The rain had softened to a fine, cold mist by the time my key turned in the lock.
The city lights bled onto the wet pavement, painting the streets in smears of gold and neon.
A chill hung in the air, sharp and clean, but I barely registered it.
My skin was still humming, my blood singing with a current that had nothing to do with the weather.
My mind was a thousand miles away, replaying the last few hours on a loop.
After the cemetery, I hadn't gone home. I'd walked straight to 'The Gilded Spoon', the restaurant I had been working in.
And then, I quit.
I didn't look back. I didn't say goodbye to any of the other servers, it wasn't like I talked to any either.
I just walked out, leaving a piece of my old, hollow life behind in that dingy kitchen.
That job had been my cage for years. A way to numb the thoughts, to outrun the memories.
If I was constantly moving, constantly busy, I couldn't stop to think about my past, the silence, the crushing weight of being ordinary.
I'd convinced myself that occupying every waking minute was a form of freedom.
But I'd been wrong. I wasn't free. I was just… empty.
A ghost going through the motions, serving food to people whose lives seemed so much more vivid than my own.
That's why I wished for this. For awakening. To gain the most important thing in life. Wealth. Protection. And power.
I needed to be strong enough to ensure nothing and no one could ever take anything from me again.
And now, it was here. This power I had was mine. No one could tax it, no one could fire me from it, no one could ever take it away.
A quick, scalding shower washed the cemetery's chill and the city's grime from my skin, but it did nothing to calm the restless energy crackling within me.
I sat at my desk. The laptop's glow was the only light in the room, painting everything in shades of pale blue.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. There was only one thing to do. Only one path forward.
The Hunters Association.
Every awakened who wants to become a hunter was required to register.
It was the only way to get a license, to access dungeons, to step into the world that truly mattered now.
The Association was the gatekeeper, and I finally had a key.
I found the number and dialed. It rang twice.
"Hunters Association, registration department. How may I assist you?" A woman's voice, clipped and efficient, devoid of warmth.
I cleared my throat, surprised by the steadiness of my own voice.
"I would like to register."
"Name?" I could hear the faint clack of a keyboard in the background.
"Allen Quovar."
"Age?"
"Twenty."
The typing stopped. The silence on the line was brief, but it was there. A pocket of judgment.
Twenty. A late bloomer. A dud.
I could almost hear her thoughts.
"Understood. What's your ability?"
"Lightning."
This time, the pause was different. Shorter, but the air in it changed.
The clacking resumed, a little faster. Lightning was uncommon. Volatile.
They always warned that lightning users could be their own worst enemies, all raw power and no control.
They'd assume I was a loose cannon. A risk.
"Noted. Are you planning to sign with the association as an independent or under a guild?"
She didn't ask if I could control it. They never did. That was for the assessment to reveal.
They'd let you walk in with your dreams, let the machine grade you, and then they'd stamp a big, fat 'E' on your file if you failed.
An E-rank was a joke. A liability. No guild would touch you.
The Association's promise of opportunity was a beautifully crafted lie for anyone who wasn't immediately strong.
They gave you just enough hope to make the fall crushing.
"Independent," I said, my voice firm. No guild. No masters. My power, my rules.
Another pause. This one felt heavier, like she was ticking a box marked 'Delusional Late Bloomer.'
"You'll need to visit your nearest Hunters Association branch to complete the process and obtain your Hunter's ID. Do you need the address?"
"No," I said. "I know where it is."
Everyone did. It was the tallest, shiniest tower in the financial district, a monument to a world I'd never been allowed to enter.
"Very well. Bring a valid ID and be prepared for a basic assessment."
"I understand."
"And one thing, Mr. Quovar."
"Yes?"
"Our mana calibration machine… is currently undergoing maintenance. A minor issue, but it will be resolved soon." Her tone was smooth, practiced. "Would you prefer to wait for it to be fully repaired, or would you like to proceed with a practical assessment without it?"
A machine that measured mana output. The thing that would play a huge role in my ranking. But...
"I'll have the test without the machine." I wasn't waiting another second.
I could hear the faint, almost imperceptible sigh in her voice.
"Ah. Okay. You are probably excited to awaken and want to become a hunter right away. It is like that for most people, but…" She let the unspoken warning hang in the air.
But don't get your hopes up.
"Good. Welcome to the association, Mr. Quovar."
The line went dead.
I leaned back in my chair, a surreal feeling settled over me.
It was really happening.
My fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the desk, and almost of its own accord, a tiny arc of blue lightning sparked between my fingertips, dancing for a heartbeat before vanishing.
A slow, genuine grin spread across my face.
This was real.
For the first time in years, I wasn't just looking at it.
I was part of it. I wasn't a spectator watching the game from the bleachers.
I was a player. And I was just stepping onto the field.