AN:Please comment as much as you can — I really want your help so I can improve.
Sunday mornings in Fortress City Wiesbaden were supposed to be quiet. At least, that was the illusion.
From her mattress on the floor, Marie Williams could hear the hum of the filtration towers reverberating through the walls of her building. She lay still, wrapped in two layers of blankets, eyes open, watching the shifting light on the cracked ceiling.
She hadn't slept well again. Too many thoughts. Too many possibilities. Her scan results kept looping in her mind: confirmed System status, above-average mana metrics, and yet—no defined affinity.
The silence didn't help. It pressed down on her more than the blankets did.
Eventually, she got up.
She didn't need to be at school today. But she went anyway.
The Cold Weapon Club had optional training hours on Sundays, and Marie preferred structure. She walked the fifteen blocks through Zone 3, keeping her eyes low and her pace steady.
Wiesbaden's lower districts were always more desolate on weekends. The city functioned on a rotating economy—most essential services paused or switched sectors every two days. That meant fewer people on the street, fewer drones overhead, and fewer excuses to stop.
She passed by a shuttered convenience outlet. Its screen was stuck on a looped ad showing a glowing young girl holding a staff of light.
"Your path begins with courage. Register for Awakening support today!"
Marie didn't stop. She'd seen it before.
She didn't need a pre-scripted path.
At the school dojo, only two others were present.
Neither spoke to her. She nodded to Tanaka-sensei and retrieved her weighted baton from the locker.
For the next two hours, she drilled.
Strike. Pivot. Step. Guard.
Each repetition carved a little more certainty into her limbs. Her mind, however, remained a battleground of uncertainty.
Tanaka watched her with his usual impassive gaze.
"You're pressing too hard on your turns," he said after her sixth set.
She adjusted.
On her ninth set, she stumbled.
"Again."
She nodded.
After training, Marie didn't go home immediately. Instead, she climbed to the second-floor library wing, which remained open on weekends thanks to the volunteer program.
It was mostly empty. Just a retired admin at the check-in terminal, and one boy from Class 3-B sleeping over a pile of notes.
Marie settled into her usual seat—far back, near the north-facing window—and connected her datapad to the public terminal.
She opened the article Ms. Aoki had given her again. Highlighted another paragraph.
"Suppressed affinities may react to emotional extremes, rare mana resonance events, or latent physical trauma."
Marie frowned.
She felt... none of those things. Not strongly enough, anyway.
Was that the problem?
Was she too... balanced?
Too quiet?
She didn't know.
And that, more than anything, gnawed at her.
By late afternoon, she finally returned to her apartment. Her legs ached, her arms were sore, and her stomach reminded her that she'd skipped both breakfast and lunch.
She heated a protein pack and forced herself to eat. The taste didn't matter.
She considered messaging Ms. Aoki.
But what would she even say?
"What if I awaken with nothing?"
No. That wasn't a question anyone could answer.
She finished her meal and turned off the lights early.
Monday came fast.
Another school week. Four days to go until the official Awakening excursion to the Assoziation headquarters. It had finally been confirmed in the system calendar.
Friday.
At 08:00, buses would arrive to take all registered third-years to the regional Assoziation evaluation center at the southern edge of Fortress City Wiesbaden.
Marie had seen pictures. The outer façade looked like a fortress more than a campus—tiered towers, mana-light barriers, reinforced arcades. A place of thresholds.
She tried not to let her imagination wander too far.
At school, a new energy rippled through the halls. Almost everyone had received their official appointment times and clearance codes. There was talk of simulated gates. Of class-testing chambers. Of legacy bloodlines.
Some students were even forming early sub-groups. Mock squads. As if preparing for Guild auditions.
Marie didn't join any of them.
That day, Magical Theory was replaced with a special advisory session.
Students were separated by class and brought in small groups to Seminar Room 2D. Inside, they found tables arranged in circles, each with a set of blank System planning templates.
A counselor from the Assoziation led the session. Middle-aged, with a trimmed beard and an artificial eye that flicked between faces without blinking.
"Today's goal," he said, "is simple: Projection."
He gestured to the template.
"Think about what you want. What fits. Who you might become. Write it down."
Marie stared at the sheet.
Name: _______________________
Class Preference: ____________
Attribute Focus: _____________
Preferred Skill Type: ________
Combat Role: ________________
She didn't move for a long time.
Then, slowly, she filled it out:
Name: Marie Williams
Class Preference: Adaptive Mage
Attribute Focus: INT, DEX, PER
Preferred Skill Type: Tactical Support
Combat Role: Flexible/Flanking
The counselor took the sheets at the end and gave no feedback.
But when Marie glanced at the stack of forms, she noticed that hers was the only one without a Guild affiliation preference.
Lunch was quieter than expected. Her usual stairwell was empty again.
She sat down, soup in hand, and stared out at the courtyard.
Two students sparred with mana-imbued batons under supervision. One struck too hard, and the other went down hard. A warning was called, but no one intervened.
Marie didn't look away.
She watched the fallen student rise, dazed, blood at the corner of his mouth.
He nodded. Got back into stance.
The match resumed.
In the afternoon, she returned to the rooftop garden.
It was windier than usual. Dust swept over the concrete planters, kicking dead leaves into the air.
She sat on the bench, pulling her coat tight.
Her datapad buzzed with an update:
Assoziation Reminder: Please ensure all forms are completed before Awakening Day.
You will be evaluated based on physical, cognitive, and emotional readiness.
Bring your ID chip, datapad, and personal statement.
Marie stared at the message.
Personal statement.
She hadn't written one yet.
That night, she tried.
She sat at her desk for two hours, fingers over the keyboard.
Nothing came.
Eventually, she typed three lines:
"My name is Marie Williams. I am ready to awaken. I seek to survive."
She saved it.
Didn't send it.
She would revise it later.
Maybe.
She lay down early again.
This time, the dreams were different.
There was no corridor. No whispers. No reflections.
Only static.
A deep, buzzing noise that filled the dark.
And a light—pulsing, distant.
As if something ancient were trying to speak.
But couldn't.