The first rift appeared sixty-two years ago, somewhere over eastern Africa. A glowing tear in the sky, hovering above the land like God forgot to stitch a part of the world.
At first, the locals thought it was a trick of the light, something natural, just a storm trying to look supernatural.
Then came the red veil. A dome of energy so thick it painted the horizon in blood. It grew by the day. People started disappearing. Then dying. Then coming back... not as themselves.
The military tried. Planes, tanks, boots on the ground. They barely scratched the surface. The first variants, Echoes were manageable. Mindless. Clumsy. But then the Aberrants showed up. Bigger. Smarter. Crueller. They spoke. They laughed. They hunted.
And by then, it was too late.
The barrier fell. The rift became a breach. And within weeks, more appeared across the globe, opening like wounds in the earth.
For two years, the world burned.
Forty-four percent of the global population, gone.
Cities erased. Borders forgotten. Nations swallowed by red.
Until they started showing up, the marked ones. The first Crest Bearers. Ordinary people warped by rift energy into something... more. They called them the Prime Topplers. Heroes. Monsters. Survivors. Depends who you ask.
They ended the war.
But by then, the world had already changed.
Arcana. Fortizo. Vitals, the three new empires. One in the east, one in the west, and one in the middle, all desperately trying to hold what was left of civilization together.
The rifts never stopped. But the Arcana Order was born to contain them, an international watchdog for everything rift-related. And at the heart of Vitalis, standing like a monument to everything humanity had learned (and forgotten), there it was:
virelia.
The capital city. Home to the a number of the world's deadliest topplers. And inside that city? The Virelia Institute. The first and best, university in the world for crest-bearing students like me.
A place to become someone.
Or to disappear entirely.
That was the story. The one they pumped into your ears growing up, playing on every school projector and government flyer like gospel.
And I... I listened.
I knew the names. The dates. The wars. The factions. I could recite the timeline backwards in my sleep.
But today, on the walk back from my evening classes, that story felt less like history and more like a countdown.
A riddle, still missing its last answer.
"Yo."
A hand snapped in front of my face.
"You spacing out again?" Luan's voice cut through the static of my thoughts like she always did, quick, casual, and lightly annoyed.
I blinked and looked over at her. She adjusted the strap of her bag, her black pop socks peeking beneath a pleated skirt that danced with each step. Her signature twin buns were bouncing, just like her tone.
Willy was on the other side, chewing a piece of mint gum like it owed him money. The breeze caught the edge of his hoodie as he shot me a knowing glance with those small, always-squinting eyes.
"We've got a group session with Prof. Giacomo in twenty, remember?" Willy said. "You know, the assignment you said and I quote, 'I'll handle the heavy lifting.'"
"I am handling it," I replied flatly. "I'm carrying the mental burden."
"And we're carrying you physically," Luan added. "Come on, Professor's office is on the second floor of the departments East Wing. That building that smells like burnt curry and dead dreams."
She started walking faster.
Willy followed her, hands stuffed in his pockets. I trailed after them, brushing off the weight of a history I wasn't ready to let go of.
Rifts. Variants. The war. The rise of the topplers.
All of it was written. Explained. Accounted for.
Yet it felt like Something was missing.
Virelia's East Wing was old-school, not in the charming way, more like in the "why is there still carpet in the stairwell?" kind of way. It always smelled like something burnt, something leaking, and something alive that shouldn't be. Probably a rat. Probably named Greg.
We cut through the hallway toward the Logistics & Support department, you could tell it apart from the rest of the faculty buildings by the clunky posters about "efficient world-saving" and a dead hologram monitor flickering halfheartedly beside the staircase.
Willy elbowed me lightly, his voice dropping.
"You seriously not going to say anything about Lorenzo?"
"I told you," I muttered. "Tonight, After curfew If we must."
He narrowed his eyes. "You say that like we're gonna die in the process."
"Relax," I said. "Only one of us will."
"Bro."
Before I could enjoy the look on his face, a voice from behind chirped, "Are we investigating something?"
Luan. Still a few steps back, one earbud dangling, popping her bubblegum like the universe was on pause for her.
"Not your business," Willy shot back instantly.
"Correction," she said, stepping in line beside me. "It became my business the moment you two started whispering like uncles at a family meeting."
I sighed. "Luan, this is a low-key thing. Dangerous. Like actual consequences kind of dangerous."
Her tone changed. "I can handle dangerous."
"Look, I'm not tagging along for fun. I've got my own reasons. Personal."
We both looked at her. She didn't elaborate.
After a beat, Willy muttered, "So dramatic."
But neither of us said no.
We turned into the corridor where Professor Giacomo's office sat, tucked behind a cracked glass display of old toppler badges and a levitating globe that never spun. The door was already ajar, light pouring into the hallway.
Inside, it was chaos in red.
Jonas was half-sprawled on a chair, tie crooked and shirt half-untucked like a banker who'd just lost a bet. His hair was shaped to perfection though, gotta respect the barber's effort.
Next to him, Khadija sat upright with a bright blue notepad and a brighter smile, her hijab matching the lining of her Virelia-red blazer. Quiet, efficient. Probably deadly with a spreadsheet.
Milo, half-asleep in a corner, durag over his head, legs stretched across the rug perked up only when Luan walked in.
And Marlo, Milo's twin and the law major I've got a little bit of history with, leaned against a cabinet, her hair coiled into a thick bun and a lollipop in her mouth like she was about to question someone into a confession.
Professor Giacomo looked like he belonged in a commercial for toothpaste, sharp suit, sharper jawline, and the unmistakable energy of someone who drank his coffee from a conical flask.
"Welcome," he said, hands folded behind his back like he'd been waiting all morning. "I see the final three have graced us with their presence."
"I blame Huey," Luan said quickly.
"I second that," Willy added.
I didn't bother defending myself.
Giacomo cleared his throat. "Today's assignment is a little more... hands-on. A category one rift appeared three days ago in the Goro Sector. It's been contained. Mostly. You'll be collecting post-containment data for analysis, variant decay readings, molecular signature logs, environmental absorption. That sort of thing."
Jonas raised a hand. "Are we gonna be wearing hazard suits? Because I have trauma. Long story.
"Not mandatory, but I doubt You'll be fine without one" Giacomo said smoothly.
"What kind of decay signatures?" Carla asked, pen already moving.
"The harmless kind," he replied. Then smiled like that meant something.
Milo groaned. "Bro. I was gonna nap."
Marlo rolled her eyes. "You nap during field work, Milo?"
"Best sleep is panic sleep," he replied, yawning.
Willy leaned toward me and whispered, "This your dream team?"
"No," I said. "This is group of mental patients."
Giacomo moved to the side, and we finally noticed someone else was in the room standing quietly near the window.
Tall. Cloaked. regulation boots with just enough wear to show field time. She turned around, and I caught the emblem on her badge:
Divisione Arcanum.
The foremost Enforcers.
This wasn't a school project anymore.