Kale opened his eyes.
The first thing he noticed was the smell: sharp, metallic, like burning silver. His lungs sucked in the air and it tasted… wrong. Not air he knew. Not Earth air. Every inhale made his head spin, and his limbs felt disconnected, like they belonged to someone else.
The ceiling was a swirl of runes, spiraling and pulsing as though they were alive. A dull, nervous light bled from them, making the stone walls jitter with shadow.
Kale blinked. Hard. Again. And again.
I… am awake?
A headache throbbed across his skull. His body felt like a puppet someone had yanked by the strings one too many times. He tried to move an arm. It twitched slowly, sluggishly, like it was learning for the first time how to obey commands.
Okay. Okay. Think. Think. Wait… where am I?
He attempted to sit up. The motion made him stagger, his stomach lurching. He gripped the cold stone beneath him, testing gravity. It was… just normal. Too normal. Earth-normal, yet wrong.
The room smelled like metal, cold stone, and something else he couldn't identify. Fear, maybe. Or awe. Or both.
He scrambled to his feet, trembling. His reflection in the polished floor—he caught glimpses—showed a boy staring back, black hair in wild tangles, eyes wide, pupils dilated.
This isn't real. This isn't… real…
Footsteps echoed through the chamber. They were deliberate, measured, approaching with the kind of precision that made him flinch. Three figures entered: robed, white and black edges crisp as if cut with a knife. Their eyes scanned him, thin smiles that didn't reach anywhere human.
Who… who are they? What do they want? Am I dead?
"The new reincarnate," one said.
Kale froze. The word reverberated in his skull. Reincarnate?
The middle official tapped a metal tablet. "Preliminary readings are unstable. Possibly defective."
"Figures. With hair like that, what else would he be?"
Kale's mouth went dry. He opened it. Closed it. Tried again. "Uh… hi?" His voice sounded small. Vulnerable.
"It's night," the first official said, frowning.
"Oh," he croaked. "Right. Night. Not… Earth night, though, clearly."
No one laughed. Not even politely.
A rod of pale light extended from the third official, humming. "Stand. You will be evaluated."
Kale's legs wobbled beneath him. Every step toward the pedestal was measured, hesitant. Why is everything moving so slowly? Why can't I…?
The floor lit up beneath him as he approached. Runes arranged themselves like a halo. The chamber hummed, and Kale felt the vibration not just in his ears, but in his bones. He clenched his fists, terrified.
What is happening? Why am I here? What am I?
They guided him—forcibly—toward the pedestal in the center of the chamber. The floor lit beneath him, runes arranging themselves like a bureaucratic halo, their glow humming in quiet reprimand. Kale stumbled, jaw tight, eyes darting at the spiraling carvings above and the faintly shifting light beneath his feet.
"This is a Class Ascertainment Ritual," one of the officials announced, voice flat, as though reciting a grocery list. "Your metaphysical signature will determine your Arcana rank. Please avoid exploding. Cleaning is tedious."
Kale swallowed, trembling. Metaphysical signature? Arcana rank? Exploding? I… don't understand anything.
A strange sensation tugged at him—like gravity bending in subtle, unnatural ways. The floor beneath the pedestal disappeared, replaced by swirling mist, soft yet impossibly deep. Light stretched and fractured into threads around him.
What is happening? Am I floating? Falling? Dead?
Before he could think further, the chamber melted away. He was standing alone in a dreamlike void. Cards—gigantic, impossibly tall, floating in endless space—rotated slowly around him. Each one shimmered with color and light, displaying not symbols of suits but full embodiments of the Arcana: the Emperor seated on a throne of molten gold, eyes burning with dominion; the Empress surrounded by fertile lands and flowing rivers; the Hierophant clad in layered ceremonial robes, holding keys to heaven and law; the Chariot racing through a storm of cosmic energy.
Every card radiated authority, presence, and expectation. And yet, as Kale tried to focus on one, others shimmered in and out, too fast to count. His mind felt like it was being stretched.
What am I supposed to do? Pick one? Worship one? Run?
A soft, mechanical voice—neither official nor human—echoed through the void:"Identify your Arcana. The Pattern awaits."
Kale tried to reach out, and as his hand passed through the cards, he felt the hum of their power. Some buzzed like electricity; others throbbed like hearts; a few… felt wrong, like they shouldn't exist at all. His chest tightened. He realized this was a test, but not a normal one. It wasn't about strength or speed. It was about… recognition. Alignment. Potential.
The cards began to swirl faster, faster, a kaleidoscope of authority and expectation, until Kale could barely stand. Each card called to him, whispering visions: power, control, knowledge, war, justice, wisdom. The voices overlapped, demanding, asserting, judging.
And then—at the periphery—he saw it. A card unlike the others. Its colors were uneven, shifting, chaotic. The figure on it was laughing, walking barefoot across the edge of a cliff. Its eyes sparkled with curiosity, mischief, and audacity. It was the Fool.
Something stirred in Kale. He didn't understand why. It didn't call for mastery, domination, or adherence. It simply existed. And for a moment, the chaos of all the other cards—the swirling hierarchy of Crown, High, Lesser, Minor—felt suffocating.
I… don't belong in any of those.
Without thinking, he stepped toward the Fool. The surrounding cards recoiled slightly, like the air itself acknowledged a break in the Pattern. A warm light enveloped him, soft and unthreatening, and the void stilled. He could feel the weight of the other classes—heavier, oppressive, demanding—and the Fool… free, unbound, absurd, yet unafraid.
A strange voice whispered in his mind, tinged with both awe and exasperation:"You may choose the Fool. But know—its power is unstructured. Its path is yours alone. The world will reject you."
Kale nodded. He didn't know what else to do. He reached out, and the card welcomed him. In that instant, a shiver ran through the void and back into the chamber. Reality snapped, the swirling mist of the pedestal returning beneath his feet.
The officials recoiled as the rods flickered violently, sparks of white light fracturing and fizzling, metal tablets scrambling symbols like a failing machine.
The chamber hummed, the pedestal's runes dimming, embarrassed or maybe just cautious. Kale stepped down, hands shaking, chains clinking, mask heavy on his face. Around him, the world of the Arcana resumed
The rods circled him. Light crackled across the floor. His stomach pitched. Every nerve screamed. And… nothing.
He felt… nothing.
The officials began sweating. Their calm façade broke in twitching gestures, muttered words. Symbols on the metal tablet scrambled, flipped, and fizzled into nonsense.
"Impossible," one whispered. "The Pattern rejects him—"
A spark leapt beneath his feet, the runes dimming like they were embarrassed on his behalf.
The lead official's voice trembled. "Classification confirmed: Zero-Class."
Kale stared at them, mouth half-open. His heart thumped like a drum in his chest. "Zero… what?"
"A zero" the official repeated. "Lowest. Defective. Unworthy."
He said it like announcing a disease.
Kale blinked rapidly. His mind tried to catch up. Lowest? Defective? What? I—
He swallowed hard, knees still shaking.
No one noticed. He didn't deserve to be noticed, they just wanted to be far away from him.
As they marched him along, other officials and functionaries stopped to stare. Some snickered. Some whispered. Some simply backed away as if his shadow might stain their boots. "Is that a Zero?" "Someone actually pulled that class?" "Poor thing. No, actually — unlucky bastard." "Keep him away from the Pattern nodes."
A group of young acolytes in immaculate black robes approached, clearly on break, clearly bored, and clearly delighted to see something beneath them. "Hey!" one called out. "Look! A zero. Wish i didn't notice."
Another leaned closer, eyes shining with mock curiosity. "I thought those were myths. Like… defective sparks or cosmic accidents."
The third snickered, covering her mouth. "Look at him. He even looks like one." Kale stared back at them through the mask, expression unreadable. One of the acolytes mimicked his blank gaze. "'Ohhh nooo, I'm a Zeerrrooo,'" he said in a dopey voice. His friends laughed too loudly.
The officials escorting Kale didn't intervene. They didn't even slow down. Hierarchy was law here. And Zero-Class meant he wasn't a person. The corridor opened into a massive circular hall — the Ascendant Court.
The ceiling rose impossibly high, carved with moving constellations shaped like each Arcana class. High above, the symbols glowed: The Emperor. The Magician. The Hierophant. The Chariot. Dozens more. Kale's eyes lingered lazily on them. The Fool was absent.
At the center of the hall stood a stone dais where new arrivals were publicly evaluated before being sent to the Registry. Unfortunately for Kale, his 'evaluation' had already been announced. The escorting officials shoved him forward. A crowd gathered, murmuring with fascination and disdain. Some leaned in for a closer look. Others wrinkled their noses. "He distorted the Pattern?" "Typical Fool." "Are they sure it wasn't just a malfunction?" "No device malfunctions in that way." "Poor regulators had to touch it." "I heard Zero-Class people dissolve if they use too much Flux." "No, they explode." "No, they cause plants to wilt." "No, they just… exist. Which is bad enough." Kale stared at them all, silent, letting their chatter wash over him like radio static.
The chief registrar — a tall woman with sharp cheekbones and a uniform too crisp to be comfortable — stepped forward. She wore the insignia of the Great Hierarchy, a system of status that determined everything: your rights, your work, your power, your future.
Her gaze was cutting. "Reincarnate," she said, voice echoing. "State your previous name." Kale lifted his bound hands slightly. The mask muffled his voice into a flat monotone. "Kale." A few laughs rippled through the crowd. Her eyes narrowed. "Your class has been determined as Zero. Lowest rung of the Hierarchy. Lowest access. Lowest rights. Lowest expectations."
Kale shrugged. As much as someone in chains could shrug. "Sounds about right." More laughter. The registrar continued coldly, "You are hereby prohibited from approaching Pattern Nodes, participating in Flux cultivation, or interacting with any greater Arcana without directive supervision." Kale stared at her with quietly dead eyes. The registrar flicked her fingers. "Escort him to the Registry. Assign him an Identification Mark. The officials resumed pulling him along. As Kale was dragged away, he passed beneath the carvings of the Arcana classes. Their glowing symbols bathed the hall in silver-blue light. Everyone here belonged to something powerful: High Arcana, Mid Arcana, Low Arcana , all part of a strict ladder that determined worth. Kale, the Zero-Class Boy, belonged to nothing. The doors to the Registry opened. A cold wind blew out from the depths of the facility, carrying the dusky dry smell of administration, suppression wards, and old despair. The officials shoved him through the threshold. The doors clanged shut behind him.
And Kale, with chains on his wrists and a suppressor on his face,
stepped deeper into the world that would one day kneel before him — though no one, not even him, knew it yet.