It's been 20 years since the world has undergone a catastrophic transformation. On that chaotic day, portals now called rifts appeared in the sky and from the rifts poured a supernatural energy called Mana.
With this energy, animals evolved into demonic beasts of darkness and steel, Overpowered and bloodthirsty towards humans. Plants reached new heights, gained demonic sentience and feasted on humans for nutrition as photosynthesis no longer satisfied their needs.
From the rifts also poured monsters, demons and extraterrestrial beings, all wreaking havoc on earth, some mindless, some intelligent, some cruel in ways humans never learned.
Millions -- no billions lost their lives to this unfortunate occurrence, 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, certain humans began manifesting abilities after prolonged exposure to rifts and mana. Strength beyond human limits, control over elements, skills that defied logic. They evolved into supernatural beings who struck back against the calamities destroying their kind. They were called the Awakened.
For months, the awakened battled for humanity's survival and after endless bloodshed, mankind finally adapted to the new world .
To control the chaos, governments created a ranking system, every awakened individual is evaluated and assigned a rank.
Rank F - D : Support level or disposable combatants
Rank C - B : Standard Rift clearers with potential
Rank A : National Assets
Rank S and above : Strategic deterrents and secret weapons.
And that was how Mana, the same force that had nearly destroyed the humans, became their greatest weapon of survival, granting each Awakened myriads of talents and skills.
Those who awakened were trained to wield mana, to hunt, fight, and protect. They were given titles, Hunters , Guardians, Heroes -- each sworn to defend humanity from the lurking dangers.
To prepare the younger generation, academies were established. These institutions admits youths who have awakened and teach them to master mana, survive the wilderness, and rise into the ranks of Hunters.
As the Awakened members grew, independent groups called Guilds were formed.
Guilds are private organisations licensed to :
Claim rifts, deploy teams, control information. Some Guilds protect cities, others protect profits .
The strongest Guilds rival governments, the weakest exist only to feed manpower into deeper rifts . Membership is everything, without a guild, an Awakened is expendable, unless their ranks were high of course .
This is the world as it exists now.
Rifts shape economics, Academies decides potential, Guilds decide Power and survival, Power determines worth .
And somewhere here in this world was a boy who had none of it, a boy who failed to manifest any ability during the awakening ceremony. The one they called Null.
He had no rank, no talent, no power. Just a name, Zhane Carson .
~~~~~
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The afternoon bell shattered the classroom like glass under a hammer—too loud, too sharp, slicing through the low hum of teenage boredom. Chairs scraped back in a chaotic symphony, voices exploding into life the second freedom was granted. Laughter, boasts, plans for the evening spilled out like they'd been caged all day.
Zhane didn't move right away.
He sat there, elbows on the desk, chin resting on folded hands, watching the room empty out in waves. The popular ones first—laughing, phones already out, scrolling through whatever drama had brewed during last period. Then the quieter groups, the ones who clustered like they needed numbers to survive the hallway. Finally, the stragglers who dragged their feet, reluctant to trade the fluorescent safety of class for whatever waited outside.
Only when the last backpack vanished through the door did Zhane stand.
His shoulders ached from hours hunched over notes he barely understood anymore. He rolled them once, twice, feeling the familiar pop of joints protesting. Bag slung over one shoulder, he walked out last, the way he always did. Invisible. Safe.
The corridors were already emptying, echoes bouncing off lockers like ghosts. A couple of girls from Class B lingered near the water fountain, voices low but carrying.
"Did you see him in gym today? Just... standing there. Not even trying."
"Nulls are like that. What's the point?"
Zhane kept his eyes on the floor tiles, counting them as he passed. One, two, three—don't look up, don't give them the satisfaction. The words weren't new. They'd been carved into him years ago, right around the time everyone else started glowing with power and he stayed stubbornly, humiliatingly ordinary.
Outside, the sun was already slanting low, painting the academy grounds in tired gold. Awakened students moved in packs—some levitating textbooks just to show off, others trailing sparks or frost from careless fingertips. Non- awakened kids like him kept to the edges, heads down, pretending the displays didn't sting.
The walk home was the same half-hour gauntlet it always was. Crowded sidewalks, laughter ringing from groups heading to cafes or training grounds or actual homes with actual families. Zhane wove through them like smoke, untouched. A few glances slid his way—pitying, curious, dismissive. He felt every single one like fingers pressing bruises.
Why do they even look? The thought came unbidden, bitter. I'm nothing but a boy who failed the one test that matters.
His stomach twisted—not hunger, though he hadn't eaten since the stale bread at lunch. Just the old, familiar burn of being less. Of knowing that in a world where power defined worth, he was worth exactly zero.
He reached the apartment building at last, the chipped paint on the door greeting him like an indifferent friend. Up three flights of stairs that smelled faintly of mildew and yesterday's cooking. Key in the lock. Door kicked shut behind him with more force than necessary.
Silence rushed in.
No voice calling his name. No footsteps. No "How was school?" or "Dinner's almost ready." Just the low, constant thrum of the city filtering through the single window—cars, distant horns, the occasional siren like a far-off scream.
Zhane leaned back against the door for a long moment, eyes closed, breathing in the stillness.
The apartment was small—one room, really—but it was his. Clean enough. The narrow bed against one wall, desk crammed with schoolbooks and an old laptop, a tiny kitchenette that mostly saw instant noodles and the occasional splurge on takeout. Inheritance money from parents he barely remembered kept the lights on, the fridge stocked, the rent paid. It wasn't luxury. It was survival dressed up as independence.
He dropped his bag by the desk. Normally he'd boot up the laptop, lose himself in some grindy RPG where he could be the hero, rack up levels, feel powerful for a few hours. Today the thought made him tired.
Instead he crossed to the bed, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed face-first into the pillow. The mattress creaked under him like it was as exhausted as he was.
"If only I could become stronger..." The words slipped out, half-mumbled, half-prayer. "Just once. Just enough to matter."
Sleep took him fast, heavy and dreamless.
Morning arrived gray and muted, the kind of light that made everything feel smaller. Zhane sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands. His mouth tasted like cotton. He yawned, stretched until his spine cracked, swung his legs over the side of the bed.
And froze.
A shimmer rippled across the wooden floorboards—subtle at first, like heat haze over asphalt, then brighter, wrong. It shouldn't be there. Floors didn't glow. Floors didn't move.
"Huh?" The sound came out small, confused.
He blinked hard, once, twice, willing it to be a trick of the light, leftover sleep in his eyes.
The shimmer pulsed.
Then the floor cracked.
A sharp, dry snap—like old skin splitting. Splinters flew. The boards buckled inward, revealing nothing but black beneath.
Zhane's heart slammed against his ribs.
"What the—"
He tried to stand, but the ground was already gone.
The world tilted violently. Gravity yanked. He pitched forward, arms windmilling, a scream tearing out of his throat before he could stop it.
He fell.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
It wasn't a normal fall. Not like tripping down stairs or jumping from a ledge. This was dissolution—reality peeling away in strips. The apartment, the city hum, the gray morning light—all of it blurred into streaks of color and noise, then nothing.
Wind roared in his ears, or maybe it was his own blood. His stomach lurched upward into his throat. He flailed, fingers clawing at empty air, legs kicking uselessly.
No. No no no no no—
Thoughts fragmented, panic flooding every corner of his mind.
What's happening? This isn't real. This can't be real. Wake up. Wake up wake up—
But he wasn't dreaming. The cold rush against his skin was too sharp, the darkness too absolute. His lungs burned for air he couldn't pull in.
I'm going to die.
The realization hit harder than the fall itself. No dramatic last stand. No heroic awakening. Just him—Zhane, the null, the nobody—plummeting into oblivion because the universe had finally decided to finish what it started years ago.
Why now? The question screamed inside his skull even as tears stung his eyes, whipped away by the velocity of his descent. Why bother keeping me alive this long just to drop me into nothing? I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't ask to be born without power. I didn't ask to be alone. I just wanted... I just wanted to be enough.
Memories flashed in jagged bursts—his mother's laugh he could barely remember, the social worker's clipped voice explaining "inheritance" and "apartment," the first awakening ceremony when everyone else's skin lit up and his stayed dull, the whispers that followed him like shadows ever since.
I tried. God, I tried so hard to pretend it didn't matter. Video games. Good grades. Keeping my head down. Acting like I was fine. But I'm not fine. I'm so fucking tired of being invisible.
His arms ached from reaching for nothing. His throat was raw from the scream that wouldn't stop.
If this is it—if this is how it ends—then fine. At least it'll be quick. At least no one will have to pretend to care.
But even that thought tasted like a lie.
He was falling and he had no idea where.