No one calls them dungeons anymore.
That word was abandoned years ago, back when people still believed they were temporary.
The official name is Rifts.
Places where reality failed.
They appear without warning. A shimmer in the air. A fracture in space. Then a boundary forms, sealing the area like a wound that refuses to close. Inside, the world follows rules that do not belong to Earth.
Creatures emerge from them. Some mindless. Some intelligent. Some cruel in ways humans never learned.
If a Rift is left uncleared for too long, it collapses outward.
That is called a Surge.
Cities have been erased by Surges.
When the first Rifts appeared, humanity panicked. Militaries failed. Weapons meant nothing against monsters that ignored physics. Entire nations burned before anyone understood what was happening.
Then came the Awakening.
A small percentage of humans began manifesting abilities after prolonged exposure to Rifts. Strength beyond human limits. Control over elements. Skills that defied logic.
They were called Manifested.
Not heroes. Not chosen ones.
Just survivors who adapted faster than everyone else.
To control the chaos, governments created a ranking system.
Every Manifested individual is evaluated and assigned a Tier:
Tier F–D: Support-level or disposable combatants
Tier C–B: Standard Rift-clearers
Tier A: National assets
Tier S: Strategic deterrents
Above S-Tier exists a classification that officially does not exist.
People still whisper about it.
Rifts themselves are also ranked.
But not by letters.
They are classified by Depth.
Shallow Rifts: Cleared in hours. Minimal casualties.
Mid-Depth Rifts: Organized teams required. High risk.
Deep Rifts: Multi-day operations. Psychological screening mandatory.
Abyssal Rifts: No records. No survivors. No official acknowledgment.
Abyssal Rifts are erased from public data as soon as they appear.
As Manifested numbers grew, independent groups formed.
They didn't call themselves guilds.
That word sounded too medieval.
They were called Covenants.
Covenants are private organizations licensed to:
Claim Rifts
Deploy teams
Negotiate territory
Control information
Some Covenants protect cities.
Others protect profits.
The strongest Covenants rival governments. The weakest exist only to feed manpower into deeper Rifts.
Membership is everything.
Without a Covenant, a Manifested is expendable.
This is the world as it exists now.
Rifts shape economies.
Covenants decide survival.
Power determines worth.
And somewhere in this system lives a boy who has none of it.
No rank.
No Covenant.
No power.
Just a name.
Aren Vale.
———————————————————
The morning bell rang like it always did. Too loud. Too sharp.
Aren Vale was already seated when it happened, his bag tucked under the desk, hands folded loosely as if he were waiting for something to end before it had even started.
Classroom 2–B buzzed with noise. Not excitement. Status.
A group near the windows was talking loudly, voices carrying without effort.
"Did you hear? He cleared a Mid-Depth Rift last week."
"No way. Solo?"
"Yeah. His Covenant confirmed it this morning."
Phones were passed around. A profile page flashed briefly. A rank badge glowed blue.
Tier C.
That alone was enough to change how people spoke to you.
Aren didn't look. He didn't need to.
He'd seen it happen too many times.
At this school, there were students and there were Manifested students.
No one said it out loud, but the difference showed everywhere.
Teachers spoke more carefully around them. Administrators pretended they were still just kids while quietly adjusting schedules and attendance rules. Some students skipped class entirely when their Covenants called.
No punishment. No questions.
They were assets now.
"Aren."
He blinked and looked up.
The teacher had paused mid-lecture, marker hovering near the board.
"You didn't submit yesterday's worksheet."
Aren stood immediately. "I'm sorry. I'll submit it today."
There was no anger in his voice. No excuse either.
Just habit.
The teacher sighed, clearly more tired than annoyed. "Sit down. Just don't make it a pattern."
Aren nodded and sat.
In the back row, someone snorted.
"Figures."
The comment wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
Aren pretended he didn't hear it.
He kept his eyes on the board, but his attention drifted.
To the small screen of his phone, face-down inside his pocket.
Three notifications. All from work.
Shift reminder.
Extra hours request.
Manager asking for confirmation.
He already knew his answer.
Yes.
It was always yes.
Near the front of the class, a boy with neatly styled hair leaned back in his chair, arms crossed casually. A Covenant emblem was stitched into the sleeve of his uniform. Subtle, but unmistakable.
A lesser Covenant. Still a Covenant.
People listened when he spoke.
"I'm skipping afternoon classes," the boy said openly. "Our Covenant's claiming a Shallow Rift near the east sector."
The teacher hesitated. Then nodded. "Be careful."
Be careful.
Aren almost laughed.
That was the difference.
When they entered Rifts, it was called duty.
When people like Aren even thought about it, it was called stupidity.
He wasn't Manifested. Not officially. Not even Tier F.
Just a normal student with average grades, dark circles under his eyes, and hands that smelled faintly of disinfectant from his job.
Invisible.
The bell rang again.
Chairs scraped. Conversations resumed. Power followed people out of the room like gravity.
Aren waited until most of them had left before standing.
As he slung his bag over his shoulder, he glanced once at the window.
In the distance, far beyond the school buildings, the sky shimmered faintly.
A distortion. Barely visible.
A Rift boundary, forming.
No alarms yet.
Probably Shallow.
Probably safe.
Probably not his problem.
Aren turned away.
He still had class.
And after that, work.
The final bell of the school day dragged longer than usual. Aren slung his bag over his shoulder, shoulders stiff from sitting too long, eyes tired but alert. The walk to his part-time job was familiar—too familiar. Half an hour of traffic, streets crowded with students who already had homes to go to, parents to greet, and a life Aren didn't have.
The convenience store smelled the same: antiseptic, cheap coffee, microwaved food. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, painting everything in harsh white. The chime on the door announced his arrival.
"Vale, you're late again," the manager grumbled without looking up from the register.
"Sorry," Aren muttered, setting his bag down. He already knew the schedule: unpack stock, clean shelves, check inventory, help customers. The shift would last five hours, maybe six if they were busy, maybe seven if he was unlucky.
Customers came and went. Some were normal, polite, forgettable. Others were rude, impatient, loud. Aren moved through it all like a ghost, polite, efficient, invisible. Every transaction was a little reminder: he wasn't special. He wasn't noticed. He survived only by being silent, by not getting in the way.
A box fell from a shelf. Aren flinched, caught it just in time.
"Careful there, kid," someone said from the aisle. Aren gave a small nod and continued, heart thumping a little faster than usual.
By the time the evening rush started, the store was swamped. Orders shouted over the counter, customers jostling, phones buzzing. Aren's hands moved almost automatically, but his mind wandered. He thought about the faint shimmer in the sky earlier—the Rift forming outside the city. He thought about Tier C and Tier A students, Covenants, and what it must feel like to belong somewhere, to be someone worth protecting.
Then a crash echoed from the back aisle. A shelf had tipped over. He rushed to fix it, ignoring the minor cut on his hand. Bleeding or not, he couldn't afford to stop.
Finally, the shift ended. His feet ached. His hands stung. The manager muttered something about closing up. Aren cleaned the counters, restocked the essentials, and stepped outside into the fading twilight.
The sky had changed. The shimmer was sharper now, the Rift clearer. It wasn't huge—not yet—but enough to make people panic if it grew.
Aren paused. For a moment, he considered walking away, pretending he hadn't seen it. But the sight burned something inside him—a mixture of fear, fascination, and the faintest spark of curiosity.
He didn't know it yet, but tomorrow, he would step closer to that shimmer.
And his life would never be the same.
The streets were quieting down. Evening had a pale orange glow, stretching across rooftops and painting the city in tired light. Aren walked with his bag slung over one shoulder, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. His steps were even, measured, almost invisible among the few people still out and about.
A group of students passed by, laughing loudly. Aren recognized one of them from his class. A Tier C Manifested. Their Covenants had claimed a Shallow Rift that morning. They were relaxed, confident, joking about who would get the best loot.
Aren kept walking, eyes down, pretending not to notice. One of them glanced at him.
"Hey, Vale," the boy said, smirking. "You coming to the next Rift raid?"
Aren paused. The question wasn't really a question. He shook his head slightly.
"Yeah, didn't think so," the boy laughed, nudging his friends. "Figures. You're always slacking."
No one else looked. No one else cared. Aren's stomach twisted, not from hunger but from the familiar burn of insignificance. He kept walking.
A stray dog crossed the street in front of him, scrounging for scraps near a dumpster. Aren's hand twitched—he'd fed it a few days ago, a small gesture no one would notice. The dog barked at a passing car, then vanished into an alley. He smiled faintly, the smallest flicker of warmth.
Further down, an old woman struggled with grocery bags. Aren stepped closer, grabbed the heavier one without thinking, and helped her across the uneven pavement.
"Thank you, young man," she said, patting his shoulder.
"You're welcome," he murmured, glancing away. No one had seen it, no one would.
The city felt heavy as he turned into his street. The apartment buildings were narrow, tall, and cramped, each one a cage for the people inside. Aren's building was at the very end—a small, worn structure with peeling paint. He climbed the stairs slowly, each step echoing his exhaustion.
From the top floor, he could see the faint shimmer again. The Rift's light flickered in the distance, just above the horizon. No alarms. No warnings. Just a ripple in the world.
Aren stared at it, feeling the same mixture he always did: fear, fascination, and that impossible spark that whispered: this changes everything.
He reached his apartment, kicked the door closed behind him, and leaned against it for a moment. Silence wrapped around him. No one waiting. No one checking. Just him and the faint hum of the city below.
Tomorrow, he would wake up. Go to school. Work his shift. Keep surviving.
But the shimmer promised one thing: the world would not let him stay invisible for long.
The apartment was unusually quiet that night. The city humed softly outside his window, but inside, everything seemed… wrong. Aren had a faint feeling in his stomach, like the air was heavier than usual. He shrugged it off, tired from school and work, and crawled into bed.
Morning came gray and muted. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The usual sounds of the city outside filtered through—the distant chatter, the faint rumble of traffic—but something felt off.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor beneath him seemed… uneven. Not creaking, not broken—just… strange. A shimmer, faint and liquid-like, flowed across the wooden floorboards in a way that shouldn't exist.
He blinked.
The shimmer pulsed once. Then again.
Before he could react, the floor beneath him gave way.
Aren didn't scream. He barely had time to register the sensation. The world tilted, then fell away completely.
Air rushed past him. Walls, furniture, even the ceiling dissolved into a blur. Light bent strangely, like reality itself was melting.
He flailed, instinct kicking in, but there was nothing to grab. Nothing to stop him.
He was falling.
And he had no idea where.