The screech of tires, a blur of chrome, then nothing. Just… nothing. I'd expected pain, blinding white light, maybe a tunnel. Instead, an insistent hum vibrated beneath my skin, a low thrum that felt like a million cicadas singing in my bones. My eyes fluttered open. The ceiling above was unfamiliar – not the cracked plaster of my old apartment, but smooth, pearlescent white, segmented into geometric patterns that pulsed with a faint, inner luminescence.
A year. A full, bewildering year since the crash that wasn't a crash. One moment, I was dodging a reckless delivery truck on Earth, the next, I was waking up in a hospital bed on Blue Star, a world identical to my own, yet fundamentally alien. Here, the sky shimmered with faint, iridescent currents, and the air itself felt… thicker, charged. Spiritual power, they called it. It had returned to this world exactly a year before I did, ushering in an age of awakened talents and a system that turned life into a game.
"Are you even listening, Ankur?"
Nidhi's voice, sharp as a freshly honed blade, cut through my reverie. She stood by the panoramic window of her penthouse apartment, the city sprawling beneath us like a glittering, circuit board tapestry. Her silhouette, framed by the late afternoon glow, was all elegant angles and expensive fabric. Her family owned half the industrial parks in Neo-Delhi. My family owned a struggling bookstore and a mountain of debt.
"Of course, I'm listening," I mumbled, picking at a loose thread on the plush sofa. The fabric felt like spun cloud. Everything in Nidhi's world felt like spun cloud.
She turned, her dark eyes, usually warm, now held a cool, assessing glint. "Then repeat what I just said." A single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched.
I shifted, a familiar knot tightening in my stomach. "Something about the Guild Council meeting? And how the new recruitment quotas are affecting the smaller dungeon groups?"
A soft *tsk* escaped her lips. "The *Arcane Concord* meeting, Ankur. Not the Guild Council. And the new quotas disproportionately favor established guilds, making it impossible for independent Awakened to gain traction." She walked over, her heels clicking a precise rhythm on the polished marble floor. "It's why you need to pick a guild *now*. Your eighteenth is in two weeks. You can't afford to flounder."
My eighteenth. The day the system unlocked. The day everyone on Blue Star discovered their talent, their Affinity, their *path*. The day I, a transmigrator with no spiritual power of my own, would either become someone, or remain a ghost.
"I'm still weighing my options," I offered, a faint tremor in my voice. Options. I had no options. I had no spiritual power. No matter how much I tried to meditate, to feel the currents everyone else felt, there was only a void.
Nidhi sighed, a puff of exasperation. "Ankur, there *are* no options. Not really. It's the Azure Phoenix or the Obsidian Guard. My father has already spoken to the Phoenix Grandmaster. A recommendation from him guarantees you a spot, even if your Affinity isn't… high-tier." She paused, her gaze sweeping over me, lingering on my ordinary clothes, my ordinary face. "It's a safety net. A good one."
A safety net. A gilded cage, more like. I pictured myself, a non-Awakened, trying to keep up with spiritual powerhouses, a perpetual burden. The thought made my skin crawl.
Just then, the door chime sang a cheerful, melodic tune. Before I could even register the sound, a blur of motion filled the doorway.
"Yo, lovebirds!" Adit, my oldest friend, burst in, a wide grin splitting his face. He held a crumpled paper bag that smelled faintly of fried dough and spices. "Nidhi, looking radiant as always. Ankur, still trying to blend into the furniture, I see."
Adit tossed the bag onto the coffee table, then flopped onto the sofa beside me, ruffling my hair with a familiar ease. His clothes were perpetually rumpled, his dark hair perpetually disheveled, but his eyes, bright and intelligent, missed nothing. He ran a small, struggling business selling scavenged tech from the old world – our world, *my* world. He also, annoyingly, possessed a natural spiritual sensitivity, though he hadn't awakened a specific talent yet.
Nidhi's lips thinned. "Adit, must you always make such an entrance?" "What? It's called energy, Nidhi. Something Ankur could use a little more of." Adit elbowed me playfully. "Still moping about the big day? Come on, man, it's going to be epic! We'll finally know what kind of badass you are."
My smile felt brittle. "Yeah, epic." "Don't worry about him, Nidhi," Adit continued, oblivious to the tension radiating from her. "He's just got pre-awakening jitters. Everyone does. I bet he'll awaken some super rare, reality-bending Affinity. Like, 'God of Procrastination' or something." He snickered, then pulled a greasy samosa from the bag, taking a huge bite. "Mmm, you want one, Ankur?"
Nidhi's expression softened slightly, though a shadow of concern still lingered. "Ankur, seriously. My father's offer is a lifeline. If you don't awaken a combat Affinity, or something useful for dungeon delving, the Phoenix Guild will still provide a place for you in their logistical division. It's stable. It's secure."
"And it's a death sentence for my dignity," I muttered, too low for her to hear, but Adit's ear twitched.
"Nonsense," Adit declared, wiping grease from his chin. "Even if you get something weird, like 'Affinity for Polishing Doorknobs,' there's a place for you. This new world is all about finding your niche." He leaned closer to me, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Besides, have you tried that meditation technique I told you about? The one that uses the ambient spiritual energy in abandoned temples?"
I shook my head. "I just… I don't feel anything, Adit. Not like you do. Not like Nidhi does."
Nidhi, overhearing, walked towards us, her gaze fixed on me. "Ankur, you've been trying to force it for a year. You need to accept that sometimes, the System has other plans. Not everyone is destined for the front lines. My father's offer is a privilege, not a punishment." Her voice, though soft, held an unyielding firmness. "He's doing this for *us*. So we can have a future together."
The words hung in the air, heavy with expectation. *Our* future. A future where I was a cog in her father's machine, forever indebted, forever second-guessing my worth. The thought chilled me more than any dungeon could.
"I just… I need to figure things out for myself," I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
Adit clapped me on the shoulder, sensing the shift in mood. "He just needs a little space, Nidhi. And maybe a few more samosas. These are top-tier." He offered the bag again.
Nidhi sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that spoke volumes. "Fine. But don't wait too long, Ankur. The world doesn't wait for anyone, especially now." She glanced at the cityscape, where faint, ethereal lights pulsed in the distance – indicators of active dungeons, constantly churning out resources, constantly demanding new Awakened. "The spiritual currents are growing stronger every day. The rifts… they're becoming more frequent."
Rifts. Portals to other dimensions, spitting out monstrous creatures, forcing the Awakened to fight, to level up, to protect Blue Star. The central conflict of this new, terrifying reality.
"I know," I said, looking out at the city. The lights, once a distant spectacle, now felt like a looming threat. My eighteenth birthday wasn't just a celebration; it was a deadline. A judgment day. And I, Ankur, the transmigrator with no spiritual power, felt utterly, hopelessly unprepared. A low thrum, familiar now, echoed in my chest. It wasn't the cicada hum of spiritual energy. It was dread.