Most humans have the highest probability of awakening their powers on their 14th birthday — if they survive.
The Awakening isn't guaranteed. Some kids die. Some go mad. Some walk out as something entirely new.
It doesn't matter if you're born into a noble House or if you're the son of a kitchen worker — when the chamber seals, it's just you and your blood.
If both of your parents carried the Gift, your odds are better. But still low. Very low. That's the gamble it takes to gain real power. The Tower doesn't force you into the chamber. I'll go because not going means falling behind — and in this world, falling behind is as good as dead.
I stepped into the grand hall of the Control Tower.
A cold pulse ran across my skin as I passed through the outer field — a static barrier that buzzed against my bones. The kind of thing you only notice when it's scanning you.
Security drones hovered silently above. Thin red lights tracked my position for a heartbeat, then moved on.
The main entrance opened into a massive platform. Thousands of kids stood scattered in ordered sectors. I guessed there were over 3,000 of us, all from this capital city alone.
Everyone here was fourteen.
Most of them wore high-end synthweave coats, layered uniforms, insignias from noble families or corporate dynasties. Some even had light-field jewelry or personal assistants synced to their comm-bracelets.
Others — less polished — still held themselves with pride. Sons and daughters of guards, servants, loyal workers. Not high-born, but close enough to the flame. Some stood behind the heirs they'd likely serve for years to come.
And then… there was me.
I kept my hood low, my eyes scanning.
No one looked my way.
Good.
A sharp chime echoed through the tower. A woman stepped forward, her presence cutting the air like a blade.
Her name appeared on the AR overlay above us: Katharina Velis.
She wore an officer's uniform — sleek black, no insignia. Only the mark of the Tower.
"Silence," she said. She didn't shout. She didn't need to.
The room obeyed.
"You have been genetically selected. Behind me stand 17 coordinators. Each one is assigned to a group of 100. When your name is called, move to your designated lift station. Do not hesitate. Do not speak. We operate with precision."
A second chime followed.
"Hear this well," she continued. "The Awakening Protocol begins above — in orbit. Each station holds 50 genetic chambers. Two waves of 50 children each. When your name appears, step forward. Place your palm on the intake panel. A needle will extract your DNA. If compatible, the chamber will calibrate and attempt to awaken your dormant genes."
She paused — just long enough to let it settle.
"You may awaken a power. You may not. You may survive. You may die."
No one moved. No one even breathed.
"There is no shame in stepping back. But those who step in must finish it."
The drones began to shift. The air changed. Holographic names flickered across the displays.
One by one, kids were sorted. I waited. And then — there it was.
Kael Draen — Group 7.
I moved to my group of people.