The first rebellion didn't begin with a gun; it began with a meeting. In a sealed room around a polished table, men and women in expensive suits pretended they still lived in a world where decisions were made by votes instead of raw force. Outside, Tokyo still smelled of rain-soaked concrete and exhaust. The city still breathed, trains still moved, and people still argued, but the air itself had changed. It carried immense weight now. As if a massive being had settled onto Earth and decided it liked the feeling of being above everyone. Inside the Prime Minister's emergency council chamber, the screens had been turned off, not because the broadcasts had stopped but because they didn't want to see the Warden again.
A minister cleared his throat; his hands were steady, but his voice betrayed his true emotions. "We have.... confirmation from the Internal Affairs Bureau," he said. "Awakenings are accelerating, not just children, but the adults and the elderly. Anyone with dormant elemental DNA –" "We know," another official snapped. The first minister stiffened. "We also have confirmation of.....disappearances."
Silence.
Disappearances. It wasn't death. Death was measurable; it had bodies, and death had numbers. Disappearance was something worse. It was a hole in the world where a person used to exist. "Kidnappings?" a woman asked, voice tight. "Not always," the minister admitted. "Some are last seen near the breach zones. Some are last seen at hospitals, and some are even last seen near the coastal districts." Someone scoffed. "So we are supposed to believe elementals are taking humans like livestock?" "No," the Prime Minister said, rubbing his temples. "We're supposed to believe we are trapped in a situation where we don't know what's happening and that ignorance might get people killed."
A middle-aged man at the far end of the table leaned forward. He wore a military uniform with medals pinned neatly to his chest like proof he still mattered. "We can't surrender," he said. "We are Japan. We do not kneel to...." The room went colder, not physically but spiritually. Everyone in the room felt it at the same time, a quiet sensation that something was listening. The general didn't notice; his pride was too loud, and pride makes people deaf. "We still have weapons," he continued. "We still have armies, and on top of that, we have allies across the whole of Asia. If we strike now..." The Prime Minister's eyes narrowed. "Strike what?" "The breach zone," the general said. "Before they stabilise their foothold. If we–" "You will die," someone whispered. The general glared. "Who said that?" No one answered, because nobody wanted to be the one to say what they all knew. A different official spoke, more quietly." We have received a proposal from several governments across Asia." The Prime Minister glanced up at the official. "Proposal?" "Coordination," the official said. "A unified resistance agreement. A coalition. If enough of us act together..." A harsh laugh escaped from someone. "Act together?" a minister muttered. "He froze helicopters mid-air," another said, their voice trembling with restrained hysteria. "That wasn't power, no, it was something greater, that was authority." The Prime Minister's jaw tightened. "We are voting," he said, forcing his voice into something it no longer naturally possessed. "We are the ones who decide the policy. We are the ones who decide how our nation responds. That is what we do." The general nodded stiffly. "Agreed."
The Prime Minister stared around the table. "Option one: we submit to the Global Elemental Accord and cooperate with the Warden's governance structure." The Prime Minister paused, looking at every minister one after the other. "Option two: we refuse. We prepare a military response. We coordinate with other resistant countries." Silence stretched. It wasn't a sense of calm. But a chokehold. The vote began one by one, hands lifted. Some for surrender, whilst some were for resistance. A tie. The tie formed like a noose tightening around the neck of every official in the room. The Prime Minister's throat worked as he counted again. Same result. A perfect split. All eyes turned to the last vote, a timid man who had been silent the entire meeting. He wasn't a politician or part of the military. The man was an advisor, a strategist. Someone whose job wasn't to win elections, but to survive disasters. He looked exhausted. Not tired. Exhausted. As if his entire being has been carrying an inconceivable weight. The Prime Minister swallowed. "Your vote." The strategist did not look at anyone. He looked down at the table as if it might offer him mercy. He spoke softly. "We surrender."
The room erupted. Not in celebration but in outrage; in grief, in humiliation. The general slammed his fist down." You Coward!" The strategist lifted his gaze, and his eyes were wet with tears. Not with fear but with shame and something else. Realisation. "You think surrender is cowardice?" he asked, his voice quiet but sharp. "No. Cowardice is pretending we have power when we don't. Cowardice is sacrificing our people to protect our pride. We have already lied to the citizens enough; we cannot let them down any more than we already have. The general stood abruptly. "We can fight..." The strategist's smile was hollow. "You can't even breathe without his permission." The Prime Minister's hands shook as he looked down at the final tally. Surrender won by one vote. One. The room sat in stunned silence, as if they were attending the funeral of the world they grew up thinking would last forever.
Then the lights flickered. Every phone in the room went dead at once. The air thickened. Every hair on the arms of everyone present rose in union. The strategist who had been staring at the table slowly looked upward. "Do you... Feel that?" a woman whispered. The general stepped back, suddenly pale. "What is– " The strategist's lips parted.
"He's here."
The ceiling didn't crack, nor did thunder shake the building. Nothing dramatic happened, and that was the most terrifying part. It was the certainty that if he truly wanted to, you wouldn't exist long enough to scream. Outside the government building, cameras captured it. Tokyo's neon lights burned against the night. High-rise towers stretched upwards like proof of human ambition. Streets overflowed with movement, noise, and denial.
And above it all–
The Warden of the North. Watching. His spear held loosely at his side, lightning crawling across it. The wind around him was perfectly still, as if the atmosphere was too respectful to move without permission. A journalist on the ground collapsed to his knees and vomited. Not from sickness but from instinct. From the body's primitive understanding that this being was the sky given a face. The council chamber windows darkened. The Warden's gaze pierced the building as if glass didn't matter. The strategist's mouth went dry. The Warden smiled. Not wide or friendly. A small curl of knowing. As if he had been entertained. A single whisper brushed through the room. Not a sound but a presence. A sentence delivered directly into the bones of everyone present. "Good choice." The general shuddered and nearly fell. The Prime Minister's legs almost gave out, and the strategist, who had voted to surrender, felt something even colder than fear. He felt the truth that even their surrender wasn't a decision. It was survival by permission. Permission could be revoked.
Anytime.
The first rebellion outside Japan did not get a vote. It got erased. Across Asia, in rooms just like this, other leaders held meetings. Some chose pride, whereas others chose rage. Some even chose delusion. A coalition formed quietly across several countries; plans written in encrypted files, weapons prepared, breach zones mapped and strike points selected. They called it resistance.
The Warden called it noise. In a mountainous region far from cameras, an army gathered. Not one country but several countries' military might. The armies consisted of troops, artillery and even a few awakened units barely able to stand. They stood under a sky that looked normal.
That was the fatal mistake. The Warden of the North appeared above them as he had always been there. No portal or extravagant light show. Just...presence. The first thing the soldiers felt was the air leaving their lungs, not as suffocation but as obedience. An awakened captain, a young man with lightning flickering involuntarily around his wrists, tried to raise his rifle. His arms shook violently, not from fear but pure pressure. He looked up and saw the Warden hovering high above, spear angled downward like a judgment. The captain's teeth chattered. "Sir....." he whispered to his superior, voice breaking. "He's– he's looking at us." A commander screamed through a megaphone. "Fire! FIRE!" The artillery launched, tanks shooting missiles upwards.
The missiles stopped mid-air. Frozen in the sky like glowing Christmas ornaments. Then they all turned and drifted back down, so slowly it was almost polite. The soldiers watched their own weapons return home with open arms. Panic erupted. Someone ran then stumbled, not on rock, but on air. Even gravity had chosen a side. The Warden's voice carried gently across the entire valley. "You plotted," he said. "Without permission." Lightning crawled brighter across his spear. "You armed yourselves," he continued. "Without permission." His cold gaze lowered. A nature elemental beast, an antlered titan with glowing green motes rising from its breath, stepped forward behind him, nostrils flaring as if it could smell fear like meat. "You gathered," the Warden said softly. "Without permission."
He lifted the spear. The wind stopped. The valley went silent.
Then lightning descended. Not one bolt but hundreds upon hundreds. Thin lines of precise blue-white destruction; striking command tents, weapon depots, vehicles, communication towers. This was not a random barrage; it was controlled with such precision that it was almost surgical. When the smoke cleared, the army was still alive, and that was true cruelty. Because now they had to live with the understanding that they were spared not by their strength, but by the Warden's ever-changing mood. He descended slowly, boots touching the earth without a sound. He walked forward as soldiers trembled on their knees. He stopped in front of the coalition's highest-ranking official. A man who had been shouting about sovereignty minutes ago couldn't even look up. The Warden tilted his head. "Mercy," he said quietly, "is a reward reserved for the obedient." Then he raised a hand, and the air snapped suddenly, breaking the official's neck. There wasn't any blood or any gory spectacle. Just a clean end. The simple message was delivered across Asia.
Hours later, in Yokohama far away from the emergency council chambers in Tokyo, the woman from the announcement stood in the corridor outside the emergency chamber listening to her phone vibrating uselessly in her hand. There was no signal where she was, but she didn't need the phone to know what was happening. She could feel it, the air was tighter as if the entire city was holding its breath.
Her name was Reina Sato, Director of Japan's Elemental Affairs Division. The world heard her voice first when the Awakening was confirmed. Her voice was calm, measured and contained. People assumed that meant she wasn't afraid at all. They were wrong. Reina was very afraid, but she just didn't let fear sit in the front seat. A subordinate approached, sweating. "Director Sato," he said quickly. "We have confirmed reports from hospitals; more awakenings, more uncontrolled manifestations. And.... disappearances are increasing." Reina didn't blink. "Numbers?" "Fifty-seven confirmed missing in Yokohama, ma'am. The highest concentration is near the breach-adjacent districts." Reina's jaw tightened. "Elementals?" "Some witnesses report non-warden elementals moving throughout alleyways. Some were wearing no military insignia. Some– " he hesitated. "Some seem to be hunting." Reina exhaled slowly. So it begins. Not all elementals came to govern. Some came to take whilst some came to play. Others came because Earth was an opportunity, a new market, a fresh hunting ground. "Any contact with the Warden's escort?" Reina asked. The subordinate nodded quickly. "They requested a meeting." Reina's eyes narrowed. "Requested." The subordinate swallowed. "Yes, ma'am. That word didn't sit right; it did not belong to them. They didn't request; they simply allowed. Reina adjusted her suit, straightened her shoulders, and walked forward. Her heels clicked against the floor as if she were reminding herself that she still existed.
The meeting took place in a large hall that was used to host international trade agreements. Now it hosts something even more important. At the far end of the hall stood the elementals in formation: the air empire, the lightning empire, and the nature empire. Their pressure was disciplined, military-like and controlled. There were awakened humans present, too, a special squad assembled under emergency authority. Their eyes kept flickering to the elementals like prey tracking predators. One awakened man, in his 20s, kept flexing his fingers. Tiny gusts of wind escaped his palms when his anxiety spiked. He hated that, he hated that his own body betrayed him. He hated that he was useful now. A woman in her thirties stood next to him, her eyes shimmering faintly with green. Leaves formed and withered near her boots as if the earth couldn't decide if it loved her or feared her. The special squad had been told they would be trained, monitored and deployed. They were still processing the recent changes and what it meant to no longer belong to themselves.
Reina entered the meeting. The room immediately felt colder, not because of the temperature but because of the sudden attention. Every elemental gaze turned whilst every awakened human stiffened. Reina didn't slow down, and she continued to walk till she reached the centre, where she stopped. A gust of wind rolled through the hall. The Warden of the North stepped into the hall as if he had always been there. His cloak flowed behind him, spear gripped tightly in his hand as lightning danced across the surface, restrained but alive. His presence pressed down on everyone to the point that even some awakened humans wavered, their knees bending without permission. Reina's breath caught briefly before she forced it steady. The Warden's gaze landed on her, and Reina felt like she was being measured for a coffin. "You are the voice," he said. Reina nodded. "Director Reina Sato." A faint hum of amusement crossed his expression. "You speak well," he said. "Humans often don't." Reina held his gaze. "I speak well because panic kills faster than the truth." The awakened humans behind her stiffened at her boldness. One of them silently mouthed: Is she insane? The Warden tilted his head slightly before smiling again. "Good," he said. "Then you understand governance," Reina answered him. "Yes, governance requires cooperation between ourselves with a clear policy with even clearer consequences." "Consequences," the Warden repeated, amused. "You speak like someone who believes you can enforce them." Reina's voice stayed even. "It would be more pleasing... for the empires you represent, if Earth were stabilised with rogue elementals and awakened humans under control and proper management."
A dangerous line. A thin confrontation disguised as professionalism. The awakened squad's hearts nearly stopped. The Warden's lightning brightened, just slightly. Reina felt her lungs tighten, not because she was scared but because the air itself had become heavier. Then the Warden nodded. "You are correct," he said. "Stability is pleasing." Reina did not relax; she did not dare to. The Warden took a step closer, his voice lowering. "But do not mistake my agreement for equality," he said softly. "The very air you breathe is mercy from me." Reina's throat went dry.
The awakened humans behind her trembled, some realising they had been holding their breath. The Warden's eyes flickered to the awakened squad. "You," he said. "You awaken and believe you are special." A young man flinched. The Warden continued, calm and cruel in the same breath. "You are special only because you are now a resource. A tool. A variable." Reina spoke. "What are your terms?" The Warden's gaze returned to her. "Order, he said. "Compliance. Monitoring of awakenings, capturing rogue elementals." His eyes darkened slightly. "And an investigation into the humans that have gone missing." Reina's expression tightened slightly. "So you acknowledge it." "I acknowledge what I find relevant," he replied. "Some of my kind have come to live normal lives, whereas others have come to indulge." Reina's expression stayed unchanging. "There will be consequences for those who disrupt my jurisdiction," said the Warden. An awakened human near the back whispered, barely audible. "Jurisdiction.... he talks like he owns us."
The wind snapped, her voice died down, not from fear but from the air pressure squeezing her throat. The awakened woman clutched her neck, eyes wide. Reina's heart clenched. The Warden's gaze didn't even move towards her. "Discipline," he said softly, "is also mercy." He released the pressure. The woman collapsed, coughing, her tears streaming down her face. Reina's nails dug into her palm. The Warden looked at her like he was testing how much she could endure without breaking. She forced her voice to be steady. "You want obedience," she said. "Then you will need a structure humans can understand," The Warden's smile returned. "Build it then," he said. Reina inhaled. She hated that she was grateful she was allowed to inhale at all.
When the meeting ended, Reina walked out with her shoulders still straight. Only when she reached the corridor did her knees threaten to give out. Her subordinate rushed to her. "Director, are you alright?" Reina stared ahead, eyes unfocused for a moment. "We are building a policy under a god." The subordinate swallowed. "What do we do?" Reina's voice hardened. "We will do what we have always done since I've joined the government, she said. "We survive long enough to learn the rules... and then we learn how to bend them." Outside, Yokohama's bay reflected the moonlight; the city still looked beautiful, it still looked normal. But somewhere above it all, the Warden of the North hovered, silent, watching like a reminder carved into the sky. Across the city, in dark alleyways, in hidden rooms and various hospitals, the disappearances continued. Somewhere, humans were being taken, moved by elementals with no banners. Earth, whether it wanted to or not, was becoming part of the Elemental Realm's politics, not as an equal but as an unmarked territory. Reina looked up, through the windows at the open sky.
Mercy was in the air, and the one holding it decided who was allowed to breathe.