They told us power was a gift.
A blessing granted only to those chosen by fate. Those born as Spectrals. People who could bend reality, summon elements, or shatter the ground beneath their feet. The world feared them, admired them, and depended on them all at once.
To keep order, the Organization was created.
They said it was to protect civilians.
They said it was to guide Spectrals.
They said it was necessary.
What they didn't say was how disposable people became once power entered the equation.
They didn't say how rankings mattered more than lives. How obedience was praised, and hesitation was punished.
They didn't say that some were trained to be heroes while others were turned into weapons.
Behind walls and doors, children learned how to fight before they learned how to live. They learned how to follow orders without question, how to kill, how to smile while doing it. Promotions were earned in blood, and mistakes were written off as failures.
And if you broke the rules? You didn't get a second chance. You became an example.
The city only ever saw the aftermath, the quiet streets and buildings. They never saw the alleys washed clean before sunrise. They never saw the bodies that didn't make the news.
But I did.
Because I'm part of it now.
Trained, ranked, monitored, just another pawn in their game.
But they still call power a gift.
Standing here, watching the world behave in ways it shouldn't, watching people disappear for crossing invisible lines… I know the truth.
Power isn't a blessing.
It's a leash.
And the Organization is holding it.