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CHAPTER 3: Ability Awakening (Edit)
🕑 Added 2025-06-03 19:19:48 +0000 UTC“I’m so, so late!!!”
The desperate mantra spun through Ethan’s head as he pedaled his battered bicycle towards the school, legs pumping with a ferocity he didn’t know he possessed. Each rotation of the wheels was a prayer against the ticking clock. At that precise, agonizing moment, he wished for a car with the burning intensity of a desert wanderer craving water. More than psionic powers, more than a good grade, he just wanted four wheels and an engine.
It wasn’t that his family couldn’t theoretically afford a modest vehicle; their financial situation was tight but not entirely dire. The primary issue was practicality, or the perceived lack thereof. Ethan’s school and his parents’ respective workplaces were flung in wildly different directions from their small apartment, making a car seem like more of a logistical nightmare than a convenience. So, the purchase had been perpetually relegated to the ‘someday, maybe’ pile.
Panting like a bellows, chest heaving, he finally skidded to a halt inside the school gates just as the clock tower ominously prepared to strike eight. He’d narrowly, miraculously, avoided the public dressing-down he so richly deserved.
“Hah… puff… hah… oh my gods… finally… made it… hah… puff…” Using his absolute last ounce of strength, Ethan stumbled into the classroom, practically fell into his seat, and immediately collapsed onto his desk, his forehead thudding softly against the cool wood.
At that very moment, his homeroom teacher, Mr. Gordon, was concluding what sounded suspiciously like a “pre-battle pep talk,” his voice echoing with dramatic flourishes. He paused mid-sentence, his gaze landing on Ethan’s disheveled form.
Mr. Gordon’s eyebrow arched, a familiar gesture of impending doom, though his voice, when it came, was surprisingly mild. “Ethan,” he said, a tone of carefully controlled exasperation lacing his words. “On a day of such paramount importance, how could you possibly still manage to be late?”
Perhaps it was the sheer gravity of Awakening Day, a reluctance to crush any lingering shreds of Ethan’s confidence before the main event, that tempered his teacher’s usual fire. Deep down, Ethan knew Mr. Gordon’s strictness wasn’t born of malice. His academic performance was, to put it charitably, abysmal, and the teacher genuinely worried about his future. Having influential friends like Marcus and Seraphina was a boon, certainly, but they couldn’t, and shouldn’t, carry him for a lifetime. A teacher’s reprimand, Ethan had once heard, was a sign they still cared enough to guide you. It was the silence, the complete lack of attention, that signaled you’d truly disappointed them to the core.
Ethan mumbled an apology into the wood grain of his desk. “Sorry, teacher. I was… just too worked up last night. Didn’t sleep well. Nerves, you know?”
“Hmph!” Mr. Gordon snorted, though the sound lacked its usual intimidating force. “Such a small thing gets you this agitated? If you’re fortunate enough to awaken a powerful combat-class ability later, you’ll need an unwavering mindset, a will of iron! Look at your teacher, for instance. I can maintain my composure no matter the circumstances, a pillar of calm in any storm.”
As if summoned by this bold declaration, a tiny, furry blur—a small rodent—suddenly darted out from a nearly invisible hole in the crumbling wall skirting. It scurried with surprising speed directly towards Mr. Gordon’s feet.
A faint “squeak” pierced the air. Mr. Gordon glanced down.
His eyes widened. His carefully constructed composure shattered like cheap glass.
“Aaaah!!! A RODENT!!!”
Mr. Gordon didn’t just jump; he practically levitated backward. In a purely instinctual, panic-driven reaction, his psionic ability flared to life. A concussive force, far too powerful for such a minuscule threat, erupted from him. The entire wooden podium, a sturdy bastion of academic authority moments before, was instantly blown to smithereens, splinters raining down like confetti. The poor, unsuspecting rodent, caught directly in the blast radius, was… well, let’s just say it was directly and comprehensively vaporized.
Rodent, somewhere in the great cheese paradise beyond: Tell the family, no need to save dinner for me tonight. It was… quick.
The students stared, a collective, stunned silence filling the classroom. Then, a few stifled snickers broke the quiet, quickly suppressed. So much for unwavering composure and a will of iron.
Seeing the sea of weird, knowing expressions fixed upon him, Mr. Gordon realized his rather spectacular gaffe. His face flushed a brilliant shade of crimson. He coughed awkwardly, twice, a dry, rasping sound.
“Ahem! Well! Anyway,” he blustered, attempting to regain some semblance of dignity, “this ability awakening is, as I was saying, a momentous occasion. A big deal. Everyone, try to relax. Whether you awaken a so-called ‘good’ ability or not, remember that every individual can contribute to society in their own way. Alright, stop staring at me like that! Hurry up and form lines. Class leaders, maintain discipline! We move to the plaza immediately!”
“Yes, teacher,” came the slightly shaky, but obedient, chorus.
Seraphina Linley, ever composed, stood up gracefully. “Everyone on your feet, please. Let’s go line up in an orderly fashion.”
After a series of procedures that anyone who’d ever navigated the bureaucratic labyrinth of a large-scale school event would intimately understand – the checking of lists, the stern admonitions about behavior, the endless shuffling – the throng of students finally spilled out onto the grand central plaza. Today, it was transformed. A large, raised platform dominated the center, upon which rested a single, impressively large crystal ball, shimmering faintly in the morning light. The perimeter was a fortress of vigilance; countless soldiers in crisp uniforms and stern-faced police officers stood guard, their eyes scanning every shadow, ensuring not even a particularly ambitious fly could infiltrate the proceedings.
That poor rodent, Ethan thought with a pang of sympathy, it probably sought refuge under the podium from this very lockdown. Bad choice, little guy.
A row of stern-looking individuals was seated on the high platform – a veritable who’s who of school leaders and prominent city officials, their expressions a mixture of solemnity and barely concealed impatience.
At this moment, the school principal, a portly man with a receding hairline, was standing at a lectern. A simple, old-fashioned microphone was positioned beside him, looking comically inadequate for the gravity of the occasion.
“My dear fellow students, faculty, esteemed guests…” the principal began, his voice amplified, booming across the plaza. “(…and here, Ethan’s internal editor mentally inserted about ten thousand words of platitudes, inspirational quotes of dubious origin, and rambling anecdotes about the indomitable human spirit…) I will now take great pleasure in introducing today’s most esteemed leaders, who have graced us with their presence. Starting with the honorable Deputy Mayor Elias Thorne of our very own New Veridia…”
(…Three excruciating minutes of fawning introductions later…)
“…And now, it is my distinct honor to invite Deputy Mayor Elias Thorne to share a few words with us…”
The Deputy Mayor, a man whose jowls quivered with self-importance, stepped forward. “… (…another ten thousand words, this time about civic duty, the bright future of New Veridia, and the critical role of the next generation of psionicists, were mentally fast-forwarded by Ethan…) At this truly exciting and profoundly inspiring moment, I, too, find myself moved to say a few words… (…and yet another ten thousand words, possibly a verbatim repeat of the first ten thousand, but with more dramatic pauses, were mercifully elided from Ethan’s consciousness).”
The assembled students, forced to stand at attention under the increasingly warm sun, were collectively wilting. Many were visibly swaying, their eyes glazed over. Ethan, having had precious little sleep to begin with, was fighting a losing battle against gravity, his eyelids feeling like they were weighted with lead. He was pretty sure he’d nodded off at least twice, only to be jolted awake by a sharp elbow from Marcus.
“Alright,” the Deputy Mayor finally declared, his voice resonating with a sense of profound self-satisfaction, “that is all I have to say for now. Next, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: the Awakening Ceremony will officially begin!”
As these magical, long-awaited words fell, a palpable wave of energy surged through the crowd. Students straightened up, eyes snapping open, the earlier lethargy vanishing as if by psionic command.
Ethan, with surprising swiftness, fumbled in his pocket, pulled out his trusty old voice recorder, and decisively pressed the stop button. A small, satisfied smirk touched his lips.
Excellent, he thought. Insomnia won’t be a problem again tonight. Instant sleep aid, captured for posterity.
Don't ask why Ethan, a perpetually underachieving student, habitually brought a voice recorder to school-wide assemblies. Anyone who’s ever endured the soul-crushing boredom of such lengthy, mandatory events knows exactly why.
The awakening procedure itself was meticulously organized by class. New Veridia Psionic Academy High's second year boasted a total of ten classes, and Ethan’s group, much to his relief, was in Class Four. While there was no official ranking or hierarchy between the classes, everyone knew the unspoken truth, the subtle undercurrents of prestige and expectation. Those hailing from powerful, influential families, or those individuals blessed with exceptionally strong connections, naturally high latent talent, or stellar academic records, were usually concentrated in the first three classes. It was an unspoken rule of societal gravity: outstanding individuals tended to gravitate towards, and be grouped with, other outstanding individuals.
Although one could only truly begin the path of cultivation after formally awakening their abilities, it was generally possible to get a rough, preliminary assessment of one's innate talent beforehand through various subtle indicators.
Ethan vaguely remembered hearing whispers about a girl in Class One, someone named Iris Thorne. She was, the rumors insisted, the young miss of the Thorne family, the undisputed most powerful and influential family in all of New Veridia. Since she was ten years old, her body temperature had been consistently, unnaturally low. It wasn't a symptom of illness; on the contrary, she was said to be in robust health. This persistent chill was believed to be an early manifestation of her exceptionally high ice-attribute psionic talent, a power that had begun to seep into her physiology even as a child. After today’s awakening, she was considered a 100% certainty to possess a formidable ice-type ability.
Marcus Vance, his boisterous friend, was a similar case, albeit in a different domain. His physical strength, even without formal training, was naturally, almost freakishly, greater than that of his peers. It was highly probable, almost a given, that someone like him would awaken a strength-enhancement or some other physically oriented combat ability.
The reason Ethan himself hadn’t been shunted off to one of the elite top three classes was twofold. Firstly, and most importantly to him, he’d wanted to be in the same class as people he was familiar and comfortable with. While he had distant relatives and acquaintances scattered throughout the school, Marcus was his only true friend from outside that pre-ordained circle of family connections. Secondly, and perhaps more pragmatically, it was because Mr. Gordon, his long-suffering homeroom teacher, was also his uncle. Since Marcus had opted for Class Four to be with Ethan, Seraphina, naturally, had to be there too, their fates intertwined. And so, the three of them had ended up as classmates, a small island of familiarity in the bustling sea of the academy.
They didn’t mind the class assignment much, anyway. After the ability awakening, once they officially transitioned into their third and final year of high school, they would begin their formal education in psionics. At that point, all students would be re-shuffled into new classes based on their awakened talent, the nature of their abilities, and their actual demonstrated strength. Today was just the first step.
As the Awakening Ceremony officially commenced, a hush fell over the plaza. Every heart, Ethan was sure, was pounding in a unique rhythm of hope, fear, and wild anticipation.
The first to ascend the platform were, naturally, the students from Class One. They were, after all, ranked first in the school-wide theory examinations, a position of academic honor. Leading their procession was the much-discussed school belle, Iris Thorne.
She moved with an ethereal grace, her expression serene as she walked towards the shimmering crystal ball. With a delicate, almost reverent motion, she placed her hand upon its cool, smooth surface.
Instantly, the crystal ball blazed to life, emitting a dazzling, brilliant blue-white light that pulsed with an inner energy. The air surrounding the platform even seemed to exude a palpable chill, a faint mist coalescing around the base of the crystal.
The official standing beside the crystal ball, a stern-faced man in a military-style uniform, leaned towards her and inquired in a low, formal tone, “Can you state the specifics of your ability for the record?”
This question, Ethan knew from his research, was standard procedure, though it offered a nod towards student privacy. Under normal circumstances, the official would only announce the ability's general category, its assessed talent level (ranked from Common, Good, Excellent, Rare, Earth, Heaven, to the legendary Divine), and its elemental or functional type. As for the detailed innate skills, the unique nuances of their newfound power, those would be quietly recorded in their permanent student files. Of course, this disclosure wasn't strictly mandatory; a student could choose to conceal the finer details of their ability. However, these comprehensive files would later be sent to the Central Education Bureau, and various other official factions or prestigious universities would also have access when scouting for talent. Not knowing the specifics of an awakened ability would definitely lower their official assessment and could impact future opportunities. As for whether those who chose concealment would regret it later, well, that was their own concern. The authorities weren't overly worried about someone attempting to fake their results either; they were equipped with an intermediate-grade spirit energy detector mirror, a sophisticated piece of psionic technology fully capable of scrutinizing the aura of any newly awakened youngster and verifying their claims.
Iris Thorne’s voice was calm and clear. “I can.” There was no hesitation. Abilities, especially powerful ones, would inevitably be used in future battles or significant endeavors; there was little practical point in attempting to conceal their fundamental nature at this stage.
The official nodded, then turned to address the silent, watching crowd, his voice amplified. “Iris Thorne! Ability Type: Ice! Talent Grade: Earth-rank! Classification: Combat Class!”
Hearing the official's booming announcement, a collective wave of gasps and excited murmurs rippled through the students massed below the stage.
“Holy crap! Earth-rank talent! And Combat class too! No way, I think I’m actually dying of jealousy right now!” one student hissed to his friend.
“What’s there to be jealous about, really?” another voice, laced with a hint of resignation, replied. “She’s practically Heaven’s favored daughter, the designated future successor of New Veridia’s number one family, the Thornes. Isn’t it perfectly normal, almost expected, for her to have such ridiculously high talent?”
“My standards aren’t even that high,” someone else chimed in wistfully. “The specific type doesn’t even matter to me. As long as my talent manages to reach Excellent rank, I’ll be over the moon, completely satisfied.”
“You think even Excellent rank is easy to get?” a more cynical voice retorted. “Are you living in a dream world? You do know, right, that during every single awakening ceremony, Ordinary and Good ranks make up a solid eighty percent, if not more, of the total results! For common folk like us, just praying to awaken a Good-rank ability is already stretching the limits of optimism.”
“Everyone, QUIET!!!”
The thunderous voice of the military commander stationed on the stage suddenly cut through the chatter. Though it was just a normal shout, unassisted by any psionic amplification or technological aid, his voice was incredibly loud and clear, carrying effortlessly across the entire plaza, demanding immediate obedience.
The powerful, disciplined shout instantly silenced the entire field. The buzzing excitement died down to a respectful, anticipatory hush.
“Next one!” the commander barked, his gaze sweeping over the lines of waiting students.
