"Get away from it!" the man shouted.
The beast lunged at him, its claws ready to tear flesh, but in the blink of an eye, it was cut down. Soon after, I was evacuated. The soldiers surrounded me, asking questions.
"Are there any survivors?"
"Is anyone still trapped?"
I answered with a calm voice, "They're all dead. No one else is alive in this area."
One of the men looked at me, his face drenched in cold sweat. Something about my response unsettled him. It wasn't normal — for a child barely eight years old to speak like that, to show no fear, no trembling, not even a tear, amid all the bloodshed. Most people would be traumatized.
Days passed after the outbreak. They sent me to an orphanage. Everyone assumed my parents were dead. They tried to get me adopted.aTried to give me a new "family."
I often wondered what that word even meant.
Many came and went. Some met me, but none stayed. They all said the same thing: that I was lifeless, devoid of emotion. Inanimate.
But it didn't hurt.
Instead, something inside me resonated with their words. I began to understand what it truly meant — to be alone.
With the district in ruins, food was scarce. At the orphanage, I barely ate once a day. My body weakened with time. The caretakers did nothing.
One day, unable to move much, I sat outside on an old wooden chair. The breeze was the only thing that eased my hunger. I closed my eyes and drifted in thought — until a soft voice called out.
"Hello."
I pretended not to hear. I didn't have the strength to speak.
"You look hungry," she said. "Here, take this."
I opened my eyes and was nearly blinded by the sunlight behind her. A woman stood there, wrapped in its glow. Long blond hair, pale skin, and a beauty that felt almost otherworldly. Yet something about her felt fragile… ill. She held out an apple.
She smiled gently. "Do you want to come with me?"
I didn't respond. I was too focused on the apple. As I ate, she asked again, "Do you know where the reception is?"
I nodded and pointed.
She went inside and spoke to the receptionist. I watched from a distance.
"I'd like to adopt that child," she said.
She pointed at me.
I froze. The receptionist hesitated. "He doesn't talk much. Maybe a disability. He's not very interactive."
I expected the woman to turn away like the rest. But she didn't.
"I still want him," she said.
It was strange. Why? Why choose me?
And then… I felt something. A strange warmth in my chest. Foreign. Unfamiliar. An emotion I couldn't name.
In just a few hours, she took me to her home. It was nothing like the orphanage massive, elegant, quiet. She made me dinner, then asked, "What's your name?"
I looked up and replied, "I don't have one."
She blinked. "So… you can talk!"
"I was too hungry earlier," I muttered. "Sorry."
She chuckled. "So, you're the quiet type, huh?"
There was a gentleness in her voice that disarmed me. As we talked, I felt it again — that warmth. A strange closeness.
"If you don't have a name, then let me give you one," she said with a playful grin. "Hmm… What about Revin?"
I liked it.
"Alright then, Revin it is," she smiled. "Since I'm now your mother, your full name will be Revin Graves."
"Graves?" I echoed.
She nodded. "I read it in a book once — one of the first humans who stepped through the Gate to Heaven. Part of the great Ascendant families."
That was when I truly noticed the house. It was far too luxurious for an ordinary person.
Why hadn't she married? Why didn't she have a child of her own?
I remembered how pale she looked when we first met. Something was wrong… but I was just a child. I couldn't ask.
She led me to a nursery a room made for a baby.
"This is your room," she said awkwardly, then laughed softly. "Though, you're a little too old for all this. The bed's too small. Guess you're sleeping with me tonight."
That night, I lay wrapped in her arms on a bed too large for me. She was warm. I'd never known warmth in sleep before only cold, hard surfaces.
I didn't hate this. Not at all.
But even as I closed my eyes, I couldn't stop wondering: why did she have a baby's room? Why was she so affectionate toward me?
The next morning, I woke more refreshed than I had ever felt.
I wandered the massive hallways, nearly getting lost until the scent of fried eggs led me to the kitchen.
"Good morning, dear," she said, smiling.
The word "dear" struck something in me. No one had ever spoken to me like that before.
She made breakfast — eggs in a sandwich. It was the best thing I'd ever tasted.
As I ate, she asked, "What do you think about attending the School for the Ascended?"
I stared at her in shock. That school… it wasn't just any school. It was the school , the most prestigious academy for the gifted.
"But I'm… ordinary," I said. "I don't think I'd do well."
She smiled wistfully. "Despite how I look now… I was once a Transcender
My fork paused mid-air.
We had been taught about the Cracks. About the Gates. About the Ascenders and their ranks.
Ascended… High Ascenders… and then Transcenders.
The Transcenders were high ranking ascenders, they capable of leveling cities
But she… she looked sick. Fragile. Like she was fading.
How could someone like her once hold that kind of power?
I didn't ask.
But with a bearly visible smile, I said, "I would like to go to the academy."