Twenty-three years ago, the sky cracked.
That was how the first reports described it. Witnesses claimed the air itself fractured like glass, revealing vast black openings that hovered above cities across the world. Within hours, creatures unlike anything recorded in human history began emerging from those distortions. Some were small enough to be killed with conventional weapons. Others required military intervention. Entire districts vanished in the first week.
Governments fell in months. Borders became irrelevant. Survival replaced diplomacy.
Then the Awakening began.
It did not happen all at once. Some individuals developed unnatural strength. Others could manipulate fire, gravity, metal, or even space itself. Scientists failed to explain it. Religious leaders claimed divine intervention. Eventually, the phenomenon stabilized into something measurable.
Rank.
Every awakened individual was assigned a classification based on output capacity, mana density, and combat potential. The ranking system standardized within three years:
S-Rank
A-Rank
B-Rank
C-Rank
D-Rank
E-Rank
F-Rank
S-Ranks were living strategic weapons. A single S-Rank could neutralize a high-level distortion event alone. They were rare, politically untouchable, and often governed entire regions indirectly.
A and B-Ranks formed the backbone of modern defense forces and elite guilds. C and D-Ranks filled regulated combat roles, infrastructure defense, and industrial security. They lived comfortably, though not luxuriously.
E and F-Ranks occupied the bottom tier.
Unlike higher classifications, E and F-Ranks were considered sub-operational. Their mana output was insufficient for sustained combat contribution. In the early chaotic years, they were simply ignored.
That policy changed.
After repeated distortion surges overwhelmed national defenses, governments introduced the Civil Utility Act. Under the Act, E and F-Rank individuals without independent sponsorship could be contracted into bonded service. The justification was pragmatic: everyone had to contribute to survival, and those without sufficient power would do so through labor allocation.
The language was clinical.
Bonded labor.
Transferable contract.
Asset reassignment.
In practice, it meant low-rank individuals could be purchased, sponsored, or transferred by corporations, guilds, and high-ranking elites. The contracts were legal, regulated, and publicly documented. Abuse laws existed, though enforcement varied.
Society adapted quickly.
Rank became identity.
Schools trained students according to projected mana density. Corporate recruitment began before Awakening age. Marriage markets adjusted to classification compatibility. Political families aligned bloodlines to secure stronger offspring.
At age eighteen, every citizen underwent the Awakening Ceremony. A World Core—an artifact recovered from the first distortion—measured resonance and declared rank publicly. The result was permanent.
There were no retests.
No appeals.
The Core did not make mistakes.
Parallel to the rank system, another phenomenon quietly emerged. Some awakened individuals reported hearing an internal interface during moments of extreme stress. A structured presence. An invisible architecture overlaying reality itself.
It became known as the System.
Not everyone possessed it. Not everyone could access it. But those who did often progressed faster than conventional limits suggested possible. The System was not fully understood. Governments attempted to study it, but its manifestation varied from individual to individual.
For some, it provided combat feedback.
For others, it enhanced perception.
In rare cases, it offered structured growth mechanics that resembled gamified progression.
No central authority controlled it.
No laboratory could replicate it.
The System did not respond to commands.
It responded to conditions.
Two decades after the sky fractured, humanity rebuilt its cities in steel and reinforced concrete. Distortion monitoring towers stood over skylines. Mixed-race districts formed as elves, beastkin, and other awakened species integrated into urban society. Guild skyscrapers replaced former government buildings as centers of power.
Modern life resumed—adapted, stratified, unequal.
Children grew up knowing exactly where they would stand.
At eighteen, the Core would decide.
And once it did, the world would treat them accordingly.
In this world, strength was currency.
Weakness was liability.
And rank was destiny.
If you're enjoying the story, drop your Power Stones and let's climb the rankings together."