Exodus stood tall over the Sun Continent, a land that eclipsed all others in power and influence. It was the supreme country, the "Master of Sovereign," reigning over the three other continents—Atlantic, Overshore, and Heavenly. But this was no simple world. It was one where mortals lived under the constant gaze of the divine.
In this world, Divine Cosmology shaped everything. The divine hierarchy started with the deities, beings that seemed powerful to mortals but were merely extensions of something greater. Entities, their creators, stood above them, immortal and mad, wielding power so vast they birthed the gods. Beyond even the entities were Existences, incomprehensible beings tied to the very essence of the world. They weren't just a part of the universe—they were the universe.
But for those on the lower plane, existence was a battle for power. The divine ruled from above, but mortals weren't without their own strange opportunities. Years ago, something mysterious descended upon the world: The Ladder.
The Ladder was a phenomenon—a game, though calling it that seemed wrong. It felt like stepping into another reality, a place where the rules of the world shifted. Anyone could enter it. Many did. And many died.
The Ladder was not kind. Those who chose not to participate had to resign themselves to a life without power. In a world ruled by strength, this was little better than death. Each scenario in the Ladder was like a trial, created by a deity and shaped by their unique path. Rumors claimed the scenarios were fragments of ruined realms, shattered pieces of other timelines and eras.
Those who survived and succeeded would climb higher on the Ladder. At first, their scenarios were overseen by deities. But for the strongest Climbers, a more dangerous challenge awaited. At the top of the Ladder, it was said that scenarios began to be governed by entities. Some even whispered of scenarios ruled by Existences themselves.
But those were just whispers. No one had seen such things and lived to tell the tale.
Power earned through the Ladder wasn't just for show. It came with its own hierarchy, a clear structure that defined strength:
• C-Class: Basic and low-level power. Beginners.
• B-Class: The moderately strong, capable but not yet feared.
• A-Class: Strong. Influential. Names that carried weight.
• S-Class: Heroes, legends. They were the faces people knew.
• SS-Class: Rulers of battlefields. The few who could take down armies.
• SSS-Class: Untouchable. Almost divine. The world knew their names.
But the Ladder wasn't the only path to strength. In Exodus, the prestigious 6th Circle Academy trained its own kind of warriors—Cutters. These were humans forged into weapons for the monarchy, the supposed saviors of humanity. The academy trained students in the art of war, preparing them to face the dangers of the Ladder and the chaotic threats that plagued the lower plane.
Cutters weren't just soldiers. Many were celebrities, hailed as champions by the people of Exodus. But not everyone at the academy was destined for greatness. Power dictated status, and the academy was ruthless in its rankings. Those placed in the lower tiers often found themselves crushed under the pressure of expectations—or lack of them.
Amid all this chaos, something else simmered in the shadows. Beneath the divine hierarchy, the Ladder, and the academy's structured order, there were hints of a deeper truth. But the world wasn't ready to face it. Not yet.
"Hello, I am Z," the boy introduced himself, his voice calm but tinged with subtle humor. He stood in front of a stern-looking woman in her early forties, seated behind an imposing desk. Her nameplate read: Administrator Helda Vryn.
Helda studied him with raised brows, her surprise barely hidden. A boy with his eyes sewn shut, threads crisscrossing over empty sockets, stood confidently before her. His walking stick rested lightly against his side, more like a prop than a necessity.
"You're blind," she said bluntly, her tone sharp and inquisitive. "And yet, here you are."
Z nodded, tilting his head slightly. "Here I am," he echoed, smiling faintly.
Helda leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming against the polished wood. "I don't recall approving any blind candidates for the 6th Circle Academy."
"You didn't," Z replied. "The system did."
Her fingers stopped. "The system?"
He gestured vaguely with his walking stick. "Divine intervention? Bureaucratic oversight? Chaos? Take your pick."
Helda narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Instead, she rose, her boots clicking against the floor as she walked around the desk. "Follow me. Let's get you settled."
Z tapped his stick lightly on the ground as he followed her. The halls of the academy were vast and cold, echoing with distant voices and hurried footsteps. Helda walked briskly, her heels a steady rhythm against the stone.
"Let me be clear," she began, not bothering to look back at him. "The 6th Circle Academy is not a place for pity or charity. Students are ranked by their strength, their intelligence, and their ability to survive. If you're weak, you're a burden. And burdens don't last long here."
Z chuckled softly. "Sounds fun."
Helda ignored his comment. "The academy exists for one purpose: to train Cutters. Weapons for the monarchy. Saviors of humanity, if you prefer the romantic term. But let me tell you, Z—this is no fairy tale. You're either forged into something great, or you shatter under the pressure. Most don't survive long enough to find out which they are."
As they walked, Z listened closely to her words. The academy was a crucible, a place where faith and skill merged. Some students grew powerful through sheer will, their unshakable faith in their deity granting them divine guidance and abilities. Others relied on strategy, brute force, or cunning. But no matter the method, the result was the same: power.
They turned a corner, entering a grand hall where the academy's rankings were displayed. A massive board of names stretched across the wall, glowing faintly with an ethereal light.
"Rankings are everything here," Helda said, pointing to the list. "Every name on this board represents a student's worth. Strength, skill, and survival—they determine your rank. The higher you are, the more respect you command. The lower you are…" She trailed off, her gaze sliding down to the very bottom of the board.
There, at the lowest rank, were four names:
• Z
• Kai
• Hao
• T-Jan
Z smiled as if he could see the board. "Right at the bottom, huh? I'll bet it's cozy down there."
Helda glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "Cozy isn't the word I'd use. You're at the bottom for a reason. The academy doesn't make mistakes. If you survive, maybe you'll climb. If you don't…" She shrugged.
They continued down the hall until they reached a door. Helda stopped, her hand resting on the handle. "This is your room. I hope you've made peace with your gods, Z. Blind or not, you'll either die here or in the Ladder. And frankly, I don't think it'll take long."
Z tilted his head, his faint smile never wavering. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Administrator."
Helda opened the door, revealing a softly lit dorm room. Before either of them could step inside, something flew toward them—a sharp, rectangular card, spinning through the air with deadly precision.
Helda froze, but Z moved instinctively. His hand shot out, catching the card mid-air with a practiced ease that left the administrator stunned.
For a moment, the room was silent. Then Z held the card up, running his thumb over its surface as if examining it. "Ace of Spades," he said casually, before lowering it.
Helda's lips tightened, but she quickly regained her composure. "Impressive," she muttered, though her tone betrayed her surprise. "But don't get cocky. This place will eat you alive."
Z handed her the card with a grin. "Looking forward to it."
Helda stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. Inside, the sound of faint laughter echoed, followed by the unmistakable voice of one of his new roommates.
"Welcome to the bottom, blind boy."