The sky was a dull, washed-out gray when Ken opened his eyes. His tiny room was drenched in colorless gloom, the thin curtains fluttering weakly against a cracked window. The battered desk by the wall sat buried under piles of torn notes, broken pens, and dusty books with bent spines. The cracked lamp on top flickered with dying light, barely holding onto life. The cold morning air hung heavy, carrying the faint metallic scent of the city's never-ending struggle.
Ken stayed motionless for a while, blinking slowly as the fractured ceiling above stared back at him like a broken mirror. Every inch of this place screamed of abandonment and neglect. Yet, for him, it was home — or at least the closest thing to it.
Slowly, he swung his legs off the bed. The worn-out mattress let out a pitiful groan. His bare feet met the icy wooden floor, making him shiver. Stretching his sore limbs, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, still feeling the echoes of yesterday's fatigue. Somewhere deep inside, the old ache stirred — the constant reminder that today wasn't just any day. It was the day he was summoned to the Crimson Court.
Sitting quietly on the dusty desk was his most precious possession — his system watch. To anyone else, it looked like a cheap black band with a cracked screen. But to Ken, it was everything. His anchor. His only real advantage in a world that had long since left him behind.
He picked it up carefully and clasped it around his wrist. The moment cold metal touched skin, the familiar soft chime rang in his mind.
Good Morning, Kenovar Hawke.
A faint smile tugged at Ken's lips. It was silly, but somehow, hearing that voice made the world feel less cruel. At least something still cared enough to greet him.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flashing red numbers on the cracked screen. His blood ran cold.
He was late.
Very late.
His heart slammed against his ribs. Five minutes. He had five minutes left to get to the Crimson Court.
"Crap, crap, crap!" Ken muttered under his breath, scrambling to his feet.
In a blur, he threw on his worn jacket, jammed his feet into half-broken sneakers, and bolted out the door.
The narrow hallway outside was dim and crumbling. Walls with peeling paint seemed to close in on him as he dashed past, skipping steps two at a time. The building groaned in protest as he slammed through the crooked exit, bursting out into the frigid morning air.
The city greeted him with its usual grim welcome — gray skies, cracked stone streets slick with drizzle, the choking smell of smoke and damp earth. Vendors set up their carts sluggishly, street sweepers pushed around piles of yesterday's trash, and stray cats scattered as Ken sprinted through the maze-like alleys.
His legs pumped furiously, each step a battle against exhaustion. He dodged around carriages, workers, shouting merchants — anything that dared block his path. His heart pounded in his ears louder than the city's noise. The system beeped warnings at him, flashing red about his oxygen levels and stamina, but he ignored it.
He couldn't be late. Not today.
The Crimson Court towered in the distance like a living monument, its blood-red spires clawing into the ashen sky. The great stone steps leading up to its entrance loomed before him, promising both judgment and opportunity.
But fate, cruel as ever, wasn't about to let him reach it so easily.
Standing at the foot of the steps, arms lazily crossed and a grin full of mockery plastered across his face, was Jack Spencer.
Ken skidded to a halt, chest heaving, feeling the pit of his stomach tighten.
Jack was everything Ken despised — rich, cocky, powerful. The kind of guy the world bent over backward to praise.
"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Jack sneered. His cronies chuckled behind him. "Running late, Hawke? Scared you'll be kicked out before you even get a chance to embarrass yourself?"
Ken gritted his teeth. He didn't have time for this. Without saying a word, he tried to brush past Jack.
But Jack, being Jack, shoved him hard with his shoulder, making Ken stumble backward onto the slick steps. Laughter erupted around him.
For a heartbeat, humiliation burned hotter than anger. But then — something clicked inside Ken.
Not today.
Gritting his teeth, he raised his arm, focusing on the faint thread of magic that his system had awakened. He whispered under his breath:
"Defend."
A thin, almost transparent barrier flared to life around him. It shimmered faintly like heat waves on asphalt, barely visible to the naked eye.
Jack's smirk faltered for a second.
Only for a second.
Then he threw his head back and laughed. Loud, cruel, mocking.
"That's it?" Jack roared. "A soap bubble? Seriously? What are you gonna do, Hawke, scare me with your little magic trick?"
Ken's fists tightened, but he said nothing. Even if it was small, even if it was weak — it was magic. His magic. And it had worked.
Before Jack could hurl more insults, a sudden pressure filled the air — like the atmosphere itself had thickened.
A deep, commanding voice sliced through the courtyard like a blade.
"Enough."
The laughter died instantly. Everyone turned.
Walking toward them was a man wrapped in silver robes etched with glowing runes. His black hair was neatly tied back, his sharp features carved from stone, his piercing eyes burning with authority.
This was Professor Veylan — a legend among mages. Rumor said he was one step away from achieving the near-mythical Starfall Rank. His presence alone commanded absolute silence.
"You have been summoned to the Crimson Court for a reason," Professor Veylan began, voice low but carrying power. "Chaos magic stirs again in the dark corners of our world. If left unchecked, it will consume us all."
The courtyard hung onto his every word.
"To combat this, we are forming Special Task Squads. Groups of five, forged in unity and strength. Each squad will be assigned missions, trained, tested. Only the strongest will rise."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"But first… we must measure your potential."
At his signal, silver-robed assistants stepped forward, carrying sleek, futuristic masks shaped like fearsome oni faces. Their metallic surfaces gleamed under the gray sky, intricate symbols pulsing with faint energy.
Ken's heart thudded against his ribs as the squads were announced.
To his horror, his name was grouped with Jack Spencer... and three others he barely recognized — a sharp-eyed blue-haired boy, a smug blonde who looked like Jack's twin, and a quiet, hunched boy from the outskirts.
Jack groaned audibly at the announcement, shooting Ken a death glare.
One by one, the students approached the platform.
First was the blue-haired boy. He strode forward confidently. The assistant placed the futuristic oni mask onto his face.
A hum filled the air — and above him, floating letters flared into existence:
Nightfall.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Nightfall. A rank just below the elites. Almost legendary for students.
Ken swallowed hard as the blue-haired boy returned to the group, looking bored by the applause.
Then, it was Ken's turn.
He barely heard his name being called. His legs moved on their own, stiff and heavy.
He stood at the center, trembling slightly, as the assistant approached him with a new mask.
The cold metal pressed against his face — sealing with a click.
For a moment, everything was still. Silent.
Then, the air around him seemed to warp. Glitch. Distort.
Instead of a shining rank, the floating letters above his head jittered violently, breaking apart.
The word that appeared was not a rank.
It was a warning:
Err0r
Gasps echoed around the courtyard. Whispers buzzed like angry hornets.
Ken stood frozen, heart slamming painfully against his chest. He could feel a hundred eyes boring into him — confused, curious, fearful.
The assistant carefully removed the mask, stepping back like Ken might explode at any moment.
Professor Veylan's face was unreadable, but Ken could feel the weight of his scrutiny.
No cheers. No applause. Only the thick, suffocating silence.
Ken turned slowly and made his way back to his squad, the stares burning into his back.
What had just happened?What was he?
The professor looked at him in shock
"You! Come here to my office!" said Professor Veylan
Now, Ken was bathing in sweat.
Professor hurried to the office.