PROLOGUE 

YEAR 2047

The night sky was painted in colors humanity had never seen before—cascades of silver and violet, vibrant and alive, dancing across the heavens like an otherworldly symphony. At first, they called it a miracle. Families gathered in the streets to marvel at the spectacle, their faces lit by the shimmering aurora. But as the days stretched into weeks, awe turned to dread.

The first sign of doom was the silence.

It began in the wilderness, where birds stopped singing and animals fled their habitats. Then the oceans stilled, their once-ferocious waves lulled into eerie calm. Humanity's machines faltered next. Satellites fell from orbit, planes lost their way, and entire power grids crumbled as if the Earth itself rejected the intrusion of technology. News anchors tried to make sense of the chaos, their voices trembling as reports of earthquakes, tsunamis, and volcanic eruptions flooded the airwaves.

Rowan Dalauta remembered the day his world ended. He was eight years old, standing in his family's small living room in New Haven, Connecticut, when the ground beneath him heaved. His mother’s panicked screams mingled with the groan of splitting wood and shattering glass. He saw his father grab his younger sister, Ana, holding her tight as their home crumbled around them. And then, darkness.

When Rowan woke, his world was unrecognizable. The landscape was a fractured mosaic of jagged earth and glowing fissures, emanating a soft, pulsating light. The air crackled with energy—mana, though no one knew its name yet. It wasn't long before the monsters came.

At first, they were small, almost harmless. Twisted creatures that looked like the shadows of animals, darting through the ruins. But as weeks turned into months, they grew larger, fiercer, and hungrier. Humanity's weapons failed to stop them, and survival became a cruel lottery. Rowan lost his parents and Ana to a horde of the Mana-Scarred, their screams echoing in his mind long after they were gone.

The next ten years were marked by ceaseless struggle. Orphaned and barely clinging to life, Rowan had been taken in by a small group of survivors. He learned to scavenge the ruins of humanity’s former glory, trading safety for knowledge of how to navigate a brutal, unforgiving world. Hunger, fear, and loss became his constant companions.

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The survivors moved from settlement to settlement, avoiding dungeons teeming with monsters and steering clear of the factions that had risen in the Manafall’s wake. The Vanguard enforced their order through violence, while the Sanctum’s zealotry demanded absolute submission. Rowan saw firsthand how the Awoken, humans blessed—or cursed—with abilities, could be both saviors and tyrants.

Through it all, Rowan’s guilt over Ana’s death consumed him. He replayed that night endlessly in his mind—the moment he had failed to shield her from the Mana-Scarred. That guilt became a fuel, driving him to ensure that no one else suffered the same fate.

Over the years, he honed his resourcefulness. He grew lean and quick, adept at scavenging supplies from the ruins of old cities and eluding predators, human and otherwise. He earned a reputation among the Drifters for being dependable and selfless, though the cost of his compassion often put him at risk.

By the time Rowan turned eighteen, the world had become a very different place. The continents were one again, fused into a supercontinent dotted with towering dungeons—massive, labyrinthine structures pulsing with mana, monsters and the Mana-Scarred. Civilization was no more than a scattering of desperate communities clinging to the edges of these ruins. The lucky ones awakened to strange and powerful abilities at the age of eighteen, a phenomenon tied to the mana that now saturated the Earth.

Now, at almost the ripe age of eighteen, Rowan sat on the rooftop of an abandoned building, gazing at the moonlit horizon. His small camp was tucked safely in the building’s shadow, the faint hum of mana in the air a constant reminder of how different the world had become.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Rowan’s Awakening was only hours away. The milestone loomed large in his mind, both thrilling and terrifying. By morning, he would join the ranks of the Awoken—or remain powerless, one of the unblessed. The thought made his hands tremble, though he wasn’t sure if it was from excitement or fear.

He toyed with the battered pendant around his neck, a relic from his mother. It was the only thing he had left of his family. "I’ll make things right," he whispered, the words meant more for himself than anyone else. "I’ll get an ability that will change everything."

The possibilities were endless. What if he awakened the power to heal? To shield? Or maybe something rare and dangerous, like the ability to command fire or bend the wind? He didn’t care what it was—as long as it was strong enough to turn his life around.

The faint glow of dawn began to creep across the horizon. Rowan took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. Tomorrow would mark the start of a new chapter in his life—a chance to find redemption, to rise above his past, and to carve out a future in a world that had taken everything from him.

But as the first light touched the land, he couldn’t shake the unease that the Manafall, even after ten years, still held secrets waiting to be unearthed.