Chapter 6: Papers and Promises
1416 Words
Chapter 6: Papers and Promises
The Supers Association building had a smell of burnt ozone, cheap-soap, and ambition.
Kaelen went through the twin doors to find a solemn silence, perhaps a couple of glowing ceiling runes humming with divine bureaucracy. He received noise instead. Chaos. Youth. At least thirty children wandering around like lost cultists in a neon temple.
It surprised him. The place had been dead still outside, with a false quietness that is like a predator awaiting lunch. But inside? It was a madhouse of hushed whispers, weary employees and glowing registration sigils that flickered like they were about to fall into digital nausea.
The majority of the people here resembled him. Young. Unsettled. Stiff-backed with the kind of posture that screamed “I don't know what I'm doing but I want to look cool while doing it.”
And they were New Awakeners, like himself.
Kaelen didn't need divine insight to piece that together. With only two Association branches in Woodstone City and every school funneling their miracles into the world on the same damn day, it was inevitable they'd all collide here like confused molecules.
Tomorrow? This would be a ghost-town. But today? It was the v****a of the supernatural.
Kaelen made no hesitation. He swept the room like a hunter, and, locating the shortest queue, slipped into it like a shadow beneath a door. It was not so short. It simply had less people fidgeting and muttering about stat sheets and soul types.
The line crawled on. His mind moved more quickly.
It was close to thirty minutes. To be exact, twenty-eight minutes. Kaelen was counting every goddamn second because he did not want to concentrate on the fact that was about to happen: his identity as a human being was about to be transformed into a state-sponsored weapon.
There was only one person in front of him when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He fished it out and glanced at the screen:
[$300 has been transferred to your account 27**78, XXXX Bank International, from Mia Grace! Your current account balance is $461!]
He blinked.
“Three hundred?” he whispered to himself, eyes narrowing with a mix of awe and guilt.
Aunt Mia's entire salary hovered around $3,000 a month. And now she’d just thrown a tenth of that his way, mid-month, without hesitation. Hell, after bills and groceries and little Lily's school lunch expenses, that $300 probably sliced deep into what was left for the month.
She didn’t even wait to be asked. She just gave.
Kaelen clenched his fist inside his coat pocket, the motion slow and deliberate. The warmth in his chest burned.
Back on Earth, love had been a thing buried under IV tubes, social worker reports, and f*****g pity. He had faced the cold, sterile deathbed of a forgotten teenager alone. No one had cried. No one had paid attention. His death certificate probably still sat in a box in some government archive no one would ever open.
But here? Here, someone gave a damn. Someone gave everything.
He wouldn't let her carry that weight alone. Not anymore.
He'd tear the world open before he let this family fall.
But beneath the rising resolve, doubt hissed its ugly tongue.
Was being an Awakener truly a golden ladder out of the mud? Or was it just another lie repackaged in power and paperwork?
They were told it changed lives. That it meant freedom, money, legacy. But none of them really knew the truth. Not the average citizen. Not the schools. Just rumors, fables, and government propaganda dressed in patriotic runes.
Kaelen snapped out of his spiral as the last person in front of him stepped away.
His turn.
He approached the reception counter like it was a warfront and the woman behind it was his commanding officer.
She was professional to a fault. Early thirties maybe, her hair pulled into a tight bun that said I will eat your incompetence for breakfast. Her eyes flicked up, scanned his uniform, then softened into a rehearsed smile.
“Good day, sir. What can I do for you?”
Kaelen straightened his spine. “I’m here to register.”
Her eyes drifted back to his school jacket. “As...?”
“An Awakener.”
She didn’t even flinch. “Of course. One moment.”
Her fingers danced over a projection rune that flared to life, showing a data slate made of light and coded intention. She began asking the usual soul-numbing questions: full name, birthdate, address, city sector, bank account number.
Kaelen answered automatically, his tone calm but his thoughts racing. He expected more drama. Something arcane. At least a glowing sigil that screamed BEHOLD THE NECROMANCER.
But this felt like applying for a driver’s license with better lighting.
“Not going to ask about my class?” he said after a pause, curious.
She smiled without looking up. “Your school will report that to us directly. Less paperwork for you.”
Kaelen nodded slowly, mildly disappointed he wasn’t being tested for corruption or exploding mana.
The woman slid a document toward him, printed directly from the projection slate. “Place your fingerprint on the reader, and sign below, please.”
He complied, the reader humming softly as it absorbed his magical signature.
She waited a beat, then tapped the page with two fingers and spoke in a formal, melodic voice.
“Congratulations on your awakening, Mr. Kaelen. As of this moment, you are officially recognized as an Awakened citizen of the Federation, protector of the people, and supernatural asset of the Aurora Realm.”
Kaelen blinked. Asset? The phrasing felt a little too close to property, but he let it slide.
“Your account has now been flagged for access to a private digital platform designed for Federally Registered Awakeners. Military-grade cultivation techniques, martial forms, and mana guidance protocols will be sent to your email.”
She paused, tapping a glyph into the air.
“Your login password is your full name, all caps, followed by this year’s designation code—‘228’—with no spaces.”
Kaelen raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“Security’s handled by runic encryption,” she replied, as if that explained everything. “Now, onto your benefits.”
She inhaled.
“As a new Awakener, you are eligible for a monthly federal stipend of fifteen thousand dollars. This amount will be halved if you fail to reach Rank One within six months. If you do not reach Rank Two within a year, the stipend will be revoked entirely. Of course, additional ranks will increase compensation accordingly.”
Kaelen’s mouth went dry.
Fifteen. f*****g. Thousand.
His eyes bulged slightly. He managed to keep a straight face, but inside he was screaming in five different currencies.
That wasn’t just money. That was power.
That was rescue money. Escape money. Money that could melt problems and drown stress in imported wine.
Of course, there were strings. Always. And they were sharp.
Before he could spiral again, the woman looked up with that calm smile.
“Any other questions, Mr. Kaelen?”
He hesitated. His pride nearly stopped him. But… f**k it.
“...When does the money come in?” he asked, voice a little too hopeful, cheeks flushing.
She blinked. Then, for the first time, her smile turned real. Her lips quivered slightly as she fought not to laugh, but her professionalism held.
“It should arrive within the hour, sir.”
Kaelen gave her a quick bow of thanks, face still hot, and bolted toward the exit before she could tease him further.
He didn’t regret asking. Not even a little. Because right now? That money mattered.
Aunt Mia wouldn’t have to break her back for scraps. Lily could have proper meals. And Kaelen?
Kaelen could stop worrying about rent and start planning his next move: getting stronger, climbing higher, becoming something terrifying enough that the world itself would kneel.
But he wasn’t naïve.
Nothing in this world came free. Not even salvation.
They were paying him to become a weapon. The Federation didn’t hand out cash because it loved its citizens. It handed out cash because it needed blunt instruments sharpened by hunger and desperation.
That was fine.
Kaelen would take their money.
He’d take their techniques, their training, their resources.
Then he’d become something they couldn’t control.
Necromancy wasn’t about power.
It was about ownership of death.
And Kaelen? He was about to own a lot of it.
- Writer
