Awakening's Ripple

The cafeteria's noise faded into the background as I scrolled through my phone, the screen's light standing out against the room's harsh fluorescent lights. My family's messages were a mix of worry and pride, their words of caution doing little to quell the rising tide of unease that had become my constant companion since joining the military. "Stay safe," my mother had written, her message punctuated with a string of heart emojis. Emily's text was shorter, more to the point: "Don't push too hard, Ry."

I switched over to EchoChat, where a handful of messages from Alex awaited my attention. Since forming his Mana Core, his communications had become less frequent, a change I attributed partly to my own sporadic replies. His latest missives conveyed a significant development: Alex was considering enlisting in Zylonia's military, drawn by the enticing prospect of a hefty salary reserved for Awakened soldiers. This wasn't just a local phenomenon; the trend of compensating Awakened military personnel handsomely had taken root globally. Valoria, the economic powerhouse, had been the trailblazer in this shift, setting a standard that other nations, including Alstropia, had followed. It was a strategic move, recognizing the enhanced capabilities of the Awakened and leveraging them in military ranks. Alex's interest in this path was a clear sign of how Valoria's policy was reshaping military recruitment and the lives of those with newfound powers.

As I pondered the implications of this global shift, I couldn't shake the feeling that the novelty of our abilities would eventually wear off, the extraordinary becoming merely ordinary as the ranks of the Awakened swelled. It was a thought that brought with it a sense of urgency; I needed to make the most of this opportunity while it lasted.

Scrolling through the news feed on Chatter, I was met with a bleak picture of the world's state. Crime rates were surging, not just among the general populace but also within the ranks of the incarcerated. It seemed that the Awakened were as diverse as the rest of humanity, with both the just and the lawless discovering their powers. In Alstropia, where the death penalty had long been abolished, the challenge of containing these newly empowered prisoners was becoming ever more pressing.

The situation was even more dire in developing nations, where the systems in place were ill-equipped to deal with the surge of the Awakened. The infrastructure that once sufficed was now being tested to its limits. Yet, amidst this chaos, there was a glimmer of determination. Plans were being drafted, laws reconsidered, to ensure that those who Awakened within the prison walls wouldn't so easily slip through the cracks.

Companies were stepping up, offering fortified materials and advanced security solutions to safeguard homes and businesses against the formidable strength of the Awakened. The world was adapting, with renovations underway to transform prisons into bastions capable of containing those who might misuse their newfound abilities.

I couldn't help but worry about Elmridge. The sight of Emily with her new firearm did offer some comfort, but it was a temporary solution at best. The unease crept back in as I pondered the future. How long would a bullet suffice against the Awakened? The thought of these empowered individuals developing an immunity to such force was a specific and growing concern. It wasn't just a matter of if, but when such formidable adversaries would appear, and whether Elmridge would be ready when they did. The possibility that our city might one day face criminals who could shrug off bullets like raindrops was a chilling prospect that haunted my every thought.

I kept reading the news, taking in how countries everywhere were handling the Awakened situation. A new law was spreading as fast as the news of the Awakened themselves, with many nations already requiring registration and others getting ready to do the same. It was like watching a line of dominoes fall, each country's decision affecting the next. My phone screen flickered with updates, each one a reminder of the big changes happening around the world. It was clear that we were living through a major shift, and the mix of responses from different countries showed how complex and challenging the situation was.

Just as I was about to swipe to the next article, Tristan and Marcus materialized in my line of sight, their steps weighed down by fatigue, trays laden with food in hand. Spotting me, they navigated through the cafeteria's maze of tables and chairs, their presence a welcome interruption to my solitary lunch.

"Mind if we join you?" Marcus asked, his voice carrying the weight of their shared fatigue.

I shook my head, gesturing to the empty seats beside me. "Not at all. How's the training going?"

They settled into their chairs, their trays laden with the day's meal. As they recounted their experiences, it was evident that their training routine mirrored my own. They spoke of voluntary extra training sessions, where those looking to Awaken, including them, were subjected to the same machine I had endured. The goal was to enhance their pain tolerance, a necessary step to increase their chances of surviving the Awakening process.

I gave a knowing smile. "Trust me, I've been there. That machine is a beast, but it's a necessary evil. It's painful, no doubt, but it's nothing compared to forming a Mana Core. That's a whole different level of pain—it's not just about enduring it, but also being able to concentrate during the pain." I paused, letting the gravity of my words sink in. "If I'd had the chance to train with it before I Awakened, it would've made a world of difference. It really does toughen you up, but remember, the pain from the machine pales in comparison to what you'll face when you Awaken."

Marcus nodded, his usual confidence giving way to a more reflective demeanor. "I can imagine," he said, his voice steady. "We've heard the stories, but it's different hearing it from someone we know."

Tristan's gaze was steady and resolute. "We're aware of the risks, but we're committed to this path."

After a moment of contemplative silence, I decided to steer the conversation toward the heart of our shared reality. "It's that very commitment that sets you apart," I said, nodding in approval. "It's the same resolve that carried me through when I faced the trial of forming my Mana Core. Speaking of which," I continued, my tone shifting to one of genuine curiosity, "have you both considered whether you will attempt to form a Mana Core or Meridians?"

They exchanged a glance, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. "We've thought about it," Tristan admitted, his voice tight. "It's a big decision. We're both still weighing the pros and cons. The Mana Core seems safer, but the Meridians offer more potential. We're not sure what we'll choose yet," Marcus added, his gaze drifting away.

I nodded, understanding their hesitation all too well. "I get it. It's not an easy decision. But if you're set on going through with it, I'd suggest starting with the Mana Core. It's safer, and the pain... well, it's unlike anything you've ever felt, but at least you'll be alive to talk about it. The machine here—it helps, but nothing can truly prepare you for that kind of pain." I paused, adding, "I know the Meridians offer more potential, but what good is that potential if you die in the process?"

Their eyes widened slightly at my candidness, but they didn't shy away from the conversation. Instead, they leaned in, eager to glean whatever insight they could from my experiences.

As we talked, the walls between us began to crumble, revealing more about Marcus and Tristan. They shared their hopes and fears, their motivations for joining the military, and their dreams of what might come after. In turn, I found myself opening up about my own journey, from the monotony of my corporate job to the surreal reality of my life as an Awakened recruit.

However, I kept the harrowing details of my time in Korzuv to myself. The tale of my abduction and the experiments I endured seemed too fantastical, and I feared it might draw unwanted attention from Valoria, the very nation that had orchestrated my kidnapping and subsequent rescue. It was a secret I held close, a burden I wasn't ready to share, even with these new friends who were quickly becoming my brothers in arms.

The conversation was a welcome distraction from the relentless pace of training. It was a reminder that despite our differences, we were all navigating this strange new world together, bound by a shared sense of purpose and the unspoken understanding that our lives would never be the same again.

After lunch, I parted ways with Marcus and Tristan as I headed to the shooting range. I couldn't shake the feeling that our experiences were diverging. While they seemed to have a lull in their schedule, my own training as an Awakened was relentless. I suspected that the intensity of our regimens was a direct reflection of the expectations placed upon us. The military invested more in the Awakened, anticipating a greater return on their investment—higher pay for higher stakes.

The range was buzzing with activity as I arrived. Other recruits were scattered around, some engaged in conversation, others with their eyes closed in concentration as they absorbed Mana. A few were hunched over their phones, perhaps seeking a momentary escape from the rigors of training.

I decided to set aside my water creation endeavors for the moment. It seemed wiser to practice this skill in the privacy of my room when Eldric wasn't around. The less he knew about my abilities, the better. Lily's words had hinted that Valoria had little concern for someone like me, but I wasn't convinced it was a chance-free assessment. As far as they were concerned, I was just another average guy with a Mana Core, not worth their notice. Keeping my true potential under wraps felt like a prudent move, a necessary precaution in a world where being unremarkable could be my greatest asset.

A wave of fatigue washed over me, and I began to absorb Mana, feeling the energy replenish my tired muscles. The day had been grueling, and the thought of sleep was a beacon of relief. The upcoming one-hour rest after target practice was a godsend, a chance for my body and mind to recuperate before I pushed myself further.

The drill sergeant's arrival signaled the start of our target practice. There was no need for a briefing; we all knew what was expected of us. With a curt nod, the sergeant instructed us to begin.

I took my position at the firing line, the weight of the Vanguard familiar in my hands. As I fired round after round, I noticed an improvement in my control over the weapon. It was still a challenge, the recoil demanding my full attention, but the gun felt less unwieldy than before. Even so, the strain on my shoulders and arms was undeniable, and I found myself pausing to heal the soreness that crept into my muscles.

Observing the other recruits, I couldn't help but assess their performance. The ones wielding assault rifles displayed impressive accuracy, their shots clustering tightly around the bullseye. My own aim, while not the worst, left much to be desired. I was average at best, and I knew that average wouldn't cut it in the face of the unknown threats we were being trained to confront.

The heavyweight weapons, with their impressive firepower, were an awe-inspiring sight. The recruits, despite their heft, still grappled with the recoil, their bodies tensing with each shot. Sergeant Foster's demonstration earlier had been a masterclass in control, his smaller stature making the weapons appear almost effortless to handle. It was hard to believe that the sergeant, who was not as bulky as the recruits currently wrestling with the weapons, could wield such firepower with such finesse. I found myself pondering whether he was using specialized ammunition to reduce recoil, or if his skill was simply extraordinary. The thought that someone of my own build, similar to Foster's, could manage these weapons seemed almost inconceivable.

The snipers, with their precise, long-range shots, were a sight to behold. The specialized bullets they employed seemed to transcend the ordinary capabilities of their weapons, hitting targets up to 1000 meters away with remarkable precision. It was clear that these advancements in ammunition were designed to synergize with the enhanced abilities of the Awakened, compensating for the increased recoil inherent in their firearms. Watching the bullets find their mark at such extreme distances, I couldn't help but marvel at the ingenuity that had gone into developing such sophisticated armaments.

As I continued to shoot, I focused on absorbing Mana, directing the energy to my shoulders, arms, and core. The pain in my right chest, where the stock of the rifle had been bruising my skin, needed attention, and I healed the tender area with a concentrated effort.

When the session finally came to an end, I took stock of my performance. My accuracy had improved, but I was acutely aware of the need to become stronger. The physical toll of wielding such a powerful weapon was evident in the soreness that set in after just a couple of minutes of continuous fire. Increasing my strength would not only improve my endurance but also enhance my ability to control the recoil, thereby increasing my chances of survival in actual combat situations.

I left the shooting range and made my way back to the dorm, the day's exertions weighing on me as a sign of the progress I was making. For now, though, rest called, and I was eager to answer.