The sky above Elvain had never truly been blue. Wrapped in a perpetual haze of shimmer-light and protective fog barriers, it bore no sun, no stars—only the illusion of safety. Beneath it, layered streets curved in spirals like a tower turned inside-out.
Rynze Myal stood alone on a rusted pipe overlooking the city's lower channels. He was seventeen, tall for his age, with storm-grey eyes that never seemed to blink enough. The air around him felt... too quiet, as if the world were holding its breath.
"I saw it again," he whispered, barely audible even to himself.
In his dreams, cities crumbled upside-down. Flames spoke words. Thousands screamed in silence. And through it all, a name whispered—not his—but somehow... familiar.
"Rynze!"
A sharp voice pierced the silence.
A girl with silver hair and eyes like frozen sky rushed toward him, her boots thudding against metal and stone. Seris Avielle, his only friend in Celvaris Academy.
"You're skipping the simulation exam again, aren't you?" she said, breathless.
He shrugged. "No point wasting time fighting fake demons."
Seris groaned. "They upgraded the system—new neural resonance feedback. You might actually learn something."
Rynze's lips tilted. Not a smile, not quite. "Like how not to explode in your sleep?"
Her expression fell. They both knew the truth. Sometimes, in deep sleep, Rynze's room lit up with a strange fire that left no burns but melted steel. Nobody had reported it. Not yet.
In the academy's combat zone—the Resonance Arena—Rynze finally stepped onto the platform after much coaxing. A demon hologram spawned: tall, insectoid, snarling.
System status: "Class C — Simulated."
Threat: Moderate.
He prepared to dodge.
But suddenly, the air grew heavy.
System Breach Detected.
A second demon materialized, this one real—flesh and claws ripping through code like paper. Instructors screamed. Barriers collapsed. The class scattered.
Seris fired an arrow. It snapped midair.
The creature roared and lunged… straight toward Rynze.
He didn't move.
He didn't think.
His body simply reacted.
A blinding pulse erupted.
Silent. Instant. Devastating.
The creature stopped—mid-attack, mid-motion. And then it was gone. No blood. No body. No scream.
Gone.
Rynze gasped, stumbling. The arena floor smoked beneath his boots.
Everyone stared.
Someone whispered: "Did he just… delete it?"
Later that night, in a sterile room lined with half-mirrors, Rynze sat across from a man with a half-mask and golden eyes. Srakar Ilmen, senior inquisitor of the Ordo of Shadow Flame.
"You unleashed a resonance of Class Unknown," Srakar said slowly. "Untrained. Unregistered. Unthinkable."
Rynze said nothing.
Srakar leaned closer. "You are not chosen. You were not born to this. Yet somehow… you woke it. A flame without name."
The room fell silent.
"I'm just a student," Rynze muttered.
Srakar's mask gleamed beneath the dim light.
"No, Rynze Myal. You're something we buried centuries ago."
And somewhere, deep beneath Elvain, a tremor echoed.
A sealed gate shuddered.
And high above, behind the artificial sky, something ancient began to stir.