The wind cut through the narrow alley like a knife.
Lucas pulled his coat tighter around himself—not because it helped, but because it gave his hands something to do. The fabric was thin, worn at the sleeves, blackened more by time and dirt than by design. His boots scraped softly against the wet pavement, their soles uneven from years of use.
He didn't look up.
The city around him was waking slowly—lights flickering on, airships groaning in the distance, and neon signs blinking cold advertisements in a dozen languages. A future built on steel and magic. But for someone like him, it didn't matter how far the world had come.
He was still invisible.
A sharp scent of fried meat pulled at him from the right. Street vendors were setting up early, cooking for workers with credits in their pockets. Lucas didn't have any. What he did have was a stolen apple, bruised and half-eaten, stuffed into the pocket of his coat. And a thin, crumpled bag with whatever he could grab last night when no one was looking.
Just enough to stay alive for one more day.
He turned into a quieter street, away from the crowd, and found a spot between two trash bins. Not exactly shelter, but better than nothing. He slid down to the ground and rested his head against the brick wall, watching his breath form faint clouds in the cold morning air.
Tomorrow.
It would happen tomorrow.
He reached into his coat and pulled out an old pocket watch—something his father had given him before passing away.
'This thing is still working after all these years… somehow.'
It was 00:17. The date: 21st of March.
The first day of spring.
And the day he would be ripped out of this world and thrown into the next.
The low hum of distant airships filled the air as Lucas stared at the sky, the city's distant lights blurring into an indistinct glow. He could almost feel the weight of the approaching moment, the inevitable pull of fate drawing him closer.
Tomorrow.
He didn't know what awaited him on the other side. Only what he'd heard and read in fragments—rumors, broadcasts, survival logs.
The Crucible.
That's the name the first Awakeneds gave it. A place of monsters and trials, where power can be gained—or lost—in a heartbeat. A world built on the souls of those who came before.
He had no family. No allies. No connections.
His mother had died giving birth to him. His father was killed during a Rift break—monsters tearing through his city before anyone could react.
Well… that didn't matter now.
Sixteen.
The age when the world decided you were ready to be thrown into the fire. The age when all of humanity was marked—whether you were rich or poor, noble or common, trained or clueless. No one cared.
The only difference?
The strong and rich had Items. And time to prepare.
The poor?
They only had themselves.
Lucas?
He had his wits. A Pocket Watch. A bruised apple. A crumpled bag of food.
And the barest idea of what awaited him.
His fingers brushed the worn fabric. The apple he'd stolen was soft now, its sweetness fading. He'd barely been able to keep it down earlier, but there hadn't been a choice.
Tomorrow, when he stepped into the Crucible, there wouldn't be food.
No second chances.
Only monsters. Madness.
And a world that would devour him whole if he wasn't strong enough.
And yet… the thought of it filled him with something strange.
Not fear.
Not dread.
Anticipation.
He would fight.
He had no other choice.
But even as that truth settled deep in his chest, a small voice whispered at the edge of his mind. One that almost made him smile.
'What's the worst that can happen?'
The park was empty.
No birds. No people. Just a few old benches scattered along the cracked stone path, and trees still bare from winter. The only sound was the occasional hum of a skycar overhead, distant and fading.
Lucas sat down on the cold wooden bench, the one that creaked slightly when you leaned back too far. He'd tried sleeping there once. Too exposed.
Now, it didn't matter.
He pulled out the apple. What was left of it, anyway.
Soft. Bruised. A little squashed from how he'd shoved it into his coat earlier.
Still, it was food. And it might be the last thing he ever ate on Earth.
He took a bite. It was mealy, kind of bitter. Tasted like crap.
But he chewed anyway.
No one was watching. No one ever did.
He looked at the sky. Still dark, but the edges were starting to pale. Morning was coming. So was the end.
He checked the pocket watch again.
05:32
Almost there.
He sighed and leaned forward, elbows on knees, half-eaten apple in one hand. His fingers were cold. He didn't bother warming them.
His mind wandered.
'So that's it, huh?'
Sixteen years. No cake. No candles. No one to say happy birthday. Just a countdown to getting thrown into a death zone filled with monsters and people who actually trained for this.
He snorted softly.
'Some birthday.'
He'd seen vids. Read stuff. The Crucible was no game. It was chaos with rules only the strong understood. And even they died all the time.
He wasn't strong.
He wasn't fast.
He didn't even have a weapon.
Just this apple.
He took another bite. The skin cracked between his teeth.
His stomach growled, even though he wasn't really hungry. Maybe it was just fear. Maybe it was instinct.
He kept chewing.
People talked about awakening like it was some amazing thing. Power. Classes. Magic. Yeah, sure. For the rich kids in their shiny suits and support teams. For the heirs of Strongholds.
Not for him.
For him, it meant waking up somewhere random with nothing. Maybe in a swamp. Maybe a desert. Maybe face-to-face with something hungry and ugly that didn't care he just turned sixteen.
He looked down at the watch again.
05:41
Almost.
He closed his eyes for a second, listening to the wind through the trees. It was quiet. Peaceful, almost.
Then his mind whispered, without him meaning to:
'What if I die in the first hour?'
He frowned.
Then shrugged.
'Well. At least I won't have to worry about stealing food anymore.'
He leaned back against the bench and took one last bite of the apple.
Then he tossed the core into the trash can nearby and let his arms hang at his sides.
05:53
Seven minutes left.
His heart beat a little faster, but he didn't move.
He just waited.
The wind had died down. The city was still.
Lucas sat in silence, staring at the cracked pavement in front of him, his mind blank now. No more questions. No more complaints. Just quiet.
He checked the pocket watch one last time.
05:59
He held it in his hand for a moment. It still worked. Old and scratched, but steady. Like it didn't care what world it was in.
'Maybe I'll bring it with me.'
His fingers curled around it as he exhaled slowly.
06:00
The second hand clicked.
Nothing happened.
And then—everything did.
The world stopped moving.
Colors bled away, sound vanished, and the cold air turned warm in an instant. His chest tightened. He couldn't breathe. His body froze in place, like something had wrapped invisible chains around his limbs.
A sharp pulse struck the center of his forehead—cold, like ice cracking through bone.
Then a voice echoed.
But not aloud. It spoke inside his skull.
[Soul resonance initiated.]
[Preparing transition to designated realm: The Crucible.]
[Class Assignment: Pending...]
Lucas's eyes widened, but he couldn't move, couldn't scream.
The bench beneath him crumbled into dust. The world twisted, bent, and shattered like glass. The sky turned to a swirling void of purple and black, and the trees stretched unnaturally into the distance as if being pulled away.
He felt his body disintegrating—atoms pulled apart like paper burning from the edges.
'So this is it...'
His last thought wasn't fear. It wasn't pain.
It was strange.
'This is what being erased feels like.'
And then, he was gone.
The city was quiet again.
Only the pocket watch remained, resting on the empty bench, still ticking.