The sound of the beeping phone knocked him out of his daydream.
Cael rushed back to his menial job, same as the day before.
He was fixing a broken pipe for a family of three in one of the older residential blocks. While under the sink, he overheard the kids chatting behind him.
"Did you hear about the trials?"
"Yeah! They say even the Champion of Novellis came from there!"
Cael froze for a second. His ears perked up as the kids continued.
"Ishmael?" one asked, awe in their voice.
"Of course! He's the strongest hero! My dad says he even beat three rogue Manifesters at once!"
Ishmael. The Champion. Cael's quiet obsession. The beacon of what a nobody could become.
They were talking about Novellis High Directive—the most prestigious academy for Imprint users. All top heroes came from there. Everything Cael trained for was leading to this moment.
After wrapping up the job and politely nodding to the family, he headed back to his station—a modest shelter tucked into a forgotten maintenance bay of the city's outer sector.
He'd heard whispers that Novellis High Directive's trials would open soon. Applicants aged fifteen and older could try their luck. He'd just turned fifteen two months ago. That gave him less than a year to prepare for the next trials.
"Starting tomorrow, I'll train you myself," the old man had said with an unusual glint in his eye.
Cael couldn't afford to rest—not now. Every second was vital.
"Every day is another step forward," Cael muttered under his breath, something he always said when self-doubt tried to crawl in.
The station he worked at had a few perks—namely, public showers. It saved him from the stench that often followed after long hours crawling through pipes or wiring. He and the old man never had issues finding a place to clean up. A luxury, in their own way.
As he walked through the marketplace on his way back, the city buzzed in organized chaos. Street vendors shouted over each other, electronic signs blinked in all colors, and distant screeches from transport rails echoed between the buildings. For once, Cael saw the beauty in the madness.
He glanced up. Towering skyscrapers loomed like behemoths, their steel skeletons glowing under the late sun. The light folded around the glass like a painting. Amid the noise, he felt... calm.
Then, a thunderous crash.
A bank exploded across the street. Smoke, alarms, a figure darting from the rubble. A villain in a mask, sprinting straight into the road—right into a car that had veered onto the sidewalk.
Before the villain could climb in, a flash streaked down from above. A woman—cape fluttering, fists blazing—struck the villain square in the face. The villain crumpled.
But chaos wasn't done.
The driver, panicked, slammed the pedal and surged forward—right toward a little girl frozen in the middle of the street.
The female hero noticed and moved, but the villain, somehow conscious, raised his hand and released a wave of fire toward her. She faltered, shielded herself.
Cael's heart pounded. He didn't think. He ran.
Everything slowed.
He activated Interval just enough to stretch a fraction of space and time around himself. His body felt lighter, the world bending like a ripple.
He lunged, grabbed the child, and rolled across the asphalt just as the vehicle screeched past.
His breathing was ragged.
The female hero landed nearby, nodding at him in shock and approval. The villain was finally restrained, and the girl clutched tightly in Cael's arms began to cry.
That night, Cael and the old man sat around a cracked pot cooking soup from leftover root vegetables, a protein cube, and dried sea-leaf.
"You almost got roasted today," the old man said, pouring two bowls of the soup.
Cael took one and sat on the floor, slurping hungrily. "She would've saved the girl anyway."
"You sure?"
Cael hesitated. "No."
The old man smirked. "Then you did right."
They ate in silence for a moment, the steam filling their small shelter. The flickering bulb overhead buzzed.
Cael spoke up between bites. "Old man... when do we start?"
The old man chuckled. "After dinner, genius."
True to his word, they stood under the moonlight in the alley behind their station.
"Show me what you know," the old man said.
Cael adjusted his stance, channeling a pulse of Interval. He darted forward, feinted left, then delivered a simple but clean strike to a training post they'd set up weeks ago. The post shook slightly.
"Not bad," the old man said, nodding. "But you're rushing it. Interval isn't speed. It's rhythm."
He demonstrated—a subtle move where he stepped and vanished for a blink, reappearing behind the post and tapping it gently with two fingers.
"Feel the gap between action and reaction," he said. "That space is yours to own."
They trained until sweat soaked Cael's shirt. The stars overhead blinked silently as the city rumbled.
Finally, they returned inside.
Cael collapsed onto his makeshift bed.
"Old man," he said, eyes already heavy. "You never told me your Imprint. What is it?"
The old man chuckled. "You'll laugh."
"I swear I'll kill you if you say something weird again."
The old man just smiled.
"Dinner first, then secrets," he said.
They sat cross-legged on the floor of their small shared shelter, steam rising from the pot of rice and curry.
The smell filled the place—familiar and grounding.
"Did you eat?" the old man asked.
Cael nodded, mouth half-full. "This is better than the food I fixed pipes for."
"Of course it is. I cooked it," the old man replied.
They shared a chuckle. It was quiet, simple. But for Cael, it was home.
After dinner, Cael stepped outside into the alley behind their place.
He stretched his arms, then dropped into stance.
The night air was cool, the alley lit by a few dim lights.
He focused.
He took a step—then used Interval, folding the distance, reappearing a few feet ahead.
Then again. And again. Not perfect, but getting sharper each time.
His breathing steadied. Every movement practiced.
His feet scraped the gravel. His shadow danced with each jump.
The old man watched from the doorway, arms folded.
"Don't chase power. Understand it," he muttered, then closed the door behind him.
Cael continued under the moonlight until his legs burned.
Then finally—he dropped onto his back, panting, smiling faintly.
Tomorrow, the real training would begin.
And for the first time in a long time, he couldn't wait to wake up.