The morning sun bled into Nate's room like a guilty stain.
But he barely noticed.
He stood before the mirror again, flexing his fingers, feeling the hidden strength humming beneath his skin.
The black card in his pocket burned like a secret no one else could touch.
And yet, it was the other gift that truly gnawed at his mind: the sigil carved into his chest.
It wasn't visible in the mirror — not unless he wanted it to be.
And when he willed it to appear, the skin shimmered slightly, revealing the strange, twisting mark, glowing faintly with a dark silver light.
Nate pulled his hoodie over his head, masking his face.
He was no longer the same boy who had to look down when passing the rich kids in the hallway.
Today was different.
Today was the beginning.
---
At Westbrooke High, the usual drama played out.
The cliques laughed in their little circles.
The jocks strutted around like kings.
The teachers droned on, their voices distant and meaningless.
But Nate saw it all differently now.
Every whispered insult, every smirk, every dismissive glance — it was like watching flies buzzing around a rotting fruit.
He walked through the front gates like a ghost slipping into enemy territory.
And as if sensing something off, heads slowly turned toward him.
Was it his posture? His gaze?
The aura he now exuded — one that warned: Do not underestimate me again.
---
At his locker, Nate spotted them:
Caleb Bryson and his pack of hyenas — the worst bullies on campus.
The ones who had shoved him, humiliated him, tripped him, laughed at him every single day.
Caleb noticed him and grinned, that same cruel smirk that made Nate's blood boil.
He swaggered over, his two sidekicks trailing behind.
> "Well, well," Caleb drawled, bumping Nate hard against the lockers.
"Look who decided to crawl out of his hole. You lost, Carter? Need directions back to Loserville?"
The laughter echoed around the hallway.
Nate calmly adjusted his hoodie.
Something inside him whispered, Now.
Strike.
But he held back.
Not yet.
Not here.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying Caleb the way a hawk studies a fat, slow-moving rabbit.
> "Not today," Nate murmured, voice low but steady.
"But soon."
Something about his tone made Caleb falter — just for a split second.
Then the bully laughed, louder than before, as if trying to shake off a chill.
Nate walked away without looking back.
He could feel their confused, uneasy stares burning into his back.
The seeds were planted.
Fear would grow.
---
After school, Nate took the long route home, down the crumbling alleys where no cameras ever reached.
He needed to test something.
He pulled the black card from his pocket.
It shimmered under the dying sunlight, and as he held it tighter, a faint pulse traveled up his arm, whispering promises.
Suddenly, a voice, smooth and mechanical, echoed inside his mind:
> "Access granted. Choose your asset."
Before him, three holographic images flickered into existence:
1. Funds Access: Immediate deposit. Unlimited use. No trace.
2. Hidden Identity: New name, new records. Erase your past.
3. Power Activation: Unlock abilities sealed within.
Nate's mouth went dry.
Each choice glittered with temptation.
Each would drag him deeper into a world he barely understood.
What would he choose first?
His fingers hovered… then tapped.
3. Power Activation.
The card flared white-hot.
Nate doubled over in pain as invisible chains around his soul shattered, unleashing something that had been waiting inside him all along.
When he straightened up, gasping for breath, the world looked sharper.
Colors were more vivid.
Sounds layered deeper.
And most importantly —
he could feel it.
A subtle force curling around him, answering to his will.
It was weak now, like the first breath of a newborn.
But it was his.
And it would grow.
---
That night, standing on the rooftop of his building, Nate gazed at the glittering city skyline.
He had been nothing — dirt under their shoes.
Now?
He was the storm they wouldn't see coming.
And the first to taste it...
would be Caleb Bryson.
Soon.
Very soon.
---