The System No One Prayed For
The world was called Aitherion, named after Aithḗr—the pure upper air the ancient scholars believed the gods themselves breathed.
In Aitherion, power was everything.
From the moment a child was born, their fate was measured not by kindness, intelligence, or effort, but by a single divine ceremony known as the Apokálypsis—the Revelation.
At the age of sixteen, every citizen stood before the Pylōn Kríseōs, the Pillar of Judgment, where the invisible will of the heavens descended and branded their soul with a Sýstēma.
Some were chosen by the Sýstēma Máchēs—the Combat System. Others by the Sýstēma Sophías—the Wisdom System. The blessed few awakened Heroic Systems, whispered to be fragments of the old gods themselves.
And then there were those who awakened nothing.
They were called the Áklētoi—the Uncalled.
Leon Atreides stood in the center of the amphitheater, his hands clenched so tightly his fingernails cut into his palms.
Stone benches curved around him in a perfect semi-circle, rising like the ribs of a colossal beast. Above, the sky was painfully clear, an endless blue dome unmarred by clouds—as if even the heavens wished to witness his humiliation.
Thousands of eyes were on him.
Students. Instructors. Nobles. Commoners.
All waiting.
The Pylōn Kríseōs, a towering monolith of white marble veined with gold, loomed behind him. Ancient Greek sigils shimmered faintly across its surface—words like Dýnamis (Power), Moîra (Fate), and Anánkē (Inevitability).
The head examiner, Archon Theron, raised his staff.
"Leon Atreides," he announced, his voice echoing through the amphitheater, "step forward and receive your Apokálypsis."
Leon obeyed.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
Please, he thought, though he did not know whom he was praying to. Any Sýstēma. Even the weakest.
He placed his hand on the cold marble.
The Pillar trembled.
Light erupted upward, spiraling into the sky like a reversed lightning bolt. The air thickened, pressure crashing down on everyone present. Symbols spun wildly, rearranging themselves as the Pillar searched his soul.
Silence fell.
Then—
Nothing.
The light faded.
The symbols dimmed.
The Pillar went still.
A pause stretched, long and cruel.
Archon Theron frowned.
He struck the ground with his staff.
Once.
Twice.
The Pillar remained silent.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"No way…" "Again?" "Another one?"
Theron's voice hardened.
"The Pillar has rendered its judgment."
Leon's heart pounded.
"Leon Atreides," the Archon declared, "you are classified as—"
He hesitated.
"—Áklētos."
The word fell like a death sentence.
Uncalled.
Systemless.
Useless.
The amphitheater exploded.
Laughter. Whispers. Mockery, sharp as blades.
"So the Atreides bloodline finally ends." "I heard his father died trying to awaken a second system." "Figures the son would inherit the failure."
Leon lowered his head.
He had expected this.
That didn't make it hurt less.
The Atreides name had once been spoken with reverence.
Generations ago, his ancestors were Strategoi, battlefield geniuses blessed by the Sýstēma Taktikḗs—the Tactical System. They commanded armies, toppled tyrants, and carved their legacy into the bones of the continent.
But greatness, like all things, decayed.
Leon's father, Cassius Atreides, had been the last to awaken anything at all—a low-tier Combat System that shattered under pressure during a dungeon breach.
Leon remembered the night his father returned home, bloodied and broken.
"Remember this, Leon," Cassius had said, gripping his shoulder with trembling hands. "The gods do not reward prayers. They reward endurance."
Three months later, Cassius died.
And now, Leon stood exactly where his father had fallen—beneath a world that did not care.
"Move," someone snarled.
Leon looked up just in time to see Dorian Kyros step forward.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Radiating confidence.
Dorian's Heroic System: Ares-Lineage burned visibly around him like a crimson flame. He didn't even bother hiding his contempt.
"Well?" Dorian smirked. "Still standing, Áklētos?"
Laughter followed him like a loyal hound.
Leon said nothing.
Dorian leaned close, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"You know what they say, right? Moîra laughs at those who resist it."
He shoved Leon backward.
Hard.
Leon stumbled and fell onto the marble floor.
The amphitheater roared with approval.
Archon Theron did not intervene.
Why would he?
An Áklētos had no rights worth defending.
Leon pushed himself up slowly, his knees shaking—not from weakness, but from fury.
His chest burned.
Not with power.
With something deeper.
That night, Leon did not return to the academy dorms.
He walked.
Through abandoned streets. Past broken statues of forgotten gods. Into the Katábasis Quarter—the lowest district of the city, where the rejected gathered.
Rain began to fall, cold and relentless.
Leon stopped before a ruined shrine.
Its inscription was cracked, barely readable:
"To those abandoned by Olympus."
He laughed bitterly.
"So even the gods had rejects," he muttered.
Lightning flashed.
Thunder followed.
The air changed.
Leon felt it instantly—a pressure unlike anything he had felt before. Not overwhelming like the Pillar, but… watchful.
The ruined shrine trembled.
Dust fell.
A voice echoed—not from above, but from within.
"You endured."
Leon froze.
"Who's there?" he demanded.
The voice continued, calm and ancient.
"You were not chosen because you were weak.
You were rejected because you were incompatible."
The stone floor cracked.
A symbol ignited beneath Leon's feet.
It was not one he recognized.
Not divine.
Not heroic.
Not noble.
It was incomplete—fractured, unstable.
Leon's vision blurred.
Pain exploded behind his eyes.
And then—
[Hidden Condition Fulfilled]
[Subject identified: Leon Atreides]
[System Type: Abandoned Protocol]
Leon gasped.
"What… is this?"
[Designation: Sýstēma Anáthēma]
(System of the Cursed)
The words burned into his mind.
[Status: Inactive]
[Requirement for Activation: Survival under Absolute Disadvantage]
The shrine collapsed.
Leon fell to his knees, rain soaking him to the bone.
A faint, almost mocking final message appeared.
"Welcome, bearer.
You are what even the gods discarded."
The system faded.
The rain continued.
Leon stared at the broken ground, his breath coming fast.
Slowly—
Very slowly—
He smiled.
"If the gods abandoned this system," he whispered, "then it was never meant for them."
Lightning split the sky.
And far above, unseen by mortals, something ancient stirred.
End of Chapter 1