I had exactly seventeen hours to figure out how to not die.
The timer hovered at the edge of my vision—16:58:42 and counting down, the glowing numbers impossible to ignore no matter how hard I tried. I tapped my pencil against the desk, the rhythm matching my heartbeat while Mr. Alvarez droned on about the First Gate Crisis.
"The Tokyo Severance wasn't merely a historical event—it was the moment humanity realized it was no longer at the top of the food chain," he said, gesturing to the projected image of the gash in reality that had appeared over Tokyo fifty years ago.
I'd seen this footage a hundred times. Everyone had. The shimmering black tear. The monsters pouring through. The death toll climbing by the second until Haruto Mizuki, just a year older than me, suddenly manifested abilities beyond human comprehension and started fighting back.
16:58:03
I shifted in my seat, feeling the phantom itch of resonance crawling beneath my skin. The symptoms had started three days ago—the fatigue, the microsleeps, the way shadows seemed to move when I wasn't looking directly at them. Classic pre-Awakening signs. But unlike the privileged kids at Pacific Breach Academy who had been preparing their entire lives for this moment, I had nothing. No training. No legacy. No special preparation.
Just a timer counting down to my Awakening—or more likely, my death.
"Mr. Angelo," Alvarez called out, "perhaps you'd like to explain to the class why conventional weapons proved ineffective against the first wave of gate creatures?"
I looked up from my desk, forcing my face into a mask of attentiveness. "Their biology operated on different physical principles," I answered automatically. "Bullets passed through vital organs without stopping core functions. Plus, they healed too quickly."
Alvarez nodded, seemingly satisfied with my textbook response. What he didn't know was that I'd been reading everything I could get my hands on about gates and monsters since I was ten. Knowledge was the only weapon available to kids from the Depths.
16:57:41
The girl next to me—Vanessa something—leaned over. "You okay?"
"Just tired," I murmured, not meeting her eyes. The last thing I needed was someone realizing what was happening. Mandatory reporting would land me in a government facility within the hour, and I'd rather face my Awakening on my terms than strapped to a bed while researchers took notes.
I had to make it through the school day. Had to get home and make sure everything was in order before I fell asleep tonight and never woke up again. Or worse, woke up as something else.
The statistical survival rate for unregistered, untrained Awakenings from the Depths: 15%.
But statistics were just numbers. They didn't account for determination, cunning, or the lifetime of street smarts I'd accumulated. They didn't factor in the three books on Domain theory I'd stolen from the Upper Ring library, or the meditation techniques I'd been practicing.
16:56:58
"The first Awakened were essentially operating blind," Alvarez continued. "No understanding of aspects, no framework for how to use their abilities. Many burned themselves out within days—their bodies unable to handle the strain since they only went through one domain."
Like Mizuki, who saved thousands before literally burning from within. A hero's death. Not the death waiting for me—alone in a cramped apartment, my body cooling while my mother worked the night shift at the core processing plant, my sister asleep in the next room.
If I died and turned, they'd be the first ones my monster form would find.
I gripped the edge of my desk hard enough to turn my knuckles white.
No. That wasn't going to happen.
The bell rang, releasing us to our next class. I gathered my things slowly, watching the others file out. Vanessa gave me another curious look before joining the stream of students. I deliberately waited until the hallway thinned before leaving.
16:55:20
My next class was practical gate response—standard curriculum since the Stabilization Period, when they realized that making survival skills mandatory might actually keep more people alive. For those with confirmed Awakening potential, it was serious business. For everyone else, it was just another class to endure.
I'd always treated it like the former, even before I knew.
Coach Reyes was waiting in the courtyard, arms crossed over his chest. A retired D-Rank Hunter with a minor reinforcement aspect, he had the build of someone who compensated for a weak aspect with relentless physical training.
"Pair up!" he barked as we gathered. "Today we're working on evasion patterns for aerial threats."
I ended up with Derek Liu, a second-generation Hunter kid whose family had enough money to buy him private training but not enough connections to get him into one of the elite academies. He gave me a dismissive once-over.
"Try to keep up, Angelo."
16:53:05
Coach demonstrated the pattern—a zigzagging retreat designed to make targeting difficult for flying monsters. We were supposed to practice while our partners threw soft foam discs at us, simulating ranged attacks.
When it was my turn to evade, I moved through the pattern with practiced efficiency, my body operating on muscle memory while my mind cataloged escape routes from the school. The main entrance would be watched. The service exit near the cafeteria had cameras. But the bathroom window on the third floor opened onto a maintenance ledge that connected to the fire escape...
"Damn, Angelo," Derek said, missing me with his fifth consecutive throw. "Where'd you learn to move like that?"
I shrugged. "Watching vids."
The truth: I'd been practicing evasion patterns in abandoned warehouses since I was twelve, using stray cats and thrown rocks to test my reflexes. Not because I expected to be Awakened—that would have been presumptuous—but because in the Depths, you never knew when you might need to run.
16:51:43
"Switch!" Coach called.
I took my position as the attacker, discs in hand. Derek moved through the pattern clumsily despite his expensive training, telegraphing each direction change a half-second before he made it.
I nailed him with every throw.
"What the hell, man?" he complained after the fifth hit.
"You're looking where you're going to go before you go there, your eyes give you away."
Coach Reyes, who had been watching nearby, gave me a curious look. "That's good insight, Angelo."
I shrugged. "My dad mentioned it once."
16:50:12
The rest of the day passed in a blur. In every class, I sat near the back, spoke only when called upon, and kept my expression neutral. I was good at being forgettable—at being the kind of person teachers' eyes skimmed over when taking attendance. It was a survival skill in the Depths, where standing out meant becoming a target.
But today, being invisible was more important than ever.
By the time the final bell rang, the timer in my vision read 13:22:37. I had thirteen hours to get home, make final arrangements, and prepare for whatever was coming. I slipped out with the crowd, keeping my head down, and made my way to the transit station.
The bullet train carried me from the Outer Ring where my scholarship school was located down toward the Capillaries—the working-class neighborhoods with their visible blue energy conduits and intermittent barrier protection. From there, I would transfer to a ground tram that would take me to the edge of the Dry Zones, where gates had appeared frequently during the early years.
Where people like us could afford to live.
12:45:19
The tram was crowded with core processing workers coming off shift. Their clothes carried the faint blue glow of residual energy, their faces haggard from hours of exposure to the dangerous but lucrative work. My mother would look the same when she got home tonight—except her cough had been getting worse lately. Core dust poisoning, though we didn't talk about it.
I got off at my stop and walked the last six blocks, threading through streets that grew progressively narrower and darker. The Depths weren't just physically lower than the rest of New Vein—they were forgotten, left to rot in the shadows cast by the gleaming towers of The Shell.
The apartment building where we lived was a crumbling six-story walkup. The elevator had been broken for as long as I could remember. I trudged up the stairs, my legs heavy with fatigue that wasn't entirely physical.
11:58:43
I unlocked three separate deadbolts and stepped inside. The apartment was small but meticulously clean—my mother's doing. No matter how exhausted she was, she always made sure our home felt cared for. On the kitchen counter was a covered plate with my dinner and a note in her careful handwriting:
Working double shift. Extra money for Miri's school supplies next week. Heat up the stir fry. Love you.
My throat tightened. I folded the note carefully and put it in my pocket.
Miri was in her room, hunched over a tablet at her small desk. At twelve, she was already showing the academic promise that would be her ticket out of here—if she got the chance. I made sure of that, secretly using what little money I could scrape together to supplement her education. Better tutoring programs. Access to the good parts of the net. Books that kids in the Upper Ring took for granted.
"Hey, squirt," I said from her doorway.
She looked up, her face brightening. "Isaiah! You're home early."
"Light day," I lied. "How's school?"
"We're studying resonance patterns in science," she said, turning her tablet to show me a diagram of energy signatures. "Did you know some people have natural harmonics that match gate frequencies? That's why they have Awakening potential."
"I might have heard something about that," I said, forcing a smile.
10:30:15
The evening passed with excruciating normalcy. I heated up dinner and made sure Miri ate hers. I checked her homework and quizzed her on the material. I did the dishes and put away the laundry my mother had left folded on the couch.
All while the timer ticked down in the corner of my vision.
At 9:45:22, I sat down at our small kitchen table and wrote three letters. One for my mother. One for Miri. One for whoever found my body, with clear instructions about who to contact and what to do with my remains.
I'd updated my life insurance policy last week—the bare-bones coverage that came with my school enrollment. It wasn't much, but it would help with the funeral costs, maybe cover a month's rent. My mother and sister were the listed beneficiaries.
8:12:07
When Miri started yawning, I sent her to bed. I stood in her doorway longer than usual, watching her settle under her blankets, memorizing the way her hair splayed across the pillow, the small furrow between her brows as she drifted off.
"Night, Isaiah," she murmured.
"Night, squirt," I replied, my voice steady despite the burning in my throat. "Sweet dreams."
I closed her door gently and went to my own room. The smallest in the apartment, barely large enough for a bed and a desk, but it was mine. I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled out the three books I'd hidden beneath it—comprehensive guides to Domain theory that I'd been studying obsessively since the first symptoms appeared.
5:43:19
My hands shook as I wrote the note, each word carefully chosen:
Mom and Miri,
Had to take care of something important. Don't worry, I'm safe. Will be back tomorrow evening. There's money in the kitchen drawer if you need anything.
Love you both,
Isaiah
I placed it on the kitchen counter where Mom would find it in the morning, along with enough credits for breakfast and lunch. The guilt twisted in my stomach, but better they worry for a day than find my body if things went wrong.
The night air hit my face as I slipped out, the familiar weight of my father's jacket settling around my shoulders. The motel I'd scouted last week was twenty minutes away by foot—far enough from home that no one would hear anything, close enough that I could make it back if I survived.
The neon sign of the Twilight Rest Motel buzzed overhead as I approached. A place where people didn't ask questions, where screams in the night were common enough to go unreported. Perfect for what I needed.
The desk clerk barely looked up from her screen as I paid in cash, sliding a key card across the scratched counter. Room 214, second floor, facing the abandoned lot behind the building.
I climbed the metal stairs, each step echoing in the silence. The door clicked open to reveal a sparse room with peeling wallpaper and a bed that had seen better decades. But it would serve its purpose.
My hands trembled as I set out the books and a glass of water, double-checking the locks. As I settled onto the bed, a sharp pain lanced through my temples, and the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to writhe.
'Well,' I thought, watching the darkness dance. 'At least if I die here, the cleanup crew won't have to climb as many stairs.'
3:21:54
1:05:38
0:30:12
0:10:27
0:05:00
0:01:15
0:00:30
0:00:10
The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was 0:00:00 flashing in brilliant white against the backs of my eyelids. Then the floor beneath the bed seemed to dissolve, and I was falling through empty space, wind rushing past my ears.
A voice, neither male nor female, echoed around me:
[WELCOME, ISAIAH ANGELO. INITIATING DOMAIN TRIAL...]
[TRIAL TYPE: TIMER]
[DIFFICULTY: EXTREME]
[TIME LIMIT: 30 DAYS]
A gate of light opened beneath me, impossibly bright against the darkness. I fell toward it, unable to stop my descent, unable to do anything but surrender to whatever waited on the other side.
Shit.