playing," Minseok continued, grinning. "Totally worth it though. You should try it sometime."
"Maybe," Hyun-Jae replied vaguely.
He didn't play video games much. He never really had the time, or the interest. While others relaxed, he trained. While they slept, he pushed himself. Always preparing. Always chasing something just out of reach.
Hoping for-,
Riiing-
The bell cut sharply through the classroom noise.
Students scrambled back to their seats as the chatter died down, replaced by the dull rhythm of another school day beginning. Hyun-Jae straightened slightly, eyes forward, his thoughts already drifting elsewhere as class started.
The rest of the classes passed without leaving much of an impression on him.
Lectures blended together, teachers' voices fading into background noise as Hyun-Jae copied notes out of habit rather than focus. He answered when called on, flipped pages when everyone else did, and waited. By the time the final bell before lunch rang, his body was already restless.
Special Period was next.
Ever since the incident, physical education had been removed from the curriculum. In its place came something far more serious, mandatory training meant to make students push their limits for what everyone refused to name out loud.
Which was the preparation for the inevitable.
The gym had been converted into a training hall. Mats covered the floor. Weights lined the walls. Cones marked running lanes, and first-aid kits were stacked in every corner. Instructors, some with military posture, others with the tired eyes of survivors, watched over the students as if expecting something to go wrong at any moment.
"Warm-up laps. Ten minutes," one of them barked.
Groans echoed immediately.
Students jogged lazily around the track, chatting, complaining, cutting corners when the instructors weren't looking. Some slowed to a walk within minutes, hands on their knees, breathing exaggeratedly.
Hyun-Jae didn't.
He ran.
One lap became two. Then three. His breathing stayed controlled, arms swinging in steady rhythm. Heat built in his chest, sweat forming along his brow, but he didn't slow down.
Not yet.
When the conditioning drills began, push-ups, squats, planks, most students stopped the moment their muscles started to ache.
"Good enough," someone muttered, collapsing onto the mat.
Hyun-Jae kept going.
His arms shook violently as he pushed himself up again and again, teeth clenched as the burn spread through his muscles. His vision blurred slightly, sweat dripping onto the floor beneath him.
"Dude, what's his problem?" someone whispered.
"Does he really think that doing all of this will make him awaken?"
"Why would he want that though an awakening is a practically a death sentence."
The words reached him, but he ignored them. Scorn, irritation, mockery, it didn't matter. It never had.
When it came time for running drills, he pushed harder.
Again.
And again.
Each step felt heavier than the last. His lungs burned, his legs screamed in protest, and a sharp ache crawled up his spine. His body begged him to stop, to slow down, to rest like everyone else.
He tried to listen.
Stop, a voice in his head warned.
Just give up on now and make it easier for yourself.
But his feet kept moving.
Because he had to get stronger.
Because weakness had taken something from him once.
Because never again would he-
The ground lurched.
Hyun-Jae's vision darkened suddenly, the world tilting as his legs finally gave out beneath him. The last thing he felt was the hard floor rushing up to meet him, followed by distant shouts echoing somewhere far away.
Then everything went black.
---
It was ten years ago.
Hyun-Jae was small back then, barely tall enough to see over the table where dice scattered across worn maps and scribbled notes. He didn't really understand the rules, didn't know what half the numbers meant, but that never mattered.
What mattered was his uncle.
"Okay, okay so the dragon definitely notices you," Hee-Chul said dramatically, eyes wide as he leaned forward. "And it's very unhappy."
Young Hyun-Jae laughed, clutching his character sheet even though he had no idea what it said. He liked the way his uncle's voice changed, the way he acted out every scene like it was real. Chul always got too into it, standing up, gesturing wildly, arguing with himself when he played different characters.
It was fun.
That day had been special.
A new RPG had just dropped, one Chul had been talking about nonstop for weeks. Dice, books, miniatures… Hyun-Jae didn't understand why it mattered so much, but he liked seeing his uncle excited.
"Come on," Chul said, ruffling his hair as they stepped outside. "We're getting it today. No excuses."
It was a normal day.
The sky was clear. The streets were busy. People laughed, complained, walked past each other without a care in the world. Nothing felt wrong. Nothing was wrong.
Until the light came.
A blinding beam tore through the sky without warning, brilliant, silent, absolute. It struck the city with impossible precision, carving through buildings like paper. Concrete exploded outward. Glass rained from the heavens. The ground shook violently beneath their feet.
Screams followed.
More beams descended, one after another, striking across Seoul.
And not just Seoul.
Later, the news would show the same thing happening everywhere. Paris. Tokyo. New York. London. Cities across the world, all hit at once, as if something had mapped humanity down to the last detail.
Chul reacted instantly.
"Hyun-Jae!" He grabbed the boy's hand, pulling him close. "Don't let go."
They ran.
Sirens wailed. People flooded the streets in panic, colliding, falling, crying out names that were swallowed by chaos. Another beam struck nearby, the shockwave knocking them both off their feet.
Hee-Chul shielded Hyun-Jae with his body.
"Stay close," he said, voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. "I've got you."
He dragged Hyun-Jae into a nearby building, an office complex already half-damaged, forcing open a door and pushing them inside just as another explosion rocked the street outside.
They hid there.
Hours passed.
They crouched behind overturned desks and fallen walls while the world outside burned. The building trembled repeatedly as distant impacts shook the city. Somewhere far above, aircraft roared. Gunfire echoed. The militaries of the world had mobilized, throwing everything they had at an enemy they didn't understand.
It didn't help.
Through cracked windows and broken walls, Hyun-Jae saw them for the first time, two figures standing calmly amid the destruction, untouched by fire or force.
When they finally spoke, their voices carried across every screen, every frequency, every language at once.
They called themselves the Celestials.
And that was the day Hyun-Jae's world began to end.
The building shuddered violently.
Dust rained from the ceiling as a deep, metallic groan echoed through the structure, long, strained, and unmistakable.
Chul's expression changed instantly.
"…We're leaving," he said.
He grabbed Hyun-Jae's hand and pulled him up just as another shockwave ripped through the lower floors. Concrete cracked. A support beam snapped with a deafening bang. They didn't look back.
They ran.
Out into the street, into fire and smoke and screaming metal. The air was thick with ash, every breath burning his lungs. Just ahead, their car. Miraculously intact. The driver's side door was still closed. For a brief, fragile moment, hope flickered.
They were going to make it.
Chul shoved Hyun-Jae toward the passenger side. "Get in, now!"
Hyun-Jae reached for the door,
A beam of light cut through the air.
It wasn't meant for them. It tore past, aimed at a distant military vehicle roaring down the street. The impact was instantaneous.
And his uncle was in the way.
The beam passed through him cleanly.
There was no explosion. No sound.
Just a hole, perfect, empty, through the center of his body.
Hee-Chul staggered once.
"Uncle-?"
Hyun-Jae caught him as he fell, hands slipping against fabric already going cold. His uncle's eyes widened briefly, then softened. Somehow, impossibly, he smiled to reassure his nephew.
"Hyun-Jae," Chul said quietly.
Blood never came. There was nothing to stop. Nothing to fix.
"…Run," Chul whispered. "I'll be… okay."
They both knew it was a lie.
Hyun-Jae shook his head violently. "N-No- don't-"
Chul's hand slipped from his shoulder.
And he was gone.
Something inside Hyun-Jae broke.
Slowly, trembling, he turned his head toward the source of the beam.
It stood across the street.
The Celestial.
Up close, it looked human enough to fool the eye, tall, slender, dressed in form-fitting armor that reflected the burning city like polished glass. Its face was symmetrical, almost beautiful. But its skin was too smooth. Too perfect.
And its eyes,
They glittered.
Not with anger. Not with hatred.
With amusement.
It noticed Hyun-Jae looking at it and tilted its head slightly, lips curving upward as if it had just witnessed something entertaining.
Hyun-Jae's fingers closed around a rock at his feet.
Sharp. Heavy enough.
He screamed.
The sound tore itself from his throat as he ran, tears streaming down his face, every emotion colliding, rage, fear, grief, denial. He raised the rock with everything he had and hurled himself forward.
The Celestial sighed.
It stepped forward once and caught Hyun-Jae by the neck.
The force lifted him off the ground effortlessly. The rock slipped from his fingers and shattered against the pavement below.
Hyun-Jae clawed at its hand, gasping, choking, his feet kicking uselessly in the air.
The Celestial leaned closer, yawning, yawning, as if bored.
Its grip tightened just enough to hurt.
Just enough to savor it.
Its eyes searched Hyun-Jae's face, drinking in every flicker of emotion, terror, hatred, despair, its smile widening faintly as if pleased by the mixture.
"So many feelings in such a small being"
Hyun-Jae's vision blurred. The world dimmed at the edges.
And the Celestial watched him fade,
Amused.
The grip vanished.
Hyun-Jae collapsed onto the pavement, coughing violently as air tore back into his lungs. His throat burned, every breath sharp and painful. He rolled onto his side, retching, hands clutching at the ground as his vision swam.
Above him, the Celestial laughed.
It was loud this time, open, delighted. As if what had just happened were a joke it couldn't keep to itself.
"Not yet," it said casually, its voice smooth and echoing, layered in a way that didn't sound entirely human. "You're not worth killing."
Hyun-Jae looked up, eyes wide and unfocused.
The Celestial tilted its head, eyes glinting. "Time will take care of that for me."
It turned away, already bored.
"Enough," another voice said.
The second Celestial stepped forward.
Where the first radiated cruel amusement, this one felt different, its posture straight, its presence heavy and oppressive. Its armor was more ornate, etched with faint, shifting patterns that hurt to look at for too long. Its expression was calm, dignified, almost solemn.
"Come," it said to the other. "It's time."
The first Celestial smirked once more, glancing back at Hyun-Jae as if committing his face to memory, then walked away.
Hyun-Jae could only watch.
They rose into the air effortlessly, light bending around them as the chaos of the city seemed to quiet, not because the destruction had stopped, but because something greater was about to speak.
Every screen flickered to life.
Phones. Billboards. Emergency broadcasts. Even broken displays sparked weakly back on.
The serious Celestial faced the sky.
"People of Earth I am Aureon," it said.
Its voice carried everywhere, across languages, borders, continents. No translation was needed. Every human understood.
"I want to make this quick so listen"
"There exist fourteen realms."
Images appeared in the air behind it, vast, layered worlds overlapping one another, each impossibly large.
"Each realm contains multiple planets and galaxies," it continued. "Your world, Earth, resides within the Seventh Realm."
"The fourteen realms are overseen by fourteen Celestials," He said calmly. "Including us."
The other Celestial stood beside him now, hands clasped behind its back, expression relaxed, almost pleased.
"At present," the speaker went on, "the balance of life across the realms has become unstable."
It paused.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"To preserve existence itself…"
"…we must essentially reset the system."
Hyun-Jae felt cold.
"To do this we will have to eliminate the realms."
Screams erupted around the world, though none reached the Celestials.
"All life within them will perish," the dignified Celestial said, voice unwavering. "If this is not done, total collapse will occur to this very world"
Beside him, the other Celestial smiled faintly to itself.
As if it knew something no one else did.
"However," the speaker continued, "we have decided one realm may remain."
The images shifted. The fourteen realms flickered, then one burned brighter than the rest.
"The strongest."
"The others," the Celestial concluded, "will be destroyed."
Hyun-Jae stared at the figures in the sky, his uncle's lifeless body cooling somewhere behind him, his hands shaking as the weight of those words crushed down on him.
That day, the world learned the truth.
And Hyun-Jae learned what it meant to be powerless.
Aureon raised a single hand.
The burning images behind it shifted once more, collapsing into a single symbol, complex, vast, and utterly alien.
"To determine which realm survives," it said, "a tournament of sorts will be held."
The word echoed across the world.
"A series of trials," the Celestial continued calmly. "Their nature will not be disclosed. Survival, adaptation, and strength will decide the victor."
Murmurs erupted everywhere.
"We will return in ten years," it said, voice absolute. "By your planet's measure of time. At that moment, participants will be collected."
Hyun-Jae's fists clenched.
"This is not a request," the Celestial added. "It is an order."
The weight of those words settled heavily over the ruined city.
Then the other Celestial stepped forward.
The one with the smile.
"Well then," it said lightly, stretching as if bored. "I suppose now would be the time for questions."
Its eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Almost instantly, people began moving toward them.
Civilians stumbled out from hiding, desperation written across their faces. Soldiers advanced cautiously, weapons raised but trembling. Government officials were rushed forward, shouting into radios, trying to regain control of a world already slipping through their fingers.
"What do you mean by trials?!"
"How many people will you take?!"
"Can we refuse?!"
"Why us?!"
The questions came all at once, shouted, screamed, begged. The air filled with overlapping voices, panic spiraling out of control.
Aureon's expression hardened.
The temperature dropped.
An invisible pressure slammed down.
People froze mid-sentence.
Then they began to choke.
Men and women collapsed to their knees, clutching their throats as if unseen hands were squeezing the life from them. Soldiers dropped their weapons. Officials gasped helplessly, eyes wide with terror. Even the boldest voices were silenced, replaced by the sound of bodies hitting the ground.
Hyun-Jae watched in horror as he and people around him fell, unable to breathe.
The Celestial looked down at them coldly.
"One at a time," he said.
The pressure lifted just enough for gasping breaths to return.
Silence followed, absolute, terrified silence.
The sly Celestial chuckled softly beside it, clearly entertained.
Hyun-Jae stood frozen in the ruins of his city, his uncle dead behind him, his future stolen in front of his eyes.
For a moment, no one dared to speak.
Then a voice, shaking, but resolute, rose from the crowd.
"Will… will the competitors be as strong as you?"
The question hung in the air like a final gamble.
The sly Celestial laughed softly, amused that someone would even ask. The dignified one answered instead, its gaze steady.
"That depends," it said. "This form you see before you is merely an imitation."
A ripple of unease spread through the people gathered there.
"A construct," the Celestial continued. "A clone designed to carry out announcements and oversee preliminary matters across the realms. Nothing more."
Hyun-Jae's stomach sank.
"There will be opponents in the tournament capable of matching this body," it went on. "Perhaps exceeding it."
The sly Celestial's smile widened.
"But," Aureon added calmly, "you need not concern yourselves with facing a true Celestial."
It paused, as if choosing its words carefully.
"To do so would mean your end is already decided."
The meaning landed heavily.
Even these copies, these imitations, had shattered cities, ignored weapons, crushed entire militaries without effort. If this was not their true strength, then the gap between humanity and what lay ahead was beyond comprehension.
The mood soured instantly.
Fear turned heavier, thicker.
Another voice cried out, edged with desperation. "Then how are we supposed to survive?! How can anyone compete against that?!"
The dignified Celestial looked down at the speaker.
"To address that issue we have already began to fill your world with a little bit of our power," He said, "This will act as an necessary stimuli to make you stronger."
Images flickered briefly, symbols of energy, bodies reforged, power flowing where none had existed before.
"We will try even the playing field as much as possible," He continued. "After all absolute imbalance would be unfair and in the end would serve no real purpose."
A murmur ran through the crowd.
"You are also not alone," the Celestial added. "Earth is not the only world within the Seventh Realm."
"You will have allies," it said. "Many of them stronger than your kind. Species born into harsher worlds. Civilizations forged through constant conflict."
The sly Celestial glanced toward the humans, eyes glittering."So do try not to embarrass yourselves."
The dignified one ignored the comment.
"Train," he said simply. "Push yourselves to the limits of your current capabilities. That is all you can do for now."
Another question came quickly, fear barely held back by urgency.
"How many people are allowed to participate?"
The two Celestials exchanged a brief glance.
They considered.
"For most species," the dignified one said, "there is a limit based on population, maturity, and innate capability."
Its gaze returned to the humans.
"Your species," it said, "has no such restriction."
"However," it added, "Only those who awakened in this world may participate."
"How do we know who are the awakened then?" A voice in the crowd blurts out.
Aureon merely glanced at the voice "I suppose you do deserve an explanation of that but I will let my friend Daeron explain it"
The sly celestial seems annoyed by this but he steps ups. "The power we will provide this planet of yours is called Etherea which in simple terms is the energy that connects the realms and its objects together"
"The awakened themselves will gain markings on their bodies depending on how much of it they have."
Before anyone could ask anymore questions Aureon interrupts. "Thats all the time we can spare for now but humans be prepared"
Hyun-Jae stood silently among the ruins hearing this, as the weight of the future pressed down on him from every direction.
but somewhere deep within him, beneath the grief and helplessness,
A quiet, burning resolve began to take shape.
The sly Celestial's gaze drifted.
For a single, fleeting second, its eyes found Hyun-Jae.
Across smoke, fire, and ruined streets, across fear and despair, it looked directly at him.
And it grinned.
Not wide. Not exaggerated. Just enough to be unmistakable.
As if it remembered.
And before Hyun-Jae could react, light bent inward on itself. Space folded. The two Celestials vanished as suddenly as they had appeared, leaving behind nothing but a timer etched in the sky, shattered cities and words that would never fade.
The world erupted.
People screamed. Governments collapsed into chaos. Emergency broadcasts looped endlessly. Faith, science, and order all cracked under the same impossible truth.