The morning of the Awakening Ceremony did not descend with any grand divine revelation, but rather with an agonizing, rhythmic throbbing deep within Leo Shaw's skull.
As he walked through the ornate stone arches of the Spirit Martial Academy, Leo pressed two fingers hard against his temples, attempting to massage away a migraine that felt entirely beyond the physiological realm. This sensation was unlike a hangover or sleep deprivation; it carried a cold, mechanical texture—as if some high-dimensional parasite were attempting to forcefully interface with his cerebral cortex.
Having lain dormant for a year in this world filled with mutation and madness, he had long grown accustomed to stripping away all emotion, solely analyzing and hoarding the most core logic of survival. And now, this
