In this world, existence was not a birthright.
It was a verdict.
Every citizen passed through the Registry twice in their lifetime—once at birth, and once again when the world decided whether they were worth keeping.
The first scan gave you a name.
The second gave you value.
Those who passed were marked by Authority Recognition, a faint symbol etched into flesh and soul alike. It allowed the world to acknowledge them—to protect them, empower them, and remember them.
Those who failed were monitored.
And those who were never scanned at all…
Did not officially exist.
Kael Auren stood beneath the Registry scanner with his eyes lowered, shoulders relaxed, breath shallow.
He had learned how to look harmless.
The Lower District taught you that early. Survival did not belong to the strongest here—it belonged to the ones who knew how to disappear in plain sight.
Blue light descended from the scanner, washing over him from head to toe.
Cold.
Judging.
The sensation was always the same. Like invisible fingers peeling layers away, searching for something inside him that could be weighed, measured, and stamped with approval.
Kael didn't resist.
Resistance drew attention.
Behind him, the line of citizens waited silently. No one spoke during a scan. You did not distract the world while it was deciding whether you deserved to remain part of it.
The scanner hummed.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
Nothing.
No chime.
No projection of symbols above his head.
No confirmation of status.
The silence stretched unnaturally long.
Kael felt it immediately.
This is wrong.
Registry machines never stayed silent. Even a rejection produced noise—an alert, a denial mark, something. Silence meant the system was thinking.
And when the system thought for too long, people died.
The registry guard frowned.
He was a young man, armored but clearly uncomfortable, his Authority insignia dim and low-ranked. Guards were not chosen for intelligence. They were chosen for obedience.
"What's your name?" the guard asked, already irritated.
Kael swallowed.
"…Kael Auren."
The guard typed it in.
The console blinked.
The name appeared.
Then erased itself.
The guard's fingers froze.
"What?" he muttered, typing again.
Kael felt it then.
Pressure.
Not physical.
Not pain.
It was the feeling of being noticed by something that had never noticed him before.
His vision blurred slightly. His chest tightened.
The air itself felt heavier.
Behind the guard, a silver-robed official raised his head.
The silver insignia on the man's chest caught the light—complex, layered, alive. Authority marks far beyond the guard's understanding.
Authority Executors.
People whose job was not law enforcement.
But stability.
"Run it again," the official said calmly.
The guard hesitated. "Sir… the system isn't—"
"Run it again."
The scanner flared brighter.
Kael's knees nearly buckled.
Something inside him recoiled.
Not fear.
Rejection.
A deep, instinctive refusal that surged up from somewhere he had never known existed.
The pressure intensified.
It felt like the world was trying to press him into a shape he did not fit.
Don't, something inside him screamed.
Don't let it see you.
Blood trickled from his nose.
The scanner sparked violently.
Then—
A sharp crack split the air.
The blue light fractured into static, flickering erratically before collapsing into darkness.
For a heartbeat, the entire plaza froze.
Then someone screamed.
Not Kael.
A boy two places behind him collapsed to the ground, convulsing as half-formed symbols around his body warped violently. His Authority Recognition—still stabilizing—shattered.
Guards shouted.
Officials barked orders.
People scattered.
The Registry plaza erupted into chaos.
Kael staggered backward, gasping.
I didn't touch him.
I didn't do anything.
And yet—
The silver-robed official was staring directly at Kael.
Not with anger.
Not with alarm.
With curiosity.
A slow smile curved the man's lips.
"Step back," the official said.
Kael obeyed instantly.
The guard's hand hovered near his weapon.
"What… what is he?" the guard whispered.
The official didn't answer.
Instead, he placed his palm against the shattered scanner.
Silver light pulsed outward.
Kael felt it again—that searching pressure—more focused now.
This time, it wasn't scanning the plaza.
It was scanning him.
The light brushed past his skin.
Passed through him.
And failed.
Not repelled.
Not blocked.
It simply… could not settle.
The official inhaled slowly.
"…Unregistered," he murmured. "Still happening, then."
Kael's heart skipped.
Still?
"What do we do?" the guard asked, voice tight.
The official withdrew his hand.
"Nothing," he said. "For now."
He turned away as if Kael had already ceased to exist.
"Clear the area. Repair the scanner. Record this as system backlash."
The guard nodded quickly.
No arrest.
No questions.
No explanation.
People rushed past Kael, eyes sliding over him as if he were invisible.
The boy who had collapsed was dragged away.
No one looked back.
Kael backed away slowly.
Then faster.
Then he ran.
The Lower District swallowed him whole.
Cracked stone. Narrow alleys. Faded Authority warnings no one read anymore.
Kael didn't stop until his lungs burned and his legs trembled.
He collapsed against a damp wall, sliding to the ground.
His hands shook.
They saw something, he realized.
Just not me.
A memory surfaced.
Two men whispering beneath a stairwell years ago.
"He's not in the registry," one had said.
"Then how is he alive?" the other replied.
Silence.
"Forget it," the first said eventually. "Not worth the attention."
Attention.
Kael wiped the blood from his nose.
Something laughed softly.
He froze.
The sound wasn't in the alley.
It was inside his head.
Amused.
Distant.
Watching.
At the end of the alley, a man stood beneath a flickering lamp.
Gray robes.
No insignia.
No Authority mark.
Yet the world seemed to bend subtly around him.
He was smiling.
Not cruelly.
Not kindly.
Like someone observing a long-running experiment.
Their eyes met.
Cold crept down Kael's spine.
The man tilted his head slightly.
"So you're still uncounted."
Kael clenched his fists. "Get out of my head."
The man chuckled.
"I would… if there were anything there for the world to hold onto."
"What do you want?" Kael demanded.
The man's smile widened.
"Nothing yet."
The lamp shattered.
Darkness rushed in.
And the man was gone.
That night, Kael did not sleep.
Near dawn, exhaustion claimed him.
He dreamed of a world made of laws.
And of himself—
A void where something should have been.
When he woke, a faint, wrong symbol burned into his wrist.
And far above the Lower District, something ancient turned its gaze toward the place where the rules had failed.
For the first time in a very long while—
The world noticed something was missing.
If the world cannot recognize you… what happens when it finally decides you should not exist at all?