The sky above Arclight City was unnaturally clear.
No clouds. No wind. No sound of aircraft or traffic beyond the designated awakening district. It was as if the world itself had paused, holding its breath for the moment when an entire generation stepped over an invisible threshold.
Ethan Vale stood among them, hands loosely at his sides, gaze steady.
He was eighteen today.
Q
All around him, excitement leaked through cracks in composure. Some tried to hide it behind practiced indifference. Others failed entirely—whispering, laughing, nervously clenching their fists as glowing platforms rose from the ground one by one.
Every human knew what today meant.
At eighteen, every citizen of the Human Alliance awakened as a Lord.
A territory. A trait. A door into the Lord Dimension—where survival was no longer guaranteed by laws or armies, but by one's own ability to build, fight, and endure.
Seven hundred years ago, humanity had entered that dimension as intruders.
Seven hundred years later, it was still paying the price.
"Did you hear?" someone whispered behind Ethan. "They say this year's awakening pool is strong."
"Of course it is," another replied, barely containing his grin. "The Alliance wouldn't host this ceremony in Arclight otherwise."
Ethan didn't turn.
Strength had nothing to do with location. That was something only those who had never lost anything truly believed.
Ahead of him, the Awakening Plaza stretched wide and circular, paved with pale stone etched in faint geometric patterns. At its center hovered the Trait Obelisk—a towering prism of translucent crystal, suspended without support. Light flowed within it like slow-moving liquid, pulsing gently, rhythmically.
One by one, names were called.
When a name echoed across the plaza, the corresponding candidate stepped forward, placed a hand against the obelisk, and vanished in a shimmer of spatial distortion. A few seconds later, they returned—faces flushed, eyes burning with disbelief or joy—as a glowing sigil appeared above their heads, briefly displaying their awakened trait and star rating.
Cheers erupted each time.
"Four stars!"
"Five—did you see that?"
"That's House Calder's heir. Figures."
The elders seated on elevated platforms nodded, murmured, or scribbled notes. Alliance officials observed silently, their expressions carved from protocol.
Ethan remained still.
He had stood like this many times before—present, yet unseen.
"Leon Vale."
The name carried weight.
A tall young man stepped forward from the front ranks, his dark-blue formal coat embroidered with the sigil of House Vale. His movements were confident, practiced. He didn't glance back as he placed his hand against the obelisk.
The light flared.
Gasps rippled outward as the sigil appeared.
Trait: Battlefield Command
Star Rating: ★★★★★
Five stars.
Among humans, that alone was enough to secure a future.
Applause thundered across the plaza. Several elders of House Vale leaned forward, satisfaction evident. Leon smiled—not wide, not arrogant—but with the quiet certainty of someone who had always known the world would bend in his favor.
He stepped back into place, eyes briefly scanning the crowd.
They passed over Ethan without pause.
Ethan didn't react.
He already knew Leon would awaken something powerful. The resources poured into him since childhood would have made anything less an insult to the family's investment.
The ceremony continued.
Traits bloomed like sparks across the plaza—combat-oriented, support-based, logistical, rare crafting abilities. Most hovered between two and four stars. A few rare five-stars drew attention. No one exceeded that.
That, too, was expected.
Human limits were well-documented.
"Ethan Vale."
The name sounded… quieter.
Not because it was spoken softly, but because no one was waiting for it.
A few heads turned out of courtesy. Most didn't.
Ethan stepped forward.
As he approached the obelisk, the air felt heavier—not physically, but in a way he couldn't immediately define. The geometric patterns beneath his feet pulsed once, faintly, then stilled.
He placed his hand against the crystal.
The world inverted.
For a fraction of a second, Ethan felt as though he were falling inward—through layers of pressure, through invisible membranes that peeled away like thin sheets of glass. Something ancient brushed against his awareness. Not a voice. Not a thought.
An evaluation.
Then—
He stood in a void of pale light.
No ground. No sky. Just a horizonless expanse and a presence that felt neither hostile nor benevolent.
A translucent interface unfolded before him.
Awakening in progress…
Trait compatibility analysis…
Ethan's heart rate didn't change.
If this was fear, it was distant—muted by years of learning to remain calm when expectations were low and stakes were high.
The interface flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Lines of data blurred, collapsed, reassembled.
Trait identified: Extraction
The word hung there, stark and simple.
Before Ethan could examine it further, the space convulsed. The light folded inward, and the void expelled him back into the plaza.
Sound rushed in all at once.
The sigil above his head materialized.
There was a pause.
Then murmurs.
Trait: Extraction
Star Rating: Unable to Measure
Classification: Low Potential (Provisional)
Silence stretched—thin, uncomfortable.
Then laughter.
Not cruel. Not loud. Just the soft, dismissive sound of expectations realigning.
"Extraction? What kind of trait is that?"
"Sounds like a logistics skill. Maybe recycling?"
"Low potential… figures."
An Alliance official frowned, adjusting the diagnostic lens in his monocle before shaking his head. "Unmeasurable traits default to provisional classification," he announced. "The system shows no immediate combat or authority application."
A mark was made.
That was that.
Ethan lowered his hand.
If he felt anything, it wasn't disappointment.
It was confirmation.
He stepped back into the ranks, ignoring the glances—curious, pitying, already disinterested.
Leon Vale didn't look at him at all.
The ceremony concluded shortly after.
Instructions were issued. Spatial anchors were distributed. Each newly awakened Lord would be escorted to a controlled transition point to receive their initial territory allocation.
As the crowd dispersed, an elder of House Vale approached Leon, speaking in low, congratulatory tones. Others gathered around promising heirs, futures already being negotiated in whispers.
No one approached Ethan.
He didn't expect them to.
Later, when he stood alone within a designated transition chamber—a circular room inscribed with containment arrays—Ethan exhaled slowly.
A crystalline shard floated before him, humming with dormant power.
Territory Seed: Tier 0
Status: Unclaimed
This was the true beginning.
The Lord Dimension didn't care about star ratings or family names. It cared about one thing only:
Whether you could survive long enough to matter.
Ethan reached out.
The shard dissolved into light, and the world twisted.
Pressure slammed into him from all directions as gravity reasserted itself with unfamiliar intent. The air tasted sharp, metallic. A crimson sky stretched overhead, split by distant lightning that never reached the ground.
He stood on barren land.
Rock. Dust. Sparse, jagged terrain extending outward in a rough circle.
No walls.
No people.
No protection.
A faint boundary shimmered at the edge of his vision—his territory's limits, fragile and exposed.
A notification appeared.
Welcome to the Lord Dimension.
Territory established.
Stability: Critical
Ethan scanned the horizon.
Movement.
Low to the ground. Fast.
Not alone.
He adjusted his stance, hand settling on the simple weapon at his side.
Low potential or not, the rules were already in effect.
He didn't smile.
Instead, he spoke quietly—to himself, to the land, to whatever unseen system was listening.
"Then let's begin."
In the distance, something howled.
And for the first time since placing his hand on the obelisk, Ethan Vale felt a flicker of anticipation.