The Last Healer - Chapter 1: One More Time

"I'll be trying again today, Ma." Auren sat beside the bed, holding the frail woman’s hand in both of his.

Ylria Moarth wore a faded blue hospital gown, the murky white crystal around her neck the only personal item she retained. Her half closed eyes roamed without focus.

"It’s time for this year’s class unlock ceremony. You never know, right? I could still awaken. I’ve been training every night, all year." He didn’t know if she could understand him, but talking to her was the only thing he knew to do, his only hope of maintaining a semblance of a family.

Soul fragmentation such as hers caused a sort of dementia, and it had been years since she gave any sign of recognizing or remembering him. Hopefully the sound of his voice would help her feel less alone.

“Even if I’m still stuck at F-rank, as long as my soul is strong enough to unlock a class, it would change our lives. I could get you into the top rooms here. With a classer salary, I could pay enough for that, you know? Get you some real windows.” The half-dead screen whose surviving corner flickered between generic scenery from wealthier, better-kept worlds was the closest thing she had in this room. “Maybe even hire a personal nurse, so you wouldn't have to be alone while I’m working."

His mother said nothing. Nothing coherent, anyway. She tilted her head in his general direction for a moment and made sounds, but there was no recognition in her eyes, no meaning to her words. Her interest soon wandered away, and her brief outburst of vocalizations faded to silence.

“Is that so?” Auren’s smile was forced, sad. "I slept well today. I had a rather anxious dream, but I did sleep well. You’ve been sleeping better, I hope? You seem more awake today. When I come back, we’ll do some exercises, yeah? Maybe you can come on a walk with me this evening."

She tugged her hand out of his grip to play with the crystal on her necklace instead.

Auren sighed and brushed the grey hair back from her face, gently, while she was distracted. She was more often placid than aggressive, but he’d been bitten more than once when moving too quickly around her.

“I love you, Mom,” he whispered, then stood. He hesitated at the door, turning back to her. “You’ll be fine, right Ma?”

She only cooed at her necklace, ignoring his presence completely.

Ylria was barely a husk at this point, yet she was the one person who’d been a reliable constant in Auren’s life. Even incoherent as she was, she’d outlasted four different caretakers who’d briefly tried to take on the task of raising or providing for Auren in his youth. After his father disappeared when he was a baby, she’d been his one anchor, his shield against despair.

Whatever accident had fractured her soul and left her in this state of slow degradation, it happened when Auren was too young to remember her any other way. And her condition had been getting worse in recent months.

If not for his hospice training, he wouldn’t have known what to do with her at all.

Luckily, the East Zellene Outpost Hospice Center was one of the few government jobs not to require classer certification for its employees and had a liberal benefits policy. Of course, it only existed thanks to a long-forgotten outskirt assistance program set up twenty or thirty years ago in the direct aftermath of the Break, a program Auren suspected would be defunded if anyone noticed it still existed. The immediate fallout had been cleaned up years ago and the long-term lingering effects weren’t going anywhere, no matter how much money you threw at them.

But for now, the center received automatic monthly payments, enough to hire Auren and a dozen other workers; enough to support several hundred of the most vulnerable citizens living in the shattered suburb.

Enough to let him smuggle his mother in and give her at least a shred of quality life. Here she at least had a heated room, a door that kept the wind out, and a roof to shield her from rain. Luxuries compared to the setup in his warehouse. He might be able to get by sleeping in a half-collapsed wreck, but without the Hospice Center’s charity, he’d have lost her years ago.

More and more lately, he’d been feeling reluctant to leave her alone even for a few hours. To travel all the way to the second ring for the Awakening Ceremony meant he’d be away almost the entire day.

He glanced at his watch reflexively and grimaced. It wasn’t even dawn yet, but he’d be late if he didn’t get on his way soon.

“I’ll be back tonight,” Auren promised. He opened the door gently and slipped out. The well-maintained door didn’t so much as squeak, only the faint click of the security bolt engaging as he closed the door behind him.

For this wretched outer city that Zellene was, this hospice center truly was one of the best. It was one of the few places that took care of the fallen and lowly, that protected them from the predators that stalked the outer suburbs—both human and otherwise.

She’d be fine. It was one day.

But the nagging voice of failure insisted he was wasting his time. If his soul had been unawakened, no class available, every year for the past decade…

Soul strength grew proportionately to your baseline. Someone awakening at E-rank could reasonably expect to reach D-rank within their lifetime, so long as they worked hard.

But F-rank was a different case. The weakest of the weak. While every other rank implied an inherent class awakening had taken place, F-rank came in two varieties. Awakened, which gave one a class and the potential to advance to E-rank before they died… and Unawakened, souls with so little power that their growth would never take them anywhere. Insufficient to fuel even the weakest of classes.

Familiar anxiety bubbled up under his skin, a mix of distant, stubborn hope and bare, unrelenting reality. Fear that no matter how many times he went through the awakening ceremony and let the system scan for his potential, he would always be an Unawakened F-ranker. Empty. Dead end.

Every single year, even though he knew the likely outcome already, he still made the trek in to the second ring plaza. Maybe out of desperation. Maybe it was just an obligation at this point, one last part of him that he was not willing to let go.

He tried every time. This wasn't foolish. The ones who just tried once and gave up—those were the foolish ones. Trying the Awakening ceremony repeatedly, when it was affordable, was just a matter of persistence.

Sure, soul growth was incredibly slow at F-rank, all but imperceptible, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. Eventually even the smallest of improvements would add up. Surely.

"Hey, Auren, what’re you doing here so early?" His supervisor's voice broke him out of his reverie. Osmond stepped out into the hall, closing the door to room 103 behind him, and smiled at Auren. “Trying to get ahead on your paperwork for a change? Don’t forget to clock in.”

The man had grey hair from old age and a peppered beard, but the size and stature of someone who looked like he ought to be leading a guild of rough warriors rather than carrying a tablet and checking on paperwork. But just like Auren, Osmond was also unawakened, his appearance of strength a mere facade.

Normally, Auren would have been happy to laugh and banter with his manager. The old man was one of his few friends in this wretched town. With his jovial and open personality, he was a good man—nice to everyone, kind even to those he did not need to be, and considerate of people regardless of their background. Osmond was a good man, probably the only man who cared about Auren beyond the obligatory co-worker facade of friendliness.

But today was far too tense to pretend normalcy.

“I’m not staying,” Auren answered shortly. “Awakening ceremony.”

"You’re going to try again. That's a long way to walk." The pity and sympathy in his supervisor's eyes made Auren feel like he wanted to scratch his skin off, but Osmond meant well. “Who knows, maybe you'll unlock something super special. Don't forget me if you do, okay?"

It was a hollow attempt at cheering him up, but knowing someone cared enough to try was enough to lighten the mood. Auren did his best to smile, and hoped it didn’t look as much like a grimace as it felt. "Yeah, sure thing, Boss. If I get a B-rank class and reach the top of the world, I'll not forget you, don't worry. Find you a ticket to the inner worlds, get us off this crystal-infested death trap."

Osmond laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "I don’t know if I have what it takes to go off chasing the interior, kid. But at least come and say goodbye if you do get a B-rank class. None of that flying off and never visiting nonsense."

“I promise.”

—

The hospice center, while one of the larger buildings on its particular street, wasn’t particularly large compared to those beyond it, closer to the inner city. Its five stories of well-kept and highly secured rooms set it apart from the half-collapsed ruins that comprised most of the suburbs, but would make it one of the smaller buildings in Second Ring or Zellene Central.

His workplace was also the closest Auren generally came to the third ring, the outermost ‘protected’ region of the city. In reality, the third ring—at least, on the eastern side Auren was familiar with—was run by criminals and fear. Even the shattered suburbs were safer if one refused to play along.

The hospice center having been established this far out was a concession of massive proportion, and that it still ran was nothing short of a miracle.

Third Ring didn’t rate its own Awakening ceremony, so today was the singular exception to the Second Ring entrance policies. There weren’t going to be enough people any further out with potential to be worth making a separate awakening ceremony for. If you were Outer Edge, you walked or you gave up on it. Who cared about them?

The one in a hundred chance was a bit of a desperate grasping. Even more desperate when you’d already been rejected every time for the past ten years, but what could he say? Auren was stubborn.

The entry plaza would be locked down, without the usual market crowds, to prevent outer-ring scum from stealing anything or trying to sneak in—but they were still technically allowed to try their luck at Awakening. If they failed, no loss, they could be thrown back. If they succeeded, it would be a PR victory that could be held up as a beacon of hope to the undertrodden for years to come.

As someone who spent most of his life in the outer suburbs, where you had to be alert for the occasional mutant hyena attack as much as for your fellow desperate neighbors, the third ring was an entirely different form of danger—one Auren wasn’t nearly as confident of dealing with. Even these buildings, trying to appear fancy, had to stick to darker colors because white was reserved for the truly rich, given how much dust was kicked up. These buildings were made of plain concrete, with windows that looked like prison cells.

While the suburbs were chaotic no-man’s land full of scavengers and slow death, and the second ring was glittering extravagance, Third Ring looked nice enough to pretend to be secure while hiding its dark side from the unwary.

The majority of Awakened F-rankers ended up living and working in third ring. Positions there almost universally required the classer certification—however unrelated one’s work may be to their class—and paid commensurately more.

But it also meant the class divide was on full display. Unawakened, even if they made up around half of the third ring’s population, were tolerated, not welcomed, and would be thrown out into the suburbs at the slightest provocation. Assuming they weren’t killed on the spot. Auren had heard enough stories about that…

He hurried along the road, sticking close to the edges in the fog, doing his best to be unobtrusive. Because it was early morning, the streets were completely empty. The metro wasn't running yet, and the buildings were all closed. No one else could be seen.

Occasionally, the flash of an animated billboard cut through the night, advertising the grand cities of distant planets, as though anyone out here would ever be able to afford off-world transportation. Relics of the time before the plagues and corruption, when the city had been whole and wealthy, rather than this divided shadow of its former glory.

Auren was always surprised these ads had survived. If it were him—or half the people in the suburbs—he’d have torn those things apart for their component pieces long ago. Perhaps the gangs who ruled Third Ring found them amusing. Or perhaps the Order required the peasants to be reminded that there was a better place out there, if they worked hard enough and stayed in line.

Vehicles rarely passed on these roads because almost no one owned them; the metro or trams were the main forms of transport. But the width of the roads was testament to a previous era where traffic was faster and more crowded, even if the newer buildings began to impinge upon their territory.

Two hours later, Auren saw the first signs of life along his dim trek. A janitor with his cart stood outside a bar, the interior still lit and muted music drifting on the air. If he weren’t in a hurry, paranoid beyond reason, and completely broke, he might have been tempted. The front was clean, windows shone invitingly with warm light, and the last signs of detritus were being gathered up by the cleaner to add to his half-filled bin.

Auren gave the man a smile and waved as he walked past, and the man gave him a nod in return without pausing in his work. Unawakened didn’t have the luxury of working reasonable hours in the third ring. It made Auren grateful for the hospice center all over again. And to Osmond for so aggressively protecting Auren’s position, even when applicants were many and space tight.

He hadn’t gone more than a few steps before he heard voices coming from ahead, accompanied by the lurch of panic that came every time he was in the presence of a stronger soul. He immediately sidestepped into the nearest alley and pressed himself against the wall, hoping desperately that they wouldn’t notice him.

The group walked past a moment later, laughing and playfully shoving one another.

Classers, five of them. They were young, probably still teenagers, though it was sometimes hard to tell with classers. Two wore reinforced, dark grey jackets with far too many buckles. The other three were simply in shirts. But he could feel all of them were Awakened.

Osmond had called Auren delusional when he claimed he could see the strength of a classer’s soul, but whether it was a survival trait or a sign that he was actually stronger than the average F-ranker, Auren had always been able to distinguish classer flares. He couldn't guess what classes they possessed—only that three of them had unique classes from the other two, who had the same—but even if he hadn’t been able to see their strength he’d have known their status as soon as he saw them.

The way they walked, the way their voices echoed out carelessly through the dark, unconcerned with anyone who may be sleeping. 

Auren watched from the alleyway, not daring to move. His dark hoodie over drab robes helped him blend in, especially when it was still fully dark. He probably wouldn't be noticed.

But the cleaner—an older man, zealously scrubbing at a orangeish stain on the front step—had nowhere to hide. He bowed respectfully and mumbled something Auren couldn’t make out, moving his cart aside to let them pass.

The blond-haired buckle-wearing classer’s voice was the opposite. “What’d you say?” He took a step toward the man while his friends tittered and offered suggestions, most of which were too faint for Auren to overhear. “Back again, huh? What are you implying? You judging me? A soulless nobody, judging me?”

The man backed away, bowing deeper, his tone placating. Auren wished he were close enough to hear more; and he wished he was far enough away not to hear any of it.

“You think an apology is good enough?” The ranker kicked the man’s cart, sending the supplies flying in all directions and spilling the bin’s contents in a pile on the corner.

The others in the group were laughing as if it were the funniest thing they'd ever seen. The janitor looked up at the group, confusion in his eyes as though uncertain if he should protest or run.

Auren gritted his teeth. Just because they were Awakened, did they think they had the right to do this? To treat a fellow person like nothing but dust?

When I'm a Classer, I won't be like that, he swore to himself.

He could do better. Every Awakened could do better. It didn't have to be like this; they didn't have to oppress each other.

One of the other rankers stepped forward, pushing the man to the ground, yelling, "What? Why are you looking at us like that, huh? You want to fight?"

The cleaner protested, "No, no, I did not! I'm sorry!"

"Really? Bugs like you out so early in the morning make our walks feel pathetic. And be sure to tell your boss, we’re not interested in visiting this place, see? We’re just walking by. So keep your opinions to yourself."

Auren felt it a moment before he saw it, the surge of power running up the F-ranker’s arm. Then a flash of light blasted down into the center of the spilled garbage before detonating with a soft boom that shook the ground all the way to where Auren was hiding.

The explosion sent the detritus scattering in all directions, some of it splattered against the walls, others rolled across the street, more flew into the air and ended up adorning the roof. He’d just turned what could have been a three minute cleanup into one requiring well over a half hour.

"Gather it all again," the F-ranker said, a sadistic grin on his face. "That's your job, anyway. Maybe if you’re kept busy you won’t be judging your betters."

The bastard gave a satisfied scoff at his work, then nodded to the rest, starting to move on.

"Oh no, wait, Nerro!" The second fancier-dressed ranker projected his voice, the mocking tone unmistakable. "Don't go too far. You wouldn't want him to file a complaint."

The rest of the group began to roar with laughter, one of them even looked like he was on the verge of rolling on the floor.

The first classer scoffed. "Him? File a complaint? This bug? Tell him to go climb a Tier first!"

The cleaner said nothing now. He didn't even dare meet their eyes, simply looking down at the floor, shaking slightly.

“Not gonna apologize for the mess? It looks pretty bad out here. Not going to beg forgiveness for being such a bad ambassador for your employer?”

Slowly, the man went to his knees, mumbling what Auren assumed to be an apology.

“Good enough,” said the fifth one, who hadn't bothered to involve himself in this whole mess until now. "Come on, we've got to go. The early session starts in a few minutes, remember?"

The others froze, then turned towards the speaker. "Shit, you're right," said the explosion mage who’d scattered the garbage.

Without another word, they crossed the road and resumed chattering as if what they'd done was nothing but a fun side tangent—which it probably was to them.

Once they disappeared around a turn, Auren popped out of his hiding place and walked towards the cleaner. "Are you alright?"

The older man looked up at him, and Auren could see the unshed tears in his eyes, the sheer anger, frustration, and sadness the man was feeling.

Offering a hand, he lifted the old man up.

The old man thanked him in a tiny voice he could barely muster, then looked at all the trash spread across the road.

"I'll help you," Auren offered, heaving the cart back upright and stooping to gather up the scattered tools. He still had time before the Awakening ceremony; he could help the man gather the trash. At least spare him the meaningless repetition of finished work.

The old man shook his head. "Thank you, young man, but this is my job. I should do it. You go do whatever you came to do."

"You already did it once,” Auren argued. “I'll just help you gather it again."

"I'm used to this." The old man brushed away the tears and smiled, seeming genuinely unbothered, his emotions now fully controlled. "Don't worry on my account. Boss pays the same whether it’s once or a dozen times, yeah?"

“I suppose so, if you’re sure.”

"I am. So, what brings you here? Looking for a drink, or just passing through?"

"Passing through. The Awakening ceremony starts in a couple hours.”

At that, the old man's eyebrows raised. "You from the suburbs?”

Auren nodded, frowning. “Why?”

“And you come all this way. Guess you haven’t heard?"

"Why, heard what? What do you mean?"

"You're unlucky, kid. I heard them talking last month. They’ll be putting in an ID check before letting anyone upring today. Been a while since they’ve done that, but they’re getting tired of wasting time on…” he glanced over Auren and shrugged. “Well, you know what they think of us.”

"Oh, is that all?” Auren relaxed and patted his pocket. “I do have an ID. I'm a hospice worker. Government subsidy, fully official.”

At that, the old man's eyebrows rose further. "Well, good for you," his voice sounded relieved. "If you were an unregistered citizen, you wouldn't have been able to Awaken this year. I'm glad you have an ID."

“Thanks for the warning.”

"Don't dilly-dally with me here," the old man said, waving his hand up the dark road toward the ringwall. "Go begin your Awakening ceremony! Alright? And thank you once again. It's been a while since I've had someone bother to talk with me."

Auren didn't know what to say. Right. He was an older man; his family had probably died, considering he was working as a cleaner just to survive. 

The old man chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't look at me like that, kid. Contrary to what it may seem, I do have a good life. Now go, go! Don’t waste your time here. Chase those hopes while you’re still young enough to believe them."

The old janitor turned away and leaned down to start collecting the trash, gathering it piece by piece.

—

The ringwall checkpoint dividing Second and Third rings was heavily manned, unlike the ‘wall’ between third ring and the suburbs, which could be bypassed with a few sticks and a bit of creativity.

As the janitor had warned, the guards on the gate were checking IDs vigorously today. Normally, all he had to say was that he was here for the Awakening and they’d let him past. Now, he was grateful for the paranoia that prevented him leaving valuables behind when he traveled so far.

If he’d left his ID paperwork behind, it might have been awkward trying to get in. The system terminal of the Awakening ceremony itself would recognize him, of course, but insisting the guards follow him to find a system terminal to verify his identification would be a one-way trip to getting laughed out of the city.

As it was, the check was a non-issue. They scanned his documents, compared his employee number to their records, raised an eyebrow at his age, and laughed at him behind his back as he stiffly walked toward the plaza.

Entering the Second Ring, the buildings changed even further from the wreckage he was used to; these were smaller than Third Ring buildings, but also fancier. Newer. Or at least the shade of grey was lighter.

The street was lined with compact two-story houses, clearly for single or double families, depending on their financial circumstances.

But compared to the shabby warehouse he lived in, the sparse and windowless hospice rooms for the dying, and the crowded bunkhouses that were the best the suburbs had to offer, these didn't feel like actual houses. Too grand, too foreign, too alien.

Auren kept his head down and hurried along the edges of the street until he reached the plaza.

It was a fancy place, tiled with stone in artistically arranged patterns and precise angles, with a central pavilion ringed by marble pillars. In the very center was the Awakening Terminal, with its gem flashing high in the sky, visible to anyone in the region.

Two statues flanked the entrance to the plaza, towering over the pavilion and surrounding buildings. They were statues of two of the greatest warriors of the era, at least as far as Zellene was concerned: Lord Titan Lucero, who had saved the planet from complete destruction during the Break, and Lord Titan Azean, known for his great luck and success—an underdog who had truly risen through the lower ranks to reach the highest peak.

Auren brushed a hand across the base of Lord Titan Azean’s statue as he entered, offering a silent prayer to the Titan for strength and success. It was part of his yearly ritual, a way to perhaps borrow a tiny sliver of Azean’s famous good luck.

Apparently, the addition of an ID requirement had allowed them to ease up on the usual security in the plaza itself. In the ring around the Awakener’s terminal were many shops—some for clothes, some for food—all already open and doing a rousing business, despite it being so early that the sun had yet to peek over the wall.

Though it was still early pre-dawn, the line for the Terminal already stretched long. Many people already lined up within the venue. Kids mostly, a few teens, and the adults who accompanied them—perhaps their parents or older siblings.

All of them were ideal customers. Maybe not many would buy clothes, though some would. For food, oh, the vendors were going to make bank today. Auren’s stomach rumbled at the thought, and again when he caught the scent of frying tubers. He’d only had such luxuries once in a rare while. If he had enough money to spare, he might have been tempted. But instead he pulled down his pack and rummaged for the hyena jerky he’d brought, gnawing on that while he waited for the line to advance.

He wondered idly if the decision to verify ID had been a ruling pushed for by merchants seeking greater profits, or if it was unrelated.

As Auren joined the back of the line, he felt eyes roaming over him—from the adults, the teenagers, even the kids. The kids would only be curious why an adult was joining their line, and the teens were unlikely to care except as an excuse to laugh with their friends. The adults, however, made their disgusted disdain obvious. Was he really that desperate to interrupt their children's special moment just to check if he had a class?

Well, yes. Auren had researched the Awakening and soul tier rankings obsessively for years. Even though the percentage chance of him unlocking a class reduced every year, there was still a very real possibility he could Awaken. Maybe just by his sheer perseverance, the System would be impressed and grant him a class.

He had every right to try. Especially with his minor perception talent, that had to be worth something.

Maybe his soul would finally be strong enough this time to get him an observer class or something. Sure, it wouldn’t be the best for advancement, but anything was better than being Unclassed.

So he ignored the adults' glances and took another look around the plaza.

The rotating screen display above the pavilion showed off scenes of glory and wealth and luxury; a noble party in a glittering penthouse on Halrex 5, where beauty was the default and glamor a basic right; Titan Corlun blasting his way through an army of dragons in a dungeon arena, flashes of light accompanying each blow; the peaceful fields of Virrath Prime, with a smiling couple standing on their porch watching four children romp and play with their pet pegasus—miniature version available now at Skyhorse Ranch, contact our office on Virrath 4 for more details.

All the paths available to those who were Awakened. Those who were chosen.

Those born to rich and powerful parents, Auren couldn’t help thinking, uncharitably. Soul strength wasn’t always dependent on your parents’ strength, but there were a whole lot more classers from distinguished lines than from nowhere.

The display went on playing for almost a half hour before looping back to repeat from the start, a shining contrast to the scene of repeated failure below.

He could hear the tears, of course, the sobs as the Unawakened cried. In a city like Zellene, on a planet like Zalrieth, they were the majority. They either slunk off, leaving the plaza as soon as they could, or hung around, falling to the ground in despair, unable to face returning home. Knowing they'd missed the one opportunity they had to ascend to something more, to change the very fate of not only themselves but also their families.

One in three were eligible for a class and usually Awakened one—but that was a global statistic that included the entire planet. For the second ring of a second-rate city, it was more like one in five. And that was taking an average; realistically, the odds were probably much worse.

Everyone thought they'd be the one to beat the odds. Most failed.

The few that succeeded—like the clusters of F-rankers celebrating in front of the food and clothes shops, all gushing to their parents—were rare. At the end of the day, once the Awakening ceremony was over, a Patrol Clerk would gather them all, tell them their options, and explain what they could do next.

Auren had seen it so many times, as he walked away with nothing. With each year that passed, it seemed more and more unlikely that his stubborn hope was worth anything.

While he tried to tell himself he didn't care about being judged, the surprised disgust on the face of every newcomer to the line, to the plaza, still stung. It was irritating.

By then, the sun had risen, the black of night replaced with the pale grey of daytime. Auren spent some time observing the way the clouds moved, trying to ignore the voices, the whispers around him. The whispers eventually faded, since it was boring to mock someone for more than a few minutes when you got no reaction. The line had moved steadily, and the parents weren't that bored, and soon their discussion moved on to other topics.

"An E-Class! It says E-Class!" A young man, probably eleven or twelve, jumped up and down in front of the terminal, shouting in thrilled exhilaration.

A man and woman rushed for him, barging through the line to look at their son's status on the Terminal. Both looked quite rich, even though neither had a soul flare. "E-Class!" they screamed in equal excitement, grabbing their son and hugging him for his achievement. "You've got an E-Class!"

The man hugged his son with a stunned look of disbelief, the woman outright sobbing as she laughed and smiled as though she could never be unhappy again. She looked up to the revolving screen above with tears glistening in her eyes, both hands pressed to her heart.

Auren could understand their reaction. E-rank was not uncommon in larger cities or the more inner planets, but out here that was the dividing line between power and celebrity.

Most people would be able to advance one, perhaps two ranks in their lifetimes. Awakened people, anyway. An F-rank classer could reasonably hope to become an E-ranker, and possibly even reach D before they died. But that growth was relative. For someone who couldn’t even reach F-rank, the chances of getting any class at all were minimal.

Someone who started at E, on the other hand, had a D-rank future all but guaranteed, and perhaps even a shot at C-rank. In other words, their path forward was assured. Whether here or another planet, C-rank potential was nothing to be dismissed.

The other kids in line behind the boy who'd just taken the test were far less enthusiastic. All of them wore expressions as if they'd bitten into a lemon. After all, every kid who Awakened, who unlocked a class, was a potential competitor, an extra rival, a figure against whom they would compare themselves.

Setting the bar all the way at E-Class so early in the day, now even when they got an F-Class—awakening an F-class wouldn't be good enough. That sense of inferiority would linger.

One of the two System overseers from the Order approached the parents and the new E-ranker. He was a man in a tall, dark, hooded cloak that reached his feet, wearing a plain white mask with no details. Only his black eyes were visible.

He leaned forward, looking at the status display, then nodded. "These results are valid. Please go fetch a Patrol Clerk. They should be on the next street. They will discuss your potential options and let you decide what you should do next for your son." Then he walked away, stationing himself at the edge of the pavilion, behind a pillar next to a fruit stand, trying to be as unnoticeable as possible.

The parents lifted the child into the air and ran as if their lives depended on it, carrying him. It would have been a comical sight, but Auren couldn't find it in himself to laugh. He would be just as excited, after all.

The line continued to move.

Anyone who ever unlocked a class, they never did come back, did they? That was something he'd noticed years ago, even before Osmond mentioned it. The few who unlocked a classer rank simply moved on to better pastures, greener fields. Those who became classers never deigned to interact with the ordinary citizens of Zellene, nor associate with the rabble ever again… unless it was to push them around for amusement.

Auren sighed and renewed his vow to the Titans. He would be different. Better. Just let me have a class, please.

People climbed onto the pedestal. The awakening ceremony instructor told them where to stand, how to place their hands, what to think to activate the mental interface. Most got it on the first try, but there were more than a few who were unused to system interaction and needed more time.

By the time Auren reached the edge of the pavilion, the sun was almost fully overhead and he’d seen the overhead promotional videos through the whole loop enough times to start reciting the next scenes from memory.

It was a good thing he’d come early; if he hadn’t arrived until now, he’d be still waiting in line by nightfall.

Two guards stood waiting at the entry point, blocking the path. One verified his ID, while the other raised an eyebrow at him. "You’re here for the Awakening ceremony? Where's your kid? You can’t hold up the line, if he or she isn’t present, you’ll have to—"

"I am going to test myself for the Awakening ceremony," Auren said before the man could go any further.

The other guard chuckled as he passed Auren’s ID back. "You? You're going to take the Awakening ceremony yourself at your age? Why are you even wasting your money?"

Before Auren could reply, another family approached: a woman, a man, and a teenage girl, probably fourteen or fifteen. The woman was an F-ranker, and though Auren couldn't quite detect the man's aura, he looked rich based on his sheer appearance.

“Terencin family,” the man said, and the guards nodded. They didn't even bother looking at this family's ID, simply let them pass in front of Auren and into the pavilion.

Auren bit the inside of his cheek. They got to pass through without showing ID, probably because they looked rich, whereas he had to stand here. He could have said many things, but he held his tongue, only looking at the guard with a pleasant smile.

"Honestly, it's a waste of time even if we let you pass through," the second guard said, as though the interruption hadn’t occurred. “You'll just be wasting the Awakening tester's time. When there’s so many people of legitimate potential waiting? We can't let that happen, can we?"

Auren took out a silver coin and discreetly held it out towards the guard. "Please, I really need to try. It's a yearly ritual at this point. Can you let me in?"

The guard looked at the silver coin, then at Auren.

Auren worried the silver coin would be too little, heart sinking at the thought of so much time wasted. "This is all I have. I brought four silver coins: three for the Awakener and one just in case. Please."

The guard sighed. "Well, I guess someone like you Awakening would probably be fine." Saying so, he took the silver coin and stood aside for Auren to pass. Before he’d fully entered, the guard spoke again, more softly. "You shouldn't do this anymore."

"What?" Auren turned, afraid that he was about to be thrown out, but the guard only sighed and shook his head.

"I know that you're desperate, but doing this every year will only get you a bad reputation. My advice? Stop trying. It's pointless. Just don't. You shouldn't waste your money, because you clearly have little enough to spare. The chances of an unawakened F-rank soul improving to awakening level is almost nothing. I know people act like it’s based on luck or chance, but it’s simply a matter of strength. You can’t improve something that isn’t there to begin with. There’s a reason everyone stops trying after two or three years."

Auren didn't know what to say. "Thank you," he finally replied, "but I have to try."

"Do take my advice," the guard said, and then he nodded and turned back to the next person in line.

One by one, the last few kids ahead of him completed their turns at the Terminal. There was one other F-ranker—the girl who’d cut in front of him with her rich parents—but that was it.

Finally, it was his turn. Auren took a deep breath and approached the pedestal.

The system observer smiled at him. The man was clean-shaven, but his wrinkles still showed his age. "Auren, it's good to see you," the man said. “Survived another year, did we?”

"It's good to see you too, Mel," Auren replied. “I’ve been training every chance I get.”

Mel chuckled. "Maybe this time will be the time. You never know.” He held out his hand for the payment.

"Yeah, I have it here for you." Auren pulled out the last three coins from his pocket and passed them to Mel.

Mel nodded and stepped back with a smile. “You know what to do.”

Auren placed his hand on the awakening crystal’s access Terminal. The Terminal was deep black, smooth, and very cold, but when he touched it there seemed to be a faint hint of blue light deep within.

Status, he wished. Show all available classes.

A translucent blue screen appeared in front of him, hovering over the terminal for all to see.

SOUL GRADE: F

UNAWAKENED

NO CLASSES AVAILABLE

Exactly the same as the previous year. And the first year. And all the blurred duration of years in between. Auren knew that this would likely be the outcome. He didn't know what else he was expecting; there was nothing else to expect in the first place.

Once, it would have felt like his world was collapsing. Back when his hope was brighter, the disappointment had hit him much more dramatically.

But after trying so many times, only to get the same response, he no longer felt any of that. Instead, he stared at the hovering status with a sort of numb acceptance.

The observers who recognized his circumstances looked at him with either sympathy or condescension, some even with disgust.

Mel hummed and considered the sheet before swiping it away. The terminal went dark again. “Maybe next year, hey?”

Right. One more year. He could keep going that long. Maybe then…

But it was hard to convince himself to care. To put in the effort all over again.

He walked out of the line, letting the next kid try. His surroundings felt like a blur. But it’s fine, he told himself. It was just one more failure. 

He clung to Mel’s parting words, a desperate lifeline amid the numbness.

Next year. Maybe if I try one more time, it’ll be enough.