They called it the Genesis Awakening. No one truly understood how it started. Only that one day, the world shifted, and magic flowed into it unseen, untamed, unstoppable. That day changed everything.
Mana became life itself. Cities grew. Children awakened to powers before they learned to read. The strong rose. The weak were ignored.
Everyone got something.
Except Akira.
At seventeen, he had nothing. Not a flicker. Not a glow. Every test said the same thing: mana absent. Dormant. Or, more bluntly nonexistent.
He had walked home alone that night, fists clenched, heart hollow. He didn't bother answering his mentor's messages. What was the point? Genma trained warriors, not ghosts.
Later, as Akira lay in bed staring at the cracked ceiling of his apartment, he heard it.
A voice.
Low and distorted barely a whisper but there.
"You're empty... but hungry..."
He sat up sharply, but the room was still. Silent. Except
The air was colder than it should've been. His breath fogged faintly, though it was mid-autumn. His eyes scanned the dark room.
Then he saw it.
A shadow stretched across the far wall, though nothing was casting it. Long. Curved. Sharp. The unmistakable shape of a blade.
But when he turned on the light it vanished.
Akira didn't sleep much that night. Every time he closed his eyes, something whispered. Not in words. Just a feeling.
Come closer.
The next day was cold and overcast.The city of Kyoden buzzed as usual, but Akira wasn't paying attention. He took the alleys to avoid crowds, head down, lost in thought.
That was when he was ambushed.
Two figures stepped out from behind rusted dumpsters, blocking both ends of the alley.
"Well, well," the taller one said, cracking his knuckles. "Look who we've got."
Akira's fists clenched. "I'm not in the mood."
"Then this'll be quick," the second one said, grinning. He had a dagger, but the real threat was the first guy enhanced, probably wind magic. The way he moved screamed mana user.
Akira tried to slip past, but the big one slammed him into the wall with a gust of force. "You know the drill. Gold. Rings. Anything else on you?"
"I don't have anything," Akira spat.
"You got nerve," the thin one said. "Let's see if it's magic-proof."
The punch came fast.
Akira braced—
—but something else moved.
There was a hum in the air. Then weight in his hand.
He looked down.
A sword.
Long. Black. Old. It pulsed in his grip like it had a heartbeat of its own. His own heartbeat surged to match it. His vision blurred for a moment as the air seemed to bend around him.
He didn't remember moving. But the next second, the thugs were on the ground.
Groaning.
Unconscious.
He stood there, panting, the sword still humming quietly. His hands shook not from fear, but from something else. Something euphoric.
Then he heard it again.
A whisper.
"That's more like it…"
He spun around. No one. Only empty alleyway and broken crates.
The sword stopped pulsing.
He dropped it immediately, heart racing. It clattered to the concrete, silent once again. But even on the ground, it didn't look like an ordinary weapon. It looked like it was watching him.
That's when she appeared.
A woman stepped out from behind the alley wall, dressed in a long cloak and mage's gear, round glasses perched low on her nose. She didn't speak right away just looked at the blade.
"That mark," she murmured. "I've seen that once before. In a scroll sealed by the Corps."
Akira stepped back. "Who are you?"
"No one important," she said. "But that sword...
She looked him over once more, eyes narrowing.
"You'll be hearing from someone. Soon." She said
And just like that she vanished, disappearing into the wind with a spell too fast for him to catch.
Akira didn't move for a long time.
When he finally made it home, the sword was already waiting for him. Resting in the corner of his room, as if it had never left.
The next morning, Akira left the city.
He didn't tell anyone where he was going just took his bag, left the sword wrapped in cloth, and hiked toward the deep woods that lay east of Kyoden. The further he got from the city, the clearer his head became.
By the time he reached the cabin nestled between moss-covered trees, the wind had grown sharp, and the sun dipped behind gray clouds.
He knocked once.
The door opened with a familiar creak.
"You finally show up," grunted a voice from within.
Master Genma stood in the doorway, arms crossed, gray beard thick and unkempt as ever. His eyes immediately flicked to Akira's posture. Then to the barely visible outline of the cloth-wrapped blade on Akira's back.
"Something happened."
Akira nodded. "You're not gonna believe it."
"Try me."
They sat beside the fire inside, and Akira explained everything except for the voice, and the shadow, and the exact feeling he got when he held the sword. Some things felt too... personal. Or maybe too dangerous.
Genma said nothing at first.
Then: "You didn't draw that sword. It drew you."
Akira glanced at him. "That doesn't make sense."
"Doesn't have to." Genma tossed a log into the fire. "I've seen magic take strange forms. And I've seen power pretend to sleep waiting for the right moment."
He stood, cracked his knuckles.
"If the sword chose you, then someone out there is going to want you dead. So we start training. Now."
Akira blinked. "I didn't bring gear."
"You have a sword, don't you?"
Akira hesitated. Then reached over, slowly unwrapping the cloth.
The moment the blade was free, the fire in the hearth dimmed. The room felt... heavier.
Genma narrowed his eyes.
"That sword," he muttered, "is not from this world."
Akira stared at it.
He didn't know why but part of him agreed.