The night had teeth. Shadows slithered across the ruins, and the wind carried whispers that no one alive would recognize.
A figure crouched among broken pillars, fingers scraping dust from the cold stone floor. He was small, unnoticed—a ghost clinging to the edges of a world that demanded strength he did not yet possess.
Then, a faint vibration stirred inside his mind. A voice, unfamiliar and hollow, echoed in the spaces between thought and reality: "Awaken."
He froze. The darkness seemed to lean closer, listening. The voice returned, slower this time, like it tasted each word before letting it go: "You are not yet ready. But you will be tested. The path begins, even if you cannot see it."
A pulse of light, barely more than a shimmer, traced the cracks beneath him. It did not illuminate; it did not comfort. It watched.
The boy's heart beat, uneven and loud. Questions clawed at him, but the voice offered no answers. Only a presence—ancient, patient, and waiting—filled the void inside him.
Outside, the wind carried a warning. Somewhere in the distance, the first threads of destiny stirred, but they were beyond sight, beyond comprehension. Only the boy, trembling in the ruins, knew that the world had changed in a way no one could yet understand.
The system had whispered. And that whisper was enough