Authorization Pending

The morning air tasted of damp metal and smoke.

Donte stood at the narrow window of his room, watching Arcton wake. Steam vents hissed softly from the buildings across the street, their chimneys already coughing out ribbons of pale exhaust. Somewhere deeper in the city, the groan of an airship lifting off echoed like a leviathan's sigh. Below, the alleys moved with slow intent—workers dragging themselves to factories, vendors pulling carts into the market sector, shopfronts lighting up one by one.

Inside the orphanage, things were quieter. Muted voices from below. A few doors creaked open. Donte had been up for hours.

He turned the small, sealed parchment over in his hand again.

The wax insignia glowed faintly with golden script—the mark of the Church of Ascension. Official. Untampered. Undeniable.

This thin sheet contained his class identity. His registration code. His first legal recognition as a member of society—no longer just an orphan, but a citizen with potential. A "choice," they called it.

But Donte already knew what was inside.

He hadn't opened it. He didn't need to.

He had seen it written in purple light. Felt it etch itself into the marrow of his bones. The class hadn't just been offered. It had called to him.

A knock broke the silence.

Three short taps. Hesitant. Familiar.

He turned.

The door cracked open an inch, and Vespera peeked through. Her eyes were alert, hair tied back loosely behind her shoulders, jacket already buttoned.

"You ready?" she asked.

Donte blinked once, then gave a slow nod.

The walk to the Ascension Office was longer than it needed to be, mostly because neither of them rushed.

Arcton's outer sectors pulsed around them—clanking walkways, old cable rails, low-hanging signs flickering in worn neon. The scent of synthetic oil mixed with the sharper tang of street food and iron. Civilians moved like clockwork, boots on pavement, heads down, attention locked into displays or morning routines.

Vespera walked slightly ahead, hands tucked into her coat pockets. She glanced over her shoulder occasionally to make sure Donte hadn't drifted off in thought again.

He had.

"You alright?" she asked after the third time.

"Yeah."

"You don't look it."

"I'm thinking."

She gave a faint snort. "I figured. Just… don't think yourself into a coma before we get there."

Donte didn't answer. He was watching the sky.

Above them, the sleek outlines of two patrol skimmers crossed over the roofs in formation—civic enforcement. Non-combat vehicles, probably on routine patrol. Still, they reminded Donte just how advanced this world was. How layered. How full of things he didn't yet understand.

Soon.

The Office of Ascension Affairs sat near the city's interior rim—a spoked district where old Arcton met newer infrastructure. The building stood tall, clean, and thoroughly unlike the grimy stone and exposed cabling of the lower sectors. Its facade gleamed with smooth panels and faint silver etching. Long banners of golden script floated across display glass, translating itself into shifting language based on who approached.

Donte's eyes caught one line in particular:

"Your Spirit Matrix is more than a class. It is the shape of your potential."

Inside, the office was quieter than he expected. No grand marble hallways. No ceremonial flair. Just polished floors, numbered stations, clerks in half-robes, and a stream of newly initiated sixteen-year-olds lined up across waiting benches—some alone, some with parents, most with blank stares or nervous expressions.

Donte and Vespera joined the line without speaking. When their turn came, they stepped to the terminal together.

A bored registrar—mid-thirties, cybernetic implant beneath one eye—barely glanced up. "Names."

"Vespera Cael," she said, handing over her parchment.

"Donte," he added, passing his own.

The clerk scanned the seals with a small, glowing device. Golden light pulsed once over the surface, then green. She slid both parchments into a slot behind her and typed a few quick commands.

Two small packets emerged from a drawer. Not full books, but they weren't paper either—thin metal binders with crystalline strips running along their edges. A faint shimmer of script flickered across the surfaces.

"Congratulations," the clerk said without inflection. "These are your basic Spirit Matrix registries. Contains your class designation, ID code, and introductory material. Do not tamper with the binding. Your information is magically encoded and logged with the Central Ascension Network."

She pushed the packets toward them and motioned toward a side room.

"You'll be called in for induction shortly. Orientation is mandatory."

The waiting lounge was small and softly lit, walls humming faintly with ambient script. The group seated inside was made up of other new initiates—some in awe, some curled in silence. A projection rune flared briefly on the far wall, and a translucent figure appeared.

Not a person. A recording.

"Welcome, initiates," the voice said. Calm. Genderless. Programmed. "This session will explain the foundational aspects of your Awakening and the activation of your Spirit Matrix."

Donte leaned forward slightly.

The figure continued.

"Your Spirit Matrix is a metaphysical construct—a bridge between soul and power. Upon Awakening, this structure becomes active, binding your class to your essence and unlocking the potential that lies dormant within you."

"From this point forward, your growth is measured in two ways: Stars and Ranks."

A diagram formed behind the figure—two concentric ladders. One vertical, one circling upward like a spiral.

"Your Rank is your class's overall tier, denoted by letter grades: F, E, D, C, and B. Most citizens remain between F and D for their entire lives. To advance to a new rank, one must accomplish a defining feat tied to their class—a threshold moment that proves their mastery and pushes their Spirit Matrix to evolve. These events are not routine. They are rare, personal, and powerful."

"Within each Rank are Star Grades, numbered from 1 to 4. These reflect your proficiency and practical growth. A 1-star D-Rank is considered a trained combatant. A 4-star D-Rank is often elite. Star increases come through usage, understanding, and refinement of your class and skills."

The image shifted. Now a shimmering sphere floated behind the figure, with glowing constellations flickering inside.

"Some of you may have glimpsed a personal space during your Awakening—a mental landscape, often symbolic or abstract. This is known as your Mindscape. It is a unique reflection of your Spirit Matrix and becomes more accessible as your class evolves. Within it, you may come to understand your skills, unlock insights, and measure your growth in a way no one else can."

Donte's breath slowed.

That place… with the circuits, the runes, the domains…That was my Mindscape.

The projection continued.

"You have each received a number of skills tied directly to your class. Common classes grant fewer—usually one to two. Rare alignments, such as hybrid or divine-bound classes, may unlock more. These skills are expressions of your class. They will grow with you. They may change based on how you use them."

"Mastery evolves them. Thought reshapes them. The Matrix remembers everything."

The figure bowed slightly, and the projection faded.

Vespera exhaled slowly. "Well. That's not terrifying at all."

Donte didn't respond. His mind was spinning—not with fear, but with structure. The framework made sense. The idea of skills tied to experience… of growth built not just through time, but through action.

It was like architecture.

Not a system to be obeyed.

A structure to be engineered.

He opened his packet.

Inside, a soft violet glow flickered once—brief, then gone. He skimmed the front line:

Class Assigned: Runic TinkerClassification: Uncommon. Magical-Mechanical Hybrid.Registration Code: 601-Δ-VI-23Skills: [Redacted – See local registry technician for clearance]

Interesting.

He snapped the packet closed.

Beside him, Vespera looked down at hers.

She opened it.

Didn't speak.

Didn't smile.

But her brow furrowed just slightly.

And then she nodded to herself, as if confirming something she already suspected.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

Outside, Arcton was louder now. Midday had arrived. Market crowds had tripled. Voices shouted over carts and drones. Neon flashed off wet cobblestone.

As they stepped back into the noise, Vespera pulled her coat tighter.

"We've got the day," she said.

Donte glanced at her. "To do what?"

She shrugged. "Whatever we want. Until the next lecture or test or… whatever they throw at us. Might be our last normal afternoon for a while."

He didn't answer immediately. Then—

"Alright."

Vespera raised an eyebrow, surprised he agreed so easily. "Really?"

Donte looked forward, toward the crowded avenue.

"Just don't expect it to be a habit."

She grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."

They walked on.

And somewhere deep within him, his Spirit Matrix hummed softly—quiet, waiting, alive.