Christian woke up before dawn.
The sky outside was still dark, painted with hints of violet and gray. The city hadn't started buzzing yet—no trains, no engines, no noise. Just the occasional flicker of a streetlamp and the cold air leaking through the cracks of his window.
He sat up slowly, feeling... off.
His body was warm. Not feverish, but alive in a way it hadn't been yesterday. Like something was flowing inside him. Like power was humming beneath his skin.
He looked down at his hands.
For a moment, he swore he saw a faint black glow pulse across his fingers—but it vanished before he could focus.
"...Was that real?" he muttered.
Downstairs, his apartment was as quiet and broken as always. His mother had left when he was nine. His dad was long gone. He lived alone, scraping by with odd jobs and scholarships that barely covered his school fees.
He pulled on his coat and left, heading toward the back alleys near the old districts—places most cultivators avoided. He didn't know why. Just a gut feeling. Something was calling him.
The wind whispered strange things as he walked.
By noon, he stood before an abandoned shrine—half-buried in trash and overgrowth, forgotten by time.
He stepped inside.
The air changed instantly. Warmer. Heavier. The walls were cracked and covered in moss, but at the center, there it was: a book.
Thin. Dusty. Bound in black leather, glowing faintly with the same dark pulse he'd seen in his hands.
Christian picked it up.
"The Path of Struggle: The Evolving Core."
He turned the pages. The words weren't in any language he knew—until they were. They shifted, bending into meaning as if the book wanted him to understand.
"To those abandoned by fate. To the forgotten, the rejected, the broken.
The Evolving Core grows not from talent, but from pain. From will.
The more you suffer, the more you endure—the stronger it becomes."
Christian stared at the page.
The more you suffer…
It felt like the book had been written for him.
A quiet chuckle escaped his lips. Not a happy one. A tired, cracked one.
"Then I guess I'm already halfway there."
As he opened his palm, the black glow returned—stronger this time, forming a dim ring around his wrist. A mark. A seal. Proof that his spirit core wasn't null.
It was just... different.
And hidden.
Suddenly, a voice rang out behind him.
"I didn't think anyone else could see that place."
Christian spun around, surprised.
A girl stood in the doorway. Slim build. Soft brown eyes. A calm but curious smile.
Kien.