The hum of the awakening platform vibrated through the vast auditorium, a low-frequency buzz that made my teeth ache. I stood in line with the rest of Class 3, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The platform itself was a sleek, metallic dais elevated about three feet off the ground, ringed by holographic projectors that flickered with ethereal blue light. Above it, a massive digital screen displayed the results for each student as they stepped up—names, classes, grades. It was like a lottery, but instead of cash, you got your life's role handed to you on a silver platter.
Class 1 and 2 had already gone through the motions. I watched as a girl from Class 2, some prodigy named Lila, ascended the steps. The platform scanned her with a swirl of energy, and the screen blared: "Lila Voss - Elemental Blaster - Grade A." Cheers erupted from her section. Elemental Blaster? That was prime frontline material—hurling fireballs or plasma bolts at alien hordes. She could level up her abilities to incinerate entire squads. Me? I was just Tan Duyi, the nobody from the back of the class, waiting for my shot at... something. Anything better than mediocrity.
As the line shuffled forward, my mind wandered back to how I ended up here. It wasn't my first rodeo with life, you see. In my previous existence, I was just an average guy on old Earth—pre-space age, pre-everything. Worked a dead-end job in tech support, spent my nights glued to strategy games. Real-time strategy, mostly—building bases, commanding armies, outsmarting AI opponents in epic battles. Died young, stupidly: a car accident on a rainy night. Blackness, then... light. I woke up as a squalling infant in this world, memories intact but body reset. Reincarnation, they call it in stories. Here, it was my reality.
'Haih'
This world? It was light-years ahead of my old one. Humanity had cracked interstellar travel centuries ago. Spaceships zipped between planets like commuter trains, colonizing habitable worlds and mining asteroids. But it wasn't all utopian bliss. We were at war—with aliens. Not the cute, probing kind from old movies, but vicious, hive-minded swarms that poured through rifts in space. And then there were the dungeons. These weren't fantasy caves with goblins; they were anomalous portals, ripping open on planets at random. Monsters spilled out—twisted beasts, biomechanical horrors, you name it. Our job, as a species, was to dive in, clear them out, and shatter the core inside to seal them shut. Fail, and a planet could get overrun.
Most dungeons had been eradicated from Earth itself. The early awakeners—our ancestors—had purged them systematically. Now, only controlled dungeons remained, tucked away in secure facilities for training new blood like us. They were simulated hells, dialed down to non-lethal levels, where you could grind levels without risking planetary apocalypse. Out in the colonies, though? Dungeons popped up like weeds, and the alien forces exploited them, using the chaos to launch invasions. That's why awakenings mattered. Your class determined if you'd be a dungeon diver, a spaceship pilot, or cannon fodder.
Leveling was the key to survival. Unlike those old RPGs where you bulked up physically, here it was all about honing your class abilities. A Scout might start with basic detection skills, but at level 10, they might be able to scan enemy weaknesses from orbit. A Warrior's strikes got sharper, more efficient. No superhuman strength—just amplified talents. It kept things balanced, or so the instructors said. Me? I hoped for something strategic. My past-life gaming obsession had to count for something.
"Next! Tan Duyi, Class 3!" The proctor's voice boomed over the speakers, snapping me out of my reverie. My classmates parted like a sea, some smirking, others indifferent. I climbed the steps, the platform's surface cool under my boots. The air hummed with energy as the scan initiated—a warm tingle racing up my spine, like static electricity on steroids.
The screen flickered. "Analyzing soul compatibility... Class assigned: Commander. Grade: C."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Commander? C-grade? It wasn't the worst, but it screamed "support role." Commanders could coordinate teams, issue buffs to allies—increase accuracy, boost morale in the heat of battle. But solo? Zilch. No offensive abilities, no defensive shields. If a monster got in your face, you were toast. I'd be the guy yelling orders from the back, praying my squad didn't wipe. Great. My reincarnation perk amounted to middle management in a galactic war.
I stepped down, cheeks burning, ignoring the pitying glances. "Better luck in the levels," someone muttered. Yeah, right. Leveling a C-grade Commander would mean scraping by on group runs, leeching experience until my coordination skills hit a threshold. No glory, no solo dungeon clears. Just... existing.
But as I walked away, something stirred inside me. A faint chime echoed in my head, like a system notification from one of my old games. Words materialized in my vision, holographic text only I could see:
[Personal System Awakening. Soul Category Detected: Gamer. Compatibility: High.]
What the—? My heart skipped. This wasn't part of the standard awakening. In this world, everyone got a class, but a personal system? That sounded like cheat-code territory. My past-life memories flooded back—hours sunk into RTS games, micromanaging units, expanding empires. Was that it?
[Class Upgrade Initiated. Commander evolving... RTS Commander. Rank: X.]
X-rank? Holy crap. Ranks went from F to S, follow by Z and then with X being mythical—god-tier stuff whispered about in history books. Only souls with extreme affinity could unlock it, apparently. Mine, twisted by reincarnation and a lifetime of gaming, fit the bill. RTS Commander: Real-Time Strategy. I could feel the potential bubbling up—summoning units, building structures, commanding armies in real time. Not just buffs; actual control. Bases, troops, tech trees. It was like my favorite games come to life, grafted onto my soul.
Excitement surged. This changed everything. With this, I could solo dungeons, turn the tide against aliens. Level up my abilities to summon elite forces, upgrade defenses on the fly. No more backline scrub
—
[Error Detected. Anomaly in Soul Integration. Rank X Instability. Emergency Protocol Activated.]
The words flashed red. Pain lanced through my skull, the auditorium spinning. Energy enveloped me, a swirling vortex of light and shadow. Gasps from the crowd, but they sounded distant, muffled. "What's happening?" I tried to shout, but my voice warped, echoing in the void.
Then, nothing. Blackout.
Cold. Bone-chilling cold seeped into my bones, waking me with a jolt. I gasped, lungs burning as I sucked in icy air. Snowflakes danced in my vision, settling on my eyelashes. I was flat on my back, staring at a gray, overcast sky. No auditorium. No classmates. Just... white. Endless white.
I pushed myself up, muscles aching. Snow crunched under my palms—deep drifts, untouched except for the imprint of my body. Trees loomed in the distance, skeletal branches heavy with frost. A wind howled, whipping flurries across the landscape. Where the hell was I? This wasn't Earth. Our training grounds were temperate, controlled. This felt primal, hostile.
My system flickered back online, HUD elements overlaying my sight:
[Location: Unknown.
Environmental Hazard: Extreme Cold.
RTS Commander Abilities Online. Level 1.]
Level 1? Okay, basics. I focused, testing the waters. A mental command brought up a menu—summon basic unit? A faint glow formed in the snow, but it fizzled. Not enough resources? Or was the error still glitching things?
Panic crept in. The awakening error had flung me... somewhere. A dungeon? No, too open. A colony planet? But why here, in the middle of nowhere? I scanned the horizon—jagged mountains, frozen plains. No signs of civilization. If this was a test, it was a cruel one.
As I stumbled forward, seeking shelter, the world seemed to expand. From the vantage view of the world, the snow stretched infinitely, blanketing hills and valleys. And beyond, if one could zoom out—pull back from the lone figure trudging through the drifts—the view would reveal more: a vast, spherical orb, its surface a uniform shroud of white. Ice caps eternal, storms raging across continents. A planet lost to frost, perilous and unforgiving, where a doomed commander might just meet his end.
Or begin his rise.