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In Valtherion, the world did not revolve around money, bloodlines, or politics — it revolved around Gifts.
They were the cornerstone of civilization, the source of all progress and destruction. Gifts were awakened early in life, typically between the ages of ten and thirteen. From that moment on, your place in society was sealed.
Each Gift was classified by Type, Rank, and Potential:
Types included: Elemental, Physical, Psychic, Summoning, Dimensional, and Unique.
Ranks ran from F (fragile) to EX (extreme).
Potential was the rarest factor — the ceiling of one's growth.
And everyone had one.
Everyone… except Hades Luthor.
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At age ten, he watched his classmates glow with radiant energy during the Awakening Ceremony.
At thirteen, he stood silently while others formed pacts with spirit beasts, channeled aura, or bent flames to their will.
At seventeen, he was the only student in the entire Stellan Combat Academy who had yet to awaken anything. Not even a flicker.
No aura. No scan result. No rank. Nothing.
He was branded Unranked, a term reserved for those with no measurable Gift energy — a walking defect.
The academy system wasn't kind to defects.
---
"Oi! Deadweight!"
The shout came as Hades turned the corner into the main corridor of the training halls. He felt the impact a second later — a hard shove to the shoulder, knocking him into the stone wall.
Dravus Rell.
Tall, flame-haired, and B-Rank. His Gift: Crimson Ember, a sub-type of Fire that allowed him to conjure searing blades from his aura. A favorite among instructors and feared by everyone else.
Hades didn't meet his eyes. That would only make it worse.
"You forgot your place again, Luthor," Dravus said, his voice thick with mocking. "Hall's reserved for real warriors. Not dead branches."
A few of Dravus' crew chuckled.
Elara Myles leaned against the wall, twirling a gust of wind in her palm. "Maybe we should throw him a pity-rank. F-minus? Wouldn't want the system to feel bad."
Hades stepped past them, saying nothing.
He always said nothing.
---
Instructors ignored it. Most agreed with it.
Gifted students were considered assets. The stronger they were, the more resources they were given. Unranked students? They were statistical failures. Wastes of space.
Hades' life at the academy was built around dodging beatings, cleaning broken equipment, and being the last picked for everything. Even the cafeteria served him smaller portions — food rations were scaled by Rank after all.
The only place he found peace was the Archive Wing, where tomes and scrolls collected dust in silence. The other students rarely went there — studying was beneath them.
Hades would read until lights-out: books on ancient Gifts, forgotten ranking systems, failed experiments, and forbidden rituals. Anything to find a clue.
Something that would explain why he was different.
---
Then came Rank Display Day — the annual power re-evaluation.
Students filed into the academy's Grand Hall, standing beneath the enormous crystal scanner known as the LUX CORE. It read not only your current Rank, but your Growth Rate, Potential, and Skill Tree Development.
"Dravus Rell," the scanner intoned. "Crimson Ember — B-Rank. Growth: Stable. Potential: Mid-A."
Applause.
"Elara Myles. Wind Spear — A-Rank. Growth: Rising. Potential: High-A."
More applause.
When Hades stepped forward, the Core paused for an awkward few seconds.
"Analyzing…
Analyzing…
Error. No Gift Signature Detected.
Classification: Unranked."
Silence.
Then laughter. Some of it cruel. Some of it pitying. All of it cutting.
He stepped down quietly.
---
After the ceremony, he stayed behind, staring up at the crystal. Wondering if it was broken. Wondering if he was.
> Why not me?
> Why am I the only one?
He touched the cold stone — nothing responded.
---
The next day, it was combat class. The worst day of the week.
Instructor Varn was brutal and unfeeling. "Combat reveals truth," he often said. "Power needs no excuse to dominate."
The lesson today: Sparring Trials. The students would fight in pairs. No holding back.
Hades' opponent: Dravus.
Again.
---
The match began without mercy.
Dravus surged forward with a jet of flame spiraling from his fists. Hades barely ducked, but a burst of fire still caught his shoulder.
The pain was instant. Searing. Real.
He stumbled, but stayed standing.
Dravus grinned. "Still playing hero, huh? No Gift, no rank, and you still want to act like you belong?"
He slammed a burning fist into Hades' ribs, sending him crashing across the arena.
"Try standing now, freak."
But Hades did.
Slowly. Shaking. Blood trickling from his nose. He rose again.
Not out of pride. Not out of hope.
Out of something else.
A stubborn, quiet refusal.
---
Instructor Varn didn't stop the fight. Not until Hades could no longer get up.
When the final blow came, it wasn't fire. It was Dravus' boot — straight to Hades' gut. He crumpled to the ground.
This time, he stayed down.
---
That night, alone in the academy infirmary, Hades lay staring at the ceiling, chest wrapped in bandages, body throbbing.
He didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
He just… endured.
> Why?
> Why was I even born into this world?
No answer came.
But in the quiet hum of the lights above… something ancient stirred.
Far beneath his consciousness. Buried deep inside him.
Waiting.
Watching.
And soon… it would awaken.
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