Dinner finished, Raven had helped clear the table and tidy up the cramped kitchen.
Biggy had left for his night patrol on the Dome Wall.
His older brother had pulled on a thick jacket in dull, faded colors, checked the contents of a small pouch clipped to his belt, then left the apartment with a simple nod toward the family. He was a night patroller. A modest but essential job in the defensive hierarchy of Dome M-77.
His role: patrol the wall and report any anomaly to allow for a faster response.
The Dome Wall was not a simple physical barrier. It was a complex structure composed of several layers: the outer wall of stone and steel, the mana-treated alloy reinforcements, and above all, the solidified mana field that formed the true protection against the beasts. Along this enclosure ran a walkway where patrollers tirelessly paced the same routes, night after night.
Raven said goodnight to his parents.
Then he went into his room.
The door closed behind him with a soft click. Silence fell immediately, a sharp contrast to the hubbub of the common room. He was alone now.
He sat down at his desk.
A few things lay scattered across the desk: pens, a small lamp, and a computer.
Raven stared at the blank screen for a long moment.
He was trying to remember what his father had said about "another way."
He also thought back to the expressions on his mother's and brother's faces. That grave, almost solemn look.
What was this other way? Why did they speak of it with such gravity, as if it were a default option, a consolation prize for those who failed to awaken?
He turned on the computer.
He opened the search engine and typed.
What happens when you fail to awaken?
The question appeared on the screen. Simple, direct, no beating around the bush. He pressed enter.
The results appeared in an ordered list. Academic articles. Discussion forums. Official publications from the dome government. Personal testimonies. A flood of information of varying quality and relevance.
But for now, only one question interested him.
He scrolled through the results, ignoring links that didn't directly address his query. Tips for maximizing awakening chances. Success statistics by social category. Testimonials from Chosen ones recounting their experiences. All of it was interesting, but secondary.
Then he came across an article that seemed to tackle the subject head-on.
The title was sober, informative. A publication that seemed to come from an official or semi-official source. Raven clicked on it, and the content loaded.
He read:
"If someone does not awaken to Mana or if their awakening potential is low, one should not pursue the path of the Chosen."
The words were blunt.
Raven continued reading.
"Though disappointing, this is not the end of the world, for the martial arts welcome you with open arms."
"It is another path to follow, and with much more rigorous training, you can even stand as an equal to a Chosen."
The phrasing was cautious, measured. It did not promise superiority.
Raven reread the passage several times. The path of the Chosen and the path of the martial arts. Two parallel paths, but clearly not equal in terms of difficulty or prestige.
He scrolled down to the comments section.
Below the article was a discussion area. He skimmed the reactions.
The tone was predominantly sarcastic. Dismissive, even.
"Yeah, right, 'equal to a Chosen' lol. My cousin did ten years of martial arts, he got folded in half by a Circle 2 Chosen."
"Martial arts are fine for those without talent. Gotta keep the failures busy."
"Stop selling them dreams. The martial path is a dead end. There's a reason all the important posts are held by Chosen."
"My dad always says: better a mediocre Chosen than an excellent martial artist. Sad but true."
"Article sponsored by the Ministry of 'We need cannon fodder for the walls' lol."
The comments scrolled on, each carrying its dose of thinly veiled contempt. A few were more nuanced, attempting to defend the value of martial arts, but they were quickly drowned out by the flood of sarcasm.
Reading on, Raven eventually understood one thing: in the eyes of many, the way of martial arts looked like a dead end.
He then searched for more information on the cultivation levels of the Chosen and the martial artists.
His fingers typed new queries. "Chosen power levels." "Mana circle classification." "Martial arts level equivalence." "Comparative power Chosen vs martial."
But nothing was truly useful.
The results appeared vague, incomplete. General descriptions without precise figures. Approximate classifications without technical details. Articles that promised information but, once opened, contained only generalities.
As if the real information was hidden somewhere.
The true knowledge about cultivation—whether that of the Chosen or of the martial arts—was not accessible to the general public. There was censorship. Or a deliberate withholding of information. The keepers of knowledge did not wish to share it.
He eventually gave up and settled for browsing at random. General news sites, forums about life in the domes, historical archives on the Mana Resurgence. He read without a specific goal, soaking up information like a sponge, filling the gaps in his understanding of Terra Nova.
Around ten o'clock, he stopped.
The clock read 10 PM. Two hours had passed since he sat down. His eyes were beginning to sting. But his mind was clearer, better informed.
That was when he understood, or thought he understood, why he was so muscular.
Logically, a pre-Chosen should not have had this physique. Aspiring Chosen devoted their time to theoretical study and mana adaptation sessions. Physical training was deemed accessory. Those people disdained the body, which they considered a concern for martial artists, almost barbaric.
But Raven had muscles.
It came from the training sessions his brother had imposed on him for years, apparently.
Biggy was not a Chosen, but a martial artist. And he had prepared his little brother to take the other path, in case of failure.
Seen in that light, the family had already prepared for the worst.
The Scrow family didn't truly believe in Raven's chances of becoming a Chosen. They hoped, perhaps. They didn't pressure him. But deep down, they had prepared for failure. And they had prepared him to take the other path.
The martial arts.
It made sense, really, when you looked at his results.
Raven Scrow had a mana synchronization rate of 36.5%, according to academy results.
In the hallways, whispers were rife. A score above fifty percent was considered promising. Above seventy, they spoke of exceptional talent. Raven, with his thirty-six point five, was in the low range. Enough to attempt the awakening, but with limited chances of success.
His family knew this.
So they had acted. Without telling him, without openly discouraging him, they had prepared a safety net. The sessions with Biggy. The weight training. The morning runs. All of it was not a supplement to his Chosen preparation. It was preparation for the other path.
Raven sat in front of the screen, his eyes fixed on that number somewhere in his memory. 36.5%.
In three days, he would know whether that number had sealed his fate or if, against all odds, he would manage to cross the threshold of awakening.