The last sliver of sun bled out over the shattered skyline of Old Hong Kong, staining the broken teeth of skyscrapers in hues of rust and dried blood. Shadows stretched long across the city's corpse, filling the gaps where streets once ran and light once lingered. The sun had never felt so small.
Inside the top-floor apartment complex—its windows boarded, walls reinforced with scavenged steel, and hallways turned into makeshift choke points—the air was thick with the mingled scents of unwashed bodies, boiled lentils, and desperation barely masked as hope.
Today was an Awakening Day.
No one said it aloud. No one needed to. The tension lived in the walls, in the way voices dropped to whispers and movements grew careful, as if the universe itself might be listening.
Fang Qiong sat apart from the others, as she always did.
She occupied a splintered wooden chair beside the room's only remaining window, a spiderweb of cracks held together by strips of grimy tape. Beyond it lay the city—collapsed buildings, twisted metal, and darkness waiting to reclaim everything once the sun finally gave up its hold. She had drawn her knees to her chest, thin arms wrapped tightly around them, as if she could make herself smaller by force of will alone.
At eighteen, Fang Qiong was a study in quiet contradictions.
Her body was lean, honed by years of rationing and constant vigilance, every line shaped by survival rather than comfort. There was strength there—coiled, restrained—but it was easy to miss beneath her slight frame and the deliberate way she kept her presence muted. Her features were delicate, almost fragile, but her eyes told a different story. They were a clear, striking gold, sharp and observant, always watching. In a world where attention could get you killed, her gaze had learned how to see without being seen.
Her hair hung in a tangled curtain around her face, dirtied and dulled by ash and neglect. Beneath the grime, flashes of its original platinum-white color still showed through, like a forgotten promise of what the world used to be.
She was an archive of loss.
Her parents' laughter. Her older brother's constant vigilance. Her sister's whispered secrets in the dark. All of it had been swallowed four years ago, during the first chaotic wave of the Apocalypse. The silence they left behind had filled her completely, hollowing her out and teaching her how to endure without complaint.
Words became unnecessary. Presence became optional.
Among the other orphaned girls sharing the communal room, Qiong was a shadow—quiet, unobtrusive, easily overlooked. She listened more than she spoke, observed more than she participated. It wasn't shyness. It was survival.
Outside, the world never truly slept.
Distant, guttural roars echoed through the concrete canyons of the ruined city, the voices of mutated beasts that prowled freely once darkness fell. The nights now stretched for sixteen agonizing hours, claimed by the dead, the altered, and the things that no longer fit any human definition. Fissures in the earth birthed horrors no one had names for, and the sky itself sometimes pulsed with colors that hurt to look at.
Safety was a rumor. A myth.
The lucky ones joined convoys—mobile fortresses that roamed the wasteland. Armored cities on tank treads. Floating sky platforms that drifted above the reach of the dead. But the sky convoys belonged to the powerful, the Awakened elites. The land convoys were constantly under siege, reduced in number every year. And the sea convoys… those were legends, long since dragged into the abyss.
For those left behind, survival was a daily calculation: boarded windows, reinforced doors, rationed water, and prayers that tomorrow wouldn't be worse than today.
Qiong's gaze remained fixed on the dying light.
The sun's brief, eight-hour visit was almost over.
As the last rays slipped behind the skyline, something shifted.
It wasn't cold. It wasn't pain.
It was as if the universe itself had brushed against her spine, a jolt of raw, electric awareness that resonated deep inside her chest. A vibration that wasn't physical, yet felt undeniably real—like the echo of a struck bell reverberating through her very existence.
Her breath caught.
And then, it appeared.
A translucent blue screen materialized directly in front of her eyes.
It was impossibly clear, shimmering with an otherworldly light—solid, yet intangible, like crystallized thought or captured starlight. Fine lines of symbols scrolled across its surface, sharp and precise. The language was unfamiliar, yet something about it felt right, as if her mind understood it before her conscious thoughts could catch up.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
This was it.
The Awakening.
She had heard the stories all her life. Whispers traded over shared meals and hushed nights. Tales of people who could tear through hordes alone, bend reality, or shield entire settlements from destruction. Chosen—or cursed—individuals marked by fate itself.
The Awakening came only once.
On your eighteenth birthday.
A single roll of the cosmic dice that determined everything. Whether you became an asset—a shield against the horrors consuming the world—or remained ordinary.
A burden.
Qiong knew the statistics. Everyone did.
Less than one percent awakened with significant power. Most were deemed Unsuitable, their bodies or minds incapable of bearing the change. They were left untouched, unchanged, and quietly pushed toward the lowest rungs of society.
The pressure in her chest intensified.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, unbidden memories flashing through her mind. Her mother's tired smile. The way she always made sure Qiong ate first. The sacrifices made quietly, without complaint.
Qiong couldn't bear the thought of becoming another weight. Another liability.
She forced her eyes open.
The blue screen pulsed softly, waiting.
There was no turning back.
She reached out—not with her hand, but with her mind.
[The Awakening has Begun…]
A tremor ran through her fingers. Around her, the room fell silent as the others felt it too—the subtle pressure in the air, the static charge of something monumental unfolding. No one spoke. No one dared interrupt.
[Calculating soul strength…]
Time stretched thin.
Her heartbeat became deafening.
Would she be chosen? Or discarded?
[Congratulations, Fang Qiong!]
Relief hit her like a wave, so sudden and intense it left her dizzy. She had awakened. She wasn't empty-handed.
[You have Awakened, F-Tier Trait: Dual Heart – Grants one additional Skill, Talent, or Trait bound to the user.]
The relief froze.
F-Tier.
The lowest possible rank.
A utility trait. Not power. Not strength. Just… potential without substance.
It was like being handed an extra cup when you were dying of thirst—only to realize it was empty.
Dual Heart.
The name sounded poetic. Meaningless.
Her throat tightened. A bitter taste flooded her mouth. Around her, a few girls glanced her way, their expressions carefully neutral, pity hidden just well enough to hurt.
She lowered her head slightly, shoulders slumping.
Then the screen flickered.
The blue light deepened, shifting into gold.
[You have Awakened, S-Tier Talent: Core Heart – The ability to upgrade anything up to S-Tier.]
Her mind stalled.
S-Tier.
The mythic rank.
For a heartbeat, the words refused to make sense. Then understanding crashed into her all at once.
Dual Heart.
An extra slot.
The empty cup had already been filled.
The warmth that bloomed in her chest was fierce, electric, almost overwhelming. Not destructive power—but possibility. Infinite, terrifying possibility. To take the scraps of the broken world and forge them into something greater.
She forced her expression to remain subdued.
Let them think it was only F-Tier.
Inside, plans began to form.
Secrets this powerful didn't bring safety. They brought chains. She would hide it. Fabricate a weaker version. Let the world underestimate her.
And then—
A thought struck her with stunning clarity.
Upgrade anything…
Did that include traits?
Her breath hitched.
She closed her eyes.
Use S-Tier Talent: Core Heart to upgrade F-Tier Trait: Dual Heart…
The sensation that followed wasn't external. It was internal—like gears turning inside her own thoughts, memories aligning, concepts sharpening.
Upgrade Complete. F-Tier Trait: Dual Heart has evolved into E-Tier Trait: Triple Heart.
Her pulse spiked.
New B-Tier Skill Awakened: Protective Light - Shields up to 25 beings from enemy detection.
Three awakenings.
In one night.
Qiong kept her head down, heart racing.
The night beyond the window no longer felt suffocating.
It felt like opportunity.
And she intended to shape it.