The military school was nothing like Ian had imagined.
Massive modern buildings rose like cold monuments to power. Everywhere he looked, students moved with a confidence he could never find. They were walking weapons – some with abilities that crackled visibly around them, others with a physical presence that screamed strength.
And then there was Ian.
Small. Powerless. Invisible.
The first week was a nightmare of silent humiliation. In the training yards, while other students practiced controlling essence, manipulating elements, Ian stood at the edges. A ghost among warriors. Each demonstration of power was a reminder of everything he wasn't.
"Look at the Empty," someone would whisper. Not even loud enough to be a real taunt. Just loud enough to cut.
Ian learned to become smaller. To blend into walls. To make himself so insignificant that maybe – just maybe – no one would notice him.
But in a place built on power, where no one cared whether you were being bullied—where even the teachers turned a blind eye—invisibility became its own kind of target. It wasn't just about being unnoticed; it was about being easy to ignore, to push aside, to step on. And when you were ignored long enough, you became something else entirely—something they could take advantage of.
Bullies have a special kind of radar, a sixth sense for weakness. They can sense fear like sharks can smell blood from miles away, and in the brutal world of military school, Ian was a walking, bleeding target, though his wounds were invisible to the eye. It didn't matter that his pain was buried deep beneath a quiet exterior.
Upperclassmen found him an easy mark, not just because he was small, or because he had no abilities to defend himself, but because there was something else about him—a desperation that hung around him like a cloud.
They could sense it, the way it made him stand a little too still, the way his eyes darted nervously. They could smell the fear in his every movement, in the way he shrank from attention, in how he wore the weight of something far heavier than anyone his age should. And that made him easy prey.
"Hey, Empty," they would call. The word stung, more cutting than any insult or curse.
Empty. No powers. No potential. Nothing. A waste of space, a waste of oxygen.
It was as if his very existence was a mistake, something that shouldn't even be there. The word echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of just how little he mattered in this world that valued only strength.
During combat training, while the other students easily manipulated essence into shields and weapons, Ian was forced to learn how to dodge. But it wasn't from skill or technique—it was pure survival instinct.
He didn't know how to fight back; all he could do was avoid the strikes, just barely escaping each blow. Each training session was a painful reminder of how little he truly belonged here, how out of place he was among people who could bend the very fabric of reality to their will.
The others avoided him. No one wanted to be seen with someone who had no future, no ability, no chance of rising above the bottom.
In a world where power was everything, Ian was nothing. Less than nothing. He was a shadow, overlooked, ignored, and pushed aside.
At night, in the quiet of his small, cramped dormitory room, Ian would gaze at the photograph of his sisters. Mia. Clara. Their faces stared back at him, their smiles frozen in time.
They were his reason for enduring this nightmare, for pushing through the endless days of pain and humiliation. They were his only connection to the life he wanted to change.
"I'm doing this for you," he would whisper softly to the photo, his voice barely audible in the silence. "I'm going to make everything better. I swear it."
And in that quiet moment, with only the weight of his own determination to keep him going, he clung to that promise, hoping it would be enough.
Loneliness was a physical weight.
Ian sat in his room, watching other students through the window. They laughed. They practiced abilities. They belonged.
He had nothing.
-------
The Earth ability book the general had mentioned became an obsession. One small book could change everything. Could make him someone. Could help his family.
But at what cost?
The general's office was nothing like Ian expected. Clean. Precise. Like a surgeon's table waiting for an operation.
The general was a tall man in his late twenties, his imposing build matched by an air of calculated menace. His sharp features were framed by neatly combed blonde hair, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to see straight through people, brimming with cold cunning.
There was something unsettling about the way his lips curled into a sly, almost mocking grin, as he looked at Ian.
The badge on his chest gleamed with authority. On it read, "General Clay".
"You're special, Ian," the general said. Not a compliment. A calculation.
Ian knew calculations. He'd survived by understanding exactly how much he could stretch a meal. How much hope he could create from nothing.
The offer was simple. Elegant but brutal.
Spy on Roland. On Cole. On everyone. Report their movements. Their secrets. Their weaknesses. In return, an Earth ability book—a rare treasure. Financial support for his struggling family. A guaranteed position after graduation, one that would secure a future he couldn't dare to dream of otherwise.
It was survival versus morality, a cruel choice no sixteen-year-old should ever have to face.
But Ian wasn't an ordinary sixteen-year-old.
He was a provider.
He closed his eyes and thought of Mia. Of Clara. Of their cramped apartment with peeling paint and creaking floors. Of nights when the cold seeped through thin blankets and mornings when the refrigerator stood empty, offering nothing but disappointment. He thought of their small smiles, their laughter that masked hunger and fear. He thought of the promise he had made to himself—to make life better for them, no matter the cost.
One small betrayal, he told himself, could change everything. Just one.
"I'll do it," he said finally, his voice steady despite the storm inside him.
The general's lips curled into a smile. It wasn't kind or warm—it was the smile of a predator, one that had just cornered its prey. Ian felt the weight of it but didn't flinch.
For Mia. For Clara. For a future where they would never feel hunger clawing at their bellies or fear gnawing at their hearts. A future where they could live without looking over their shoulders.
When the general handed him the ability book, it felt heavier than it should have—more than just paper and ink bound together. It was a contract, a tool that could shape everything. He clenched it tightly, knowing that this moment marked the beginning of something new.
To the world, he was still invisible, just another face in the crowd, unnoticed and unimportant. But Ian had learned something else about invisibility: it could be a weapon.
And he was done being powerless.