On Awakening Day, the stone stele lit up. Lin Qingxuan: eighty-nine. When it was Qiu Lin's turn, not a trace of light appeared on the stele.
Authority rate: zero.
Someone in the auditorium laughed. Qiu Lin slipped his hand into his pocket. In his palm was a dark red symbol, which had burned an indelible mark onto his desk the night before.
Whatever his left hand touched shattered from within. But it had only worked once. That time, the pattern had crept a little farther up his wrist.
Every time he used it, it grew a little more. No one knew what would happen when it reached the end.
Three years ago, his deskmate Lin Qingxuan's father entered an old observatory in the eastern part of the city and never came back out. Three months ago, another classmate's father was taken away, leaving behind only a slip of paper bearing the word "Dawn." And now, someone was tracking his scent in the alleys, while someone else was drawing a formation in a basement, with just one stroke left to complete it.
On the wasteland beyond that door stood a stele. It was inscribed:
Deity: Xu. Authority: Decomposition. Status: Fallen.
