The winds were sharp that morning, rustling through the trees and sending dry leaves scattering across the training grounds. Autumn had crept into the region, painting the training center in hues of gold and brown. The air carried a slight chill, making the recruits wrap their training cloaks tighter as they assembled for their morning drills.
Keith stood quietly among them, his eyes half-lidded from a restless night. He had begun to sense it — a strange energy stirring inside him lately, like a distant heartbeat that wasn't quite his own. It wasn't strong, nor did it give him any control or strength, but it was there — a whisper beneath the surface.
But he said nothing. Not to Ethan. Not to the instructors. Not even to himself.
The day's training began like any other, with grueling physical exercises followed by basic combat drills. While others had already begun sparring with faint traces of power, Keith remained one of the few who hadn't awakened. Some looked at him with pity, others with a hint of superiority — but no one dared say it aloud. Not when the mistress had made it clear: "Every student here holds potential, whether it blooms early or late."
Still, whispers circulated.
"He's been here almost a year… still nothing?"
"Maybe he's one of those rare ones who never awaken."
"He's just dead weight…"
Keith heard it all. And while he tried to keep his expression neutral, the words dug in deep. Not because they were cruel, but because he feared they might be true.
During break, he sat on a low wall, watching some Adept-ranked trainees practicing elemental control — a flicker of fire in one palm, a trail of water weaving through fingers, a gust of wind pushed with a swing of a blade. It looked incredible. Otherworldly. Unreachable.
Ethan plopped down beside him, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.
"You okay?" he asked, handing Keith a canteen.
Keith nodded, accepting it. "Yeah. Just tired."
Ethan studied him for a moment before nudging his shoulder. "You're not the only one who awakened late, you know. There was this girl in my sister's batch — didn't awaken until she turned fourteen. Now she's at Elite rank."
Keith looked up, surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah. Some people take longer. It's not about when you start — it's how far you're willing to go."
That was the thing about Ethan. Even if the others whispered, even if doubt filled the air, he never treated Keith any differently. He believed in him — perhaps more than Keith believed in himself.
Later that afternoon, the recruits gathered in the central hall for a rare lecture — the kind that usually meant important knowledge. Mistress Elira stood at the front, her stern gaze sweeping the crowd. Beside her stood an older man in ceremonial armor — a Grandmaster from the Association, by his insignia.
"Today, we speak of the hierarchy you're training to ascend," Elira said, her voice echoing in the large room. "The power that flows through your body as a warrior is known as Ether. It manifests when you awaken — some earlier, some later. It fuels your strength, your reflexes, your abilities."
The old warrior stepped forward. "There are nine ranks in the path of the Demon Hunter. The first you'll reach is Novice Rank — the beginning of your true journey. From there, your power grows: Adept, Elite, Master, Grandmaster, Archon, Abyss, and Primordial. Each rank marks a new level of control, awareness, and responsibility. Few reach the top… but those who do shape the fate of our world."
Murmurs rose among the trainees. Keith listened intently, committing each word to memory.
"And just as you grow," Mistress Elira continued, "so too must your weapons. We do not fight with steel alone. Our weapons are ranked as well — from simple Mundane tools to Relic-Class arms that can shape the battlefield. In time, if you're worthy, you may even bond with a weapon that evolves with you."
Eyes sparkled in the room. It wasn't just power they chased — it was the legends. The stories of warriors who changed the world. And somewhere, deep inside, Keith felt a flicker of something stir. Not power. Not yet. But a dream.
That night, as he lay in bed staring at the wooden ceiling of the boy's hostel, Keith thought about what the Grandmaster said. About how Ether was awakened differently in everyone. About weapons choosing their wielders. And about how, despite everything, he still had time.
One day, he promised himself. I'll catch up. I'll awaken. And when I do… I won't stop until I reach the top.
Unbeknownst to him, a faint glow pulsed within his chest — for the briefest moment — like a sleeping ember waiting to ignite.