The sky was dark, smothering what should have been midday in a heavy shadow. Yet the city moved on. No one seemed to notice. Caught up in their own routines, people prioritized their own lives. The darkness felt like just another inconvenience.
In this world, natural disasters were the least of anyone's worries. It had already survived the apocalypse—then proudly rebuilt itself.
Atop the tallest building in the city, two figures stood alone. One of them sat at the edge, staring up at the sky, unmoving.
"Master, is something wrong?"
The woman behind him—elegant, blonde, with her hair tied back and dark glasses resting on her nose—watched him with mild concern.
He had been there for hours. Sitting in silence. As if he were waiting for something.
"It's just... strange," he said, eyes fixed on the clouds.
"What's strange?" she asked. She was used to seeing him curious about the unknown—but this? A cloudy sky wasn't exactly a mystery. Days like this were rare, but not unheard of.
"It's nothing. Let's go back inside."
He stood up. He wanted to keep watching, but he knew he wouldn't find any answers just by staring.
---
Elsewhere in the city…
The bell above the door rang as it closed. Lucian stood still, eyes locked on the counter.
"Thanks for shopping," he mumbled—more out of habit than politeness.
He leaned his elbows on the counter, hands clasped, staring at the dull plastic surface like it held all the answers in the world. A dusty register, a crooked shelf, and the same yellow lights as always. Everything unchanged. Everything stuck.
But not him.
"Lucian," said a voice from the side. "It's two o'clock."
"Yeah," he replied without looking. "I know."
"It's your break."
"Ector asked me to cover the register until he came back."
"And how long ago was that?"
"About an hour and a half."
"And?"
Lucian sighed, straightened up slowly, and glanced at the door as if expecting Ector to walk in. He didn't.
"If he's not back in thirty minutes, I'll quit and become a florist."
"Doubt it. You'd probably kill the flowers."
She gave a small smirk, and he returned it. Barely.
She was sitting at a corner table, chewing on an energy bar she hadn't paid for. Her red hair was messy, the kind that only came from rushing through life. Her sharp eyes barely blinked. Lucian stared at her for a few seconds.
"Skipped breakfast again?"
"And you're playing responsible again?"
"Someone has to."
She looked down, not answering. Lucian went back to the register and closed it gently. It wasn't a bad place, he thought. Just not one he wanted to get too used to.
Peace never lasted long in a world like this.
Seven years had passed since that day.
Seven years since he woke up in a hospital bed, trapped in the body of a fourteen-year-old boy, injured in a building collapse. They told him he'd been in a coma for three months, and that the memory loss was just trauma. But they didn't know the truth.
Lucian Vaillard. That was the name they gave him.
Before that, he was just another nobody. A car wash assistant with no family, no degree, and no future. And now, seven years later... well, he was a convenience store cashier. Not much had changed.
This world was different. Superpowers. Advanced tech. Cities straight out of a sci-fi movie. But the memories of his old life were worthless here. He had no abilities, no special talent, no genius-level intellect.
Even so, he hadn't wasted those seven years.
Because while no one else knew it, he remembered everything that was going to happen. And he knew this calm wouldn't last much longer.
He glanced sideways at the girl near him.
Elira Garnier.
He had transmigrated into a novel. And she... was the first to die.
A victim. The spark that ignited the plot.
She awakened a power, lost control, and was mistaken for a villain. The heroes killed her. The media tore them apart for it. That collapse of public trust would destabilize the world later.
Her ability was never revealed in the story. She only appeared posthumously—in the news.
Even in death, the first arc of the novel revolved around her.
When he arrived in this world, he sought her out. Found her. They became friends.
She was beautiful—but had a temper. And she wasn't shy about throwing punches. Strong ones.
Looking at her now, quietly working, you'd almost believe she was just another fragile girl.
"What are you staring at?"
Elira spoke without even glancing his way.
"I'm not staring," Lucian replied. She hadn't seen him, so technically, there was no proof.
"I can feel your eyes on me, you know?"
...
She had good instincts. But Lucian knew her well. A simple compliment and she'd let it slide.
"You look really pretty today."
...
She didn't respond. Just kept eating the bar, eyes on her phone, as if he hadn't said a word. But she didn't frown. Didn't complain. That was her way of accepting compliments.
Seeing her like this—at peace for once—was oddly comforting.
Lucian turned back toward the window. The air had gotten colder, and the clouds… he'd noticed them earlier. Skies like this had appeared before. Even strange storms. But this felt different. The clouds weren't just covering the sky—they were devouring it.
And then, he felt it.
That prickling at the back of his neck. The tightness in his chest.
Something was coming.
RUMBLEEE!
Thunder roared like a monster's growl. The city shook. And a red lightning bolt tore across the sky like a burning scar.
Lucian clenched his jaw.
"The Second Awakening has begun..."