The sound of the alarm was a low, persistent hum—barely loud enough to be annoying, but just enough to drag Marie Williams back from the edge of sleep. She blinked, her vision blurry from the remnants of half-dreamed thoughts. For a long second, she considered turning over and ignoring the sound, letting herself sink back into the quiet darkness of unconsciousness. But that was a luxury she couldn't afford.
With a sigh, she rolled over and slapped the palm of her hand onto the alarm panel embedded in the wall beside her mattress. The hum stopped instantly.
Marie sat up slowly, pulling her blanket tighter around herself as the morning chill of the small, poorly insulated apartment crept under her skin. Her breath fogged slightly in the air, confirming the broken heating system still hadn't been fixed. Not that she expected it would be. The landlord only responded to emergencies—and sometimes not even then.
The room was sparsely furnished. A thin mattress on the floor, a cheap desk cluttered with books and notes, and a narrow shelf that sagged slightly in the middle. The window was streaked with dirt and grime, letting in a grey, watery light from the perpetually overcast sky above Fortress City Wiesbaden.
Wiesbaden was the last remaining urban bastion in central Europe—a fortified metropolis surrounded by the ruins of what had once been Germany. Everything within a 600-kilometer radius had either fallen to Dungeon Breaks or been abandoned after failed reclamation efforts. Only the massive mana barriers and its strategic location had allowed Wiesbaden to survive the collapse.
Marie swung her legs off the mattress and rubbed her eyes. Her body felt heavy—not from sleep, but from a dull, ever-present fatigue. The kind that clung to her bones and made her shoulders ache before the day even began.
She stood, stretched until her back popped, and crossed the cold floor barefoot. Her school uniform hung neatly from a hook on the wall. Dark pleated skirt, white shirt, navy jacket. Regulation colors for the municipal academy in Wiesbaden's Zone 3. She dressed quickly, tying her shoulder-length brown hair into a tight ponytail and glancing into the cracked mirror hanging by the door.
Her reflection stared back: pale skin, tired hazel eyes, a thin frame that hinted at malnourishment. At fifteen, she should've had the glow of youth. Instead, she looked like someone who hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks.
Which wasn't far from the truth.
After slipping on her shoes, Marie grabbed her datapad, stuffed it into her bag, and headed out into the narrow hallway. The smell hit her instantly—mold, mildew, and the vague scent of something rotting in the distance. The communal areas of the building were worse than her room, which was saying something.
As she passed the mailboxes, she saw Mr. Kano, her landlord, leering at her from the stairwell.
"Morning, little flower," he said, his voice oily and mock-gentle.
Marie didn't answer. She never did. She kept her eyes down and walked past him quickly, ignoring the way his gaze followed her.
Outside, the city greeted her with its usual blend of noise and mechanical life. Autonomous cars zipped along the elevated lanes, drones buzzed overhead, and the ever-present hum of energy fields pulsed through the reinforced walls and towers of Fortress City Wiesbaden. The high-rises loomed above like metal giants, their exteriors covered in holo-ads and district warnings.
She walked the fifteen blocks to school in silence, cutting through side alleys and maintenance walkways to avoid the morning crowd. She preferred the solitude. It gave her time to think, to plan.
Marie's life revolved around plans. Plans for meals, for studying, for surviving until she turned sixteen and could legally apply for a Dungeon-entry permit. It wasn't safe work, but it was lucrative. And for someone like her—with no family, no connections, and no money—it was the only shot she had at climbing out of the mud.
She arrived at the academy five minutes before the gates opened, just as the student crowd began to gather. Marie positioned herself near the back, keeping a careful distance from everyone else.
She was used to being alone.
The classroom buzzed with low conversation and laughter as students filed in. Marie slipped into her seat at the back, by the window. She didn't acknowledge the others. They didn't acknowledge her.
It wasn't outright bullying—not always. Most of it was subtle. The way people moved to avoid her in the halls, the whispers that stopped when she entered a room, the teachers who overlooked her raised hand. Sometimes her things went missing, or reappeared damaged. Once, someone poured acid on her gym uniform.
But Marie didn't complain. Complaining required someone to listen.
She opened her datapad and reviewed her notes for the morning's classes. Mathematics, then Magical Theory, followed by World History. All core curriculum. She preferred the theory subjects—they didn't require collaboration or physical performance. And she excelled at them.
The door opened, and the teacher strode in. Mr. Hayashi was a tall, angular man with perfectly styled black hair and a look of perpetual disapproval. He glanced around the room, eyes briefly brushing over Marie before settling on the front row.
"Settle down. Class is starting."
The lights dimmed, and the holo-board flickered to life. Equations scrolled across the air, accompanied by diagrams and animated models.
Marie took notes with practiced speed. Numbers grounded her. They were pure, reliable, without malice or favoritism. Unlike people.
Lunchtime came and went without incident. Marie ate a protein bar and a thermos of soup in the stairwell, away from the cafeteria. It wasn't tasty, but it was filling—and cheap.
The afternoon brought Magical Theory, her favorite subject. Even if she had no magic of her own yet—no one did until their Awakening—she found the study of its mechanics fascinating. The patterns, the structure, the cause-and-effect.
The teacher, Ms. Aoki, was younger and kinder than most. She once offered Marie an internship with the school's research department, but it had been canceled due to "budget cuts."
Today's lesson was on mana-conductive materials. Ms. Aoki spoke passionately about mana resonance, chalking up complex diagrams as she went. Marie followed every word, her mind absorbing the material like dry soil drinking water.
And then the topic shifted.
"To prepare for next month's Awakening Ceremony," Ms. Aoki said, "we'll be discussing the history and science behind the System."
A ripple of excitement passed through the room. Even Marie felt her stomach twist.
The System.
No one fully understood it. It appeared in 2040, alongside the first Gates. Everyone who Awakened gained access to it—an invisible interface that governed reality like a game. Stats, Skills, Levels, Mana. A framework overlaid on the world, equal parts miracle and mystery.
Some said it was alien. Others, divine. Theories abounded, but none were proven.
What mattered was this: the System changed everything. And for those lucky—or unlucky—enough to Awaken, it meant power. Opportunity. Risk.
Marie had waited fifteen years for her chance.
Only a few weeks remained.
After school, Marie went to the Cold Weapon Club. It was one of the few things she allowed herself to enjoy. The club met in a repurposed dojo on the edge of the campus, its equipment battered but functional.
The instructor, a retired Gate Hunter named Tanaka, taught students the basics of non-magical weapon combat. Swords, spears, staves. It was outdated training in a world of Skills and Mana Blades, but Marie appreciated the discipline.
And the control.
She practiced with a wooden staff, her movements clean and efficient. Her body ached from exhaustion, but she welcomed the strain. It meant she was still alive.
Tanaka observed her silently from the side, nodding once as she completed a kata sequence.
"Good form," he said. "But your balance needs work."
Marie nodded, catching her breath. "I know. I'm working on it."
He grunted. That was the closest he came to praise.
By the time practice ended, the sky was darkening. Marie cleaned her weapon, changed clothes, and left without saying goodbye. The walk home felt longer in the evening chill.
She arrived at the apartment complex just after sunset. Mr. Kano wasn't in sight—thankfully. She climbed the stairs quickly and locked her door behind her.
Inside, she peeled off her uniform, heated up a nutrient pack, and sat at her desk. Her eyes burned from the long day, but she powered through an hour of study before finally allowing herself to rest.
Lying on her thin mattress, she stared up at the ceiling.
Just a few more weeks.
Then everything would change.
She hoped.