Chapter 1: The Shadow of a Blank
The city of Cindralis never slept. Its neon-lit streets buzzed with energy as merchants hawked their wares, performers dazzled with their Signature-fueled tricks, and elites paraded their status like badges of honor. For the talented, this was paradise. For Kaylen Moore, it was purgatory.
Kaylen leaned against a grimy wall in the Lower Quarter, his hood pulled low to hide his face. The crowd surged around him, their chatter blending into a cacophony of voices. No one noticed him. No one ever did. A Blank had no place in Cindralis, no story to tell, no light to shine. He was a ghost in a world of blazing stars.
He adjusted his threadbare coat and glanced at the faded clock tower at the center of the district. Nearly midnight. His employer had promised his pay two hours ago, yet there was no sign of the man. Typical. Jobs for Blanks were always menial, unreliable, and poorly paid. But Kaylen needed every scrap he could get.
"Hey, Moore!" a gruff voice barked behind him.
Kaylen turned to see Gerik, the hulking overseer of the district's freight depot. His Signature glowed faintly on his forearm—a swirling mark of brute strength that allowed him to lift weights no normal human could manage. It was the kind of power Kaylen had always envied.
"Your shift ended hours ago," Gerik said, tossing a small pouch at Kaylen's feet. "That's your cut. Don't spend it all on booze."
Kaylen picked up the pouch, weighing it in his hand. Too light. He opened it to find a handful of coins—half of what he was owed. His jaw tightened. "This isn't what we agreed on."
Gerik smirked. "You're lucky you're getting anything at all. Blanks don't have much bargaining power, kid."
Kaylen wanted to argue, but the crowd's indifferent stares reminded him of his place. He slipped the pouch into his pocket and walked away, swallowing his frustration. Confronting someone like Gerik would only end with him flat on the pavement.
He wandered through the maze of alleys, avoiding the brighter streets where the talented flaunted their powers. It wasn't worth the sting of their pitying or mocking gazes. After a few turns, he arrived at his tiny apartment—a single room above a junk shop. The walls were thin, the floor creaked with every step, and the air smelled faintly of mildew. But it was his.
Kaylen collapsed onto the sagging mattress and stared at the cracked ceiling. The city seemed alive with possibility for everyone but him. He had tried everything to awaken a Signature—training, meditation, even expensive remedies from traveling charlatans. Nothing had worked. He was a Blank, and nothing could change that.
As he drifted into uneasy sleep, a faint noise pulled him back. A metallic clang echoed from the alley below. He sat up, listening. Another clang, followed by muffled voices. Curious, Kaylen slipped to the window and peered outside.
Two figures were struggling to open a large crate, their movements frantic. One of them muttered something about "getting it before they notice." The other glanced around nervously.
Kaylen's curiosity turned to intrigue when he saw the crate's markings—a symbol of the High Quarter. Whatever was inside was valuable, likely stolen. He hesitated. Getting involved could mean trouble, but his life was already miserable. What was there to lose?
Against his better judgment, Kaylen crept downstairs and into the alley. The figures were too focused on their task to notice him. As he approached, he caught snippets of their conversation.
"...artifact from the old ruins. They say it's worth a fortune."
"Yeah, if we can figure out how to use it without blowing ourselves up."
Kaylen's heart raced. An artifact? Most relics from the old world were dangerous, but they were also incredibly valuable. If he could get his hands on it, maybe he could finally buy a way out of this wretched life.
He stepped closer, his foot accidentally kicking a loose can. The figures froze, whipping around to face him.
"Who's there?" one of them demanded, their Signature glowing faintly on their wrist.
Kaylen raised his hands. "Relax. I just... overheard you talking. Maybe we can make a deal?"
The two thieves exchanged glances, then burst into laughter. "A Blank, trying to cut a deal?" one sneered. "What could you possibly offer us?"
Kaylen clenched his fists, his mind racing. He had no leverage, no power to intimidate them. But desperation made him bold. "You're trying to figure out how to use that thing, right? I might not have a Signature, but I know people. I can help you."
The taller thief narrowed his eyes. "You're bluffing."
"Maybe," Kaylen admitted. "But if you kill me, you lose your chance to find out."
The thieves hesitated, then lowered their weapons slightly. "Fine," the taller one said. "You help us figure this out, and we'll split the profit. But cross us, and you're dead."
Kaylen nodded, trying to mask his relief. As they pried open the crate, his eyes fell on the artifact inside—a small, intricate device that seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy. He didn't know what it was, but something about it called to him.
He reached out, his fingers brushing its surface. The moment he made contact, the artifact pulsed with light, and a strange sensation coursed through him. Kaylen's breath caught in his throat as he felt... something. Power. Potential.
For the first time in his life, Kaylen didn't feel empty.
He felt unstoppable.