It had been nearly two months since Keith arrived at the training center. Time passed slowly, yet not without change. The morning sun now brought a routine: wake up, clean, eat, train, rest, repeat. Yet, despite falling into rhythm, Keith still felt like an outsider watching others from a distance.
Though he had met a few more boys in his hostel, including a quiet one named Aaron and another with a loud laugh named Milo, he didn't speak much to them beyond greetings. Ethan had become his only regular companion, often showing up during meals or training to offer a helpful tip or a nudge in the right direction.
Today was no different—except for one thing.
Keith sat outside near the practice field, chewing on a piece of dried bread as he watched a group of second-year trainees practicing formation drills with wooden swords. Their movements were sharp and coordinated, nothing like the disorganized flailing Keith had seen when he first arrived. These older trainees had clearly already awakened and stood at least in the Novice Rank, though the instructors rarely mentioned those terms aloud.
The term Novice Rank had begun to appear more frequently in hushed conversations—especially among the first-years. Over the last couple of weeks, several had awakened their powers, gaining access to the first step of the Awakening Path. The day someone awakened was usually marked by a burst of energy or emotion—some collapsed, others cried, and a few had even screamed in confusion.
But Keith… still felt nothing.
He sighed, resting his chin on his knees as he watched a wooden blade explode in a faint flash of light—one of the older trainees had channeled ether into it, a technique only those with at least Enchanted Weapons could use. Weapons, Keith had begun to learn, were just as important as power levels. An instructor once mentioned it in passing:
"A warrior with strength but no weapon is a beast with no fangs. You'll understand when you're ready."
That phrase stuck with him.
Later that day, during classroom sessions in the center's modest hall, the instructors continued their lesson on "Ranks and Realms"—a lesson many of the students had heard before but never fully understood. Today, however, the lesson seemed aimed at the newer recruits, like Keith.
Master Faelan, a lean man with deep-set eyes and an authoritative voice, stood at the front of the class. His coat bore the sigil of the Grandmaster Rank, though few dared ask him about it.
"There are nine ranks in the path of a warrior," he began, his voice echoing off the wooden walls. "Most of you will never reach the upper five. But all of you must know them."
A quiet hum filled the room as students leaned in, curious.
"The first is Novice Rank—those who have just awakened. Weak but aware. Your body is strengthened, your senses sharper, and your ether barely present."
Keith listened carefully, finally hearing the word explained in full.
"After that comes Adept Rank, where your ether becomes your weapon. You gain control, and your attacks hold force."
Master Faelan continued listing the ranks, all the way up to the fabled Primordial Rank. He didn't go into much detail after Master Rank, though. The moment he reached Grandmaster and beyond, he simply said:
"You'll learn of these when the time is right… if you live that long."
A murmur of unease passed through the younger trainees.
He then pivoted to weapons.
"There are six ranks of weapons you must know. Your basic wooden swords? Mundane Weapons—unranked. Fit for training only. A true warrior must seek a bond with a higher weapon."
He listed them clearly this time:
Mundane Weapons
Enchanted Weapons
Spirit-Forged Weapons
Cursed Relics
Mythic Arms
Relic-Class Weapons
Again, the latter half of the list was left vague, with little more than a promise: "These weapons shape legends."
That night, Keith found himself on his bed, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. The cracks in the stone looked like maps—routes he had yet to follow.
He was starting to realize that this world he'd been dragged into was far larger than he had ever imagined. Back in the rural village, the greatest challenge had been poor harvests and cold winters. Now, the path ahead involved strength, discipline, survival… and demons.
He rolled over, eyes drifting to the wooden sword leaning against the wall near his desk.
Mundane, he thought.
He wasn't sure what rank he would reach. Or if he would ever awaken at all. The instructors had made it clear: those who failed to awaken within a year would be quietly removed from the training center. Such people were rare—but they existed.
And he might be one of them.
Yet somehow, even with that fear in his chest, Keith didn't feel defeated. There was something inside him—dormant, but present. Like a silent whisper. A waiting fire.
He just had to wait a little longer for it to spark.