The lecture hall felt more like a shrine than a classroom.
Dark stone walls curved overhead in smooth arches, etched with moving engravings — scenes of people reaching toward the sky, kneeling before unseen forces, or vanishing into cracks in reality. The lights were dim, glowing from veins of crystal embedded in the stone, pulsing faintly with Sovereign's resonance.
Malakai entered quietly, slipping into a seat at the back. The lecture hall was dim and old, more shrine than school — smooth stone arches, dark walls etched with engravings
A few other Resonants were scattered throughout, most half-asleep or skimming their soulprint menus. Malakai just sat still, alert. Still haunted by his trial.
'I struggled but my future self wasn't all that powerful, maybe that's why it called me sloth'
The door slid open.
A man walked in wearing the black robes of the Academy, marked with a silver spiral over the heart. The room hushed.
"Let's begin," he said, voice crisp.
He tapped the air. A map of fractured Earth appeared in light — jagged, incomplete.
"Today's topic: Rifts, realms, and what's left of the world."
He turned toward the class. "Who can tell me what the color of a rift means?"
A red-haired girl with glasses stood up confidently.
"Blackish red is the Underworld. White leads to the Nynx Plane. Green is to the Old Realm. Yellow are artificial — transport gates between surviving continents. Oh and Pink gates are accendant gates that take you to a random realm and if you survive and return you reach the next state of accension"
"Correct," the teacher nodded. "Now, what about blue?"
She hesitated. Said nothing.
"Blue rifts lead to the Realm of the Gods," he said. "No known way in. No way back out. Even Sovereign can't track what's there.
And before you ask yes gods exist, we know very little about that"
He let the words hang. Then tapped the air again.
"History, then."
The map zoomed in — Antarctica. 2073. Labeled: The Great Breach.
"This was the first rift. Small, stable… until it wasn't. At first, demons came in trickles. Quiet. Subtle. But by the time we understood what we were dealing with, three continents were already gone. You're probably wondering how we know it happened if it happens in the future, Sovereign informed us, when the rift opened the first pulse of Sovereign happened and half of humanity was wiped off the board, however many resonants appeared after the dream trial "
The projection rippled — buildings crumbled, riftstorms spread like ink, cities vanished into cracks.
"Asia, Europe, South America. Consumed. What's left is America, Australia, and Greenland. Shielded by yellow rifts. Supply chains operate through stabilized gates. No ships. No planes. Instant transport — all through Sovereign."
He paused, sipped from a mug.
"And the Nynx Plane — the realm between realms — became Sovereign's domain. Its throne."
Malakai blinked.
'So that's what the world is now...'
"And here's the real question," the teacher said quietly. "If Sovereign gave us rift-travel, safety, power…"
He looked up, gaze cold.
The professor let the silence linger.
"What did we lose in return?" he said softly.
Then he looked up. His voice sharpened.
"Freedom."
He took a slow breath, fingers tightening around his mug.
"Sovereign isn't just some advanced AI. It controls fates. Shapes destinies. It forces us along paths it deems optimal — issuing quests, interfering with free will. And it began not with kindness, but with catastrophe."
He tapped the slate. The spectral map blurred — shifting to a timestamp:
April 10th, 2003.
"The Great Omen Event."
The room dimmed. A projection of Earth blanketed in strange waves — invisible shockwaves rippling across continents.
"The first rift opened in the future. But the effects echoed backward through time. We call it the cascade. Sovereign's first pulse — a temporal shockwave that targeted only the unconscious: sleeping, comatose, dreaming."
His tone grew darker.
"Over 5.3 billion people collapsed. Mind-wiped. Hollowed. That was the birth of the Empties — and humanity's sharp descent. What was once 7.8 billion… became 1.2."
Gasps flickered through the class. Even the smug redhead looked shaken.
Malakai blinked. His throat tightened.
"Some Empties wandered until they starved. Others were consumed by demons. And the rest? Forgotten. Entire families gone in a single night. Entire cities."
The map zoomed in on Australia — outlined in silver.
"Australia was spared. Guarded by sea. Isolated. Fast to act. One of the last bastions."
He sipped again, slower this time.
"In the wake of the Omen, new powers rose. The first Resonants. Survivors who awakened in Sovereign's dreamtrials and came back… different. They formed the Legacy Clans — the last structure humanity could cling to."
He glanced around the room.
"Who can name the clans of Australia? Or America?"
A small boy with blue-dyed hair lifted his hand quickly.
"I know, sir! In America, there's the Mist Clan, they specialize in spiritual guardians. And the House of Grace, they worship Sovereign and are rift engineers. In Australia, there's the Haze Clan, they make soul items — weapons, gear, even bindings. Then there's the Black Omen Clan… an assassin guild run by the government. They eliminate rogue Resonants. No one really talks about them — but I've heard stories. And Greenland has the House of Ice, who master boons and enhancements."
The professor arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed.
"Well done."
Then he added, tone curious:
"What about the Future Realm?"
Silence.
He nodded.
"They exist outside of time — severed by the original rift event. We can't reach them physically, but they've found ways to send messages, even data, into our present. There are whispers that their warriors are unlike anything we've seen… forged in chaos, trained against impossibilities."
His expression grew distant, almost reverent.
"The Nynx Plane connects us all — but the Future Realm lies at its edge, watching."
Malakai sat quietly, processing it all.
Rifts. Sovereign. Legacy Clans. Empties.
A world torn open and stitched back together with rules that no longer made sense.
And yet… it was the only world he had.
The professor placed his mug down with a soft clink.
"Sovereign has eased off on the pulses lately… but make no mistake — none of us know when the next one will strike."
He paused, letting the words sink in. The faint hum of the projection screen was the only sound.
Then he straightened and looked over the students.
"Before we close today's lesson, let's touch on something… heavier."
His fingers tapped the display again, and three towering silhouettes shimmered into view. Their faces were obscured — only their outlines, and the aura they radiated, remained.
"Ascended Resonants. the rank above the Prime-class."
The room felt colder. Even Malakai sat a little straighter.
"There are very few of them. Maybe six. Maybe three. Depends who you ask."
He pointed to the first silhouette, cloaked in a twisting pattern of smoke and blades.
"This one belongs to the Black Omen Clan. He — or she, no one really knows — is said to manipulate the very air. Entire compounds go silent when they arrive. Wind ceases. Sound dies. Then bodies fall."
He turned to the second figure — calm, flowing, surrounded by glimmers of bioluminescent waves.
"This one belongs to no clan. Lives under the sea, deep beneath the trenches. Sovereign itself cannot track them. Some say they commune with Leviathans. Others say they were an Empty… that came back whole."
Then finally, he faced the third.
This figure stood tall. Light arced from her like gravity. The glow from the projector dimmed in comparison.
"And her?" The professor's voice softened.
"Her name is Xalith. The first Ascendant. The world's favorite weapon."
He chuckled, shaking his head.
"The American government worships her. Or fear her who knows, And if you ever meet her — and live — you probably would too. Her resonance pressure alone can turn men to dust. She is the pulse. A living echo of Sovereign's will… or rebellion. No one's really sure."
A silence settled over the hall. Then:
"Anyway… that's all I've got time for today."
He shut off the display. The room dimmed again, the moving engravings on the walls flickering back to life — as if the very stone was listening.
"Class dismissed. Watch the skies. And if you feel a pulse… try to help those affected, the only way humanity survives is if we work together."
Malakai felt well informed he didn't regret it.
Malakai went to the courtyard and started meditating.
I wonder where I'm going to sleep tonight?