Dante's footsteps echoed against the cracked pavement as he walked home.
The city at night was a different beast—distant neon signs flickering in and out, the hum of traffic stretching across empty streets, and the occasional burst of laughter or conversation from alleyways where the Gifted gathered.
The world had always been divided. Even before the Awakening, people had their social classes, their cliques, their hierarchies. But now? It was worse. The strong, the powerful, the extraordinary—they thrived. And the weak? The Giftless? They didn't just fall behind.
They disappeared.
Dante kept his head down, hands tucked into his pockets as he moved. His apartment was only a few blocks away, a small, dingy one-bedroom in a complex that barely met city regulations. It was nothing special, but it was his.
The fastest way home was through the alley behind Fletcher's Books, an old shop that had been there for decades. Most people avoided it at night—too many corners, too many places for someone to hide.
But Dante had never had an issue. He had nothing worth stealing.
That was his mistake.
The moment he stepped into the alley, he felt it.
It wasn't something he could explain—just an instinct, an itch at the back of his neck. The air was wrong. Too still. Too heavy.
A shadow moved at the edge of his vision, quick and deliberate.
Dante stopped walking.
He didn't turn his head. Didn't react.
Instead, he focused—listening, waiting.
A faint shuffle. A breath.
Too close.
"Hey, kid."
A voice, rough and amused.
A figure stepped into view from behind a dumpster. He was older—eighteen, maybe nineteen—his frame lean, but not malnourished. A dark hoodie hung over his head, concealing most of his features, but Dante could make out the sharp smirk curling his lips.
His hands were what caught Dante's attention.
Black tendrils of energy swirled around his fingers, writhing like living things, pulling the light from the alley around him.
Darkness Gifted.
Dante's stomach clenched.
Gifted criminals weren't rare. Law enforcement had tried to keep up after the Awakening, but most officers were baseline humans—unequipped to handle people who could set fire to buildings with a thought or lift a car with a flick of their wrist.
The police only responded if the damage was bad enough. If it was just a mugging?
No one would come.
"I don't have anything," Dante said flatly, already calculating his options.
The guy laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah? I think you do."
The temperature in the alley seemed to drop as the shadows shifted unnaturally, twisting at the edges of Dante's vision.
It was like standing at the bottom of the ocean, where the light didn't reach.
The mugger took a step forward, his smirk widening.
Dante took a slow step back.
That was all the guy needed.
Darkness surged forward.
Dante barely had time to react before it hit him like a tidal wave.
The impact knocked him off his feet but worst of all; the cold was unbearable.
It wasn't just physical—it was something deeper, something that seeped into his bones, his lungs, his mind. His vision blurred, shifting between light and dark as his balance failed him.
He hit the ground hard.
Pain shot up his ribs, his hands scraping against the pavement. He gasped, but the air felt too thin, his body heavy, like something was pressing down on him.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
He was going to die.
A Zero. A nobody.
A forgotten footnote in history.
No.
Not like this.
Dante gritted his teeth, forcing his body to move. His arms felt like lead, his chest tight, but he pushed himself up, gasping through the pain.
The mugger let out a laugh. "Not so tough without a Gift, huh?"
He took another step forward, raising his hand, the darkness coiling and twisting around his fingers.
Dante's heart pounded.
He had no weapon. No power. No way to fight back.
His mind raced.
Then—
Desperation became instinct.
He lunged.
The mugger was mid-step, unprepared for Dante to charge straight at him. His smirk flickered into something else—shock, amusement, maybe even pity.
But Dante wasn't aiming for his face.
His fingers brushed against the guy's wrist.
And everything changed. The world seemed to explode for Dante.
A shockwave tore through Dante's body, raw and searing, like fire racing through his veins.
Heat. Power. Something massive and overwhelming crashing into him all at once.
The alley twisted. Darkness moved.
But it wasn't attacking him anymore.
It was leaving the mugger.
Dante staggered back, his breath ragged, his hands shaking.
Something was wrong. Different.
The mugger gasped, his eyes wide, panic setting in. "W-What the hell—?"
He lifted his hands.
Nothing happened.
The shadows were gone.
No.
Not gone.
Dante lifted his own hand.
Black tendrils of energy flickered around his fingertips.
The darkness had moved to him.
It belonged to him now.
The mugger's face twisted in horror. "What—what did you—?"
Dante didn't understand it. He didn't know how.
But he could feel it. The power. The connection.
It was his now.
The mugger lunged at him.
Dante reacted.
His body moved on instinct. He grabbed the air—
And the shadows obeyed.
Dark energy lashed outward, slamming into the mugger with a force that sent him flying.
The guy hit the alley wall with a choked sound.
Then scrambled to his feet.
And ran.
Dante let him go.
His breath came in shallow gasps. His legs felt weak.
He was still staring at his hands.
The black tendrils flickered, curling around his fingers before dissolving into nothing.
His mind was racing, a thousand questions slamming into him at once.
He had a Gift.
But it wasn't his.
It had belonged to someone else.
And now?
Now it belonged to him.
---
Dante forced himself to move, his hands trembling as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. His body still buzzed with energy, his nerves tingling with something both exhilarating and terrifying.
He needed to get home.
Fast.
Pulling his hoodie tighter around him, he walked out of the alley, scanning his surroundings. No one had seen what happened. No witnesses.
His apartment wasn't far.