The crystal was cold.
Kayden Campbell felt it the moment his palm touched the smooth surface—an unnatural chill that seeped past skin and bone, straight into his chest. The Awakening Hall was silent, the kind of silence that pressed against the ears, broken only by the faint hum of the magic array carved into the floor.
Hundreds of eyes were on him.
Kayden swallowed.
He had watched dozens before him.
A boy whose crystal burst into blue light, water spiraling around his feet. A girl who screamed as fire erupted from her hands, the crystal burning gold. Cheers. Gasps. Applause.
Power was beautiful.
Power was loud.
Kayden's crystal remained clear.
Nothing happened.
The examiner—a gray-robed man with glowing runes etched along his sleeves—narrowed his eyes. "Hold still," he said, irritation creeping into his voice. "The measurement hasn't stabilized."
Kayden tightened his fingers against the crystal.
Seconds passed.
Ten.
Twenty.
A faint pulse flickered inside the stone, so weak Kayden thought he imagined it.
Then numbers surfaced.
0.3
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then the hall exploded.
Laughter came first—sharp, ugly, disbelieving. Whispers followed, multiplying like insects.
"Is that a mistake?" "That's not even a civilian average." "Does he even have mana?"
Kayden pulled his hand away as if burned.
The crystal dimmed instantly, returning to lifeless glass.
The examiner stared at the number, then at Kayden. His expression shifted—not to anger, not to disappointment, but to something worse.
Pity.
"Magic Level zero-point-three," the man announced. His voice echoed through the hall, final and absolute. "Below minimum threshold for academy enrollment."
Kayden's chest tightened.
He already knew.
Everyone did.
The examiner sighed and marked something on a floating tablet. "You'll be registered as a non-combatant auxiliary. Dungeon labor division."
Dungeon labor.
The words landed heavier than any insult.
That meant corpse collection. Trap triggering. Supply hauling. Jobs given to those considered too weak to train, but too valuable to waste outright.
Bait.
Kayden bowed, the movement stiff and automatic. He didn't trust his voice.
As he turned to leave, he caught fragments of conversation.
"What a waste of space." "He'd be safer staying home." "If a Gate opens near him, he's dead."
Kayden stepped outside.
The sky had darkened.
Not with clouds—but with pressure.
A massive structure shimmered in the air above the city plaza, its edges distorted like heat haze. A towering oval of pale white light.
A White Gate.
Emergency sirens wailed.
Hunters rushed past him, armored and glowing with mana, excitement and fear mixing in their eyes. For them, a Gate was opportunity.
For Kayden, it was a reminder.
This world belonged to the powerful.
He lowered his gaze and walked.
—
The dungeon labor office smelled of iron and dust.
A bored clerk shoved a thin metal badge across the counter. "Campbell, Kayden. Assignment pending. Stay near the outer zones until called."
Kayden clipped the badge onto his jacket.
Zero-point-three.
He repeated the number in his head like a curse.
Outside, the White Gate pulsed again.
And this time, Kayden felt it.
A faint tug in his chest. Not pain. Not mana.
Recognition.
His steps slowed.
The Gate's surface rippled, just for a moment.
Kayden blinked.
The world noise faded—the sirens, the shouting, the city itself. A pressure filled his ears, like standing underwater.
Then a voice brushed against his mind.
Not loud.
Not kind.
—You hear us.—
Kayden froze.
His breath hitched. He looked around. No one else reacted. Hunters continued preparations. The Gate guards argued about formation.
The voice returned, clearer this time.
—Zero is not nothing.—
Kayden staggered back.
The White Gate pulsed.
For the briefest instant, symbols flickered across its surface—jagged, unfamiliar, almost like text.
Then it vanished.
The Gate stabilized.
Kayden's heart hammered in his chest.
He pressed a hand over it, fingers shaking.
He had no mana.
No power.
No future—at least, that was what the crystal said.
But the Gate had spoken.
And somehow… it had spoken to him.