The journey away from Cinderfall wasn't an easy one. One moment, Jonah was standing in the soot-stained auditorium, a fraud hiding amongst the chosen few. The next, he and the other eleven Awoken were marched onto a train that looked like it belonged in a different universe.
It wasn't like the loud, smoke-belching trains back in Cinderfall. This one was quiet, clean, sharp. It moved like it didn't even need tracks, drifting away from the city like it didn't belong to the same world.
Jonah pressed his forehead to the glass, watching the smokestacks shrink until they looked like tiny gray pins poking out of the horizon. For the first time in his life, the air he breathed didn't taste of coal. He almost coughed out of habit.
An attendant, a man with a polite but firm smile, led them through the cars. The floor was carpeted in a deep green velvet so thick it felt like walking on moss. The walls were paneled with a dark, gleaming wood Jonah couldn't name. It smelled clean. It smelled like… money.
"Private compartments for each of you," the attendant announced. "To rest and acclimate before your arrival at the Mystic Pheonix Academy."
Jonah was assigned a room. It was small, but it was bigger than the entire space he shared with his mother and two younger siblings. It had a real bed with clean, white sheets, a small desk, and a window all to himself. This single train car was worth more than every building on his street combined. He felt like a stain, something ugly in a place that wasn't meant for him.
He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking softly beneath him. On the desk, a single object waited for him. It was a thick, heavy book with a plain blue cover. The title was printed in stark, silver letters:
So, You've Awakened: A First-Year's Guide to Basic Elite Classes.
Hope, sharp and desperate, surged through him. Answers. This book had to have answers.
He snatched it from the desk. The pages were crisp and smelled of fresh ink. He flipped it open, his eyes scanning the table of contents.
Chapter 1: Welcome to the Five Percent!
Chapter 2: The Three Pillars - An Introduction to Core Classes.
Chapter 3: Understanding Your Mark.
Chapter 4: First Steps in Channeling Power.
He turned straight to Chapter 2.
The book described the main classes with simple diagrams and bold text.
Warriors: The Shield of the Nation. Warriors manifest their inner energy into physical forms, armor, shields, and weapons of all kinds. Their Marks are typically symbols of combat: a sword, an axe, a shield, or a gauntlet. They are the front-line soldiers in the war against the Demonic Beasts.
Mages: The Spear of the Nation. Mages channel the elements of the world, bending fire, water, wind, and earth to their will. Their Marks are often abstract symbols representing their core element: a stylized flame, a swirling vortex, a jagged rock.
Tamers: The Eyes of the Nation. Tamers form a spiritual pact with a Demonic Beast, binding it to their will and fighting alongside it. Their power lies in empathy and control. Their Marks are almost always the paw print or sigil of their bonded beast type.
Jonah's heart sank a little. Swords, flames, paw prints. Nothing about three angry claw marks. He quickly flipped to the next chapter, "Understanding Your Mark."
The pages were filled with charts. Hundreds of known Marks were listed, each with its corresponding class and a short description. He scanned the lists, his finger tracing the lines of text. Blade. Hammer. Shield. Fireball. Lightning bolt. Wolf paw. Bear claw. Bird talon.
Nothing.
Not a single entry described a three-clawed brand that pulsed with a faint red light. There were a few footnotes about "Unique Variants" or "Compound Marks," but they were all variations of the main themes. A flaming sword, for instance, was a rare hybrid of Warrior and Mage. His mark didn't look like a hybrid of anything. It just looked… wrong.
He let the book fall open on his lap. His stomach twisted with a cold, heavy fear.
He had a power. He had a Mark. But they didn't seem to exist in the official guide.
Desperate for any kind of clue, he turned his attention inward, to the silent, empty space in his mind. The book said Mages felt a "wellspring" of energy, and Warriors felt a "forge" in their core. He felt… nothing. Just that dark, and empty workshop.
Maybe he was doing it wrong. He closed his eyes, focusing on the mental space.
Okay, he thought, concentrating with all his might. I'm an Elite now. Do something. Make a spark. A little rock. A tiny sword. Anything.
He pictured a small flame, like the ones on the Mage diagrams. He pushed, trying to will it into existence inside the workshop.
Nothing happened. The void remained perfectly dark, perfectly silent.
He tried again, picturing the iron gear he had used to collapse the mine tunnel. He focused on its weight, its rusted edges.
Still nothing.
He wasn't a Mage. He wasn't a Warrior. And he sure hadn't bonded with any monsters, unless you counted the ones he'd killed.
A terrible realization dawned on him. The space in his mind wasn't a wellspring or a forge. It was exactly what it felt like: an empty workshop. A factory with no workers, no tools, and no raw materials. It was a room waiting for something to be put inside it.
The God serum hadn't given him a power. It had given him an empty box.
Panic began to set in. He had lied or at least, hidden the truth to get on this train. He'd gotten out of the mines, sure. But now he was stuck on a train heading straight for an Academy full of the best. What if they found out he didn't belong? The humiliation would be worse than the mines. They wouldn't just send him back; they would make an example of him.
He wasn't special, Just a mistake no one had caught yet. And now he was heading straight to the academy, where someone would. He gripped the book in his lap, its bold words about strength and greatness sounding more like a cruel prank. His power didn't work. His Mark was meaningless. He was pretending, and the truth was closing in.