SSS-RANKED Awakening: Supreme Fate-breaker System

"So... an S-Rank talent." He glanced at Ethan through the rear-view mirror, his sharp eyes crinkling slightly. "As expected of Master Gareth's son."

Ethan leaned back against the seat. "Unfated Scion. That's the name." He said it flatly, without pride or excitement. "It's S-Ranked. But the details… I'm not going into them right now."

Graham chuckled. "Understood, Young Master. It's already public knowledge from the Awakening Ceremony, after all. No need for secrecy. Still… S-Ranked. The blood runs strong in you."

Ethan didn't respond. His gaze was fixed out the window, watching the scenery blur by.

Graham continued, his tone casual but curious.

"If I may, Young Master… I've been briefed on some of the talents awakened by the other prestigious heirs in Aurelian Depth. Lady Selene Evernight awakened the Moonshadow Phantom, B-Rank. Young Master David Fangblade, Earth Titan's Wrath, an A-Rank. And Vaelion Crest—his talent is B-Ranked, Phantom Arrowcraft having a connection to spectral arrows."

His dark eyes flicked to Ethan again.

"What do you make of them, if I may ask? Your peers, and classmates… what's your opinion?"

Ethan was silent for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice cool and honest.

"Selene… she's dangerous. Smart too. But she's too used to getting her way. That makes her reckless."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "She calculates… but when things don't go according to her plan, she stumbles. Someone like that can grow… but only if they get slapped hard by reality first."

A pause.

"David… he's solid. I won't underestimate him. His strength is real. But he's too straightforward. Easy to predict. A man who believes power alone can solve everything… while he's right, that kind of thinking has limits."

"And Vaelion…" Ethan's lips twitched, but it wasn't quite a smile. "He's ambitious, but shallow. More bark than bite. He wants to be seen, to be praised. But when it comes to real substance, he falls short."

He let out a breath, eyes distant.

"As for the rest… most of them are just riding the wave. Happy to awaken, happy to celebrate. But they don't have real direction. No fire driving them forward. In the end, they're noise—background characters in a story they don't even understand."

Graham let out a low chuckle, clearly amused.

"Sharp as ever, Young Master. Your eyes see deeper than most."

Ethan didn't reply. He leaned back, eyes half-lidded, gaze still fixed on the faint glow at the edge of the horizon as the hovercar glided on.

Graham glanced at him from the corner of his eye, a small smile tugging at his lips.

'He has definitely changed. He's more wise and mature compared to before.'

The hovercar began its slow descent as the portal station came into view. Graham landed it with practiced ease, the vehicle settling without a sound.

He stepped out, pressed a button, and the car folded neatly into a compact black case—Drakethorne standard issue.

Nothing fancy. Just efficient.

Ethan was already moving, not sparing the process a glance.

They made their way toward the portal gates, passing station attendants who stiffened slightly at the sight of them. No words were exchanged, but the weight of their family name did the work.

Graham handed over a silver token without breaking stride.

"To Drakethorne Main."

"Yes, sir. Gate's ready," came the quick reply.

The portal shimmered once, its light steady and strong. Ethan stepped through first, with Graham a step behind.

The portal transported them both, out of the Aurelian depths and into their family main Labyrinth...

There, another hover car was lying in wait. With no hesitation, they both entered driving to the family's mansion..

Waiting just ahead from the other side of the portal was another hovercar, dark and plain except for the subtle family crest stamped on its side.

They both entered and Graham began to drive.

The ride was quiet for a while. Black stone towers passed by outside, their jagged shapes rising high, lit faintly by the soft glow of mana-lights.

In the distance, the mansion came into view.

Soon, Ethan made it back to the mansion.

He didn't bother going inside. Instead, he made his way straight to the training arena tucked behind the main estate. It was empty. With only about two people making use of it.

He threw himself into practice. Movements sharp. Controlled. Over and over. Practicing multiple sword moves nonstop. With that, his understanding of the way of the sword rose.

Day turned to night. Then morning again.

One full day passed.

No word from Darius.

By the end of it, Ethan was standing in the arena, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight his knuckles whitened. His patience snapped.

He pulled out his phone, thumb stabbing at Darius's contact.

The line connected fast.

"Yo, little brother—"

"Darius. Where is he?" Ethan's voice was flat, but edged.

A pause. Then Darius sighed.

"Look... Father's swamped. He won't be free any time soon. That's why I haven't called. I was trying to get him to clear even an hour, but—"

"You said you'd set it up." Ethan cut him off.

"I am, but right now, I'm telling you—he can't meet. Not yet."

The call ended on that sour note.

Second day came.

Nothing.

No message. No summon.

Ethan trained harder. Slept less. His anger simmered under the surface. Time was being wasted, and 5 more days, the time limit given by the system would be over.

****

A young man with jet-black hair could be seen swinging a sword smoothly through the air. His movements were clean and precise, each stroke flowing into the next with practiced ease.

Compact muscles shifted beneath his skin—not overly bulky, but tight and honed from constant training. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his body, catching the light with every motion.

A white towel hung loosely around his neck, the ends sticking slightly to his chest from the dampness.

His bare feet slid against the floor of the private training arena, soft steps accompanying the steady swish of his blade.

This was Ethan Drakethorne on the third day.

No word from Darius. No message from his father. So he trained, like always.

The blade came down in another smooth arc, cutting through the still air.

His breathing was calm now — measured and steady — each exhale syncing with the weight of the sword in his hands.

Then, a buzz echoed from his phone.