Why do bad things happen to good people? This world is corrupt. The government only cares about themselves, the rich get richer, and the poor… well, we just get stepped on. It's not fair, but who cares about fairness anymore? Not the politicians sitting in their ivory towers, that's for sure. And definitely not the Awakeners—those lucky bastards who got dealt a better hand in life just because they were born with powers.
I've seen it my whole life. Kids at the orphanage who suddenly "awaken" and get whisked away to some fancy academy, leaving the rest of us behind like we're nothing. They come back years later, wearing expensive clothes and looking down on us like we're trash. And the worst part? They're right. In this world, if you don't have power, you're nothing.
I'm Rome, by the way. Just Rome. No last name, no family, no powers. Just another nobody trying to survive in a world that doesn't give a damn about people like me.
Tonight, like most nights, I'm wandering the streets, trying to clear my head. The orphanage is too loud, too crowded, and too damn depressing. Out here, at least, I can pretend I'm free. But even the streets aren't safe anymore. Ever since that new Awakener showed up in the district, things have been… different. People disappearing, strange noises in the night, and rumors of someone—or something—hunting in the shadows.
I should've known better than to be out this late. But what can I say? Stupidity is one of my many talents.
I'm halfway down an alley when I hear it—a low, guttural growl that sends a chill down my spine. I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. The sound comes again, closer this time, and I realize it's not an animal. It's human. Or at least, it used to be.
Before I can turn and run, a figure steps out of the shadows. He's tall, with wild eyes and a twisted grin that makes my stomach churn. His clothes are torn, and his skin is pale, almost glowing in the dim light. But what really catches my attention is the way the air around him seems to shimmer, like heat rising off asphalt in the summer.
"You…" he rasps, his voice barely human. "You can see me, can't you?"
I don't answer. I can't. My legs feel like they're rooted to the ground, and my mind is screaming at me to move, to run, to do anything but stand here like an idiot.
The man—if you can even call him that—tilts his head, studying me like I'm some kind of insect. "Interesting," he mutters. "Most people can't see me anymore. Not since I… changed."
Changed? What the hell is he talking about?
Before I can ask, he lunges at me, faster than anything I've ever seen. One moment he's standing there, and the next, his hand is around my throat, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. I struggle, clawing at his arm, but it's like trying to bend steel.
"Don't worry," he says, his grin widening. "It'll be over soon."
I feel a searing pain in my chest, like my heart is being ripped out of my body. My vision goes dark, and the last thing I hear is the sound of my own heartbeat, slowing to a stop.
The pain hits me first. It's not just pain—it's agony. My chest feels like it's being ripped open, my heart clawed apart by invisible hands. I can't breathe. I can't scream. All I can do is feel it, every second of it, as my body betrays me and my vision goes dark.
And then… nothing.
I wake up gasping, my body convulsing as if it's still trying to escape the pain. My hands claw at my chest, searching for the wound that isn't there. My throat burns, and I realize I'm screaming, the sound raw and guttural. It takes me a moment to realize where I am. The alley. The same damn alley. The same cracked pavement, the same flickering streetlight, the same cold night air.
But it's not the same. Because I died here. I felt myself die.
I collapse to my knees, my stomach heaving. This time, when I throw up, it's not just bile. It's everything—fear, pain, disbelief. My body shakes uncontrollably, and I can't tell if it's from the cold or the memory of what just happened. What is happening.
I died. I died, and now I'm here. How? Why?
My mind races, but there are no answers. Just the echo of that man's voice, his twisted grin, and the way he looked at me like I was nothing. Like killing me was nothing.
I have to get out of here. I have to run. But my legs won't move. They're trembling too much, and every time I try to stand, I feel like I'm going to collapse again. So I crawl. I crawl out of the alley, my hands scraping against the rough pavement, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I don't care how pathetic I look. I just need to get away.
The streets are empty, but I don't trust it. Every shadow feels like it's watching me, every sound like it's getting closer. I keep expecting him to appear again, to step out of the darkness and finish what he started. But he doesn't. Not yet.
When I finally make it back to the orphanage, I don't even remember how I got there. My body moves on autopilot, dragging me through the door and up the stairs to my room. I don't stop to talk to anyone. I don't even look at them. If they say anything to me, I don't hear it. All I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat, pounding in my ears like a drum.
I slam the door shut behind me and collapse onto my bed, pulling the thin blanket over my head like it's some kind of shield. It's stupid, I know. A blanket isn't going to protect me from… whatever that was. But right now, it's all I have.
I close my eyes, but all I see is him. That man. His wild eyes, his twisted grin, the way he looked at me like I was nothing. And the pain. God, the pain. It's still there, like a ghost haunting my body. I can feel it in my chest, in my throat, in every nerve ending. It's like I'm still dying, over and over again.
I don't know how long I lie there, shaking and gasping for air. Eventually, the panic starts to fade, replaced by a dull, numb exhaustion. But the fear doesn't go away. It's there, lurking in the back of my mind, waiting for me to let my guard down.
What the hell is happening to me?
I don't know how long I lie there, shaking and gasping for air. Eventually, the panic starts to fade, replaced by a dull, numb exhaustion. But the fear doesn't go away. It's there, lurking in the back of my mind, waiting for me to let my guard down.
A soft knock at the door makes me jump. "Rome?" It's Mira. Of course it's Mira. She's only thirteen, but sometimes she acts like she's the older one, always checking on me like she thinks I'm going to disappear one day. Maybe she's right.
"Go away," I croak, my voice barely audible. I don't want her to see me like this. I don't want anyone to see me like this.
But she doesn't leave. Instead, the door creaks open, and her small face peers inside. "Are you okay? You look… really bad."
I want to snap at her, to tell her to mind her own business. But the concern in her voice stops me. She's just a kid. She doesn't deserve my anger.
"I'm fine," I lie, sitting up and running a hand through my hair. It's damp with sweat. "Just… had a bad dream."
Mira frowns, clearly not buying it. "You were screaming. I heard you all the way downstairs."
Great. Just what I need—the whole orphanage knowing I'm losing my mind. "It was nothing," I say, my voice sharper than I intended. "Just leave me alone, okay?"
She hesitates for a moment, then nods and closes the door. I feel a pang of guilt, but I push it aside. I don't have time to worry about her right now. I have bigger problems.
Like the fact that I died. And came back.
I glance at the cracked mirror on the wall. My reflection stares back at me, pale and wide-eyed, like a ghost. I look like I've been through hell. Maybe I have.
My chest still aches, a dull throb that reminds me of what happened. I pull my shirt aside and freeze. There's a mark there, faint but unmistakable—a jagged slash that looks like a scar, but I know it wasn't there before. It's where that man's power hit me. Where I died.
I touch it gingerly, half-expecting it to burn. But it's cold, like ice. What the hell is this? Is it some kind of… reminder? A warning?
I don't know. And I don't want to know. That man—whoever he is, whatever he is—he's dangerous. More dangerous than anything I've ever seen. And if I never see him again, it'll be too soon.
Another knock at the door makes me jump. "Rome?" It's Mira again. "The district head is here. He says everyone has to come downstairs for the inauguration of the new Area Head."
I groan. Of course. The district head. Because what I really need right now is to stand around listening to some pompous bureaucrat talk about how great everything is going to be under the new leadership. Like anything ever changes for people like us.
"I'm not going," I mutter, pulling the blanket over my head. "Tell them I'm sick."
"You are sick," Mira says, her voice softening. "But you know how District Head Arlen is. If you don't show up, he'll make trouble for the orphanage. And Mrs. Kael can't afford that."
I curse under my breath. She's right. District Head Arlen is a stickler for appearances, and he loves making examples out of people who don't fall in line. If I don't show up, he'll take it out on Mrs. Kael, and she's the closest thing to a mother any of us have.
"Fine," I grumble, dragging myself out of bed. My legs are still shaky, but I force myself to stand. "But if I pass out in the middle of his speech, it's not my fault."
Mira gives me a small smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She's worried about me. I don't blame her. I'm worried about me too.
As I follow her downstairs, I can't help but glance at the scar on my chest again. It's still there, faint but undeniable. A reminder of what happened. Of what could happen again.
I don't know what's going on. I don't know why I came back. But one thing's for sure: I'm not ready to face it. Not yet.
The orphanage's common room is packed, every kid and caretaker squeezed into the small space. District Head Arlen stands at the front, his polished shoes clicking against the worn wooden floor as he paces. He's dressed in his usual finery—a tailored suit that probably costs more than the orphanage's annual budget—and his expression is a mix of impatience and barely concealed disdain.
"Listen up," he barks, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. "The new Area Head will be here any moment. I expect you all to be on your best behavior. This is a historic occasion, and I won't have any of you embarrassing me."
I roll my eyes but keep my mouth shut. Arlen's always been a blowhard, but today he's especially insufferable. Probably because he's trying to impress the new boss. The Area Head oversees all three districts in the region—everything within a 40-mile radius—and if the rumors are true, this one's a real piece of work.
Outside, the sound of an engine roars to life, cutting through the tense silence. It's not the usual hum of a government vehicle. This is something else—something sleek and powerful. The kids rush to the windows, pressing their faces against the glass to get a look.
"It's a Veytris!" one of them shouts, his voice filled with awe.
I've never heard of a Veytris, but from the way everyone's reacting, it must be something special. I stay where I am, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. I don't care about some fancy car. I just want this to be over so I can go back to pretending none of this is happening.
The door swings open, and the room falls silent. District Head Arlen straightens his tie and steps forward, his face plastered with a fake smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the new Area Head, His Excellency… Lucian Veyra."
The name echoes through the room, and for a moment, nothing happens. Then, a figure steps through the doorway, and the air changes.
Lucian Veyra looks… young. Too young. He can't be much older than me—sixteen, maybe seventeen at most. His hair is dark and neatly styled, his suit immaculate, and his eyes… his eyes are sharp, like they see everything. But it's not his appearance that makes the room go still. It's the weight of his presence.
The moment he steps inside, the air feels heavier, like an invisible force is pressing down on all of us. My chest tightens, and I struggle to breathe. Around me, kids are clutching their throats, their faces pale. Even District Head Arlen looks uncomfortable, though he's trying to hide it.
Lucian raises a hand, and just like that, the pressure vanishes. The room collectively exhales, and a few kids collapse to their knees, gasping for air. Lucian smiles, but there's no warmth in it. "My apologies," he says, his voice smooth and commanding. "Sometimes I forget my own strength."
He steps further into the room, his polished shoes clicking against the floor. The other two district heads—men I don't recognize—follow behind him, their heads bowed like obedient dogs. Lucian doesn't even glance at them. His attention is on the room, on all of us, and I can feel his gaze like a physical weight.
"I won't waste your time with empty promises," he begins, his voice carrying effortlessly through the room. "The world is changing, and those who cannot adapt will be left behind. My role is to ensure that this region thrives in the new era. But make no mistake—I do not tolerate weakness. Those who prove themselves will be rewarded. Those who do not… will be removed."
His words are met with silence. Even the younger kids seem to understand the gravity of what he's saying. I should be paying attention, but my eyes are drawn to something on his hand—a mark, faint but unmistakable. It's a jagged slash, just like the scar on my chest.
My breath catches. Where have I seen that before?
And then it hits me. The deranged man. The one who killed me. He had the same mark.
My chest tightens, and I clutch at the scar beneath my shirt. The room feels like it's spinning, and all I can think about is running, getting as far away from here as possible. But before I can move, Lucian's eyes lock onto mine.
"Is something wrong?" he asks, his voice dripping with false concern. There's a snarky grin on his face, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. Like he's enjoying this.
I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. The room feels like it's closing in, and all I can do is stand there, frozen, as Lucian's grin widens.