Classification Pending

The ground beneath Donte's feet shimmered—neither metal nor stone, but something in between. A strange substance, solid and fluid all at once, shifted with each step he took. Not unstable, but reactive. Like the world was adjusting itself around him.

All around stretched an endless expanse of dim light and mechanical forms. Towering arches of coiled tubing rose and fell like the ribs of some massive machine. Pulses of dull energy throbbed along them in rhythm, like breath. Vents released silent steam. The air buzzed faintly—charged, expectant.

Donte turned in place.

No walls. No ceiling. No horizon.

Just infinite machinery suspended in an eternal, humming void.

He was utterly alone.

But this place… it wasn't threatening. It was strange. Vast. Ancient. And somehow, it felt familiar.

Then the voice returned.

"Class selection protocol initiated.Unaligned source detected…Classification pending."

It didn't come from above or below. It came from everywhere—and nowhere.

Flat. Mechanical. Not quite synthetic, not quite divine. Just… clean.

Donte's muscles tightened instinctively, his body bracing for something, anything. "Where are you?" he asked aloud.

No response.

Just silence. Thick and patient.

Donte narrowed his eyes and began walking.

The surface shifted beneath him. Plates rearranged ahead of each step—long hexagonal tiles clicking and locking into place—while those behind him melted back into the void, vanishing into static haze.

A path was forming.

And at the far end, rising from the nothingness, he saw them:Three glowing domains.

Like altars in a cathedral forged from circuitry.

Each pulsed with a distinct hue. Each radiated a different pressure. And all three felt impossibly distant… and intimately close.

Donte slowed as he reached the first.

A dome of pulsing red light hovered just ahead, humming with heat.

As he drew closer, it reacted. Red arcs surged outward, curling around him, and visions burst behind his eyes:

A blade cleaving through armor. Screams. Sparks. Blood. Rage.Hands clutching steel. Feet pounding across battle-scorched ground.

Power. Unrelenting. Brutal. Pure.

It was the strength of those who charged forward, never hesitating. Warriors born from fury and forged in fire.

And yet… something about it felt hollow.

Donte blinked, taking a step back. The heat receded. The vision faded.

Too loud, he thought. Too blunt.

Not his path.

The second domain drifted closer—green light radiating from a floating lattice of mechanical parts. Modular frames. Rotating cores. Barrels. Joints. It moved like a factory in mid-assembly, parts orbiting a central frame.

As Donte approached, more images surfaced:

Drones deploying from compartments. Compact firearms clicking into place. Automated turrets spinning, targeting, firing.Gears whirring. Efficiency without elegance. Function over form.

It was clever. Controlled.A calculated kind of power.

But to Donte, it felt… sterile.

Like something designed by committee.

He frowned and turned away.

Not that either.

The final domain stood tall—taller than the others—like a tower carved from light and shadow.Its glow wasn't red or green.

It was purple, edged in a soft white.

Not demanding.

Not loud.

But present. Waiting.

As Donte neared, something stirred.

Symbols began to float around the base of the tower—glyphs shaped like complex circuitry and ancient diagrams, rotating slowly in silent orbits. They shimmered like dust caught in moonlight.

Runes.

They weren't part of the structure. They were alive. Aware.

Donte's arms prickled.

He looked down.

They were on him.

Soft, faint at first—then sharper. Lines of purple etched themselves across his forearms and hands, not burning, not painful—just… right. They moved with his breath. Aligned with muscle, curled along bone.

He didn't know what they meant.

But deep inside, he understood them.

They didn't speak in words.

They spoke in design.

Then the voice returned—colder this time. Final.

"Runic Tinker:A rare class born of invention and forgotten script.Capable of fusing machinery and magic through runic interfacing."

Donte's breath hitched.

A name he'd never heard before—but somehow had always known.

There was no question. No pause. No second thought.

He stepped forward.

The moment his foot crossed the boundary, the domain flared with power.

The runes on his arms brightened, glowing like white-hot circuits traced in amethyst. They didn't just sit on his skin. They wove into him, aligning like they'd been waiting for a body to return to.

Then:

"Link established.Assembly… underway."

The structure shattered.

But it didn't collapse.

It ascended.

Shards of glowing violet light rose upward like embers, swirling through the void, forming intricate shapes—schematics, circles, spirals. They wove into the sky above him, reshaping something far larger than he could comprehend.

The air vibrated with soundless thunder.

Donte staggered slightly—his chest thrumming with energy, his breath sharp in his lungs. Something ancient had been unlocked. Not granted. Not gifted. Just… revealed.

And then—white.

Total.

Consuming.

A blinding wash of light swept through the space, erasing every shape, every sound, every boundary.

And as it faded—

Donte knew.

He was no longer what he had been.