Nine Misparim – Age 14
Year 2250. Post-technological collapse. Cities are ruins, monsters roam and the awakended are discriminated against despite being the sole protectors.
My father wasn't a bad man.
He wasn't.
Everyone said he was. An executioner. The Raven. A killer, a monster, a man without a heart. But they didn't know him. Not like I did.
He laughed. He told Neves and me stories before bed, these dumb little stories with knights and heroes and happy endings where the hero didn't lose their fucking parents. He held me when I cried, and smiled when Mom danced in the rain.
So no, he wasn't a monster.
I don't understand how anyone can say he killed her.
I don't understand how they can even pretend.
Mom was stronger than most men, of course she was, she was an awakened for God's sake, and proud, strong as hell. No normal person could've done that to her. Not even Dad. And we were there. Outside. Playing.
He was with us.
So how the hell did they pin it on him?
My hands tremble. My eyes burn. I wipe my face with my sleeve, but it doesn't help, tears still come. I should be angry. Screaming. Breaking windows. But I'm not.
I'm here. Alone. Talking to birds like a lunatic.
Because if I start thinking too hard… if I let myself feel it,
I might not be able to stop, just like my brother.
Fletcher Lennman – Age 32, Detective
Mr. Misparim was innocent. I knew that from the first second I walked into that blood-soaked home.
But the truth doesn't matter. Not when a scapegoat makes things easy. Misparim? A government-sanctioned killer who dragged scum to the gallows while humming lullabies? People already hated him. He was perfect for the role.
I stalled his sentence, but not because I cared. I don't do mercy. I just needed more time. Because the real killer? He was still out there. And if I didn't find him…
Well. Hell was already keeping a seat warm for me.
The coffee in my hand was cold. The cigarette between my fingers burned down to ash, flaking apart with the rest of me. My coat reeked of stale smoke and broken promises.
I exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl around me like fog.
I saw it happen.
That's my ability, Aura Residue Reconstruction. I can trace echoes of aura, relive moments from the past burned into space. I can see them—movements, outlines, and brutal killings. But never sound. Never the voices.
Just the pain.
Over. And over. And over again.
I watched her die. Again.
A masked figure, tall and still, stood over her. He didn't move much. Just stretched his hand like those paintings of God stretching out to humanity. No blast of power. No touch. Just raw presence. The air twisted around her like it wanted her dead.
Her bones cracked inward. Arms bent the wrong way. Her ribs bowed out like they were forming something else.
Wings.
Like an angel. But wrong.
A grotesque mockery.
Then, her scream cut off. Not because she stopped. Because her throat was crushed mid-breath.
Her head was ripped clean off.
And he never laid a hand on her.
That was all aura. Pure, controlled, weaponised aura.
Which shouldn't be possible.
Not at that level. Not without touch, without proximity. Even top-tier Awakened can't do that. Whoever he was, he was beyond anything.
He was a calamity waiting to happen.
I flicked the cigarette away and took a sip of my dirt-water coffee.
"If God's still out there… he better be watching."
Because I don't think anything else can save us.
Neves Misparim – Age 14
My twin brother was crying again. Pathetic.
It's disgusting that we share blood. All he does is sob and mope and whisper to choughs [1]like they're his friends. I rolled my eyes and cracked my knuckles. The city had plenty of people who needed breaking.
Me and Nine? We made our living in the gutters. No parents. No guardians. No food. We survived. Stole. Beat down the assholes who thought we were easy prey. Nine did it soft—seeds, growing herbs, selling weed in back alleys. Me? I liked my way better.
Tonight was simple.
Some low-tier thugs pushing a girl around near the market. Fucking bastards.
I crouched behind a half-collapsed stall and focused my aura into my fingers. Flicked a rock. It zipped through the air and cracked one of 'em across the skull. He dropped like a sack of shit.
The rest charged.
I launched forward with aura in my legs, kicking one in the jaw mid-air. Another caught my heel to the temple. Third tried to grab me.
Big guy. Dumb. Not Awakened, but strong.
He got a lucky toss. Slammed me into the concrete. My skull bounced. Vision blurred. I rolled, groaning, but stayed low. Scooped up dirt.
Sand to the eyes. He howled. I hit him in the gut with an aura-packed punch so hard it echoed in his lungs.
He dropped like the rest.
I didn't thank the girl. Just started looting. Pockets, knives, wallets.
Then she spoke.
"That was quite the performance."
Her voice was too deep.
I froze.
Turned slowly.
It wasn't a girl.
He stood there with a calm smile, and four identical pistols pressed to my temple, ribs, and spine. All perfectly aimed.
Shit.
Long black hair, pale face, sharp features. He looked delicate, like one of those porcelain dolls—but everything about how he stood screamed danger. Cold eyes. Relaxed shoulders. Tailored coat hiding a thin, fast-moving frame.
A Divistine[2]. Cloning ability.
That explained the guns.
"Neves Misparim," he said with a half-smirk. "Been looking forward to meeting you."
I narrowed my eyes. "Can't say the feeling's mutual."
"You've been making waves," he continued. "Beating down my father's men like you're invincible. That stops today."
He stepped forward. All four clones moved with him, guns staying locked on.
"I'm Alex Wendestinne. Maybe you've heard of us."
I snorted. "Should I care?"
"You should. My family doesn't tolerate loose ends. And you? You're a hurricane. No plan. No restraint. Just fists and fury, a little mosquito biting away at our dogs. But I've been sent to swat you away."
His smile faded.
"So here I am."
I met his eyes. Calm. Cold.
And flipped him off with a grin.
"Go fuck yourself."
It happened almost instantly after that.
Pain.
No, agony. The kind of pain that doesn't just tear through you, but becomes you. It rewrites your very existence.
The first bullet punched into my shoulder like a hot screwdriver jammed straight through flesh and into bone. I felt the fibres rip apart, I felt them scream, and then the bone itself fracture like brittle glass. My body didn't go numb. It never went numb. That would've been mercy.
Then came the second shot, into my gut. Oh, fuck, that one was worse. My stomach convulsed like it was trying to throw itself out of me. It was like acid exploded inward, boiling up through my throat. My spine arched. I tasted blood. My entire torso clenched so hard I swore something inside me snapped.
And then the third.
My thigh.
It wasn't just the entry, the blunt, rupturing slam of metal into muscle. It was what came after. The shifting. The bullet moved. Like it was alive, he definitely infused aura into that one. I felt it churn under my skin, grinding between muscle and nerve, embedding deeper as if my body was pulling it in. Like something inside me wanted to eat it.
And through it all, I stayed awake. Conscious. It was like every nerve ending had a voice and they were all shrieking at once. The pain didn't knock me out.
It carved me open.
When I came to, I thought I was dead.
White walls. Blinding light. Sterile air that smelled like antiseptic and cold metal.
Then she walked in.
And I realised I wasn't in heaven. But hell suddenly didn't seem so bad.
She was tall, taller than me, which wasn't common for a woman, and moved like someone who knew the exact weight of every step. Her hair was pulled back tightly, exposing a strong jawline and smooth, deep brown skin that seemed to glow under the overhead lights. Eyes sharp, like a scalpel, and lips curved into something between boredom and disappointment.
Her uniform hugged her figure in all the right ways, a black longcoat with a silver insignia of something glinting at her collar.
She looked like she could kill a man with a glance. Or fix him with a whisper.
"Hey," she said, arms crossed. "You're alive. That's... genuinely surprising."
I blinked. Groaned. Let the pain fill in all the empty spaces.
"Shit," I muttered. "Either I died and this is the hottest angel I've ever seen... or I'm still alive and you're the hottest woman I've ever seen."
She arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You're still alive. Unfortunately. And if I were an angel, I'd've let you flatline just for that line."
I grinned. It hurt. Everything hurt.
"My name's Ilari," she said, tapping at some glowing tablet. "I'm the infirmary nurse. Or miracle worker, depending on your perspective."
"Miracle worker, huh? Do all your miracles involve saving streetrats with no money?"
"You're pushing your luck."
"I like my luck pushed."
She let out a soft, exhausted sigh, but didn't look away. "You had three bullets in you. Shoulder, abdomen, and thigh. One grazed an artery. You should've bled out before they even reached you."
"Guess I'm built different."
"That's the thing," she muttered, more to herself than me. "You are."
She walked over, grabbed a metal stool, and sat down beside the bed, eyes scanning my vitals on the screen overhead.
"I scanned your aura flow. You weren't actively healing. No response, no circulation, no energy work. You were unconscious. But your body... it still fought. Like it knew what to do. Like something else took over."
She looked at me again, more clinical now, more focused.
"You're an awakened. No doubt about that. But this? This isn't just an awakened's regeneration. It was internal. Cellular. Like your body was trying to put itself back together from scratch. Definitely a divistine. And from what I see..."
She paused.
"You're stronger now than when you came in."
That caught me off guard. "...Stronger?"
"Denser muscle mass. Higher pulse velocity. Whatever happened to you, it changed something. You shouldn't have lived. But you did. And you came out of it tougher."
She leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"What the hell happened out there?"
I tilted my head. Flexed my fingers. They moved like they were new.
Somewhere inside me, something still burned. Not pain anymore. Something worse. Something alive.
"Some fuckhead tried to kill me," I said.
Her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. "You always flirt with your nurse after you get shot three times?"
"They're not usually as beautiful as you."
She shook her head, stood up, brushing imaginary dust from her coat. "You're lucky I'm professional."
"You don't have to be."
"I also don't have to let your brother in."
I blinked. "...Nine's here?"
"He's been pacing outside since they wheeled you in. Said he's waiting for an evaluation. I told him you'd live. He didn't believe me."
"Typical."
Ilari turned toward the door, then paused.
"I'll send him in. Try not to flirt with him too."
"No promises."
Nine Misparim - Age 14
The door slid open with a soft hiss.
He was sitting up now.
Neves.
Alive.
Breathing. Awake. Shirtless.
His back was to me at first—broad, veined, shadowed in the sterile white light of the infirmary. His spine flexed slightly when he twisted around to glance at me.
Our eyes met.
And just like that, everything inside me broke again.
I stepped inside the room without a word. The door sealed behind me with a click that sounded like a cell locking shut. I swallowed the lump in my throat, hard enough I thought it'd get stuck.
"You look like shit," I mumbled, forcing a half-smile.
Neves snorted, voice a little hoarse. "Says the one with puffy eyes."
I should've laughed. That was the tone he always took—casual, cocky, cold. But it didn't sound like him. Not really. His voice was heavier. Thicker. Like it had been tempered in smoke.
I stepped closer.
That's when I noticed.
He wasn't just alive. He was… changed.
Bigger.
His body used to match mine, almost perfectly. Lean, sharp angles, quick reflexes, wiry strength. But now? His chest was thick with muscle. His arms were veined and solid. His shoulders stretched with tension even as he sat still. Like he was holding something back. Like rage was just one breath away.
"You… look different," I said quietly.
He scoffed. "Still ugly, though?"
"No," I muttered. "Not even close."
I stared at the faint pink scars already forming around where the bullet wounds should've torn him apart.
"You shouldn't be moving. You shouldn't even be alive."
He turned his head, slowly. "What happened?"
That was it. No emotion. No drama. Just those two words, like he already knew the answer and wanted me to say it anyway.
I clenched my fists at my sides.
"You almost died," I whispered.
He blinked at me.
"I know that part," he said. "Tell me the rest."
So I told him.
"All I remember is Alex's voice in my head. And you bleeding out on the pavement. He dropped your body outside the slums, just outside the alley like garbage. I tried to scream, but nothing came out."
I swallowed again. It was like gravel in my throat.
"He said if I kept pushing in his territory, I'd be next. And I believed him."
Neves didn't move. His face didn't even twitch.
"I had nothing," I continued. "No money, no healer, no black-market awakener willing to help. You were cold, Neves. You were leaving. And I—I didn't know what else to do."
I took one trembling breath and looked at him.
"So I enrolled us in the Academy."
The room went quiet.
I mean quiet. Like even the humming from the walls vanished. Like the silence held its breath, too.
Neves stared.
"You what?"
"I enrolled us," I said again, firmer this time. "I used Dad's credentials. Our DNA. We're both Awakened. Barely. But enough. They tested me the minute I stepped in. I passed. They said they'd take you too once you stabilized."
He didn't speak.
So I added, softer:
"You'd be dead otherwise."
He stood.
No warning. No words.
Just a sharp motion—one foot hitting the floor, then the other. His body straightened with a creak of muscle and tension and heat.
I instinctively stepped back.
Ilari appeared in the doorway behind me, voice as flat as ever. "And to be clear," she said, folding her arms, "he's racked up a hospital debt that'd make a senator cry. The only reason we're not tossing him back out into the street is because he's Awakened and stable."
Her tone shifted like a knife turning.
"But to stay, you'll both need to work it off. As an apprentice Hunter. Starting today."
He was still staring at me.
Expression unreadable.
Until it wasn't.
Until something behind his eyes snapped.
"You what the fuck, Nine?"
The voice didn't come from his throat—it came from deep, guttural, primal. He was in front of me in two steps, hands fisted in the collar of my hoodie, lifting me off the ground by my chest.
"You had no right!"
My breath caught.
"I didn't ask to be healed!"
"You were dying!" I shouted back, shoving at his wrists.
"I would've recovered!"
"I didn't know that!"
His grip tightened. "I'm the older brother. I've made every call since Dad got arrested. Since Mom died. You think you can just throw all that away because you had one panic attack?!"
I broke free, not because he let go, but because I shoved him off.
Harder than I meant to. My aura flared, untrained and messy.
"Stop acting like being older makes you smarter," I hissed. "Five minutes doesn't mean shit when you're bleeding to death in my arms!"
He stared at me.
Rage behind his eyes.
I stared right back.
Breathing hard.
Chest tight.
Heart broken in ten places.
"You think I wanted this?" I said, my voice quieter now. "You think I wanted to run to some academy and beg them to take us in like strays? You think I wanted to watch them test me, poke me, like I was a dog they didn't know whether to keep or put down?"
Neves didn't answer.
He just turned away.
Stepped toward the door.
Paused in the doorway.
"…Guess I'll go get evaluated. See what kind of freak I am now."
Then he was gone.
And I stood there in that cold, sterile room, fists shaking, blood pounding in my ears, trying to breathe like the world hadn't just tilted sideways again.
[1] (A species of red eyed birds commonly mistaken for crows)
[2] An awakened with a unqiue ability commonly believed to be granted by God(s)