The sky split open at 3:43 PM.

  It began as a thin, glowing crack over the city skyline, like lightning frozen in pce. Then the air shimmered. Sirens wailed. People pointed, screamed, filmed. The rupture widened and from it descended a light so blinding, Raphael had to shield his eyes. The entire city seemed to hold its breath as the first Dungeon appeared above downtown—an arcane rift pulsating with energy that no one could expin.

  That was two weeks ago.

  The phenomenon spread worldwide within days. People began receiving mysterious messages, accompanied by sudden fshes of light—granting them “Csses.” Overnight, reality transformed into something out of a fantasy RPG. The chosen developed abilities, stats, powers. Warrior, Magician, Rogue, Archer, Healer. The csses were familiar but real now. Dangerous. Life-altering. Humanity had crossed into the unknown.

  But not everyone was chosen.

  Raphael wasn’t.

  For days, he waited. The broadcasts said “Chosen individuals will receive their css in time.” But time dragged, and Raphael—29, blond, blue-eyed, a call center agent from a forgettable office block—waited in vain. He would wake up every day hoping for a sign, staring out the balcony of his small studio apartment, wondering why he wasn’t good enough. He was handsome, sure—lean, with delicate, almost pretty features that earned him gnces in public. But he had never thought of himself as special. Not in the way that mattered.

  Maybe that was why he was skipped.

  The world moved on around him. His coworkers began vanishing from their cubicles, called away to training academies or early dungeon raids. The streets buzzed with energy and competition. News feeds showed people posting their csses, leveling up, joining guilds. Raphael watched from the sidelines. First came jealousy. Then bitterness. Then, a quiet sadness.

  It was the twelfth day when he gave up.

  He stood in the kitchen at 6:12 PM, staring at a packet of ramen. The power flickered slightly—energy surges were common now. He leaned on the counter, sighing, thinking, This isn’t my story. I’m just background noise.

  That’s when it hit him.

  A golden light enveloped him, not harsh or dramatic—warm, soft, almost tender. His body froze, breath caught in his throat. The world around him blurred and dimmed as a glowing screen appeared in front of his eyes.

  [System Alert: You have been chosen.] Css: SERAPHIM (Unique) Subcss Access: Locked Initial Skills Acquired: 6

  His lips parted. “Seraphim?”

  He stared at the sigil above the text—a pair of ornate angelic wings wrapped around a radiant core. The interface pulsed with divine energy. It was beautiful. It was surreal. It was… underwhelming.

  Another screen appeared, listing his css and skills.

  Css: Seraphim (Neutral) Level: 1

  Skills:

  Runic Light – Fires a radiant orb of light that explodes on impact, dealing minor AOE damage and causing brief blindness. Mana Pulse – Generates regenerative mana pulses or a burst recovery. Increases mana regeneration by 25% for 10 seconds.Luminous Ward – Summons a golden barrier that absorbs minor damage and stuns nearby enemies when it breaks.Seraph’s Flicker – Teleports Raphael a short distance in the direction he’s facing, leaving behind a glowing afterimage.Celestial Thread – Tethers one enemy, reducing their movement and casting speed significantly for 6 seconds.Radiant Insight – Increases casting speed slightly and highlights magical weaknesses in targets for a brief duration.He blinked. “That’s… it?”

  No offensive beam, no healing miracle, no holy smite. He scrolled again. The skills weren’t useless, but they were clearly utility-based. Mostly support. Barely any damage.

  He sat on his couch, still bathed in faint light. His heart raced, but a strange disappointment crept in. His css was beled “Unique,” but it didn’t feel powerful. Not like the Warrior girl on social media who split a car in two with a skill called “Titan’s Cleave.” Not like his friend Luis, who got “Archer” and already had three piercing shot abilities.

  Raphael chuckled bitterly. “Of course I get the weird angel thing that can’t fight.”

  Still, curiosity gnawed at him. He tapped on the Seraphim icon again, which offered little more than vague text:

  The Seraphim walks alone. To ascend, they must master the many branches of magic. All paths lie ahead. Only the worthy will unlock them.

  “Master... branches of magic?” he muttered. “Subcss access: locked. Huh.”

  A knock at the door broke his focus.

  “Yo! You alive?” called a voice from the hallway.

  Raphael opened the door to find his neighbor Theo—stocky, tanned, mid-thirties, with a Warrior css proudly dispyed on the badge clipped to his vest. His jaw was square, nose broken more than once, the kind of guy who’d been itching for a world like this.

  “I just got my second subcss! Tank spec. You get yours yet?”

  “Yeah... I did.”

  Theo’s eyes lit up. “No way! What’d you get?”

  “…Seraphim.”

  A pause. “The hell’s that? Never heard of it.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Huh.” Theo scratched his chin. “Well, congrats, man. Least you got something. That puts you in the game.”

  Raphael nodded, lips tight.

  That night, sleep didn’t come easy. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, the glowing winged emblem still hovering faintly in the corner of his vision. A css was a beginning. And if nothing else, he had that now.

  The next day, he visited the local registry—a massive converted stadium now used to catalog Chosen and form teams for dungeon excursions. It was buzzing with life. Blue holograms shimmered in the air, dispying raid groups, team vacancies, css boards.

  He wandered aimlessly until someone caught his eye.

  A tall boy stood by the recruitment desk, scanning the room. He wore tight-fitting rogue gear with matte silver lining and had dark chestnut hair that fell in smooth waves over one side of his face. He was striking—sharply defined cheekbones, graceful limbs, and those eyes: emerald green, alert and thoughtful.

  Their gazes met.

  “Hey,” the boy said, walking over. “You registering solo?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “I’m Kael. Rogue css, speed spec.”

  “Raphael.”

  Kael smiled, extending a gloved hand. Raphael shook it—his fingers warm, the grip firm.

  Kael tilted his head. “What’s your css?”

  “Seraphim.”

  “Wait—seriously? That’s not on any known lists. Unique css?”

  Raphael nodded, uneasy.

  Kael’s eyes gleamed. “That’s cool. Mysterious. I like that.”

  “You’re the first person who’s said that.”

  “Then they’re probably idiots.”

  Raphael smiled, the first genuine one in days.

  Kael pointed toward the bulletin board. “Wanna run a beginner rift together? I hear there’s one in the Lower South District. Not too risky.”

  Raphael hesitated—then nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

  He didn’t know much about Kael yet. Didn’t even know what his css could really do. But something stirred in his chest—not power, not destiny.

  Hope.

  [End of Chapter 1]