A young man sat on a bench overlooking the city. His ash-grey hair fell messily over his eyes. Skin the color of dark caramel caught the soft gleam of the neon lights flickering just beneath the hill. Below, the city was alive. Vehicles buzzed through the streets, laughter poured from busy cafés, and soft yellow lights illuminated cobbled pathways. A tall bell tower loomed in the distance, its clock face glowing against the dim winter sky. It felt like an old London postcard, nostalgic, beautiful, and cold.
Jack exhaled, and the mist from his breath curled upward, vanishing like smoke from a chimney.
He held up his hand and stared at it. A strange sigil glowed faintly, a star at its center wrapped in elegant, interwoven patterns. It shimmered gold and black, like ink dancing across his skin.
He glanced down at his clothes. Worn jeans, an old hoodie with fraying cuffs. The classic look of a kid from the sticks. Unremarkable.
The sky above was starless, moonless, just a deep blanket of black. In the far distance, a single pillar of white light rose into the heavens. It pulsed gently, unnaturally bright.
Jack sighed. "It sure is cold," he muttered to no one in particular. He'd gotten used to it, the kind of biting chill that settled into your bones and made itself a permanent resident.
Tomorrow was his nineteenth birthday. Tomorrow he might die. Or worse, he might become one of those eldritch things he saw ten years ago.
He stood, casting one last look at the city. At the flickering lights, the bell tower, the moving silhouettes of lives going on. Then, with slow steps, he walked toward the Awakened Control Agency Post 1228. A squat warden station resting at the outskirts.
***
The lights inside flickered. A pale white hum buzzed through the air.
The guards at the door let him pass with barely a glance. No one really paid attention to kids like Jack. He heard them muttering as he walked by, something about House Krestal annexing a new fragment in the Other Realm. Just the rich getting richer.
Inside, the station was a controlled chaos. Officers shouted over one another. Civilians argued at counters. Phones rang. Jack approached the front desk.
The receptionist, a tired-looking woman in her late twenties, glanced up.
"I'm here to report myself as an awakener," Jack said.
The room froze.
The woman blinked, pointed to a dark wooden door at the far end. "You might want to go through that door, then."
Jack nodded and walked.
He reached the office door. The frame was thick, menacing, as though it judged him just for existing. He pushed it open.
Inside sat a strict-looking old man, broad-shouldered, silver hair cut short. His sharp eyes pinned Jack in place. A scar ran from his jawline down to his neck.
"Sit."
Jack obeyed. There was no choice in the matter. The pressure rolling off the warden was suffocating. Not even the most feared thugs back in the sticks had felt this dangerous.
"You're here for the trial?" the warden asked.
Jack nodded.
"Show me your mark."
Jack raised his hand. The sigil shimmered faintly.
The warden leaned forward. "This... this is a new one. I've never seen a mark that big before."
He looked Jack in the eye. "Are you sure this isn't a tattoo?"
Jack stared back. Exhausted. Done. "Pretty sure tattoos don't glow."
The old man frowned, then sat back in his chair. He'd seen too many kids like this. Lost, tired, walking toward something they didn't understand.
"How much do you know about the trials?"
"Probably enough."
"Kid. I'm being serious."
Jack scratched his head. "Alright. I know you go in, get a weapon and kill a few horrors."
The warden snorted. "You'll probably have to kill more than just beasts."
"Heh?"
The old man stood up. "Come on. Let's at least set your return point somewhere safer."
Jack followed.
The warden paused at the desk, muttered something to the receptionist. She nodded, shouted for a candidate named Marco. Code Orange. Jack's was apparently Code Yellow.
As they walked a long hallway, the warden's boots clicked with purpose.
"You know what a spawn is, kid?"
"No."
Jack wasn't surprised to learn something he never heard of about the Other Realm. Kids like him didn't get fancy lectures or manuals. Most of them died in their first trial.
"It's where you'll appear before and after your trial. In case something else comes out instead of you... we keep you locked down. Can't risk another disaster."
Jack didn't respond. He knew far too well what the warden meant.
***
A few decades ago, when the world experienced its first cataclysm, no one took it seriously. Teens across the globe began manifesting mysterious marks. Most thought it was a strange tattoo trend, some odd viral outbreak. Experts dismissed it as harmless.
Then, one day, millions of teens simply vanished. Poof—gone. Entire classrooms emptied. Families torn apart. The panic was instant and global.
Governments scrambled to understand, but by the time they connected the dots, it was too late. Gates appeared—cracks in the fabric of reality, birthing horrors no weapon could harm. The military tried, of course. They bombed, they burned, they nuked. None of it mattered.
Humanity stood on the brink of extinction.
Then came the return.
The missing teens came back—changed. They carried strange weapons, wore arcane armor, and wielded powers straight from fiction. They could fight the monsters. They hurt the monsters.
And so, they turned the tide of the battles.
These teens became the first explorers. Humanity's salvation. The Awakened.
Now, decades later, they are legends. Rulers. National powerhouses. Some of them never aged. Others became demigods. The world was forever changed. And so were the rules.
***
Jack and the warden stopped at a heavy steel-reinforced door. Two guards flanked it.
They saluted the warden, who exchanged quiet words, promising to return with Marco soon. Jack was motioned inside.
The door closed with a final click. Locked.
"May you return safely from your trial. May your star shine bright," the warden intoned.
It sounded like a prayer. Or maybe a spell.
Jack sat alone in the room. His thoughts wandered.
He thought of his old friends, now long gone. Kids like him. From the sticks. All dead. Taken by the harsh lives they lived.
What would they have said if they were here?
What would he say?
The door creaked open.
In walked a guy with raven-black hair and eyes like burning rubies. Tall, handsome, and practically glowing with energy. He grinned.
"YO! YOU MUST BE CANDIDATE JACK!"
He was loud. Too loud. Like a human thunderclap.
"Wow, you're shorter than I imagined! But don't worry, I don't judge! Name's Marco! Man, this is exciting! Our first trial! Can you feel that tension? That fear? It's like pre-battle jitters and I LOVE IT!"
Jack blinked slowly. "...You always this loud?"
"Only when I'm breathing. Gotta stay positive!"
Jack sighed. Then smiled just a little. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was Marco's energy.
A white light shone from above, encasing Jack in its warmth. He felt his body begin to dematerialize.
"GOOD LUCK, NEW FRIEND!!! MAY THE STARS GUIDE YOU!!!"
Friend, huh? Jack thought. Sorry, but I gave up on making those long ago.
He looked at Marco's bright face. Almost too bright for this broken world.
How can he be so damn optimistic?
He glanced at the clock.
00:00.
"I hope the warden has a coffin ready for me."
Jack vanished.
---
Darkness.
That was all he could see, or maybe couldn't?
His body drifted.
Then a voice echoed in his head, mechanical and cold:
"Welcome to the trial, explorer [Jack]."
---
He woke up gasping. The sky above him was a strange bluish-green. Clouds the color of pink cotton candy floated overhead. The air was clean. Too clean. No oil. No smog.
He sat up. Beneath him the rough stone scratced his back. Around him stood the ruins of a massive Chinese-style manor. Faded red paint flaked off the walls. Weeds had grown through every crack. Rusted training dummies leaned against broken fences.
The gate was intact, shut tight. The whole place was surrounded by giant trees.
It was beautiful in an eerie way. Like a dream long forgotten.
In the center of the courtyard, a sword stood buried in stone. Rust covered most of its blade, but faint black metal shimmered beneath the surface. Despite its wear, the steel looked sharp.
The voice returned:
"Trial initiated. Protect that which must be protected, oh [Wanderer of a Thousand Battlefields]."
The air shifted. Blood. He could smell blood.
From the treeline came low growls. He could hear the sound of distant footsteps. Something was coming.
Jack looked at the sword.
Then at the shadows moving beyond the trees.
He stepped toward the sword.
The trial had begun.