"Are you alright?" Isoldeâs voice was calm, though her expression betrayed little. Her tone carried more weight than her face ever did.
"Man, I expected him to break out of it eventually, but he wouldâve really fallen. Tsk. Pathetic." Siegfried pointed mockingly at Godfrey, while Snow carried his tray to a table as if nearly throwing someone off the third floor was no different than swatting a bothersome fly.
"Youâre laughing? At nearly killing me?" Godfreyâs jaw tightened, his ocean-blue eyes narrowed as he glared at Snow. His chest swelled with restrained fury as he pushed through the crowd and into the heart of the cafeteria.
Beside him, Isolde moved with her usual grace. Sixteen, the same age as Godfrey, her golden-white hair and golden-orange eyes gave her an almost ethereal air. The tension of the cafeteria seemed to bend around her.
"You still run that mouth of yours!" Siegfried barked, stepping forward and throwing a straight punch. It carried strength, but it was reckless, riddled with openings.
Godfreyâs instincts surged. He seized Siegfriedâs arm, twisted the elbow, pivoted, and flung him over his back. The sophomore crashed into the ground with a bone-jarring thud.
"Iâll kill you!" Siegfried roared, scrambling to his feet. This time his punch carried his true strength, the kind that could crack cement walls. But to his shock, Godfrey raised his forearm and blocked it.
A strike that should have snapped bone barely made Godfrey flinch.
Siegfried froze. His connection to his beast, gone and strength was gone. In that instant, he was no different from a powerless human.
Godfreyâs fist struck him square across the face. A second blow, an uppercut, lifted Siegfried off his feet and sent him sprawling across the cafeteria floor.
"Did you see that?" a student gasped, abandoning his untouched tray. Another, midway through shoveling food into his mouth, stopped to gape.
"He beat Siegfried. Thatâs... impossible!" Cecil, the bob-cut girl at Daleâs table, frowned deeply.
Dale, however, only chuckled, arms crossed, eyes sliding mockingly toward Snow, who, for once, looked frozen.
Just then, another lackey surged forward, too fast for Godfrey to follow. Even with his guard raised, the boyâs fists broke through, hammering Godfrey with blow after blow. A final uppercut, the same blow as revenge, launched him into the air, crashing him hard against the wall. He slumped to the ground, unmoving.
The cafeteria fell into stunned silence.
Snow stood. His expression distorted in disdain, then, without a word, he stormed out. Students followed quickly, scattering like startled birds. The idea that Snow had lost his composure was unsettling. Had it been Dale, perhaps theyâd accept it. But Snow? No. That was alien.
When the hall had emptied, only Isolde remained. She stood before Godfreyâs crumpled form, her gaze cool.
"Giving you an opportunity for a fair fight was stupid," she said flatly. "You were doomed from the start."
"Even then..." Godfreyâs voice was low, but steady. He forced himself upright, meeting her eyes. "I gave him what he deserved."
Isoldeâs golden eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.
"Thank you," Godfrey continued, his breath uneven. "He got to taste what itâs like, calling to your soul and hearing nothing in return. For a minute or two, he lived what Iâve lived for sixteen years."
He pressed a hand to his chest, wincing. "Somethingâs broken," he muttered, staggering toward the exit.
Minutes later, Godfrey lay on a sickbed in the academyâs infirmary. Manhattan Highâs "sick bay" was not for illness, it was for the battered, the broken, the survivors of fights that pushed students to the brink.
Growth was forged in conflict. To maim or to kill was forbidden, on paper. Godfrey wondered if the rules truly mattered. Snow had nearly ended him.
The nurse, dressed in a pristine white coat over pale blue attire, extended her hand. Behind her, a glowing magical circle bloomed, from which descended a radiant dove. Its beak and talons glimmered gold, and its wings spanned twice that of a Stellerâs sea eagle, the largest bird recorded before the cataclysm a century ago.
With a single beat of its wings, warmth washed over Godfrey. His ribs knit together, bruises faded, and drowsiness pulled at his eyes.
"You took quite the beating," the nurse sighed, her gaze soft. It had not even been a day since he transferred, and already he had ended up here. This place wasnât for the ordinary. Manhattan High was for monsters and their servants. You either rule or you serve.
And Godfrey, looked far too stubborn to serve, and far too weak to rule.
Before Godfrey could respond, a knock sounded.
Moments later, Isoldeâs voice drifted in as she spoke to the nurse who went to open the door.
"He didnât get to eat his lunch. I gathered something for him. Please make sure he eats."
Hard lines creased Godfreyâs brow as warmth stirred faintly in his chest. Why...why was she being kind?
His question was answered when the nurse returned with a tray. Tucked beneath the plate was a folded slip of white paper. On it, written in elegant script:
I just like your face. Donât overthink it.
Godfrey stared, heat rising in his cheeks.
âYou tell a guy you like his face and expect him not to overthink it? How does that even work?â he muttered to himself.
The nurse flipped through a file. "I suggest you rest. Youâre Godfrey Daniels, yes?"
He nodded.
"You have the awakening ceremony tomorrow. Rest, or you may not be fit for it. Remember, if you miss this chance, you may never awaken anything beyond the low tier so when I say rest, I mean it."
The next morning, the academyâs grounds gleamed beneath the rising sun. Crowds of freshmen gathered, along with countless others, outsiders who had paid dearly for the right to use Manhattanâs legendary Awakening Platform, famed for producing higher awakenings than anywhere else in the world.
Godfrey stood among them, hands buried in his pockets, fists clenched tight. This was it. His only chance. He had failed to awaken naturally. If he failed here too, then the truth would be undeniable: there was no summon within his soul.
No summon meant no future. In this world, a summon defined a manâs worth. To have nothing meant to be nothing, an insect in a kingdom of predators. Worse, Manhattan Highâs acceptance had been conditional: he needed at least an Elite-tier beast to stay.
There were five tiers: Low Tier (1.0â3.4), Elite Tier (3.5â5.4), High Tier (5.5â7.9), Lord Tier (8.0â10.0), and the fabled King/Queen Tier (10.1â12.9). Even dragons, for all their majesty, rarely reached King-tier even when they had the potential.
From the classrooms above, students leaned out of windows to watch. On the central stage, an elevated platform shimmered with glowing runes, powered by six dungeon cores.
The headmaster stepped forward, slim and severe in his pinstripe suit, his presence radiating discipline. His eyes swept across the crowd.
"As you all know," he began, his voice just right for the crowd, "today determines your lives. There will be no needless speeches. We begin immediately."
His gaze dropped to the paper slip in his hand.
"The first name is..." He raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat, lifting his gaze back to the crowd and locking on the only teen with Manhattanâs jacket.
"...Godfrey Daniels."
....
A/N: I hope you enjoy the opening of this novel. Support by adding to your library and giving a power stone or two. Thank you.