The woman's voice cracked with doubt. "Are you certain we haven't just destroyed our only hope? We've never attempted anything like this before—"
"Would you prefer to carry the burden yourself until government forces gun us down?" The older voice cut through her uncertainty like a blade. "The vessel will preserve theguide until the awakening of our King. Only then can our world be reborn."
Your what? What the hell did they just do to me?
It's impossible to describe how quickly your entire existence can shatter and reshape itself. One moment you're grounded in reality, the next you're free-falling through a nightmare you never saw coming.
Thirty minutes ago, I was Ernesto Mela—eighteen, supposed to be safe within School Central's walls where life was predictable and suffocatingly boring. The kind of boring that drives you to make catastrophically stupid decisions, like believing a girl you'd glimpsed beyond the walls, like thinking you could slip away unnoticed to find her. Yes, I had abilities—sometimes I could see through solid barriers—but they were raw, undeveloped, more curse than gift.
Now I was apparently some mystical vessel for a god I'd never heard of, and these fanatics were planning to bury me alive.
The younger man seized my ankles and began dragging me toward the door. Every stone and fragment of debris carved into my back as he hauled me across the ruined floor. The liquid fire they'd forced down my throat was spreading, crawling through my chest like molten metal seeking new channels to burn.
Can't you carry a "corpse" with some dignity? The thought flickered through my mind even as terror consumed me. I'm not that heavy.
They dragged me roughly fifty meters from the church before dumping me beside what looked like a hastily excavated grave. The sun was dying on the horizon, bleeding crimson and ash across the sky. In the distance, gunfire and explosions continued their deadly percussion, but the sounds seemed to be moving away from us.
"Quickly now," the older voice commanded. "The government sweep will reach this sector within the hour."
They resumed digging with frantic energy, and I lay there paralyzed by a single, inescapable truth: Today is my last day alive.
The next thing I knew, I was plummeting four feet into the pit. The impact drove every molecule of air from my lungs, and for a terrifying moment, I thought death had finally claimed me. Then soil began raining down, each shovelful heavier than the last.
"Ramaphosa's power will be preserved within this vessel," the older voice intoned as earth piled onto my chest. "We will return when the awakening begins."
Perfect. Just perfect. I was going to die because I'd abandoned safety to chase after a girl I'd spoken to twice through a wall. What a pathetic way to go.
The weight of soil compressed my chest, making each breath a struggle. I could feel dirt filling my mouth, my nostrils, grinding against my closed eyelids. The burning sensation from their cursed liquid was intensifying, radiating outward until it reached my fingertips, my toes, the crown of my skull.
This is it. This is how Ernesto Mela dies.
But as minutes crawled by in my earthen tomb, something extraordinary began happening. The fire wasn't destroying me—it was transforming me. I felt my heart slow to an impossible rhythm, stop entirely, then resume beating with a cadence that belonged to something other than human. Power flowed like liquid lightning to my brain, and suddenly a luminous interface materialized behind my closed eyelids.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Vessel consciousness detected]
[Host override initiated]
[Activating USER ACCESS MODE]
[System: DIVINE FRAME - THE LAW OF TIME]
The display flickered and vanished, leaving me with enhanced vision that pierced the absolute darkness of my grave. And the hunger... God, the hunger was overwhelming. Not for food, but for something I couldn't identify, something that called to the deepest parts of my transformed being.
Time became fluid, elastic. I might have been buried for twenty minutes or twenty hours—in that place between life and death, such distinctions held no meaning. Then my eyes opened—truly opened—and they blazed with golden fire.
Light poured from my body, illuminating every grain of sand, every root, every earthworm in the walls of my tomb. The radiance traced bright pathways beneath my skin like I'd become a living constellation.
The power building inside me demanded release. I didn't understand what it was or how to control it, but I knew with absolute certainty that containing it would tear me apart from within.
What is happening to me?
I opened my mouth to scream, and instead of sound, pure energy erupted outward. The force obliterated the soil above me, reducing dirt to dust and launching me from the grave like I was riding an invisible geyser of power.
I hit solid ground hard, coughing and spitting earth. My entire body convulsed—not from cold, but from the aftershock of unleashing forces I didn't comprehend. The golden light was fading now, retreating beneath my skin until I appeared almost normal again. Almost.
I crawled to the edge of the crater and stared down in shock. The pit was deeper than I remembered, its walls smooth as glass, as if they'd been melted by incredible heat. Did I do that?
[System loading...]
[SKILL TRIAL: The Last Eye]
What the hell is this?
I struggled to my feet on trembling legs and surveyed my surroundings. The cradlewalkers had vanished. In the distance, I could see the walls of Central Mendea with impossible clarity, as if I were viewing them through a powerful telescope despite the incredible distance.
That's when I realized my vision had become superhuman. I could see the school dormitory where I was supposed to be sleeping. The guard towers along the border. A lone figure walking beyond the walls. Every detail was crystal clear across miles of wasteland.
But more than enhanced sight, I could feel the distance between myself and the school like a physical connection, a golden thread pulling at something deep in my chest.
[SKILL TRIAL: Space Taming]
I want to go home. The thought was simple, desperate. I was covered in grave dirt, I didn't understand what was happening to my body, and I craved somewhere safe and familiar. Then I was there.
No flash of light, no swirling vortex, no dramatic effects. One moment I stood among ruins in the East, the next I was in my dormitory room, dirt cascading from my clothes onto the pristine floor.
This shouldn't have been possible. Everyone knew abilities didn't manifest overnight. Something was fundamentally wrong.
My legs buckled, and I had to grip the bunk bed for support. My head spun as if I'd just run a marathon in reverse. This wasn't normal. This wasn't anything resembling normal. Was this a dream?
I stood in the empty dormitory, staring at my hands. They appeared normal now, but I could feel something alien coursing through me—like electricity running just beneath my skin. The hunger persisted too, gnawing at my core, but it wasn't for food. It was for something I couldn't name.
I approached the mirror and saw myself caked in dirt, my blue hair disheveled, but my eyes... my eyes held a faint golden flicker that definitely hadn't been there before.
What did those cradlewalkers do to me? And who is Ramaphosa?
I probably should have stayed within Central's walls and written Maureen a letter. But then again, who would have delivered it in a world like this?What am I now?
[ACTIVATION: Vessel ready]