Rain.
It always rains on days like this.
The world has a sense of humor—some twisted, poetic irony that makes sure the sky mourns long before anyone else ever would.
I lie awake on my cot, listening to the rhythmic drip of water sliding through the cracked ceiling above me. Each droplet splashes into a metal bowl I put out last week. It's not to catch the rain—I don't care if I sleep wet. It's to keep the floor from flooding again. Mold already claimed my pillow last month. I didn't win the rematch.
The mattress underneath me is thin, sagging in the middle, stuffed with torn paper and lumpy cotton. I can feel the bedframe's rusted metal poking into my shoulder blades, but I don't move. I learned a long time ago that movement makes you a target.
Or maybe just a reminder you're still here.
And being remembered in this place?
That's the last thing you want.
---
Welcome to Zone 12's Sector Orphanage—home of forgotten children and forgotten futures.
We were the leftovers after the System Integration reshaped the world. The ones whose parents died in early Gate Breaks, or whose birth stats were too low to bother with. No power. No purpose. No point.
Except maybe for punching bags.
---
Someone moves near the hallway. The wooden boards creak just slightly. I know that rhythm. Heavy heel, light toe. Purposeful, not nervous.
Ashen.
Of course.
He opens the dorm door without knocking. Doesn't have to. He's one of the Awakened. Four years early, even. His system gave him light manipulation or aura enhancement or some other ridiculous thing that makes teachers kneel and officials take notes.
To them, he's a prodigy.
To us, he's a goddamn storm with a smug face and perfect teeth.
He doesn't say anything. Just walks right up and kicks the side of my bed. The impact makes the metal groan and the bowl of water splash onto my arm. Cold.
I stay silent.
He hates that.
---
"Still alive, huh?" he mutters, leaning in with that fake smile of his. The kind of grin someone practices in a mirror to make sure it hides the rot behind their gums. "Guess the rats didn't finish their job."
I stare at the ceiling, motionless.
He nudges my ribs with his boot again. This time harder. Enough to push air from my lungs.
"You know what today is, right?" he asks, crouching beside the bed. "Integration Day. Everyone gets their little system, their shiny stat sheet. Even trash like you."
His hand grabs my chin. Fingers digging in—not to hurt, just to show he can.
"You better hope the gods give you something useful, Vale. Because if you awaken as a Support class…" He chuckles, low and soft. "Well. Then we'll really have something to laugh about at your funeral."
He lets go, stands, and leaves with the confidence of someone born already winning.
His footfalls echo out the door.
The room falls quiet again.
Except for the rain.
Always the rain.
---
I let out a slow breath.
Integration Day.
Yeah. I know.
The day you stop being "potential" and start being "ranked."
It's the only day orphans are treated like citizens. Just for a few hours. Just long enough for the government-issued scanners to evaluate us, assign our stats, and stamp us with a power.
If you're lucky, you get something combat-related.
Fire control. Wind blades. Telekinetic fists. Shadow clones.
If you're unlucky... you get something like "Enhanced Typing Speed" or "Smell Resistance."
And if you're me?
Well, we'll find out, won't we?
---
I sit up, stretch my limbs one at a time.
Carefully. Quietly.
I don't eat breakfast. Not because I'm fasting or holy or anything. There's just nothing left by the time I get there. They make sure of it. It's a kind of daily ritual—"forgetting" to leave a tray for the Zone Ghost.
That's what some of them call me.
Because I don't fight back. Don't complain. Don't scream.
I watch. I listen. And I wait.
Ghosts don't strike until they know they won't miss.
And when I finally hit?
I want it to echo forever.
---
As I step out into the orphanage courtyard, I squint up at the sky.
Gray. Overcast. Not just from weather—there's smog in the air from the last Gate breach three blocks over. Ash still drifts faintly in the wind like snow that got lost on its way to Christmas.
Beyond the walls, towering monoliths stretch into the sky—Guild buildings and government towers in the richer districts. Neon lights flicker even in daylight. Drones hum overhead, scanning the streets for unlicensed Awakened or unauthorized gate-crashers.
That's our world now.
Post-System Earth.
One giant video game where only the rich start with cheat codes.
The rest of us?
We're free to die trying.
---
They say everyone awakened differently.
Some people hear a voice. Others see a vision. Some collapse in seizures while their System forcibly downloads into their mind like a corrupted file.
Me?
I don't care how it happens.
I just want one thing.
A power strong enough to steal everything back. To take what this world denied me. To tear down the hierarchy they worship. I don't want glory. I don't want love. I don't want redemption.
I want to be the monster they whisper about in bunkers when the lights flicker.
The name they blame when their top Hunters disappear.
The shadow they curse when the Gates open without warning.
---
Not because I enjoy chaos.
But because it's the only language this world ever taught me.