The Rift Within

He was sinking.

Not into darkness, but something worse—absence.

It wasn't like falling asleep. Sleep had warmth, a quiet stillness. This was different.

This was like being erased.

Ash felt himself dissolve, his senses unraveling at the edges. The Pull was stronger than before, no longer a whisper but a weight, dragging him into something he couldn't resist.

Then, suddenly—he was somewhere else.

---

The Void Between

He stood in a place that should not exist.

A vast, endless expanse, stretching beyond sight. Not black. Not even empty. It was a space that rejected color, shape, and meaning.

The air—**if it was air—**was thick with something unseen, something hungry.

And in front of him…

A figure.

No, not a figure. A shape.

Twisted, shifting. Flickering. Like it couldn't decide what it was.

A voice rippled through the void.

"You are not meant to be here."

It wasn't spoken. It simply… was.

Ash clenched his fists. Pain flooded his body. He was still wounded, still weak—but somehow, he was standing.

"Yeah?" His voice was raw. "Tell that to whoever keeps dragging me here."

The shape didn't move, yet Ash could feel it watching.

Then, a shift.

The void trembled. The space around him distorted, flickering like a dying signal.

And suddenly, he wasn't alone.

Figures emerged from the shifting abyss—humanoid, but wrong.

Their bodies flickered like broken reflections. Jagged and unstable, as if they didn't fully belong in reality. Their faces were smooth. Featureless. Hollow.

The moment they appeared, they attacked.

No hesitation.

No warning.

They lunged.

Ash barely had time to react. His instincts screamed, but his body was still wrecked from the fight. He tried to move—too slow.

The first one reached him, its hand stretching into something sharp.

Ash braced for impact—

And then the world broke.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

The space around them fractured like shattered glass.

And suddenly, Ash wasn't standing anymore.

He was somewhere else.

Again.

---

The Descent

The shift was instant. One second, he was about to die. The next, he was falling.

Falling through a place that should not exist.

He saw glimpses of things.

A city torn apart by war.

A body that looked like his but wasn't.

A vast, endless abyss, stretching beyond understanding.

And in that abyss—

A throne.

A massive, cracked throne, half-buried in the void.

And something was sitting on it.

Watching.

Waiting.

The moment Ash saw it, he felt his entire being recoil.

Something deep inside him screamed.

And then—

He woke up.

---

The Hospital Wing

Pain.

Sharp, suffocating pain.

Ash gasped, his body seizing as he was pulled back into reality. His lungs burned, his muscles ached, his ribs—still broken.

He was lying in a bed.

White sheets. A dimly lit room. The faint hum of machinery. The air smelled sterile.

A hospital.

Voices.

Familiar ones.

"…he's awake."

Ash turned his head.

Standing near the door were the three Lifted who had saved him before.

The girl—**the one who gave him his name—**was the first to step forward. Her expression unreadable.

"Hey," she said. "You alive?"

Ash swallowed. His throat was dry. "Barely."

Her lips twitched, almost a smirk. "That's an improvement."

Before Ash could respond, a new voice cut in.

"Well, well. Look who survived."

A man stood near the foot of the bed—not one of the Lifted. Older. Dressed in a white coat. His posture was casual, but his eyes were sharp, studying Ash like a puzzle.

"You've been unconscious for a while," the man continued. "Given the state you were in, I'd say that's impressive. Most people don't wake up after injuries like that."

Ash exhaled. "Most people aren't me."

The man chuckled. "Clearly."The girl shifted. "Damn." She studied him like he was something strange. "You've been through all that and you're still just a kid."

Ash's jaw tightened.

"I'm not a kid."

She smirked. "Sure."

Before Ash could respond, the doctor stepped forward.

"The professors want to see you," he said. "A direct summons."

Ash narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

The doctor gave a knowing smile. "Probably because of what you did to that construct."

Ash didn't respond.

Because he already knew.

Something had changed.

And the professors wanted answers.

So did he.Ash sat on the hospital bed, staring at his hands. Something was different.

His body still ached, his wounds still burned, but beneath the exhaustion, he could feel it—something thrumming just beneath his skin.

Power.

Not overwhelming. Not controlled. Just… there.

For the first time, he could feel the Searing within him.

He exhaled, flexing his fingers. He expected flames, energy, something. Instead, nothing happened. Nothing visible, at least.

But he could feel something shifting inside him.

Like a second heartbeat.

Like something waiting.

---

A Weilder's Awakening

He had heard about the process before. The moment a Lifted first touched their power.

Some described it as an eruption—wild, uncontrollable energy. Others claimed it felt like a gradual burn, growing over time.

For Ash, it was neither.

It felt like a wound that refused to close.

A raw, open connection to something bigger than him.

His Trial hadn't just awakened his Searing. It had forcefully carved it into him.

Most Lifted were trained, guided through their awakening in a controlled environment. Ash had been thrown into it—injured, starving, and alone.

He glanced at his arms, half-expecting them to look different. But aside from the bruises and scars, they were the same. The change wasn't physical.

It was deeper.

So how did it work?

---

Testing the Boundaries

Ash clenched his fist, concentrating. He tried to will the power forward, to summon it like he had before.

His body tensed. The strange rhythm beneath his skin stirred—but nothing happened.

No energy. No shift.

Just the same thrumming presence, just out of reach.

Frustration flared in his chest.

Hadn't he just used it? Hadn't it saved his life? So why couldn't he summon it now?

He exhaled sharply, trying again. Focus.

Think back to when it had first happened.

He had been on the edge of death, desperate, clawing for survival. His body had been breaking down, and then—

The Pull.

He frowned. That wasn't normal. Lifted didn't describe anything like that.

Their powers came from within. Not from something external.

But for Ash, it had felt like he had been… drawn toward something.

Not just an awakening. A response.

His fingers twitched. Could that be it?

Was his power something that reacted, rather than something he commanded?

---

A Power Born in Struggle

He sat back, mind racing.

Most Lifted could summon their Searing at will. Even the weakest Wielders could conjure some form of it.

But Ash's power wasn't responding. It had only surfaced when he had no other choice.

Which meant…

He had to be in danger to use it.

His stomach twisted. That was a terrible weakness.

A power that only reacted wasn't a power he could control.

And yet, despite that, he knew it was there.

Lurking. Waiting.

The thought made his skin crawl.

He wasn't just dealing with a normal awakening. His Searing wasn't natural.

Something had changed in his Trial.

And he had no idea what it meant.

---

A Decision

The door creaked open.

Ash didn't look up. He knew who it was before they even spoke.

"You look like you're thinking too hard," the girl's voice said.

He exhaled. "I don't think I'm thinking hard enough."

She stepped closer, arms crossed. "Figuring out your powers?"

He nodded.

"How's that going?"

Ash stared at his hand, fingers tightening. "I have no idea how my Searing works."

She hummed. "That's normal for Wielders. You'll figure it out."

He hesitated. Would he?

This didn't feel normal. This felt wrong.

But he didn't say that. Instead, he exhaled and forced himself to stand.

She raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

He didn't look at her.

"To get answers."