The square smelled of iron and wet stone.
It always did on Awakening Day.
Aiden stood at the back of the crowd, hands tucked into his sleeves, shoulders loose, breathing slow. The fog had thinned with the rising sun, but it still clung low to the ground, curling around boots and hems like it didn't want to leave yet.
He didn't blame it.
The Public Awakening Square sat at the boundary between the slums and the lower city—a deliberate choice. Close enough that slum-born youths could be processed. Far enough that the marble buildings beyond remained untouched by desperation.
Guardian Knights lined the perimeter.
Real ones. Not collectors.
Steel armor polished to a mirror sheen, blue-white cloaks marked with the sigil of the Guardians. Spears grounded. Faces hidden behind helms shaped like calm, expressionless masks.
They weren't here to protect the youths.
They were here to keep order.
At the square's center stood the Destiny Reader.
An old man in layered robes threaded with runes, his beard braided with silver rings. Before him floated a crystal pedestal, humming softly, its surface alive with drifting light. The air around it felt heavy, like standing beneath an invisible weight.
Aiden swallowed.
This was it.
One by one, names were called.
"Young people of the slums," the Destiny Reader intoned, voice amplified by magic, echoing cleanly across the square. "Step forward when called. Accept what is written. Resist, and suffer."
No one resisted.
They never did.
The first youth stepped forward—a boy Aiden recognized from hauling scrap near the river. His hands shook as he stood before the pedestal.
Light flared.
A translucent card manifested in the air before him, glowing blue.
—Porter—
The word burned bright, then sank into the boy's chest like liquid light.
The crowd exhaled.
Porter was survivable.
The boy staggered back, face pale but alive.
Next.
A girl with braided hair.
—Servant—
Her shoulders slumped, but she bowed anyway.
Next.
—Guard Trainee—
A cheer broke out from one corner. The Guardians didn't react.
Next.
—Seamstress—
—Stablehand—
—Laborer—
The square filled with quiet sounds—relief, disappointment, suppressed sobs. Every card glowed briefly, then vanished into its bearer, sealing their path.
Destiny was efficient.
Aiden watched it all with unnerving calm.
He didn't flinch when a Knight card appeared and the crowd murmured in awe. Didn't react when a boy collapsed after receiving Miner, knowing what that meant.
His heartbeat stayed steady.
Not because he wasn't afraid.
Because fear had nowhere left to go.
"Aiden Cross," the Destiny Reader called.
The name echoed.
Aiden stepped forward.
The crowd shifted. Some faces turned curious. Others indifferent. A few—sharp-eyed, calculating—belonged to men who had already decided his value.
He stopped before the pedestal.
The crystal hummed louder.
Aiden lifted his chin.
The Destiny Reader raised one gnarled hand. Runes spiraled around his fingers, sinking into the pedestal.
"Stand still," the old man said. "Open your heart."
Aiden almost laughed.
The air thickened.
Magic surged.
Light gathered.
The crowd leaned in.
Seconds passed.
Nothing happened.
No glow.
No card.
No symbol burning into the air.
Silence fell like a blade.
The hum of the pedestal faltered, then steadied again, confused.
The Destiny Reader frowned.
He gestured once more, sharper this time. Runes flared brighter.
Still nothing.
Aiden stood there, empty-handed.
The silence stretched.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Did it fail?"
"Is that possible?"
"Maybe it's delayed—"
The Destiny Reader's expression hardened.
He lowered his hand slowly and looked directly at Aiden.
"State your name again," he said.
"Aiden Cross," Aiden replied evenly.
The old man's eyes glinted. He placed both hands on the pedestal this time, chanting under his breath. The crystal blazed white-hot, light flooding the square, forcing several people to shield their eyes.
For a heartbeat, Aiden felt something—pressure in his chest, a strange pull, like something deep inside him was being tugged at.
Then—
Nothing.
The light died.
The pedestal went dark.
A single word appeared above it, written in cold, colorless script.
—NO CARD—
The square erupted.
"What?"
"That's—"
"Impossible—!"
Guardian Knights shifted, boots scraping stone.
The Destiny Reader stared at the words, then at Aiden, as if seeing him clearly for the first time.
His voice, when he spoke again, carried no magic. Only authority.
"Defective Anomaly," he announced.
The words slammed into the square like a death sentence.
Aiden felt it immediately.
The change.
People stepped back from him.
Not fear.
Revulsion.
As if something invisible had marked him wrong.
"By kingdom law," the Destiny Reader continued, "those without Destiny are unregistered. Unprotected. Outside the system of cards."
Aiden's fingers curled slowly.
"So… what?" someone shouted. "What happens to him?"
The old man didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Two Guardian Knights stepped forward.
Their spears lowered—not threatening, just inevitable.
Aiden finally felt his heartbeat quicken.
Not panic.
Focus.
He glanced around.
No exits. The crowd had closed ranks instinctively, bodies pressing together, eager to put distance between themselves and the anomaly at the center.
He was alone.
One knight reached for his arm.
Aiden didn't pull away.
He looked at the Destiny Reader instead. "That's it?" he asked. "No card. So I just… stop existing?"
The old man's gaze flickered.
Just for a moment.
Then it hardened again.
"Destiny defines existence," he said. "Without it, you are an error."
An error.
Aiden let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"So what am I guilty of?" he asked. "Being born wrong?"
The knight's grip tightened.
"Enough," the Destiny Reader snapped. "Remove him from the square."
The knights moved to flank him.
The crowd parted eagerly this time.
As they dragged him toward the edge, voices followed.
"Defective…"
"Unclaimed…"
"Lucky he didn't get Slave—"
"Unlucky he got nothing…"
Aiden walked.
He didn't struggle.
He memorized faces instead.
The boys who looked relieved it wasn't them.
The men who looked thoughtful.
The few who looked afraid.
At the square's edge, beyond the pedestal's influence, the knights paused.
One of them leaned toward the other, helm tilted slightly.
Aiden heard it.
Clear as day.
"Kill him later," the knight muttered. "Paperwork's annoying."
Aiden smiled.
Not wide.
Not brave.
Just sharp.
Because somewhere deep in his chest, beneath the fear and the weight and the eyes of the world—
Something had begun to beat.
And it didn't feel empty at all.