Chương 2

Something clearly wasn't right here. The letter was definitely addressed to him—that was his name. Yet… He read it over again. It also felt like it presumed he'd say yes, like this 'Awakening' was something everyone would want. As for what it entailed—it was well within his capabilities to put two and two together. Somehow, absurdly, his main objection wasn't the impossibility of it all—even if he accepted this truly was real, which he still wasn't certain he did, it felt impossible that this would happen to him.

He didn't want to go back upstairs—it was like he had some kind of mental block. And then—"Stark City." He opened his maps app, searched it up—and sure enough, it was right there. 30 minutes by car, almost directly north. A second passed.

"That isn't a city." But it was—he zoomed in and the street names came into view. It had a fairly dense-looking downtown, a waterfront park—a light rail? Wait. He quickly zoomed out, and felt a sudden relief. There was Queens, just about an hour-and-a-half away by train. He pinched again and the rest of New York City came into view—definitely still intact. The little landmarks were there, just like he knew them. Another, and he was looking at the east coast, and then the U. S.

as a whole—everything seemed where it should be. The cities were there, the coastlines seemed unaltered. He searched Stark City again, and this time scrolled down to the little description. Which didn't tell him much besides the population and city size—just around 200, 000, incidentally—so he tapped the Wikipedia link and noted the label. Est. 2003.

A quick skim of the city history told him that there was an initial wave of rift breaks along the north shore of Long Island circa 2003, after which it was decided the region needed a Delver's Association branch. Re-zoning quickly followed and space was set aside for a new city. It felt like all the articles he'd read were finally starting to make a full picture. If there's an entire international dueling circuit—if you have the time to devote to that—it likely means you have the rift situation under control.

Which explains why cities seem relatively undamaged, I suppose? Which also maybe explains why my life—if this is what I think it is—is? —was? Almost the same? It felt like he was analyzing all this in the third-person. He tapped a light rail station and Street View'd it. Shiny glass buildings circled it, name-brand stores, a walkable-looking city center, quite clean. They built an entire functioning light rail, in under twenty years, on Long Island. He couldn't believe this was the thing that almost convinced him.

He read the letter yet another time. A few indecisive minutes passed, and he supposed there wasn't anything else to be gained just standing there—he felt like all he was doing was putting it off. I guess there's only one way to know for sure. He called an Uber.

He'd never been more than a few miles north by car—there wasn't much there besides rich-person suburbs, at least to his recollection. After ten minutes, he was mostly seeing mid-rise buildings and street-level stores. And then high-rises, and glass, and steel… In twenty minutes he was absolutely in a city. A city that seemed very shiny and new, and relatively faceless—a little soulless, maybe, in the way shiny new places were. It had all the name-brand stores he'd expect and several new ones he didn't recognize.

The Delver's Association building here was an all-glass skyscraper. He was silent almost the entire time. Then, a quick exchange with the driver—"Is here alright?"

"Yes, thank you." He stepped out, and faced the skyscraper. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. He was standing at an intersection—protected bike lanes, wide sidewalks. He noticed a set of stairs to his left, under a glass station canopy. Light rail, he idly noticed. He glanced down at his letter. Then, at the building. A gleaming crest, little wings to either side of it. It seemed like the HQ of some big company, or maybe a U. N.

building. He walked toward it. Put his hand up to the steel rectangles for handles, pushed—quite a heavy, tall glass door which took a few seconds to open. And then he was standing in the lobby, whose ceiling was maybe thirty or forty feet high, glossy floors. His footsteps echoed as he stepped in, and then silence. … Am I...? He was about to ask himself if he was in the right place, which was a silly question. He kind of felt like he shouldn't be here, and he wasn't sure why.

"Can I help you?" There was a receptionist behind the desk, some thirty feet away, looking curious. He blinked.

"Yeah, I'm…" There were two reasons he trailed off. The first was that at some level—at some intuitive level—he genuinely didn't think he'd get this far. He was realizing he didn't really have a plan, and he didn't quite know what he was doing, which wasn't like him. The second—a man in a set of gleaming silver plate, with an equally shiny sword and shield strapped to his back, walked right past him.

It wasn't the kind of plate you'd see in a Renaissance faire—its unnecessary flourishes, just the look of the steel—he'd never seen steel that looked that… clean, for lack of a better word. The man didn't look like a real-life knight, he looked like the ideal of a knight. The man nodded to the receptionist, who nodded back.

"Afternoon."

"Hey there. The Exchange is floors 11 through 14." The man took the leftmost of three elevators, and left.

"You were saying?" said the receptionist.

"Ah—yes. Sorry about that," Alex found himself saying.

"I'm a little distracted today, I think." She smiled.

"That's okay. What was it you were looking for?" At which point he finally took the hint, and produced the letter. She brightened, and her expression seemed more understanding.

"ID?" He presented it, and she quickly checked him in.

"You're on the 21 st floor. Any of the elevators will do."

"Thanks." Which was how he found himself standing in front of the elevators, staring blankly. I really have to stop doing this. … To be fair, he conceded to himself. I'm probably still in shock. His reflection shimmered in the steel elevator doors. He noticed something higher in the reflection—a square of flashing lights. He looked over his shoulder. It was a digital display in the square outside. It featured a very handsome white-haired man in priest-like robes, advertising a sports drink.

Another, at an angle around the square—a beautiful, short-haired lady looking away from the camera, leaning on a very large, gemstone-studded bow, in high-end designer clothes. He stepped forward and tapped the button.

The elevator ride up felt interminable, although it likely took under ten seconds. The twenty-first floor was tall, glass sections of walls to the left, with light filtering through—and sheets of steel to the right, with doors carved into them. There were officials next to the doors in suits.

"Please, take a seat," said the nearest—which was all they said. He did, next to the only other person there. A dark-haired, sharp-featured guy who seemed to be around his age, maybe slightly younger, but likely no younger than eighteen. They exchanged a nod before lapsing into silence.

"You're here for your Awakening?" said Alex. The guy looked relieved to be talked to.

"I've been here like half an hour. I'm Killian."

"Alex."

"I'm not cut out for Delving, I think," said Killian, smiling sheepishly.

"If I had a choice… maybe a high crystal affinity? I'd get into Jeweling. Everyone needs rings and necklaces, right? I guess the Card has to be pretty expensive…do you think they just give that to you if you join the Association? If you have the talent, I mean."

"I'll be honest," said Alex.

"I don't have a clue what's going on right now." He'd been hoping starting a conversation would help him glean something, actually. So far, not much luck. Actually— Jewelers…? Professions. Cards?

"I'm the same way," said Killian. He leaned back, tilting his head to the ceiling, hands gripping tight on the steel bench.

"I mean—imagine if you get F-rank talent. And like, slight affinities. God … Oh! Speaking of—you know there was an Outworlder here, earlier today? Like, just a few hours back." Alex froze.

"I know," said Killian wistfully.

"Lucky b—lucky guy, I guess. You know he didn't think about any of that. Just—dances in, gets incredible talents, dances out. Imagine. I feel like, another ten minutes and that'll be it for me." He laughed.

"I'm not kidding, by the way."

"What did you just say?" said Alex.

"Oh—I'm fine," said Killian, blinking.

"I was just—" The door opened, revealing a pale-looking girl.

"The Guilds are Floor 23," said an official.

"And just a reminder—they can't ask you your talents, and they can't pressure you into signing in any way. If they do, tell the official there immediately. This shouldn't be an issue, but just in case—all trainee contracts are standardized. Any Guild contract that violates Association terms is automatically violated, you are not required to honor it."

"Thank you," said the girl quickly.

"Best of luck." She nodded to Killian and then made very quickly for the elevators. She pressed up.

"I think we're allowed to ask?" said Killian. He glanced at an official for confirmation, who nodded.

"It's just impolite."

"Tell me about the Outworlder," said Alex.

"That's definitely fine to talk about," Killian assured him.

"He was telling everyone his talents. S-rank cultivation, plus some borderline exceptional affinity. I guess in a few years I'll think this was cool, being there the same day he Awakened—right now he comes across kind of annoying, honestly. Julia told me." At his blank look—"That's the girl," Killian explained.

"Verne, Killian, Chamber 3," called an official. Killian started.

"Yes!" With that, Alex watched the guy vanish. What. WHAT.

"Arden, Alexander," called an official.

"Please—Chamber 1."

"Excuse me," said Alex, standing.

"I have somewhere I need to be. I can't do this right now." The official took a look at his face.

"You're an Outworlder."

"…"

"Two in one day," said the official. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"…What are the odds?" The first question Alex asked was, for some reason, "What makes you say that?"

"Just a guess," said the official.

"The other guy had the same look on his face."

"I see."

"They'll explain inside—I'm sure you have questions. You'll have answers. They have a film prepped, there's procedure for this." The door slid open. At his pause—"You are welcome to leave," said the official, more sympathetically.

"This can't be easy. Your Awakening can be taken at any time. Take all the time you need." Another silence.

"Just—thirty seconds. Please."

"Certainly." The thirty seconds passed. Maybe more than thirty. And just when I thought I was starting to get it.

"Okay," he said.

"Show me." The official gestured at the door, and Alex stepped through.