In a quiet village nestled in the snowy woods of America, far from the chaos of awakened metropolises, lived a small family—humble but happy. The parents, both Level 2 awakened with simple affinities, worked hard to keep their home warm and hearts warmer. Their greatest joy was their daughter, a seven-year-old girl with striking white hair and sparkling blue eyes, full of life, dreams, and questions about the stars.
She didn't need much. She never asked for more than what they could give. But deep down, even in her innocence, she harbored one quiet hope: to awaken with a 2-star talent so she could one day reach Level 3. Not for glory or power, but to make her parents' life easier, perhaps even take them somewhere better than this snow-covered quiet place.
But fate, as always, did not ask for permission before shifting paths.
One evening, while they were enjoying dinner in their backyard beneath the fading pink sky, a red light flashed above. A Red Gate tore reality open like paper. Before they could run, before they could scream, it swallowed them whole.
They landed inside a bright ice dungeon—glaciers, mirrored cliffs, and freezing winds. Her parents immediately shielded her, fighting off the monsters that emerged. Low-level ice beasts came first—manageable. But soon, stronger ones arrived.
They fought tooth and nail.
They bled.
And in their final moments, they smiled at their daughter, protecting her until their last breath.
By the time the authorities arrived, only the girl remained—shivering, crying, covered in snow and blood, clutching her mother's scarf.
Her world had ended.
She was taken to an orphanage. One of many across the country. It wasn't just her—hundreds of children had lost their families to the unpredictable cruelty of Gates. But she didn't speak. Not for a year. Not a word. She just sat quietly in the corner of the dim orphanage room, hugging her knees, refusing to cry anymore.
She was eight now. Old enough to understand, too young to bear it.
Then one day, a younger girl tripped and scraped her knee in front of her. No one came to help. So, for the first time, she moved. She held the girl's hand, whispered "It's okay," and wrapped a torn piece of cloth around the wound.
That one act changed everything.
Over the next four years, she became their big sister. To the twenty-three children younger than her, she was their comfort, their warmth, their silent protector. She told stories, she played with them, and sometimes, late at night, she let herself smile again.
She had a goal now. To awaken with enough talent to rise high and lift her new siblings from this bleak life.
But destiny wasn't done testing her.
At age twelve, a black van arrived. Soldiers in military uniforms entered the orphanage with cold eyes and zero compassion. The place was shutting down, they said. The children were "being relocated." In truth, they were being conscripted.
The army, she learned, was in a quiet war—a secret war—against beings that no one publicly acknowledged. The Sovereign's forces from Antarctica had begun pushing into the world through untraceable means. The world was preparing for a conflict it dared not announce.
And orphans—those without political protection or family ties—were the easiest to "recruit."
The training was brutal. They were given minimal food, minimal rest, and no affection. Many children, too young to awaken, failed to survive. The girl cried in the dark some nights, muffling her sobs with her pillow. But she didn't give up.
She had to be strong—for the ones still alive.
By age sixteen, she had risen to the top ranks of the training program. Among hundreds of recruits, she was the fastest, most disciplined, and most selfless. She didn't seek recognition. She sought freedom—for her siblings, and perhaps, someday, for herself.
Then came the Awakening Day.
Hundreds of trainees lined up, placing their hands on the white orb that revealed their affinity and talent. The results varied. Those with 2-star talent were allowed to stay and fight. The 1-stars were dismissed—spared the war, but discarded like failures.
She waited for her turn in silence, heart pounding, unsure if she dared to hope.
Then, a heavyset man in a decorated general's uniform entered the hall. His beard was grizzled, his aura immense. A Level 8 Awakened. A war hero. He came to personally recruit those with the highest potential.
He glanced at her.
"What's your name?" he asked.
The girl saluted. "Luna. No surname, sir."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're the top recruit?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then let's see what kind of star you are, Luna."
She stepped up, placed her hand on the orb, and the entire hall lit up.
A blinding white radiance burst out.
"Light Affinity—4 Stars!" someone gasped.
Then, moments later, a second shimmer.
"Ice Affinity—3 Stars!"
Gasps filled the room. Dual affinities. Both rare. A 4-star light talent was nearly unheard of in the army's history. The general's eyes widened. His lips curled into a grin.
"I've never seen anything like this," he muttered. "Girl, you're going places."
But Luna bowed calmly. "Sir, I would like to request something in exchange for my loyalty."
The general chuckled. "Already bargaining with a general, are we? Fine. Name it."
"Release all my siblings from the army program. Except two with 3-star talent—let them stay, but place them under my direct command."
The general stared at her. Then laughed.
"You've got guts. Fine. I'll grant your request. From today, you'll be Luna Lightbringer. A name worthy of your talent."
From then on, her life shifted again.
She trained with elite instructors. She rose to Level 2 in just eight months—rumored to be the fastest in American history. Some said three students in India had reached Level 2 in six months, but many dismissed it as legend.
She led her squad on missions—fighting Level 1 and weak Level 2 monsters of the Sovereign's army, always guarding her comrades with deadly precision and unshakable resolve. Her light beams cut through shadows, her ice slowed enemies, and her squad's morale never wavered when she led.
Her goal was clear: reach Level 3 within the next six months, surpass even her parents' level.
But fate, again, had other plans.
On what was supposed to be a low-risk mission in the outskirts, she and her squad were ambushed by fifteen Level 2 monsters—and one Level 3 ice yeti.
They were surrounded.
She gritted her teeth and fought. Her ice blades slashed, her light orbs exploded, and she pushed her powers to the limit. In 15 minutes of pure hell, she killed five Level 2s, protected her squad from certain death, and still stood tall—barely.
But the Level 3 hadn't moved yet.
The ice yeti let out a roar and charged. A freezing beam shot toward her and her closest two companions—her orphan sisters.
She had no more energy to shield them.
She closed her eyes, whispering one last apology.
*"Does this world not allow me happiness?"*
Then, light flashed. But not ice, not light.
**Purple.**
The ice beam disintegrated mid-air, atomized by something stronger.
Then came thunder.
A bolt of purple lightning cracked across the battlefield, striking the Level 3 monster first—and then chaining through the remaining Level 2s.
In an instant, they were all gone—burned, broken, disintegrated.
Luna stood there, stunned, frozen, wide-eyed.
And then he landed.
A boy, tall, handsome, black-haired, blue-eyed—lightning dancing around him like a crown of divine wrath.
He looked at her. His eyes, fierce one second ago, softened when they met hers.
"I'm not late, am I?"
She blinked.
The boy who had just saved her and her family again—stood before her like a legend made flesh.
His name was Aiden Pentdragon.
And this was only the beginning.
END OF VOLUME 1 A Second chance