Click, clack. The sound of the clock resounded like a heartbeat, steady and merciless, each tick a reminder of the upcoming event. The sound seemed louder than usual this night, as though it echoed within the very bones of the shop.
The old woman, Nana, sipped from her chipped cup of tea as she reclined on a rocking chair. Her motions were unhurried, as if forcing calm upon herself, while Mika sat quietly on a simple chair near the window, gazing at the sky beyond the glass panes. His posture was rigid, his silence heavy, and every so often, his reflection flickered faintly in the window's cold surface.
Night had fallen, and the stars above were barely visible through the rolling clouds. The weather had grown bitterly cold, every gust of wind rattling against the walls of the shop like skeletal fingers. Darkness and quietness reigned supreme, an oppressive silence broken only by the relentless ticking of the clock.
The waiting was suffocating. It was always this way—for every teenager about to enter their fifteenth year. Some were ecstatic, eager to embrace destiny, while others trembled with sickly nervousness, knowing full well that this could be their only chance to grasp at a better life. Those without backing, those without names, felt despair creeping into their bones like frost.
It had been this way for centuries, ever since the Cosmos had first called upon humanity. When the first generation of humans stepped into the Board—the great, unseen stage upon which most of the major players of creation moved—everything changed.
Before that, humans had no role in the grand order. They were bottom-feeders, lower than fodder, a species of no value. Their souls carried no weight, no connection to the universe, no thread binding them to the tapestry of fate and creation. They existed merely for the sake of existing, fragile sparks adrift in a void that did not care.
That was until something ancient within the cosmos—something vast, untouched, and unknowable—took notice. And just like that, humanity was offered a chance. They were allowed to ascend, to step upon the first rung of the cosmic ladder that separated the strong from the weak.
That event was later named Obscura Incipera.
Centuries ago, a strange Calling began to echo within every human child at the cusp of their fifteenth year. A Trial that dragged them into a separate domain, exposing them to the mysteries of the universe, to hidden truths lying dormant beyond mortal reach. Most importantly, it introduced humanity to the Obscura Element—a source of power absent among humans, at least those bound to the Earth. Obscura was the backbone of creation, the foundation upon which all existence was laid.
But Earth's children could not wield Obscura naturally. And so the question arose: how had they managed to rise, to grow strong enough to challenge and stand beside races that had long dwarfed them?
The answer was simple. Humanity was unrivaled in one domain—destruction. Across existence, this truth was known. The other races despised them for it, but did not yet fear them. Humanity perfected the arts of war, of forging weapons both beautiful and terrible, weapons that spoke of ingenuity born from desperation.
From crude clubs to swords of silvered steel, from bows strung with sinew to axes that split bone and stone, their craft evolved. This peculiarity drew the attention of an entire realm. Through it, humanity was granted the chance to be chosen by weapons that resonated with their souls. And so, from that time onward, every human—be they boy or girl—was required to undergo the Trial. The Call of Will and Might.
The moment the clock struck midnight, and the first second of their fifteenth year passed, the Call could not be resisted. No parent, no friend, no god could prevent it. The cosmos would demand its due.
Families of legacy and influence had rituals prepared for this inevitable moment. They placed their most powerful weapons at the center of their chambers, surrounding their children with relics that could influence the Call, guiding it toward a more favorable Trial. It made survival far more likely. But Mika had no such privilege. No heirloom weapons, no training, no bloodline to protect and reassure him. That truth weighed heavily upon him, gnawing at his thoughts, reflecting itself in his cynical tongue.
It was a known fact: legacies mattered. If a grandfather and father had been claimed by swords, the son too would most likely inherit the same. But Mika had never known his parents. He had no lineage to guide him, no clue as to what awaited in the darkness of the calling. He was more lost than most.
Time crept forward, merciless. Soon, Mika found himself lying on his bed, the wooden frame creaking faintly beneath his slight weight. Nana hovered by his side, her expression both stern and sorrowful. She reached for his hand and said softly, "Be careful, Mika, and trust yourself. I'll be waiting for you." Her words carried the faintest smile, fragile but determined.
Mika turned his head and returned the smile, though his eyes betrayed fear. "I'll try my best to make you proud." The words were barely above a whisper. Seconds remained before midnight, and dread seeped into his veins like icy water.
The old woman reached down, her calloused hand caressing his silky golden hair. The gesture was gentle, filled with unspoken prayers, just as the clock struck midnight.
It did not take long. The Call resounded within Mika's mind, alien and overwhelming. Voices—unintelligible, layered—rose in volume until they drowned out his own heartbeat. His head throbbed violently, as though about to split apart. A cold sensation spread through his chest, and he felt as though something deep within him was being pulled away.
The voices grew louder still, pressing upon his mind like the weight of the abyss. Mika squeezed his eyes shut in protest, as if the darkness behind his lids could shield him. Nana stood beside him, her cigar extinguished, her expression etched with worry. She knew full well his Trial would be harder—alone, without guidance, without the shield of legacy. She had done all she could, but beyond this moment, nothing remained in her power.
Mika clenched his teeth, veins bulging across his neck as pain wracked his frail body. His fists gripped the sheets until his knuckles whitened. Fortunately, the agony did not last long. The Calling surged, overwhelming his senses, consuming all thought, all resistance. At last, the pain broke him, and Mika collapsed into unconsciousness as the Trial seized him.