Some believed it to be the voice of a forgotten goddess, still clinging to life in crystal orbs like this one.
Others had different theories, but what the global ruling council decided to call it was Vermin'ria, which translated to voice of unveiling and guidance in Old Varn.
But people decided to call it something simpler.
The Guide.
"Innate, has Awakened Talent: Emberkindle. Rank: D."
His aura settled into a faint orange, a small flame symbol hovering above him.
"Innate, has Awakened... Talent: Moonwhisper. Rank: C."
Her aura glowed soft silver, a crescent rune gleaming overhead.
"Innate, has Awakened..." it announced for the red-haired boy. "Talent: Stonegrasp. Rank: D." His aura turned earthy brown, a blocky symbol floating above.
One by one, the voice named them, their talents—minor gifts of fire, stone, or light—and their ranks, all between C and D, marking them as common but useful.
The youths stepped back, some beaming, others visibly relieved, their new tattoos glinting in the torchlight.
Aether stood motionless, his hood shadowing his face. His grip on his numbered scrap tightened, the wood's edges digging deeper into his palm.
His heart thudded, not from excitement but from the cold certainty of what might happen if the orb saw through him.
The man with the serpent tattoo scanned the group, his cold grey eyes pausing briefly on Aether before moving on. "Cart Two, step forward!" he commanded. "Place your hands on the orb. Now."
Aether's number was in Cart Two. His time was up. He moved forward with the others from Cart Two, his boots heavy against the cold stone floor.
He couldn't help glancing at Caliea, who walked beside him. Her freckled face lit up with that reckless smile. "Good luck, Aether."
"Yeah... Good luck to you too."
The youths of Cart Two fanned out around the orb, their breaths misting in the chill.
One by one, they placed their hands on its surface. Aether hesitated, his bandaged fingers hovering an inch above the orb.
He could feel it.
It was warm, pulsing like a living thing.
Light bloomed beneath his skin, tracing his veins in a soft, unnatural glow.
The Guide's voice rang out once more, as calm and unshakable as the stone walls around them.
"Innate, has Awakened Talent: Blighttongue. Rank: D."
A sickly green aura shimmered around a gaunt boy to Aether's left, a thorned vine symbol curling above his head. He looked terrified of it.
"Innate, has Awakened Talent: Glassweave. Rank: C."
A pale girl gasped as her skin shimmered briefly like crystal, a glassy rune pulsing above her.
"Innate, has Awakened Talent: Thunderstep. Rank: C."
The boy with the crooked nose grinned wide as his aura sparked with blue streaks, bolts flickering over his arms.
The names and talents continued—some mundane, others more impressive—but all within the expected bounds of what the Empire deemed acceptable.
Until—
"Innate, has Awakened Talent..."
The orb pulsed. The air grew colder.
"...Everlasting. Rank: SSS."
A heavy silence slammed into the chamber.
Then chaos.
Gasps echoed like thunder against the stone.
Even the Knights of the White Order flinched.
Aether's aura erupted into radiant white, threaded with veins of gold, coiling up his arms and lifting the hem of his cloak. His tattoo shimmered, it was a crown on a cracked skull.
The voice of The Guide had named the impossible.
SSS—Everlasting.
Someone in the crowd muttered, stunned, "Did it say SSS…?"
"No one from the north has ever awakend an SSS talent…"
"Everlasting… isn't that a divine title?"
Caliea stared at him wide-eyed. "Aether… that's... that's unheard of! You'll be a Grandmaster someday… no, maybe a Sovereign! You could live forever with that talent!"
The guards at the edge of the chamber whispered, their expressions shifting from awe to caution. Even the man with the serpent tattoo blinked for the first time, his grip tightening on the hilt beneath his cloak.
Congratulatory murmurs spread among the youths.
"You're going to be rich."
"They'll probably make him a noble on the spot."
"The Empire will sponsor him… he's set for life."
Aether stood dumbstruck.
For a moment—a single, fragile moment—he allowed himself to believe it.
That maybe, just maybe, this strength could carry him through. That his goals—revenge, survival, freedom—were within reach.
That his bloodline curse, his hunted fate, didn't have to end in death.
But then—
The orb pulsed again. Darker.
And The Guide spoke once more:
"Innate… has also Awakened Talent: Unshackled. Rank: SSS."
And again —
"Innate… has also Awakened Talent: Heavy Crown. Rank: SSS."
Suddenly, no one was congratulating him.
"Three... Three SSS talents!?"
"H-How is that even possible?"
"This doesn't make any sense... How can he have three SSS talents!?"
"I... I thought humans could only have one talent?"
"But... What if he isn't human!?"
"Now you say it... He's been hiding his face... He must really not be a human!"
"Are we sure the guide didn't make a mistake?"
Caliea's smile had frozen, her lips slightly parted in disbelief.
She whispered, barely audible, "What… are you?"
Aether didn't know.
But whatever he had become…
It wasn't meant to exist in this world.
The Knights of the white order were already moving—hands on hilts, stepping forward, armor clinking like falling blades.
Aether's moment of hope died in his chest, cold and quick.
He didn't know what all this meant.
But he knew the look in the Empire's eyes.
They weren't going to sponsor him.
They were going to contain him.
Or worse… erase him.
He'd been marked.
Not as a hero.
As a threat.
As if that wasn't enough—
The Guide was not finished.
Its voice, once distant and serene, now echoed like a bell tolling across eternity.
"Innate… has also Awakened Talent: Monarch of Frost. Rank: SSS."
A gasp tore through the room.
"Another one…?"
"What in the gods' names is happening?"
The serpent-tattooed man's expression twisted. For the first time, he stepped back.
The orb vibrated like it was holding back something vast, ancient, and furious.
Aether's aura flared—turning to royal silver, then to a haunting, glacial black edged in white flame.
His cloak billowed without wind, and from the depts of the orb, images of crowns—shadows of skulls—fell like phantoms.
And then—
The Guide gave its final decree.
Its voice no longer sounded like a goddess.
It sounded like judgment.
"Classification complete. Designation: Quad-Awakened. Rank: SSS x4."
"Subject Threat Level: Crimson."
"Observation Order: Divine."
"Classified Title Assigned: Immensely Dangerous Being."
"All further evaluations are to be conducted by Sovereign Authority."
He began to run.
Instinct. Panic. Terror.
His legs moved before his mind did—boots skidding on frost-covered stone as he shoved past the stunned initiates.
The torches blurred.
The orb screamed behind him with light.
But he didn't get far.
He didn't even know when it happened.
There was no sound. No warning. Not even pain.
One moment, he was sprinting.
The next—
His vision tilted.
The world spun.
He saw his body still standing, arms outstretched mid-run… and then crumpling, headless.
His own head hit the ground a heartbeat later, rolling across the icy stone until it stopped, staring upward at the vaulted ceiling.
He had been decapitated.