Chapter 1 - The Precinct
A frail child sat on a steel chair in the bottom layer of the seventh district's police station.
Heavy metal cuffs weighed down on his thin wrists.
Malnutrition bleached his skin pale, causing it to stretch thin across his cheekbones. One eye reflected a dull storm-gray; the other was a ruined white, scarred and clouded. Dark hair shrouded his face, slightly unkempt from days without care.
His limbs felt hollow, bones aching.
The child — no older than seventeen, not that he was sure anymore — began to wonder why he had turned himself in.
He wished he could say it was for the sake of his neighbors. The same ones that left him with only one working eye.
Or a noble cause greater than his status allowed.
But the truth was simpler. He was just tired; tired of surviving, tired of pretending it would get better.
Ren, the name his mother gave him before she died, was the only thing he had left. And what had it gotten him? Thrown into bags of trash. Left to rot like a beast.
In the slums, he was no better than a stray dog.
At least here I'll have a roof over me. Hell, if I'm lucky, they might even record my death.
Ren sighed and chewed on the last of his Syth Paste.
The gray sludge clung to his teeth, gritty and flavorless. In the Outer District, Syth Paste had been hailed as a miracle — the first mass-produced food that kept the slums from collapsing into famine.
A miracle.
The word rolled around in his mind.
If this was a miracle, a curse truly would have to be dreadful. Still, the paste had kept him alive until now.
He swallowed the last of it and stared at the empty tube in his shackled hands.
His final meal.
For some reason, that bothered him more than the chains did.
Not very filling.
His stomach answered with a low, irritated growl.
He really wanted to taste a waffle.
Not that he knew what a waffle was, but he had overheard a wealthy couple arguing about toppings on his walk to the precinct.
He tried to imagine what kind of food could inspire that much passion.
It had to be meat.
A thick, glorious slab of it. Maybe wrapped in bread. Covered in sauces — sweet, spicy, savory. The kind of food that dripped down your fingers and demanded to be devoured.
Now that was something worth living for.
He quickly swallowed, forcing down the saliva gathering in his mouth.
Maybe his death wouldn't be so bad. People died in far worse ways in the Outer District.
But dying without ever tasting a waffle? That felt unnecessarily cruel.
Ren exhaled softly. Of all the reasons for clinging to life, this was the one he chose.
It was such a small dream. No grand plan to change the world.
Just a fucking waffle.
A dream so insignificant, and even that was beyond him.
Reluctantly, Ren put his waffle dreams aside and studied the room.
He had never seen a prison before, but if he had to guess, this was one.
Gray walls. White tile floors. Empty enough to echo his own insignificance.
They could keep a place for criminals this clean, but the Outer District? Apparently, that was too much.
One day, this city will change.
The silence was maddening.
He smirked at the officers behind the thick glass. If he was losing his mind, he might as well make it entertaining.
"If I'm going to die, couldn't you have at least gotten a better chair?"
The two police officers in front of Ren looked at him with horror. He didn't blame them; he was going through the Unraveling after all, but their disgust still pissed him off.
"Awakened," he muttered under his breath, recalling the stories he had heard. People who survived the Unraveling came back stronger, more dangerous, and otherworldly. And those who failed… no one spoke of them for long.
* * * * * * *
In the Seventh District, life moved at a different pace.
An older man strolled casually through a garden of herbs, the scent of basil and thyme mingling with the crisp morning air.
Beyond the garden, the streets of the Upper District stretched in neat rows, sunlight glinting off polished windows and cobblestones swept clean enough to reflect the sky. The soft hum of the waves of people gave him a small sense of comfort. From his eyes, the city looked orderly… beautiful even.
But the contrast was stark.
As he neared the precinct, the imperfections of the city tore down the illusions of beauty. Past the Second Wall, he looked down into the Outer District, where chaos reigned. Collapsed buildings, makeshift shelters, and streets littered with trash and debris.
Here, every corner of the Upper District was carefully maintained, every person properly attired, every shop beautifully crafted — a thin veil hiding the world's fragility.
He held deep pity for the residents of the outer districts. The government tried its best, but it wasn't enough.
Sighing, his gaze drifted further behind him, toward the distant spires of The Sanctum, the heart of the city where the lineages of Awakened and the nobles resided.
The city itself was divided into three main sectors, separated by three massive steel walls designed to keep the beasts of the outside world at bay: the Outer District, poor and ravaged by suffering; the ten sectors of the Upper District, forming a ring around the Sanctum, home to merchants, bureaucrats, and the middle class; and at the very core, The Sanctum, gleaming and untouchable, where wealth, influence, and power concentrated like a sun at the city's heart.
These were the divisions of Lumora, the city's name and the first Cradle.
From up close, the Upper District seemed peaceful, almost mundane. From a distance, it was a monument to a fragile world, one that had survived collapse but hung by a thread, nerveless.
As the man continued down the street, he arrived at the precinct, his thoughts turning to the child he had come for. Few understood the terror of the Unraveling as he did; he was one of the lucky ones who had survived it.
May the Gods be in your favor.
The old blessing echoed hollowly in his mind. Looking at the wreckage of the world around him, he found himself doubting that any gods still listened — or if they had ever existed at all.
Clearly, they didn't favor humans.
Putting his gloom aside, he walked into District Seven's precinct.
* * * * * * *
Fear gave way to relief in the officers' expressions as a new figure entered the room. The figure towered over the two men, as if the room itself had shrunk beneath him.
One officer cleared his throat. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."
Another person I can't even see.
Hell, can't they at least pretend I'm important enough to look me in the eyes?
Ren paused.
Well… eye. Not plural.
Only having one working eye was unfortunate enough. Ruining his train of thought? That was true evil.
The officer glanced at his partner before continuing, "We… found him on the edge of the Outer District, heading to the station."
Found him. Of course they did. In the Outer District, you didn't walk anywhere without being noticed. By "they found him," they meant they saw his filth walking the streets of the Upper Districts. Amongst the crowds of proper attire, he stuck out like a sore thumb.
That was how they "found" him.
The shock on their faces when he explained why he came though… that almost made the whole thing feel worth it. Almost.
"I see," he said, looking over a clipboard one of the officers handed him. "You may leave now."
As the men left, he turned to Ren. "Just try to hold on from awakening now. No one wants to die here. And that chair, it should be a luxury for someone like you."
Ren chuckled. He wasn't wrong.
Growing up in the Outer Districts, he'd never known any luxury. Surviving was all he was allowed, and even that was a struggle. Furniture? Forget it. The slum dwellers couldn't waste their wishes on that. Not since the world collapsed.
The man stared at him, curiosity flickering across his face. Without warning, a sense of unease stirred in him as he stared back at the man. Something… was different about him.
Then, with a casual flick of his hand, the room changed.
The suffocating gray walls melted into an endless reflective void stretched in every direction, shimmering like water under a sun he could not see. Held within it, Ren felt a power he couldn't begin to comprehend.
Before he could understand what was happening, the floor beneath him fractured, dissolving into an endless pitch-black darkness.
In awe, he couldn't help but wonder how someone could bend reality like this; it didn't feel real. It was as if he were put into a dream state.
By now, he realized what the man was. The Unraveling may be a plague, but those who Awakened… they were incredible.
Coming out of shock from the room's transformation, he realized his thick steel cuffs were gone.
Where his cold steel chair had been now sat a grand oak chair, its deep red cushion radiating a comfort he had never known, and a curious insignia carved into the grain of the wood.
He didn't know what heaven felt like — but this had to be close.
* * * * * * *
"Not bad," he muttered, dragging his eyes over the chair like he was inspecting scavenged scraps. "Do you treat all your victims this nicely?"
The man chuckled. "Got some humor on you, aye? The last kid nearly pissed himself when he saw the floor disappear."
Tearing his focus away from the room, his eyes shifted over to the man now seated across from him in an ivory chair, its cushion matching his own. The glass that had separated them was completely gone. Only the cell's stiff air remained.
He was an imposing man of his early fifties, broad-shouldered and sharp in a double-breasted black suit, paired with a crisp white undershirt and a long black tie.
A thick grey beard chiseled his face, where long grey hair fell beside it, and his eyes—an unnaturally perfect blue that even the deepest seas would envy.
If Ren hadn't known about awakened traits, he would have assumed they were made of glass.
Stroking his beard, the man fixed his piercing gaze on Ren.
"So… you are the most recently affected, unfortunate. As I'm sure you know, the odds aren't in your favor."
He glanced down at the clipboard one of the officers had handed to him.
"Seventh day since awakening, is it now? Meaning this will be your last before the trial."
In his district, this was common knowledge, but he let the man speak; if this was one of the last conversations he'd have, at least it would be interesting.
"While it's true awakened hold powers beyond imagination, it comes at a cost," the man said, leaning back into the ivory chair.
"Every awakened must face a trial given by the Unraveling. Fail your trial, and your talent tears reality itself. You could destroy Lumora."
Ren nodded. That was why he came.
"It is intriguing," he continued. "Someone such as yourself, with no lineage, was able to last the full seven days without answering the call. Most untrained succumb in mere days. But even outlasting the call is impossible. After the seventh day, whether you choose to take the trial or remain unawaken, the disease will have its way."
The man paused for a moment, slipping the clipboard aside before continuing.
"When you attempt the awakening, if you fail to meet the quality the test expects, you will perish. There will be no second chances; you get one try. However,… you can refuse the trial. Choose not to answer the call, and you'll live, but not as you once were. You will become marked. Your talent will be stripped from your being alongside the trait you hold dearest. Whatever fate had in store for you will mean nothing."
"Refusing the call tears at reality. Using what it stole from you, even the weakest awakener will call forth a beast… or, if your talent runs deep, a fracture large enough to burn a city to the ground can appear."
"We have few ways of knowing your potential or what will be taken from you before the trial begins."
While it was true he could have gone back to his normal life, the fear of what he would become weighed on him.
Talent he could live without. He'd never been exceptional, and he wasn't about to pretend otherwise. But losing a piece of himself?
The thought was terrifying. Those marked cannot be called the same person they once were.
The man continued, "This is why we assign a Reaper to every known awakening. Even you could tear a fracture into reality. Coming here… you did the right thing. Too many have died in the past because they refused to see reason."
He didn't care much for people, but knowing he wouldn't leave the Outer District in flames made dying feel a little less pointless.
"It's my job as your Reaper to give you as much information as I can before you face your trial. With that out of the way, let's start.
"I'm sure you know of lineages of awakened?"
Ren nodded in agreement. The clans were impossible to ignore; they were the driving forces behind the seven cities.
"Awakened are almost guaranteed to pass the disease to their children, but those who contract the Unraveling randomly are far more dangerous. Do you know why?"
"Because, unlike lineage awakeners, those who randomly awaken have no training?"
"Exactly. A plus. Even those born into lineages don't survive their trials unscathed. Without guidance, the risk grows exponentially."
Seriously, what would he have to face for a child's own parents to train them from birth?
Fearing the nature of his trial, he decided to make the most of his Reaper.
"What exactly is the disease?"
His gaze darkened, and he stared into the endless shimmering void.
"We don't know," he said bluntly.
Ren almost fell out of his chair.
Even without the details, he knew enough: over 200 years ago, the world had nearly ended.
Monsters beyond imagination tore through reality to walk the earth. And with them, ninety percent of humanity was wiped out in what the survivors called The Descendance.
With humanity on the brink of extinction, seven colossal city-states were formed under a united government named The Cradle.
The seven cities, the countless clans that ruled within them, and the Reapers—all of them existed to contain the threat of the Unraveling.
But despite the countless efforts, how could there be no answers?
The man sighed while glancing at his watch. "Ren, the history of the world is not what we Reapers are here to teach. Your trial is inside you. The Unraveling doesn't wait for you to understand. It creates a realm using your own subconscious to test you."
He paused again before continuing to make sure he understood. "There is only so much I can tell you. But your time is coming, Ren. The awakened have an innate sense for those who undergo the Unraveling, and I can sense the pull on your mind. If you have any more questions, we need to make it quick."
A thousand questions raced through his mind, but he forced himself to settle on the one that mattered most. The trial he was about to face could very well kill him, and yet the thought of finally stepping out of the suffocating misery of the slums made his chest tighten with something that felt like hope.
For the first time in his life, he had a way out.
The slums. His misfortune. Everything.
Swallowing the curiosity clawing at him, Ren picked out his answer. His dreams had to wait.
"Before I die, do you have any advice that doesn't involve miracles?"
The man couldn't hold back a loud chuckle, quickly collecting himself with a smile. "You really got some guts, don't you, kid. It might be the first time someone's been so casual with their life."
He barked out a laugh, loud enough to make Ren flinch, before quickly collecting himself.
"Brave or insane—I really can't tell what you are. But in the trial you might need that to survive."
Ren shrugged.
"Guess you don't meet many people from the Outer District."
Death was a common occurrence in his life; he never expected to live long anyway.
Before the man could respond, a wave rippled within his mind.
Sensing the change in Ren, he gave his answer.
"My only advice for you is to be unreasonable. If asked to pass over a mountain, don't just climb—move the mountain itself. This is not just a survival test. It's how you can adapt and surpass the limitations set for you."
As soon as the man finished, the wave in his mind started to pull, spiraling as if a whirlpool had opened deep inside of him.
Panic flooded his senses, but he forced himself to engrave the man's words into his mind.
He could come to peace with walking straight into death, but he would give himself every chance to survive.
The man gave a small, approving nod before his expression shifted into one of quiet pity.
"My name's Leo," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'm starting to like you. Do your best to survive, Ren."
Suddenly, the pull grew stronger; a storm broke in his mind, dragging him ever further into the unknown. Whatever the trial was, it was coming—and soon.
"I'm sorry, kid, but that's it for questions. You've got about fifteen seconds left."
Ren stared at Leo one last time before closing his eyes.
I'm so fucked.
As the wave of anxiety washed over him, he began to drift away. He heard Leo's voice one last time.
"Oh, and if you die, try not to embarrass me. I've been needing a souvenir, so at least send something interesting."
...
He's insane.
Completely insane.
...
This was going to be a long day.