As the sound of steady, commanding footsteps echoed outside the conference room, the low murmurs and half-asleep chatter among the soldiers died instantly—like someone had hit a mute button.
Diego de la Cruz lifted his head, eyes snapping toward the door.
A man in a deep green uniform stepped inside, gold oak leaves gleaming on his shoulder epaulettes. His stride was firm, his expression cold and unreadable. The air itself seemed to tighten around him.
"Attention!"
The command rang out, and every soldier shot to their feet in perfect unison, like a well-oiled machine ready for war.
Major Rourke scanned the room, his gaze sharp as a hawk's. He paused on each face, as if trying to see straight through to their core. Then he gave a small nod, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority.
"From the moment you stepped into this base, you should've known—twenty-two is the turning point of your life." His voice cut through the room like a blade, slicing through the last traces of post-leave sluggishness.
"And now, that moment's here." He paused, letting the silence stretch as his eyes swept across the room. "In six months, you'll face a choice that'll define your future. Some of you will become The Awakened—leave this place, cross into the Otherworld, and begin a new journey. Others will be sent there too, but only as laborers—hauling supplies, laying roads, paving the way for someone else's glory. And some of you… won't get anything at all. No transfer. No assignment. Nothing."
His words hit like hammers, each one landing heavy in the chest.
"Sergeant, pass out the forms."
Sergeant Ramirez stepped forward immediately, a stack of paper forms in his hands. He moved down the rows, handing them out one by one.
Diego took his. The paper was rough, the corners curled, but the words printed on it were sharp and unmistakable:
Awakening Program Application Form.
"Take the forms home tonight," Rourke continued. "Talk it over with your families if you want. If you're applying for the Awakening Program, hand it in to me tomorrow. Filled out. No exceptions."
He didn't offer any pep talk. No motivational speech. Just the facts—cold and clear.
Because he knew this wasn't a game.
Awakening was never the safe choice. It was a gamble. A high-stakes bet where the ante was your life.
And not everyone wins.
The Otherworld had been known to humanity for over two hundred years. Earth had long since passed its most dangerous days, and people had moved beyond the initial panic. Now, they were expanding into that strange new realm. But Awakening? That was still a privilege reserved for the few.
It was the path for those desperate to change their fate, to break free from the class they were born into. But Greater America didn't offer equal access to the Otherworld. Education was limited. Knowledge about that place was kept within tight circles. The government had no intention of letting every civilian know the truth.
Part of it was resource scarcity. The other part? The top of the pyramid was already crowded. There was no room for more hands clawing for the same scraps of glory.
The resources needed for Awakening—especially Otherworld Essence—were rare and tightly controlled. They went to people with connections, money, and influence.
For someone like Diego, a regular soldier with no family name or fortune, the only shot at Awakening was through service. Military training. Discipline. And waiting for this exact moment—the arrival of that one piece of paper.
Sure, there was another way: pay your way in through private institutions.
They offered specialized training, one-on-one coaching for the elite, access to rare resources that could dramatically boost your chances of success.
But that was a rich man's game.
The poor? They had to bet their lives.
Becoming one of The Awakened meant gaining extraordinary power, a new identity, limitless potential. You could rise through the military ranks, become a pioneer in the Otherworld, a hero defending cities, even a lord ruling your own territory.
But if you failed? You'd end up a glorified pack mule—or worse, a forgotten corpse buried in some alien soil.
That was the reality.
If you didn't want to gamble, you stayed on Earth. You studied outdated knowledge, became a cog in a factory, a gear in the service industry, a background extra in someone else's story.
Your fate was written the day you were born.
So now the question was—are you willing to bet?
Diego stared down at the form in his hands, his fingers tightening around the edges. The paper trembled slightly in his grip.
He already knew his answer.
He had to bet.
Even if it cost him his life, he had to take this one shot.
Because the alternative? Was becoming his parents all over again—growing old to the sound of factory machines, fading away under the weight of poverty.
He looked up, eyes clear now. No more hesitation.
He'd made his choice.
…
"Alright, boys, that's it for today. Once you're done with your training assignments, you can video call your families tonight. Take the time to really think this through."
Major Rourke's voice was crisp and to the point—no fluff, no lingering. As soon as he finished speaking, he turned on his heel and walked out of the conference room, like this whole meeting was just another box to check off his daily list.
The soldiers dispersed like a wave breaking, their footsteps and chatter echoing down the hallway, washing away the heavy tension that had filled the room just moments ago.
Diego was no different. Clutching the Awakening Program application form like it was a one-way ticket to an unknown future, he slipped out of the conference room without a word.
…
Night fell, and with training over, the camp settled into its brief window of downtime. Some guys sprawled on their bunks, gaming. Others scrolled through short videos with earbuds in, zoning out. A few leaned against the walls, laughing and chatting with family over video calls. For a little while, the barracks felt almost human—like a slice of normal life had snuck in through the cracks.
But Diego quietly slipped back into his dorm.
He didn't touch his game console. Didn't even glance at his phone. Instead, he reached under his bed and pulled out an old, beat-up laptop he'd been using for three years. The edges of the screen were worn, some of the keys had faded letters, but he handled it with care—like he was opening something sacred.
He booted it up and opened a Word document. The familiar interface blinked to life. It was the novel he'd been writing for nearly two years now—still unfinished.
It wasn't some over-the-top power fantasy where the hero punches dragons and sits on thrones by chapter five.
No, this story was about someone like him. A regular guy, clawing his way through the muck of the Otherworld, trying to survive long enough to maybe—just maybe—earn a shot at Awakening.
People said writing was a waste of time. That it was escapism. That it wouldn't change anything.
But for Diego, it was one of the few things in his life that was truly his.
In that world, he didn't need brute strength. He didn't need connections. He didn't have to suck up to anyone. All he needed was his mind—his imagination—and he could build an entire universe from scratch.
It was the only place where he got to decide how the story went.
Writing didn't come with an hourly wage. No bonuses. No applause. If it was good, no one noticed. If it sucked, people laughed.
But he kept going.
Because out here, in the real world, he had almost no control over his fate.
But in his story? He was in charge.
Sometimes he'd write until one or two in the morning, obsessing over a single line of dialogue. Other times, he'd be so exhausted he'd pass out on the keyboard, waking up to a screen full of gibberish and blank spaces.
And then there were the days when training hit out of nowhere, and he'd have to slam the laptop shut mid-sentence and sprint to the field.
But none of that stopped him.
His royalties were barely enough to buy a decent meal. His readership was tiny. He didn't even have a loyal fanbase.
Still, he wrote.
Because if he couldn't even build his own world on the page, how the hell was he supposed to believe he could break free from the chains of the real one?
He knew Awakening was a gamble.
But writing? Writing was the only chip he had before the game even started.
He took a deep breath and opened the laptop. The screen glowed faint blue, casting light on the steady fire in his eyes.
Then he started typing the first line of the night.
In this world, he was the main character.
…