His long-sleeved cotton shirt, once white, was now soaked through with soot, ash, and sweat. Working dusk till dawn for a measly 600 Dril—barely enough to afford three loaves of bread—Kael was exhausted. Having just finished sharpening the last sword, he wiped the sweat from his brow with calloused fingers, then glanced around the stone forge for his belongings. Beside the smoldering furnace, where the air shimmered from heat, he found his dirt-stained bag and dented water flask.
He unscrewed the cap, took a swig, then muttered: "CIVI menu."
A second later, a dull digital interface flickered into view—a transparent black square with flickering crimson-blue edges, took up about 30% of his vision. It was government-issued, and decades outdated. At the top hovered three blocky options: 'Health' – 'Finances' – 'News.'
"Finances," he said.
The screen flickered twice, stuttered, then finally loaded. In choppy golden letters, +600 Dril pulsed on the screen, then floated upward to join his account leaving a total of: [2,200 Dril]. The product of a retinal contact chip fused into all citizens of Aetherion at birth. Even if the system was barely functional anymore, it still did one thing well—remind him how broke he was.
Pissed off, he blamed his meager finances for preventing him from training like the Awakened. Living well below his means in a desperate attempt to afford even a half-decent sword, Kael rationed himself to just two meals a day. Tired and sore, he tried to forget the fact that he was still 7,200 dril away. It's hard to save money when you can barely afford to eat, he thought. He slung his bag over one shoulder, feeling the dull ache in his back from a full day at the forge, then stepped out of the stone-walled shelter he used to escape from home.
As he walked the dusty hill roads and passed the long, overgrown pastures, his mind drifted to the lessons from childhood—teachers talking about animals that once roamed these fields, grazing freely, producing milk as if by magic. He let out a dry chuckle.
"How naïve I was," he muttered. "Kids'll believe anything."
Up ahead, near a crooked fencepost, a small figure crouched in the dirt—barefoot, messy-haired, and familiar. As Kael drew closer, the boy's features came into view: a slender, malnourished frame; brown wavy hair matted with dust; a dirty sleeveless tunic hanging loosely off his shoulders. Kael would recognize him anywhere.
"Todo?" he called out.
The boy's head snapped toward the weary voice echoing over the hill.
"Kael!" Todo cried, his face lighting up.
With a sudden dash and leap, he flung himself forward, nearly knocking Kael off balance as he jumped into his arms.
"Did you grow?!" Kael asked in mock disbelief.
"Yup! A whole two inches!" Todo grinned, proudly holding up two dusty fingers.
Just then, Todo's stomach let out a long, thunderous growl that rumbled through the air. Kael raised an eyebrow, but inside, concern tugged at his chest. 'When's the last time he ate?' He knew Todo too well—too proud to ask for food, even when he was starving.
Kael forced a grin. "Was that my stomach or yours? I'm starving," he said with a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. Before Todo could respond, Kael gave him a gentle pat on the back and said, "Come on. Let's get some food."
They scouted the roadside vendors, looking for the cheapest option. Eventually, Kael spotted a worn-down stand with a crooked sign: '2 for 600 dril'
"Two legs, please," Kael said to the old, withering vendor hunching behind the counter. As the old man slowly gathered the food, Kael couldn't help but think:
'Old with age, yet still needing to work to get by? Damn elites, it's not fair.'
He leaned forward reluctantly into the retinal scanner. The moment it beeped, he watched his entire day's earnings vanish.
"Once I awaken, we won't have to live like this big bro," grumbled a hopeful Todo, with chicken stuck between his teeth, and a mouth full of food.
Kael cracked a tired smile as he tore into the dry meat. "That so?" he said, chewing. "Gonna be the next Lucien Drayce, huh?"
Todo nodded eagerly. "Stronger than anyone. Cooler too. I'll fight those Hollowspawn. Punch their heads clean off."
Kael chuckled, but his eyes dimmed. He remembered thinking the same at Todo's age—naively dreaming of glory while the world stomped on his dreams.
"Eat up," he muttered. "You're not going to be able to fight on an empty stomach."
Having finished their food, the boys lazily walked towards their district. The sun dipped below the jagged horizon as Kael and Todo reached the edge of the sector's lower district. Faded walls, rusted pipes, broken light poles—everything creaked like it had given up decades ago. They passed through an alleyway that reeked of piss and burnt coolant, then parted ways near an old silo.
"See you tomorrow?" Todo asked.
Kael gave him a lazy salute. "We'll see kid. But if I don't, you need to stay out of trouble." Todo was the kid-brother he'd always dreamed of.
Climbing the cracked stairs to his family unit, Kael hesitated at the door. He could already hear the static hum of the wall-TV, blaring over drunken yelling.
With a sigh, he pushed the door open.
Per usual, when he came home his nose scrunched at the smell of beer, cigarette smoke and despair. The apartment was dim — lit by a faint yellow light on the ceiling, mixed with the glow of the wall-mounted screen. Alluding to the hopelessness he felt everytime he stepped inside. A bottle clinked across the floor, bumping into Kael's boot. His father was slouched in the ragged recliner, one hand limp around a half-empty bottle, the other jabbing a finger toward the news broadcast.
"Idiots," the old man slurred. "Every one of 'em. Chasing glory like it's worth dying for."
Kael dropped his bag by the wall, staying quiet, hoping this was one of the days they wouldn't speak.
Onscreen, the anchor's voice cut through the fuzz of static:
"...the Awakened known as Rellian Cain has been confirmed dead following an expedition into Hollow Earth. Cain's team was expected to make an announcement that—according to insiders—would have changed the fate of Aetherion itself."
A blurred photo of Rellian flashed on the screen: tall, armored, his silver eyes glowing faintly under a weathered cloak. Dead now. Just like the rest.
Kael stared at the screen.
His father scoffed. "Another dead 'hero.' Probably thought he'd live forever. Idiot."
Kael's jaw tightened, he couldn't hold it in anymore. "He was trying to find a way to save us."
"Save us?" the old man barked, suddenly animated. "Save himself, maybe. You really think any of them give a damn about us down here?"
Kael didn't answer.
"You're no different," his father muttered, sinking back into the chair. "Daydreaming about being Awakened. You think that'll fix everything? You ain't special, Kael. Never were. Just another ghost in the dark. Just like me." The old man only ever came alive to torment Kael. "I used to think I'd be one of them, too," he muttered, "once, years ago." Now he only drank to forget.
"I am nothing like you," Kael mumbled under his breath.
Furious, Kael turned and walked down the hall, pulse pounding in his ears. His hands blood-red as they were curled into fists at his sides. He didn't slam the door behind him — he wanted to, but he knew better than to poke the beast.
His room was barely more than a concrete box with a mattress and a cracked mirror on the far wall. A rusted dumbbell lay forgotten in the corner. He peeled off his shirt, then looked at his reflection.
Lean. Muscular from years of manual labor. A lean frame scarred from forge burns and beatdowns alike. Pale skin under soot-stained shoulders. Bags under his eyes. His black hair disheveled. Eyes like the ocean.
Without hesitation he dropped to the floor. He knew the drill.
One hundred pushups.
One hundred sit-ups.
One hundred squats.
No breaks. No whining. Just sweat droplets hitting the wooden boards in rhythmic drops.
Then again.
Two hundred total. Every night. Without fail.
He laid on the ground in his sweat once more. Breathing heavily. Muscles trembling. Standing up and looking in the mirror, his reflection stared back at him—his broad rounded shoulders, complimented well with his defined six-pack. Kael was the living embodiment of a 'sleeper' build. It was at the forge that Kael truly understood that everything of value was first forged in fire.
Wiping his face with a tattered up towel, Kael collapsed onto his mattress. The springs creaked beneath him. His breath slowed. He stared at the cracked ceiling, letting exhaustion sink into his bones. His eyes fluttered shut, as he felt himself drifting away. What Todo said stuck with him, "If I awakened, I wouldn't be in this shithole." Trying to ignore the painfully obvious thought, he tried to empty his mind to nothingness.
That's when it happened. A light tingling feeling throughout his body, as if his skin was jumping. The feeling passed, then came a voice.
'Walk.'
Kael couldn't tell if he was dreaming or not. His eyes slowly opened as he scanned the room. Nothing. He closed his eyes again.
'Walk!' The mechanical voice exclaimed this time louder than the last.
Kael shot out of bed. "Someone there?" No answer. "Great. Losing it," he muttered—and climbed back into bed.
One minute went by.
Then two.
'Walk. Now,' the voice angrily commanded.
Not sure if he was annoyed, confused, or worried, Kael grabbed his jacket and muttered, "Fine. I'll play your shitty game."
'Forward. Left. Left. Right,' the voice guided him, echoing, as if behind glass.
He heard faint voices in the distance. Now, he was officially weirded out. He's used to getting a gut feeling, not his gut giving him directions. His otherthinking spiraling as he neared the corner.
"Who's voice is this? Why Me? Why now…" his thoughts stopped as he turned the corner. The voices became louder, and then a scream of pain.
Silence.
Kael's breath caught in his throat.
"Todo?" Kael squeaked in disbelief. His voice horrified and broken.
Bloodied. Curled up. Not moving.
Thirty feet away, two shadowed men raised their boots again. Something snapped. Kael didn't feel tired anymore. Didn't feel afraid. Just heat — pouring through his chest like the forge flames. His jaw clenched.
"STOP."
The men paused. "Kael? Help…" cried a weak and battered Todo.
"Shut up," the man kicked Todo once more and took a step forward into the light. Wearing gray joggers and a compression shirt displaying his chiseled physique and twenty inch biceps.
Looking into the night, all the man saw was Kael's lean 6'1 glow illuminated by the moonlight.
"Hey hey, we're all friends here. Our little buddy is just learning to show a bit more respect to his elders," the man said with a heart full of insincerity.
"Step away. Now," commanded Kael.
"Wait! You know this little street rat?" The second thug asked in disbelief, crouching over Todo with a sinister chuckle.
"Step away," he said, voice low. His fists clenched. The crack echoed like a spark.
"Don't try to be an awakened," said the unimpressed thug.
He was past words. Two years of weight, cardio and combat training gave Kael a feeling he never had before — confidence. One foot in front of the other, he crossed the street without a trace of emotion in his eyes.
The thugs laughed.
Kael wasn't.
Once Kael was Halfway across the street, the big thug stopped laughing. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a switchblade. Only two words left his mouth.
"Step. Back."
"Step. Back."
Kael didn't. He advanced.
Todo was in danger. There was no other choice.
The thug's eyes narrowed. "I warned you."
Then he lunged.
Kael barely dodged the first slash. The blade hissed through the air, missing his ribs by inches. The second came faster—but this time, Kael moved with unnatural clarity. Time seemed to stretch. The thug overextended—and Kael twisted away. He lowered his weight. His training reflexes kicked in—he was searching for an opening. Found it.
With a rage he'd never felt before, Kael growled:
"I said… Step. Back."
Then he struck. The fire of every sleepless night, every broken promise, every hunger pang surged through him—molten vengeance clothed in lightning, channeled in his fist.
No warning. No breath. Just a blur of motion and a deafening CRACK as his fist collided with the man's jaw.
An explosion of black lightning burst outward—jagged tendrils of violet-blue laced in obsidian flame surged down Kael's arm and into the thug's skull. The sheer force launched the man off his feet like a missile, hurling him fifteen feet into a rusted dumpster.
BOOM.
Metal shrieked. A crater dented in the shape of his body.
Steam hissed from the man's face—now laced with a web of burn marks, like blackened veins carved by flame. His limbs twitched once, then went limp. Unconscious. Maybe worse.
The second thug stumbled back. Eyes wide. He turned—and vanished into the shadows without another word.
Kael stood frozen in the silence.
His fist still clenched.
The smell of burnt flesh poised the air. Burning ashes snapping off his forearm and vanishing into the air. His breath came ragged. His vision blurred, the world around him pulsing like a heartbeat.
Todo stared in awe.
"Kael…?"
Kael blinked.
He looked at his hands as if they were not his own. They were glowing—no, cracking—with faint lines of pulsing light beneath his skin, like lighting illuminating the skies behind the clouds. The heated air simmering around him.
His eyes flicked upward, wide and stunned, staring towards the gods.
The same voice whispered again, cold and eternal:
[SYSTEM UPDATE — AWAKENING: INITIATED]