The people of the old world often asked a simple question. That is, the meaning of their existence. Why were humans, of all the species of the old world, the ones to conquer the planet? Now that they have become the apex predator, what should they do with their life? If their lives had no meaning, no effect in the grand scale of the universe, why do they bother to live at all?

  The answer was a force that couldn’t be fully described at the time. Each civilization had a different name for it, but it was all really the same thing. Sisu, Tokon, Dhira, Iradah, and on and on for all of history. The word we use for it today came from a civilization much younger than the others, only a few hundred years before the dawn of the new world. Will.

  Willists today seem to agree that all wills and desires come from the three main forces, but the argument comes from them trying to establish one of three above the other two. Pranists argue that everything comes from the will to live, to exist in this world and make a mark on it. Sigrists argue that everything came from the will to fight, to conquer this world and become the greatest. And of course, Myrists argue that everything came from the will to understand, to learn everything there is to know, not just of this world, but the universe.

  Of course, most self-respecting willists understand that this is a fruitless endeavor. One must live to be able to understand, must fight in order to live, and must understand in order to fight. Willists of each force understand that it would be near impossible to change each other's minds, but they try anyway. This usually results in a fight, which of course any self-respecting willist is happy to take part in.

  It is from these fights that the willpower of willists is able to grow. Only after challenging themselves time after time can willists attain the peaks they have attained today. The tragedy of the great willists is that they lack challenge, for even the universe bends on their command. However, there has never been a better time to be a young willist.

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  At the young age of 6, Calbe Fischer awakened his will. Damian Barre was there when it happened. A scrawny, pale kid sat crying in the corner of a playroom, snot and tears streaming down his face as he threw a tantrum.

  “Gi- give him back! He’s my best friend!” he blubbered, as two of his fellow second-grade classmates played with an ordinary bear-shaped doll, giggling with childish joy.

  “No way! His name is Teddy and he doesn’t even like you. He’s gonna be our best friend forever and ever and he’ll never ever play with you because you’re stinky. Stinky!” The bigger of the two kids said with an innocent smile on her face. The two girls resumed their playtime, laughing and paying no heed to the crying boy not so far from them.

  “Stop! Come back! That’s not true, I’m not stinky! And Mr. Bear would never say that! Co- COME BACK HERE!”

  The laughing of the two girls came to a halt as an emerald green flash temporarily blinded every playing child in the room. Two hands of translucent green energy came from the sobbing boy, grabbing the toy from the girls with a forceful pull.

  The hands retracted back, the bear coming back with them. They remained suspended in air, cradling the toy as the boy wiped the tears out of his eyes.

  Every child in the room stared at Calbe with awe, including the two girls. The teacher's mouth fell to the floor, as she tried to force out words.

  “Mr. Bear! You came back! I knew I could protect you from those mean girls.”

  Later, Calbe’s parents were called to the school. He had awakened a form of prana, born from the childish desire to “protect” his “best friend”. Of course, they were overjoyed. Both of them had awakened at a much later, typical age, with both coming from ordinary families. Never in their life did they expect their scrawny, ordinary son to awaken at such a young age. Without doubt, Calbe was a prodigy of grand proportions. He was guaranteed to have a great future as one of the Stormtree sect’s top willists, awakening sooner than even the children of the sect's main families.

  As he grew, so did his power. Despite not having the backing of a strong family, he grew to be one of the strongest in the academy, rivaling even the children of the Storm and Zektree families. He grew into a bear of a boy, the previous sickly child gone. With his large body, tall stature, and jet-black hair and eyes, he had a scary aura that made him seem older than his real age of 16. Being called a prodigy from such a young age caused him to grow a bit of an ego, but for the most part, he minded his business and trained diligently.

  This didn’t stop him from currently having his prana structures choke Damian’s neck though.

  “Hey, you bastard. I’m sure I gave you a whole week to do that report, so why wasn’t it on my desk? How much time do you need for a simple physics report, you damn nerd?” he spat, with his lackeys laughing in the background. Damian floated in the air, his legs kicking and his arms scratching at the floating green hands that wouldn’t budge.

  “Calbe, loosen up the grip. The kid is trying to say something. Just let him blubber an apology already, we had to be in the club room five minutes ago.” One of the boys next to him said, his amusement diminishing.

  Calbe turned to look at his underling with a scowl, before relaxing his grip on Damian. Damian fell to the floor, landing on his back and coughing relentlessly. The group of boys stared at him as he regained his composure and looked up at Calbe.

  “Hey, hey, I’m really sorry, it's just that-” he started timidly, before entering a coughing fit again, his hand going up in a motion to wait as he faced the floor, wheezing and breathing for air. The 3 boys looked at him with an unimpressed look on their faces.

  Their lessons for the day had just ended, with afterschool activities soon about to begin. Most students had already left the building. The hallway was currently empty, aside from the three boys and their victim, leaving Damian no way to escape.

  Damian coughed one last time before standing up straight again. “It’s just that I swear I told you I wouldn’t do it though? Sure, you asked me very politely if I would, but I’m sure I remember telling you all to fuck off and learn basic physics. Actually, that’s when-”

  A hand of green energy appeared from the ground, pulling Damian’s leg and causing him to fall down. Damian fell on his back for the second time, hitting his head and groaning in pain.

  “And that’s when I told you, very politely, that if you didn’t have it by Tuesday, I’d make you regret being born. Now, where were we?”

  Hands emerged from his body, and were about to grab Damian once more, as the boys heard a door fly open from one of the classrooms.

  “CALBE! What did I say about using will during school hours? Is this how the president of the battle club ought to act? Why, I should strip you of the title right now! How dare you explicitly go against my word and bully another poor student again! Apologise now!” A tall, balding old man with grey hair and a lean build wearing office clothes stood tall, glaring at the boys.

  “Headmaster, it’s not what it looks like. I was just helping him up! My friend Damian here fell to the ground, and I was going to help him back up. Isn’t that right, Damian?”

  Damian looked at headmaster Whitaker, then back at Calbe, before sighing and nodding his head. Headmaster Whitaker traded his glare for a look of suspicion, before sighing and walking away, tired of the students.

  “Calbe, come on man. If we’re any later, teach won’t let us hear the end of it. Plus, that woman from the academy he mentioned could be there, he said she’d come sometime this week.” The other boy pushed Calbe, causing him to give in. He looked at the floor one last time, staring at Damian, before the hands retracted back into his back and they left.

  Damian waited for them to leave before getting up, brushing himself off. Damian wasn’t exactly an outcast. He was social enough, got good grades, and had an average build for his age, despite being on the shorter side at around 5’6. With his grey eyes, tan skin, and brunette hair, he was even considered quite attractive. The reason why Calbe and his gang considered him to be easy pickings was simple. Damian had yet to awaken.

  Now, Damian wasn’t completely abnormal in this aspect. At the age of 16, about 1 in 10 kids was also yet to awaken, with the average age being around 12. He was a late bloomer, but not necessarily done for. For the time being though, this made him a prime victim for people like Calbe.

  Damian left the building and started on his way home, when he felt a familiar weight in his chest. He stopped and groaned, clutching his stomach. Not this again. I can’t even go one day without it now. As of late, Damian had been feeling… heavy. There wasn’t a way to describe it as anything else really, he just felt this weight in his chest. He didn’t know why, and he hadn’t told anyone, but it was always there. While he ate, drank, and sometimes, even when he slept. At times like this, it seemed to double or triple, causing Damian to go nauseous.

  He pushed through it, walking along the streets of the Stormtree sect. Located on the border of the Solvane kingdom, the Stormtree sect was born from a territorial war between the Zektree and Storm families, ending with the partial mutual destruction of both. The successors of the families eventually decided on an alliance, with them deciding to re-settle on the very land they once fought over. Despite being isolated from most of the kingdom, it had a reputation for its willists, with the most famous being the Queen of Thunder, a myrist famous for her ability to summon a thundercloud the size of a battlefield. The city reflected this, being unique in its use of electricity, an art that both families specialized in. The light-currents seemed to be glitching today, with their usual strong blue light flickering irregularly, causing the various advertising holograms to act up. Perhaps the on-duty myrists were having a bad day.

  Damian looked up to see a traffic hologram flash red, and stopped, waiting. An odd, younger boy dressed in black and red walked past him, a sword attached to his back. The sword wasn’t particular peculiar, as it was common for sigrists to carry one at all time, but Damian noticed the boy walked with eyes never staying in one place, seeming to take in the scenery of the city. With the boy's longer hair, guarded walk, and heavy-duty black and red clothing, it was quite obvious that he was a tourist, explaining his fascination with the city. To someone from the outside, the people of the Stormtree sect must’ve looked like they were living in the future. With a pause, Damian saw this boy approach the road, about to walk straight into the incoming magcars. He rushed forward, and grabbed the boy’s jacket collar, stopping him from going forward. Damien exhaled with relief.

  “Hey guy, I don’t know where you come from, but here, we respect traffic law-” Damian attempted to say, before the boy turned around in a rush and reached for the sword on his back, anger in his eyes. Damian flinched and stepped backwards.

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  “Why the hell did you touch me? Who are you? Who sent you?” the boy questioned, his sword fully drawn now. His eyes stared holes into Damian’s eye sockets, like he was getting ready to fight. The heavy feeling grew once more, but Damian didn’t have the time to keel over again.

  “Whoa! Ok, maybe a thank you first? You see those floating metal thingies behind you? The ones going god-knows-what an hour? Yeah, you were about to be saying hello to a business end of those things if I didn’t pull you back.”

  The boy looked back, confused, before seeing a magcar zip past at high speeds. He faced Damian, embarrassment flushing his face red. He opened his mouth, before a girl’s voice came from behind Damian.

  “Oh! My apologies really. We’re tourists, and little Andy here doesn’t have the best manners. Please, accept my apologies on his part.”

  Damian turned around to see a woman with beautiful long hair, dressed in a matching attire to the boy, who was presumably Andy. She was built strong with obvious muscles, and had an apologetic look on her face. She similarly had a sword attached to her back, but this one was much larger and heavier than Andy’s, a greatsword to his katana. Seeing her, Andy’s embarrassment seemed to grow twicefold. The lady pinched Andy by the cheek and walked away, going the opposite direction Andy was headed, seemingly muttering curses in his ear.

  Damian watched them leave before he continued walking, and as the weight decreased, he eventually got to his home with no other interruptions. Normally, his mother and father would be waiting at home, but they had told him they would be working late today. His sister hadn’t been home for months, so he was home alone. Normally, his day would be uneventful. He’d do a bit of studying, work out, and then go to sleep. After all, there wasn’t much for an unawakened teenager to do in the city.

  Today however, was the notable exception. Damian had plans. He rushed into his room, and grabbed his ticket. He quickly changed his clothes and then rushed out, hailing a taximag and making his way to his location.

  The taximag stopped in front of a run-down building, seeming out of place in the city. The hologram sign was traded out for a classic neon one, and blue light currents were traded for old street lights. The sign read “The Stormy Cloud”, with a few letters glowing dimmer than others. Outside, a bouncer in a suit stood intimidatingly, a purple structure that could be either prana or myria next to him. Damian approached the building and fed his ticket into the structure, which took it and, after a delay, punched a hole in it. The bouncer looked at him and opened the door, allowing him to enter.

  Inside was a completely different scenery than the outside. A lively bar with people screaming and laughing entered Damian’s vision. The place was mostly filled with people in their 30s and 40s, with beers and the like going all around. The main attraction was in the middle of the room, where a boxing ring stood. Damian made his way to an empty table and sat down, getting ready to order a (non alcoholic) drink. That’s when he noticed.

  In the far corner of the room, Calbe sat with his lackeys, with drinks that did not look non-alcoholic in hand. Calbe especially seemed flushed, his face red as he laughed obnoxiously. Not these guys again. The weight in Damian’s chest dropped once again, but that was the least of his worries. He almost immediately got up, but held himself down to avoid being noticed. Just as he was about to get up, the sounds of a voice erupted throughout the room.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, BOYS AND GIRLS! Welcome back to Stormtree’s greatest pride and joy, The Stormy Cloud! Tonight, we have a very special show for all of our beloved and loyal customers. On the right side, the reigning champion, the 7-foot sigrist himself, give it up for… THE CRUSHER!”

  Applause and screams reverberated throughout the room as a ginormous man that made even Calbe look minuscule entered the ring, his hairy chest and monstrous muscles on full display. With a stoic face, he made his way to the corner of the ring and beat his chest in pride. Damian’s eyes glistened with admiration as he sat down. He’d grown to become one of the crusher’s biggest fans, and came today to see him destroy yet another prideful challenger.

  “And on the other side, a mystery man. In his very first match here, he decided he had what it took to challenge our champion. Let’s give it up for the future sack of broken bones, our masked challenger… THE BLACK BLADE!”

  Another shirtless man entered the arena, wearing a featureless black mask and full-length pants as the audience booed. Unlike The Crusher, this one was armed, holding a black katana-like sword. Damian was getting ready to do some booing himself, when he realized.

  Isn’t that the tourist kid? What the hell is he doing here?

  The announcer continued “Now now, lets give our competitor a fair chance! Don’t be so discouraging, beautiful people! That being said, I won’t take up more of your time! Fighters, start in 5…4…3…”

  As the audience counted down, The Crusher got ready to dash forward, while Andy cocked his head, seemingly bored. Damian was sure he didn’t have a chance, but watched eagerly regardless.

  The Crusher made a run for it as red energy enveloped his fists. He bolted towards his opponent, getting ready to do the signature takedown he’d done every match before. The audience quieted in anticipation, waiting for the inevitable defeat.

  He didn’t even make it half way before a cut formed diagonally across his chest.

  The Crusher and the audience seemed to both stop in confusion. The masked boy hadn’t even moved his sword, he just held it and looked forward. In a flash, more cuts appeared across The Crusher's body. His legs, his arms, his face, nothing was spared. All he could do was stand there as he bled out, the boy still not taking a step. Eventually, The Crusher lost his stoic expression as he fell to the ground, passed out.

  The audience was shocked. The announcer must have anticipated their feelings of anger, because he immediately announced the winner, and urged the audience to respect the rules of the fight. Andy seemed to stare at something in the corner, but Damian couldn’t see anyone. For some reason, Damian felt like he sensed the lady from before, but he couldn’t see her anywhere.

  The audience begrudgingly left the bar, yelling curses and shouts of disappointment the whole way. After all, the ones who were betting men had just lost a considerable sum, but no one dared do anything after seeing that display.

  Damian had no desire to confirm his suspicions. He left through the back exit and started on his way home. As the people cleared, Damian decided to walk instead of another taximag. Just when he seemed to be alone, he felt something grab his leg.

  Damian fell to the floor for the third time today, this time landing on his face rather than his back. The weight in his chest grew again, becoming almost unbearable. Fuck. It’s them again.

  Damian heard the haughty laugh of Calbe behind him, confirming his suspicions. “Hey nerd, what- *hick*, what the hell are you doing here? Weaklings like you like to watch stuff like this too?” Calbe slurred, obviously intoxicated, his friends laughing in the background as they all approached.

  “I’m so lucky! I thought it was a waste I didn’t get to beat you up then, but what a perfect opportunity. Now where did we leave of… Oh!” Damian saw Calbe’s foot blur as he was struck in the chest, leaving him coughing on the ground. The weight in his chest seemed to double again, making him feel like he was stuck to the ground.

  Why can’t these guys feel the weight? Why don’t they get it?

  A blur of blows struck Damian over and over again, to the point that he felt like he was about to pass out. With each blow, the weight got worse and worse. Whenever he was on brink of going unconscious, the mass doubled, waking him up.

  Why won’t it go away? It’s like it’s attached to my existence.

  The blows seemed to pick up, Calbe and his lackeys seeming to lose all rationality.

  No, the mass is just… existence. It doesn’t need an explanation.

  The boys even started to laugh, Calbe letting go of his prana as Damian entered a fetal position.

  I get it now. This feeling that remains even when I’m asleep is just… me.

  The boys stopped. Something was different. Damian’s eyes went from gray to something else. He looked… determined.

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  Andy couldn’t believe how weak his opponent was. His master had brought him here to fight strong people, but why was everyone so damn weak? He couldn’t improve at all like this. He could feel his Sigra, and it felt exactly the same as weeks ago. His growth had stalled.

  His master looked at him with a knowing smile. She must’ve understood how he felt. “Well, it’s inevitable,” she said. “You’ll hit these slumps no matter what stage you are. This is just your first one.” She seemed like she was about to suggest they leave, when her face went slack. Andy stared at her with confusion.

  “Andy. We have to go. Now.”

  “What? What are you talking about? I just used almost all of my sigra, so let me relax for a mi-”

  She grabbed Andy by the collar and made a dash for the door, running at a breakneck speed.

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  Calbe was a genius. A prodigy. Everyone told him so.

  So why did he feel scared of someone who was just awakening? After all, he had awakened at the age of 6. He had 10 years of experience over the person infront of him.

  More importantly, why did he feel so heavy?

  He got ready to fight, summoning prana constructs all around him. Hands erupted from every surface. He pushed through the weight of his body and took a step forward.

  His friends fell to the floor at almost the same time, passed out.

  He looked at them in surprise. He was the one who drank the majority, so why did they fall over? He looked back up, trying to find Damian.

  That’s when a mountain disguised as a fist hit him.

  He flew backwards, hitting a wall and wall and sliding to the floor. What? What was that? He felt blood on his face, trickling into his eyes. He looked up to see 2 black holes staring back at him, an emotionless expression on Damian's face. He got ready to take another hit, using his prana to reinforce himself.

  He knew it wouldn’t do anything. He knew another hit would kill him. Tears mixed with the blood and fell down his face. He remembered when he first awakened, how much he wanted the toy to not suffer, to live.

  His prana seemed to fall to pieces as his will collapsed. He had lost the will to fight. He just wanted this to be over.

  He waited for the next hit to come, but it never did.

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  Damian wasn’t thinking straight until the lady grabbed his fist.

  He seemed to suddenly wake up, understanding what he just did. The lady from the street held his fist, stopping him from hitting Calbe again.

  “Hey, kid. I know this might not be the best time for you, but…”

  His mind cleared as he registered that she was talking to him.

  “Would you fight that kid over there? Please?”

  He turned around to see the boy from the street smiling with maniacal eyes, his sword already drawn.

  Damian was baffled. He didn’t even fully understand what he had just done. He tried to protest, to process what was happening.

  Before he could talk, a sword appeared before his eyes as the boy disappeared in a flash, ready to cut his face in half.