Rain fell in cold sheets against the windows of Hanwol High, each drop slicing through the gray afternoon like a knife. Thunder groaned in the distance, low and mournful, as if the sky itself was grieving.
Inside Classroom F-3, the air was colder — not in temperature, but in mood. Heavy silence wrapped around the students like soaked clothing, dragging everything down.
At the very back, alone as always, sat Ahn Suho.
His desk was old and worn, the wood chipped and scratched by years of restless hands. Graffiti left behind by other students carved messages into the surface — more like warnings than memories.
Loser.
Why even try?
Null.
He never bothered erasing them. What was the point?
No one sat beside him. No one passed him notes. When teachers called roll, they skipped his name as if it were a mistake on the page. It was as if Suho didn't exist — a shadow taking up space in a world that had no room for him.
In a society where power determined everything, Suho had none.
Three years ago, he had stood with the rest of his class at the Awakening Ceremony, his heart pounding with nervous excitement. That was the day everyone received their Power Rank — their place in the world.
One by one, students stepped forward. The glowing stones lit up with elemental magic — sparks, wind, flames, thunder. Cheers erupted with each new Rank.
Then it was Suho's turn.
The stone stayed dark.
Power Rank: Null (N/A)
There had been silence. Then laughter. Cold and cruel.
Everything had changed after that.
Jaeho, a Rank C fire user, had made it his mission to remind Suho every day just how worthless he was.
"Hey, Powerless."
Jaeho's flaming foot slammed into Suho's desk, jolting it with a loud crack. Laughter rippled through the classroom.
"Still pretending you belong here?" he sneered. Flames danced in his hair, his confidence burning hotter than his power. "Even Rank E scrubs talk behind your back."
He grabbed Suho's bag and dumped it to the floor. Books and pencils scattered like fallen soldiers.
"I asked you a question," Jaeho growled.
Suho didn't answer.
He never did.
His hands clenched in his lap. His eyes stayed low.
Don't react. Don't cry. Don't give them more.
The teacher didn't look up. Not when Jaeho kicked his chair. Not even when the rest of the class laughed again.
After school, Suho waited until the room was empty. Rain poured harder outside, washing the city clean — everyone except him.
He gathered his things quietly. A worn-out notebook caught his eye — the same one he'd used since middle school. Inside were pages filled with sketches of Hunters, monsters, and stories he once dreamed of living.
He didn't go home.
He never did, not right away.
Instead, he wandered the school's western wing — the forgotten halls — until he reached the library.
Old and mostly abandoned, it was tucked behind a creaky door. The hinges groaned as he pushed it open.
Inside, it was always quiet.
Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, scattering colors across the floor. Dust floated in the air, and the bookshelves leaned like crooked giants.
Behind the counter, the librarian looked up with a gentle smile. "Back again, Suho?"
"Yes, sir," Suho said, bowing slightly. "Just browsing."
The old man nodded, returning to his paperwork. He never asked why Suho came here daily — and that made him the kindest adult Suho knew.
But today… something felt different.
Maybe it was the storm. Or the flicker of the lights as he walked in. Or maybe it was the strange pull — like something was tugging him deeper into the shelves.
He followed the feeling. Past fiction, past myths and legends. Down a narrow aisle that — he swore — wasn't there yesterday.
The air grew colder.
He stopped in front of a half-hidden wooden door behind a leaning bookshelf. It looked ancient.
And warm.
His fingers touched the knob.
The door creaked open into a small stone chamber. The walls were smooth and circular, like the inside of a temple. One dim orb floated overhead, casting a pale red glow.
And at the center stood a pedestal.
On it lay a book.
Thick. Leather-bound. Old. But… alive. It pulsed softly, like it had a heartbeat.
Red symbols crawled across its surface — glowing, shifting, impossible to read. But somehow, they stared back at him.
Suho stepped forward.
Then—
"Powerless child…"
A voice whispered inside his head.
He froze.
"You have suffered."
"They cast you aside. Laughed at your name."
"Do you wish for power?"
Every instinct told him to run. To leave. To forget this ever happened.
But he stayed.
He thought of Jaeho. Of the laughter. Of years being invisible.
And, for the first time in so long… he wanted something.
He wanted to be seen.
He wanted them to regret it.
He wanted power.
His hand trembled as it reached for the book.
His fingers brushed the cover.
It opened on its own.
Pages flipped rapidly — faster than he could follow — until they stopped on a blank page.
A red light surged out, wrapping around his wrist. It burned. He screamed, but no sound came. Symbols carved themselves into his skin like molten ink.
"The pact is made."
"Your soul is now bound."
"The Trial of Awakening begins."
The room shook.
Wind roared. Books flew from invisible shelves. The orb above shattered into sparks.
And Suho collapsed.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
And then—
He saw it.
A world torn by gods and demons. Skies cracked open by divine beasts. Titans waged war with stars in their fists. Thrones made of bone and crystal.
And one throne sat at the center.
Empty.
Waiting.
Suho gasped awake.
He was lying on the library floor. The chamber was gone. The pedestal — gone.
The book — gone.
Not fallen. Not taken.
Just… gone.
But he could feel it.
Inside him.
Ancient. Whispering. Awake.
He gripped his wrist. The red marks faded under his skin, but he could still feel them — burning, whispering, alive.
Then—
A figure appeared at the end of the aisle.
The librarian.
But he didn't look surprised.
He looked… calm. Almost expectant.
"So," the man said softly, his voice heavier than it had ever been, "the book has chosen again."
Suho's breath caught. "Again?"
The librarian nodded slowly, eyes drifting to the glow beneath Suho's sleeve.
"That book appears only in times of crisis," he said. "To those broken enough… desperate enough… to awaken what sleeps between gods and the abyss."
Suho swallowed hard. "What… What does that mean?"
The old man looked at him, his eyes suddenly ancient.
"And those it chooses," he said, "never remain human for long."
To be continued...