England, Ninth Century
The morning fog slithered between the ancient stones of the Watcher School like a pale ghost, curling around the cloaks of children too young to know they were already soldiers. Among them sat a boy with raven-black hair and eyes too calm for six years of age—Godwin.
He sat still in the frigid stone classroom, legs swinging over the bench, back straight, like his bones already knew the shape of discipline. A fire burned low in the hearth, but its warmth could not compete with the cold truth scrawled across the black slate wall at the front:
THE WORLD IS ENDING.
MONSTERS WALK IT FREELY.
YOU WILL BE ITS SALVATION—OR ITS LAST MEAL.
Godwin read the words again, slowly, his lips barely moving. Around him, other children squirmed and yawned. Some played with bones they used like dice. Godwin's hands remained folded neatly in his lap. He listened.
Watcher Instructor Morna paced in front of them. Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp and clear.
"There are seven monster ranks. F to SS," she barked. "F is pathetic. Barely able to kill a family of four unless drunk on blood. SS? Gods help us. An SS-rank can swallow a continent, strip a planet bare, or tear the stars down. Now—what keeps them from eating this very island?"
"Watchers!" shouted the children in unison, though Godwin didn't shout. He whispered it, more like a question.
Morna's glare fell on him like a blade.
"You have something to say, boy?"
Godwin met her eyes. "You said they walk the earth freely. Then we haven't stopped them. Not really."
Silence. The room went still.
Morna smiled. It was not kind.
"Correct. They walk freely because we are not enough yet. That's why you're here. You have monster blood in you—all of you. Somewhere in your line, your forebears were touched by the dark. That is the key."
She turned and struck a long, curved claw against the board—an actual monster talon, longer than her forearm.
"To become a Watcher, you must train until your body breaks. You must study until your mind screams. You must survive the Ritual of Blood and Flame. And—" she paused, her eyes now gleaming, "—you must Awaken."
Somewhere behind Godwin, a girl whimpered.
Morna turned to face them fully, voice quieter now. "Your mutation will come in time. When puberty stirs your blood, your power will stir with it. You might glow. Or speak in fire. Or rend space and matter itself."
Her eyes lingered on Godwin for just a moment longer than the others.
"But know this—most of you will awaken to nothing useful. Some of you will die before you awaken at all. But those who survive... those who become true Watchers…"
She tapped the claw to her temple.
"...You will be gods among shadows."
Godwin felt something stir in him then, not excitement. Not fear. Hunger. A quiet longing for the power to shape the world—to protect it, maybe. Or perhaps to remake it entirely.
The next seven years passed in a blur of bruises and blood, scars and scripture. Godwin bled with boys who would not live to see fifteen. He watched girls burn from within during failed awakenings. He learned to fight blindfolded, to read ancient glyphs etched in bone, and to recite the Monster Canticle in twelve tongues. He buried classmates beneath cairns of blackened stone. He grew tall. His eyes sharpened. And still, he had not Awakened.
Until the thirteenth winter came.
He sat alone in the ritual chamber, surrounded by runes etched in ash and salt. A single iron candle lit the room with an orange glow. His heart beat slow, then faster, then stopped altogether as the pain surged through his skull like a blade.
He did not scream.
Something broke inside him. And from that break, something else poured forth.
The world cracked.
It was small—barely the size of a coin—but the air before him split open like a mouth. The space folded inward, twisted, and unfolded again behind him. A silent breath of nonexistence. A whisper in the void.
Then it was gone.
Godwin stared at his own hands, the fingers trembling.
He had Awakened.
And the world would never be the same.