Novel Bin
Chapter One — The Mock Awakening
Chapter One — The Mock Awakening
The stars never slept.
They watched, unblinking, eternal. Glimmers of forgotten wars and collapsed empires, they drifted in the night sky like cold candles mourning a universe on fire.
In the far reaches of the Eluvian System, orbiting a dying sun, a fractured world spun in silence. Serethal—a relic of Edenfall, shattered by gods and stitched together by surviving faith—clung to existence in the shadow of giants. It was a world long abandoned by prophecy, barely remembered by Light, and yet still aligned with it, like a rusted sword still pointed toward the sun.
It was here that the unremarkable lived.
And it was here that Kael Arin awoke.
---
Day of Awakening — Year 998 A.E.
Human District Theta-9, Eastern Light Territory
The chamber smelled of ash and rusted incense.
High above, the System Monolith glowed like a divine eye, crystalline and immense, embedded in the cathedral dome. Blue fire pulsed through its circuits, shedding light across the dozens of robed initiates standing below it in a wide arc. They stood barefoot on obsidian plates etched with angelic runes. Kael stood among them, his heart hammering.
It was past noon. The ceremony should have ended hours ago.
But one remained.
Him.
Of course it was him.
The others had long since celebrated—cheers rising as swords formed from light, banners of flame, wings of steel. Talents revealed. Paths chosen. Some had awakened B-rank skills. One even earned the rare A-rank designation. Even the priests had smiled.
But when Kael stepped forward, the room went silent.
No family waited at the edge of the chamber. No mentors. No friends.
His father? Gone.
His mother? Ash and memory.
He stood alone beneath the Monolith’s gaze.
> “Step into the circle,” said the voice of the Monolith—seraphic, cold, genderless.
Kael obeyed. The floor pulsed beneath his feet as the ritual activated. Veins of light laced up from the obsidian, wrapping around his body like webbed lightning. His breath caught. The world dissolved into light and static—
DING.
A chime echoed.
Then silence.
Floating in his vision, text appeared in lines of silver-blue:
---
> Name: Kael Arin
Race: Human
Age: 17
Faction: Light (Human Subclass)
Title: None
Level: 1
Primary Skill Awakened: [Creation]
Skill Rank: F
Unique Trait: Unknown
Combat Class: None Assigned
> “A new spark, however dim. Welcome, Kael Arin.”
---
A cough. A chuckle.
Then the laughter began.
First one boy—Darin Vel, newly awakened [Blade Saint]—snorted.
“Creation? Are you serious? Is this a joke?” he said, loud enough for all to hear.
Another voice chimed in. “Better start building your own grave.”
“Can you even hold a sword with that? What are you gonna do, draw enemies a picture?”
“F-rank? The Monolith must be broken.”
Kael stood still. His jaw clenched. Eyes locked on the glowing text.
He heard the laughter. Felt it burn.
But he said nothing.
No priest approached. No mentor offered guidance. The High Overseer only frowned, scribbled something on a data-scroll, and moved on.
The ceremony continued as if he did not exist.
---
That night, Kael wandered the outskirts of Theta-9. The dying sun bathed the wreckage in gold.
District Theta-9 was a tomb. Once a city built by the first colonists, it had long since been stripped for parts and prayers. Broken scaffolding stabbed the sky. Supply towers stood half-crushed by time. Metal bones jutted from stone, tangled in prayer-wards and rust.
Kael climbed the shell of a fallen watchtower and sat at the top. He stared into the clouds, his knees pulled to his chest.
The System Window hovered in his vision. Still open. Still mocking.
> [Creation] (Rank F)
A derivative of the Original Craft. Allows the user to form basic material constructs using surrounding matter.
MP Cost: Variable
Limitations: Cannot create life. Cannot replicate enchantments. Constructs limited to D-rank and below.
Trait Synchronization: Pending…
---
It sounded useless. A scrap-skill. Nothing like the fire-summons or radiant spears the others had received.
Still… something stirred inside him.
Kael pressed his hand to the metal beside him. He closed his eyes. Focused.
> Command: Create – dagger.
The rusted surface rippled. Dust lifted. Scrap coiled inward, reshaping itself beneath his fingers.
Click.
A crude dagger formed in his hand. Misshapen. Dull.
But real.
He blinked.
“Why did that feel… easy?”
The blade vibrated faintly in his palm. Not magically—but resonant, like a chord struck deep in the world’s bones.
It felt alive.
---
Elsewhere — Celestial Throne of Light
In the vastness above Serethal, atop a palace of star-metal and flame, High Archon Seraphiel opened his eyes.
He had seen thousands of Awakenings across the aligned systems—radiant soldiers, faithful mages, holy assassins.
But this one paused him.
Creation.
A sentinel approached. “A human, High Archon. F-rank. No threat.”
Seraphiel did not look away.
“Creation is not weak,” he said. “It is ungoverned. Unbound.”
His gaze followed Kael Arin, sitting alone under the stars, a forged blade in his hand.
“Mark him.”
The sentinel hesitated. “Mark him?”
“If he breaks the bounds of the System…” Seraphiel's voice dimmed. “...we must be watching.”
---
Later — Kael’s Quarters, Midnight
The dream came like fire.
A forge.
A colossal one—alive, breathing, divine. Hammers floated in the air. Anvils glowed with scripture. Blueprints danced through space, full of impossible machines, spiraling runes, war-devices powered by galaxies.
And a voice.
Ancient. Familiar. Not heard—but known.
> “You were never meant to awaken a skill…”
> “You were meant to awaken a source.”
Kael’s eyes flew open. Sweat drenched his back. Breath caught in his throat.
And in front of him, a final notification flickered into being.
---
> Trait Synchronization Complete.
Unique Trait Unlocked: [Forgeheart] (Mythic – SSS Rank)
You are not bound by the System. You are its anomaly.
You are not granted power. You create it.
Skill Evolution: Unlocked.
System Override Potential: 0.001%
---
Kael stared at the glowing text.
In the distance, thunder rolled across the stars.
A storm was coming.
And he would shape it.
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