James stirred beneath the thin blanket, the early London light slipping through the tall windows of Dormitory 3B.
The room wasn't silent—never silent—but muted, as if the walls absorbed sound. Beds creaked softly. Someone turned over. A distant cough faded just as quickly.
James exhaled and pushed himself up.
The remnants of a dream clung to him.
He had been small.
Fragile.
Held in someone's arms.
A woman stood before him—no, held him—her presence sharp even through the blur of memory. Her hair fell loose and unkempt, strands sticking to her face. Her hands trembled.
But her eyes didn't.
They held steady.
Focused.
Like a storm waiting to break.
She passed him to someone he couldn't see.
Said something—
But the words never reached him.
James blinked.
The image faded.
He sat still for a moment, staring at nothing.
Dreams like that weren't new.
But they never got easier.
Most of the other kids had something—faces, names, fragments of a life before the orphanage.
James had none of that.
Just this.
A memory that didn't feel like his own.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a slow breath.
Today wasn't the day to get stuck on it.
Today, he turned sixteen.
The thought settled heavier than it should have.
Sixteen.
The age of Awakening.
He stood, moving through the routine without thinking.
The world didn't wait for anyone—but this one day, everything hinged on it.
Some awakened.
Some didn't.
And that difference decided everything that came after.
By the time he stepped outside, the city was already awake.
London stretched out under a dull gray sky, its streets damp, its buildings worn but standing. Nothing about it looked extraordinary.
But beneath it—
Something lingered.
Mana.
James couldn't see it.
Not really.
But he could feel it.
Faint.
Like static brushing against the edge of his awareness.
The Awakeners' Association rose ahead of him.
Stone and glass, tall and cold, its presence cutting through the city like it belonged to something older than everything around it.
James slowed for a moment.
Then stepped inside.
The foyer was brighter than expected.
Polished floors. High ceilings. Clean lines.
People his age filled the space—some restless, some trying too hard to look confident.
He walked up to the reception desk.
"Morning," he said.
The woman behind it glanced up. "Name?"
"James Harper."
She scanned her screen. "First Awakening?"
"Yeah."
"Fill this out. Wait for your slot. 10:30."
Simple.
James took the form and sat.
Time stretched.
Voices blurred together.
Someone nearby whispered about whether it hurt. Another laughed too loudly.
James ignored it.
There was something else.
A faint warmth in his chest.
It had been there before.
Easy to miss.
But today—
It felt different.
When his name was called, he stood immediately.
"Harper, James. This way."
The corridors were long and curved, lined with doors marked in symbols he couldn't read. The air felt denser here.
Charged.
He was led into a small room.
A chair. A table. Nothing else.
"Sit. Evaluators will be with you shortly."
The door closed behind him.
James sat.
Waited.
The hum in the room settled against his skin.
Subtle.
Constant.
Then the door opened.
Three people entered.
They didn't need to say anything.
Their presence said enough.
"James Harper," the woman in the center said. "First Awakening?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She studied him briefly.
"Relax. This isn't something you can force."
That didn't help.
One of the others placed a smooth, metal device on the table.
The air shifted the moment it touched the surface.
"Hand on it."
James hesitated—
Then did.
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
Then—
A pulse.
The warmth in his chest reacted instantly.
It didn't grow.
It snapped.
A sharp surge shot through his arm.
The device flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The evaluators didn't interrupt.
But their attention locked in.
The light surged—
Then broke rhythm.
James's breath caught.
Something wasn't lining up.
The pressure built—
not in the device—
Inside him.
"Hold it steady," one of them said.
"I am."
"It's not stabilizing."
The light spiked.
A thin crack traced across the surface.
Silence hit the room.
James tried to pull his hand back—
"Don't—"
Too late.
The surge snapped through him.
The room went white—
—and everything cut.