Elias sat alone in a stark white room, handcuffed to a cold metal table.
Overhead, harsh LEDs buzzed. A dusty glass of water rested untouched by his elbow. Across from him, a one-way mirror reflected his own battered face back at him — dark brown hair messy and unkempt, silver-grey eyes sharp despite the swelling, a cut slicing his cheek. His pale skin was a roadmap of bruises.
The cuffs chafed his wrists. The silence was worse.
'Tsk. What a joke.'
He scowled at his reflection. Three hours sitting here, pretending the outcome wasn't already decided.
Finally, the door clicked open. A tall man strode in — shoes tapping sharply against the tile, plaid shirt tucked into stiff dress pants. His silver hair and long beard gave him a grizzled, exhausted look, like overtime had personally insulted him.
He barely glanced at Elias before speaking.
"Elias Ashgrave. Outskirts of District 20. Seventeen years old. Tell me what happened."
Elias leaned back, dragging the cuffs taut for emphasis.
"Nothing much," he said, voice dripping sarcasm. "Just out enjoying the lovely night air before some thugs decided to jump me. Then they cried to you when they lost. Typical."
The old man stared at him a moment longer, sighed, and pulled a key from his belt. The cuffs clicked free.
"You're free to go. I don't have time for this crap."
Elias rubbed his sore wrists, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. He'd known it would end like this. It always did.
They didn't arrest him because they cared — it was just paperwork to show they "responded." Nothing would come of it. Not when the Shattering was so close.
Outside, the city sweltered under the dying afternoon sun.
Elias pulled his hoodie tighter around himself as he weaved through the throngs of District 20.
This was the Great City of Humanity — GCH — the last stronghold of mankind, stitched together from the ruins of old New York and the bones of the world. Twenty districts stacked together like a crumbling tower, numbered from 1 to 20.
The lower your number, the better your life.
He was from 20.
The bottom of the barrel.
Technically he lived on the outskirts of District 20, but in reality the whole district was a sprawling slum. Ten million people fighting for scraps. Elias had just picked the loneliest corner he could find and claimed a shack there.
It wasn't much.
But it was his.
Tonight would be his last night there.
Tomorrow he had to leave for District 5 — to the Academy.
Not because he wanted to.
Because the Trials demanded it.
Sixty years ago, the Trials descended from beyond the sky.
Monsters, mana, awakenings — the world had shattered, and rebuilt itself into something new and brutal.
Every year, thousands of seventeen-year-olds were pulled into the first Trial — the Shattering.
Only a handful survived.
Those that did became the Awakened, the defenders of humanity.
Most didn't.
Elias had seen it coming. His luck was terrible enough.
A few weeks ago, the brand had appeared on his back: three black crows soaring across his right shoulder blade.
No money for a real reading, and the meaning didn't matter much anyway.
Abilities were wild things. Half blessing, half curse.
He reached his shack and slipped through the loose sheet of metal he called a door.
At 5'9", he had to crouch low to get inside.
Inside, he tossed his ragged backpack onto the stained recliner that served as his bed. He didn't have much: a few changes of clothes, an old library card, a battered train pass issued by the Academy.
Tomorrow, he'd be gone.
Pulling his hoodie tighter against the chill, Elias lay down and stared at the collapsing ceiling until sleep dragged him under.
Morning.
Elias packed what little he owned into his backpack, slid on his battered sneakers, and walked toward the train station.
The ride to District 5 took hours, but it was free — part of the Academy's "generous" assistance.
When he stepped off the train, the city was a different world.
The Academy buildings loomed over him, massive steel-and-glass towers rising more than a dozen stories into the sky. The crowds surged forward, a flood of teenagers all around him — all marked for the Shattering.
All marching toward their deaths.
Elias walked with them, his hands buried in his hoodie pocket, head down.
He didn't bother looking for familiar faces.
He didn't have any.
Inside the Academy's massive plaza, the Hall of Awakening dominated everything.
A cavernous building, a hundred meters long and half as wide, packed with the anxious, the cocky, the already-broken.
Elias drifted toward a far corner, away from the main groups.
The elites were easy to spot — kids clustered in tight groups, armed to the teeth with lightweight armor, blades, even enchanted gear.
Born into power.
Trained from childhood.
Their families had plans for them.
Elias had…
Well, he had stubbornness.
And a mean right hook.
Years of fighting for scraps had left him lean, not strong. His hoodie and sweatpants hung loose on his frame — too much hunger, too little rest. The only muscle he had was the kind built from desperation.
He pulled his hood up a little higher, watching from the shadows.
'I wonder how many of them will survive,' he thought grimly.
Probably not many.
A small commotion nearby caught his attention.
Not far from him stood a girl — small, maybe five feet tall, tucked away from the bigger groups like he was.
She wore a loose pastel blue shirt, grey sweatpants, battered sneakers.
Her blonde hair was braided messily over one shoulder, and her pale blue eyes flicked warily around the crowd.
Elias recognized her.
Not her name — names didn't matter much in the slums — but her face.
They'd gone to the same public school once, back before he dropped out.
Their eyes met briefly.
No smile.
No nod.
Just two stray dogs recognizing another.
Elias looked away first, slipping further into the corner as more bodies crowded into the hall.
An old man climbed onto the stage and droned through the same speech everyone already knew: you might die, don't give up, humanity's counting on you.
Elias leaned against the wall, half-listening, half-dozing.
Then the wall behind the stage began to rise with a grinding rumble.
The Tear appeared.
It wasn't his first time seeing one — pictures in library books had shown them, the twisted warps in reality that had broken Earth.
But seeing one in person was different.
The Tear shimmered like shattered glass caught in a hurricane. Colors bled and bent around it, reality itself weeping at the edges.
The line began to move.
Teenagers stepped into the Tear and disappeared one after another.
Elias clutched his backpack straps tighter.
His heart hammered against his ribs, but his face stayed calm. Years of practice.
'No choice but forward,' he thought grimly.
He thought about the life he was leaving behind — the loneliness, the hunger, the endless fights.
He thought about his parents — vague, half-forgotten memories — and wondered what they'd want for him now.
Probably just to live.
Steeling himself, Elias stepped toward the Tear.
The world shattered around him.
Everything went black