Forsaken Awakening

"Trial completed."

"Wake up, 'Forsaken by Fate'."

The eerie words echoed through the abyss, sending a warmth spreading from Soren's chest, wrapping around his entire body. It felt like he was a steel blade, forged in caring flames. His senses sharpened, his mind cleared, and it was as if a fragile layer of his former self was being peeled away, taking its impurities with it.

Soren knew that awakened people were different. Their bodies became sharper, more refined, more beautiful. Some even left the Havens to become actors or models, basking in the admiration that came with their newfound perfection.

But now that it was happening to him, the transformation felt... natural. Not painful. Not overwhelming. Just right.

Like he was being reforged.

Slowly, the darkness receded.

The abyss peeled back, replaced by a familiar sight.

Soren found himself standing under the night sky, his eyes locked onto the silver glow of the moon.

It was still there, unchanged.

Still night-time.

No… that's not possible.

His fingers curled slightly as his thoughts turned cold, calculating.

It's still night.

But then he noticed—

The moon had moved.

Not much. A shift so small that most would have missed it.

But he noticed.

If it was still there, hanging in that position—then maybe an hour or two had passed.

But that didn't make sense.

The illusion… it lasted days. No—weeks. Months.

A shiver crawled up his spine, but before he could piece his thoughts together, the old man spoke.

"When the sun rises, a clan will come, veiled in righteousness," the old man said, his voice steady. "Don't be fooled. Make your own path."

Soren's jaw clenched slightly.

This old man is driving me insane.

At least, for once, he wasn't being as cryptic as usual.

But still—why was he telling him this?

His gaze flickered toward the old man, suspicion settling in.

Soren had never trusted free guidance.

So before the man could vanish like he always did, Soren asked, bluntly:

"You've been helping me. That much is obvious. But why? What do you gain from this?"

The old man's lips curled—just slightly.

"You're smart, Soren," he said. "Believe me, I know."

Then, a brief pause.

"But some questions are better left unanswered. After all, time doesn't wait for anyone."

His eyes darkened, just for a moment, as if gazing into something far beyond this night.

"Get stronger," he continued. "So that you can stand against the consequences of strength. Ah… that never-ending cycle."

The wind stirred.

And just like that, he was gone.

But this time, Soren noticed something.

The Old Man's disappearance wasn't as seamless as before—something flickered just before he vanished. A distortion. A brief shimmer in the air.

Soren's brows furrowed.

Is he fast… or can he teleport?

His newly sharpened senses picked up on details he would have never noticed before. He could almost feel the space where the Old Man had been, as if something had briefly bent out of place.

But that was just one of the many, many questions in his head.

"Get stronger," the Old Man had said.

Soren exhaled sharply, irritation flickering through his mind.

When did I ever say I wanted to?

And what the hell did he mean by "watching?"

His gaze drifted toward the sky. The moon had moved slightly, but dawn was still a while away.

Is this morning he mentioned… inevitable?

A shiver ran down his spine, but he pushed the thoughts aside. Right now, there were more immediate things to process.

Soren calmed his racing mind—or at least, he tried to.

Everything around him felt different. Sharper. More vivid.

Even in the dim light, the world seemed alive in a way it hadn't before. It wasn't just sight—his very perception had shifted.

His eyes flickered across his surroundings.

The tents of the labor camp had a presence of their own, almost like they were wrapped in something unseen.

The wooden beams. The rough sheets. Even the ground beneath his feet.

It was like everything was covered in a faint, invisible essence.

Soren crouched down, reaching toward a single blade of grass.

Between his fingers, the small green pedal pulsed with something faint, something subtle.

Light.

It was almost imperceptible, but now that he was awakened, he could see it. The tiny traces of life-force, barely flickering beneath the surface.

"Essence..."

It was everywhere. Everything had it.

Soren muttered under his breath, the Old Man's words lingering in his head.

"'Believe me, I know.' … He has some explaining to do."

But the Old Man wasn't the only thing weighing on Soren's mind.

His fingers flexed, feeling the raw power thrumming beneath his skin. His body felt… rejuvenated. Stronger. Like every muscle had been reinforced without him even trying.

Yet—he was still the same scrawny kid.

No bulk. No drastic change. Just pure, refined strength, hidden beneath the same lean frame.

And then there was the bigger question.

His title.

"Forsaken by Fate."

What was the meaning behind it? Why did it have to be so conditional?

And then… his Mastery.

"Jack of All - Master of None."

Soren exhaled slowly, a million new questions swirling in his head.

He wasn't sure if he liked the answers he was about to find.

Soren stepped back into his tent, his mind still adjusting to the new sensations coursing through him.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the erratic voices and fragmented emotions—the ones that had haunted him in the labour camp—were gone.

It was as if something had been… purged.

For the first time in so long, he felt like he was truly in control.

Like his body belonged to him again.

He sank onto his miserable mattress, the rough fabric pressing against his back.

The warmth in his chest was still there, pulsing softly. Not overwhelming. Not chaotic.

Instinctively, he closed his eyes, trying to focus on it.

The warmth responded.

And then—

Everything went black.

When Soren opened his eyes, he was no longer in the tent.

He was back in the abyss.

A vast, empty void stretched in every direction, suffocating and silent—except for the single, burning white circle behind the floating screen before him.

His status screen.

It looked just as it had before he descended from the abyss… but this time, something called to him.

His gaze sharpened as he fixated on a single line:

Mastery: Jack of All - Master of None.

As soon as his focus locked onto it, the text shifted.

A new line appeared.

Description: You can wield everything, but at a greater cost of one's essence. Talent is born, but commitment is forged.

Soren's breath slowed.

I can wield... everything?

His mind raced with the implications.

If he could wield any type of magic, did that mean he wasn't limited to just elemental affinity?Could he use rune sorcery? Pure essence manipulation?

But his excitement was cut short.

"At a greater cost of one's essence."

Just how much greater was this cost?

Soren frowned, his fingers flexing as he stared at the glowing words.

What exactly have I been given?

And more importantly—what would it take from him in return?

Soren snapped out of the abyss.

The void faded, and suddenly, he was back in his tent, lying on the same worn mattress.

His breathing was steady, but his mind wasn't.

That wasn't a dream.

His fingers curled slightly as he let the weight of his new reality settle in.

He whispered to himself.

"It all feels so surreal..."

But there was no escaping it.

This was reality.

His thoughts drifted.

Mom and Dad are dead.Auren is missing.And Lenny… is gone too.

A familiar weight settled over his chest—a quiet, suffocating isolation.

Soren stared at the ceiling of the tent, tracing the uneven wooden beams, feeling that same, hollow emptiness pressing against him.

He let it sit. Let it linger.

Then, slowly, he forced the thoughts aside.

I should test it. But… should I?

His fingers twitched slightly. There were people around—sleeping, unaware—but if something went wrong…

No. I can't be reckless. Something small. Something silent.

Soren sat up, exhaling slowly, then reached toward the ground, scooping up a handful of soil and placing it carefully on the mattress beside him.

He stared at it for a moment.

Then, in a lowered voice, he muttered:

"So… how should I go about this?"

Even the soil was leaking essence.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but now that he had awakened, he could see it—tiny, fragmented traces of light lingering in the air around it.

Can essence be grabbed? Manipulated?

Soren placed his hands around the soil, his fingers hovering just above it.

His mind was clear. Focused.

In his thoughts, he imagined the floating specks of light—pulling them together, piecing them into something solid.

A shape.

A force.

A ball of pressure.

And the fragments… responded.

They moved, drawn toward one another, connecting—forming.

When Soren opened his eyes, it was there.

A small ball of soil, hovering in midair.

His lips curled slightly.

"Not bad, if I say so myself—"

But then, his vision swam.

A wave of sluggishness crashed over him, his body suddenly heavy.

Before he could process it, his head slammed into the pillow of branches.

His last thought before blacking out—

The cost... is much greater than I expected.