Chapter 11: The Ranking System.
『"Bars & Sigils."』
"Why most of you will never advance past three."
The words hung in the air like a threat.
"Every Awakener follows a similar path of growth." Professor Gaius said as he manipulated the holographic displays. "We’ve categorized these stages to help track development and assign appropriate missions."
His hand moved, highlighting the bottom symbol on the hierarchy—a single glowing bar.
"This is where you all begin. Dream Walker. The lowest rank."
Naomi immediately closed her eyes and let out an audible scoff. The sound was filled with smug superiority, and Amara resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
Meanwhile, Awakeners like herself, people for whom all of this was brand new, and slightly overwhelming, leaned forward to pay close attention.
"As a Dream Walker, your abilities are barely stable," Gaius’ tone was straightforward. "Weak. Unpredictable. Your control is questionable at best, and frankly, you’re more of a danger to yourselves than to any real threat."
Hiro leaned close enough that Amara could feel his breath when he whispered, "so much for being saviors of the world."
Ethan grinned, whispering back with confidence, "well, we’re built different."
Amara wanted to share his certainty. She really did. He probably knew something else about them that they didn’t.
The old man moved to the next rank on the holographic display, and they all returned their attention to the floating screens.
"After Dream Walker comes Shaper. Indicated by two bars on your Power Sigil." He pulled up his own sleeve, revealing two glowing bands wrapped around his wrist. One black, the other grey. "At this rank, your ability becomes more realized."
Amara glanced at Ethan. He was a Shaper too, she’d seen the marks on his shoulder. Two bars.
Then whispers filled the room immediately:
"Power Sigil?"
"Is that what these marks are called?"
"You mean these things that just appeared overnight?"
Amara’s hand moved subconsciously again to the side of her torso where her single bar rested beneath her uniform. Around her, the others reacted similarly.
Raj placing his hand on his right chest, Hiro touching his left ankle, and Sophia brushing blonde strands aside to trace the mark at her temple.
From this simple gesture, a feeling of shared recognition built between them.
"Ahem!" Gaius cleared his throat, snapping attention back to him, and the room fell silent for his continuation.
"A skilled Shaper could level a city given sufficient time and motivation. Which brings us to the third rank."
The third symbol appeared on every screen, and Amara could’ve sworn the temperature dropped several degrees.
"Tyrant. Indicated by three bars." In that moment, Amara felt the pressure of his words, like they were heavier somehow.
"At this level, you essentially become an apocalypse in human form." He exhaled slowly, then added, "Your abilities threaten not just cities, but entire nations. Deployment of a Tyrant requires authorization from a Branch Director and extensive threat assessment."
From somewhere in the upper rows, a voice called out with the kind of skepticism born from ignorance: "No way Awakeners that powerful actually exist. Even you guys can’t hide that."
Gaius hummed in both amusement and disappointment. His eyes remained closed, a small smile playing at his lips. "I really hope not all you rookies are this dumb."
Several people laughed. More shifted uncomfortably.
He had a point, Amara realized. The Institute had been manipulating the flow of information and media dissemination for as long as "media" had existed as a concept. It was naive, dangerously so, to think otherwise.
"It’s important to understand," Gaius continued, "that we have approximately two hundred active Tyrant-class Awakeners across all branches worldwide."
"That sounds like a lot," Raj murmured.
Ethan folded his arms, his voice quiet. "It’s not. Not when Earth has over eight billion people and supernatural threats emerging daily across every continent."
The fourth symbol manifested, and Amara felt something shift in the air itself. An awareness that they were discussing forces beyond normal comprehension now.
"World Forger. Four bars." The old man’s expression became carefully neutral, a blank expression that no one could read anymore. "They operate beyond mortal limitations. Their reach extends past Earth into other dimensions, other realms of existence. A World Forger could reduce entire planets to ash if left unchecked."
He paused, letting that sink in. But all Amara heard were planets, as in plural.
"We have exactly thirty-seven active World Forgers across all branches. Each one is monitored constantly through methods I’m not authorized to discuss."
Hiro leaned in again and asked, "I heard the Institute has prisons for rogue Awakeners. What sort of containment can possibly hold people like that?"
It was an excellent question. One that had never crossed Amara’s mind until now, and suddenly she desperately wanted the answer.
Ethan shrugged, responding lazily, "Beats me. Whatever containment protocols they use are far above our pay grade. Probably will be for years."
Sophia suddenly raised her hand like they were in a normal college lecture, drawing Gaius’s attention. "You said ’monitored.’ What exactly does that mean?"
"Now that’s a good question." The old man exhaled slowly. "The Institute has spent millennia, cataloging the strengths and weaknesses of Awakeners. We’ve developed extensive profiles, contingency plans, and... preventative measures. World Forgers tend to receive special considerations. For their safety and everyone else’s."
The way he said "considerations" made Amara’s skin crawl. It sounded like a euphemism for something far more sinister.
Before she could ask for clarification, the fifth symbol appeared and the words on his lips vanished.
"Omega. Five bars." His hand hovered near the symbol like touching it might be dangerous. "No known upper limits. No reliable containment protocols that work consistently. We have four on Earth currently, and two of them are... politically complicated. The other two are unaccounted for."
The murmurs grew exponentially louder. Even Naomi, who’d been radiating arrogant confidence this entire time, straightened in her seat.
"So what the hell is that?" Hiro whispered, pointing to the sixth symbol at the top of the hierarchy.
Professor Gaius couldn’t have heard the question from across the amphitheater, but with almost comedic timing, he touched the final rank.
The only information displayed was: NO INFORMATION
"Prime. Six bars." His voice went completely flat, devoid of the professorial warmth he’d maintained until now. "The Institute is aware of none who’s reached this rank. But rumors say there has only ever been one Awakener who has ever reached this classification. But records show they vanished. Completely. As if they never existed in the first place."
As soon as Gaius stopped talking, silence stretched through the hall as no one moved or spoke.
Amara stared at her hands, trying to imagine the path from a Dream Walker to something that transcended even Omega classification. It felt impossible. Like being told she could learn to breathe in space if she just practiced hard enough, but it was a good feeling nonetheless.
"Now," Gaius said, breaking the silence, "you may have been wondering why my second bar is grey instead of black."
From somewhere in the crowd of rookies, a voice yelled: "We weren’t thinking that!"
"Rookies and their growing disrespect with each passing year," The old professor shook his head, looking exasperated. He lifted his sleeve higher, ensuring everyone could see clearly. "This is called an Ascendant Sigil. Old-timers like myself still call it a Power Sigil, though Command prefers the newer terminology."
He gestured at his bars. One was black, the other grey.
"I don’t need to explain what each bar represents. We’ve already covered that. What you do need to know is that when an Awakener’s final bar turns grey, it means their growth has reached its ceiling."
The implications settled over the room and murmurs grew louder.
"No amount of training or pushing will raise your rank beyond that point. Your potential has a cap, and you’ve reached it." He rolled his sleeve back down. "That doesn’t mean you can’t keep sharpening the skills you already have, honing your body and mind. Look at me, I capped as a Shaper decades ago, but I can still dish out a significant can of whoop-ass when necessary."
Another voice from the background, emboldened by anonymity, called out: "Is that why you’re teaching orientation instead of doing field work?"
Naomi turned in her seat to stare in the direction of the voice. The speaker suddenly went rigid, his face draining of color. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he imagined something that terrified the shit out of him.
Amara couldn’t tell, but whatever Naomi had projected at him left him trembling.
She turned back around and crossed her legs with leisure. Another large bubble expanded from her gum before popping with an audible snap.
"In other words," Naomi said loud enough for everyone to hear, "some people here have simply awakened to be cannon fodder."
"Kids today..." Gaius sighed again, deeper this time. "Even a cannon fodder should be capable of handling Pawn-level threats. That’s literally the minimum standard."
This terminology was common knowledge. Threat classification based on chess pieces. It helped civilians know what to expect and when to evacuate during supernatural crises.
Pawns were the weakest ranked threats. Wraiths fell into this category. Following them were Bishops, Knights, Rooks, Queens, and finally King-level threats that required coordinated international response.
Fortunately, the general public had never experienced anything beyond Pawns. But Amara was beginning to realize they probably never had because of how efficient the Institute was at keeping the majority of the world blissfully oblivious.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder: what exactly classified as threats beyond Pawn level? What kind of nightmares required Tyrants and World Forgers to handle?
"That concludes orientation," Gaius announced, already dismissing the holographic displays with a wave. "The Machine operates on a twice-weekly attendance schedule. I suggest you sort out your course scheduling and extracurricular activities sooner rather than later. Dismissed."
Everyone began standing, the organized chaos of hundreds of students trying to exit simultaneously. By the door, an Institute staff member was handing out thick booklets that contained information about available extracurricular activities and classes.
Hiro grabbed one and immediately started flipping through pages. "What extracurricular do you do?" he asked Ethan while scanning options.
"Workshop," Ethan replied. "How do you think I was able to work on my baby?"
He meant his precious Caroline, of course.
"That’s surprisingly practical." Hiro continued scanning. "I’m thinking workshop too. Or maybe chess club. Strategic thinking and all that."
"What about you, Amara?" Hiro turned to her expectantly.
She’d already been considering her options during the walk. "Fencing. If I’m going to get better at using a sword, proper technique seems like the right foundation."
"They’ve got football!" Raj pointed at a page with genuine excitement. "Awakener football. I’m gonna crush it here."
Sophia was still scanning her booklet with a critical eye. "Culinary arts," she said finally. "No major reason."
They split up after that, each heading toward their respective first classes. The Machine was vast enough that navigating it required the maps provided in their booklets.
***
[SEVERAL HOURS LATER - 4:23 PM]
Amara stepped out of Constitutional Law, a class that had genuinely impressed her. The Director hadn’t been kidding about them continuing their studies. She’d learned more in that single lecture than she had in two years at Pacific Northwest University.
The instructor had been a Vessel-class Awakener who’d also earned a law degree from Yale. Watching her discuss precedent-setting cases while occasionally manifesting a glowing scale that literally weighed arguments for legal merit had been surreal and fascinating.
"I guess it’s time for extracurriculars," Amara murmured to herself, pulling out the map.
The fencing hall was located in the East Wing, a section of The Machine that maintained the château’s original architecture more faithfully than others.
She followed corridors lined with oil paintings of historical figures she didn’t recognize, their eyes seeming to follow her progress.
When she finally found the correct door, she pushed it open and stopped.
The fencing hall was breathtaking. A large space with polished hardwood floors that gleamed beneath an elaborate crystal chandelier.
Swords hung on every wall in X-formations—épées, foils, sabers, and weapons she didn’t have names for.
At the center of the room, two people were fencing.
Their movements were incredible and precise as blades clashed with rhythmic intensity. Back and forth they pushed each other, testing defenses, seeking openings.
From their builds, Amara could tell one was female and the other male, but their faces were hidden behind regulation fencing masks.
After several minutes of breathtaking exchanges, the female lunged forward with explosive speed and struck her opponent’s chest with the point of her blade.
"Touché!" the male called out, stepping back and raising his free hand in acknowledgment.
"That was amazing," Amara said, stepping fully into the room.
The female said nothing. She simply pointed toward a door at the far end of the room where uniforms were clearly stored, the gesture unmistakable.
"Thanks." Amara headed in that direction.
The changing room was smaller than she expected but well-maintained. White fencing uniforms hung in organized rows, sorted by size. She found one that fit, changed quickly, and stepped back out minutes later.
When she stepped back out, the male fencer was gone. Just the woman remained, épée in hand, waiting.
She’d dismissed her sparring partner. Or maybe he’d made himself scarce. Either way, it was just the two of them now.
The female fencer tossed her a blade, an épée with perfect balance and Amara caught it reflexively, surprised by how natural it felt in her grip.
Then she gestured toward the center of the room. An invitation. A challenge.
Amara pulled her locs back into a tight ponytail and donned her own mesh mask. She moved to the starting position and took a stance she had never consciously learned. Her weight balanced, blade angled precisely, and body presenting minimal target area.
"Okay..." she said softly, surprised by her own movements.
This was exactly like what had happened when she’d cut down her first wraith. The knowledge was there, embedded somewhere in her subconscious, waiting to be accessed. Muscle memory for skills she’d never practiced.
And for just a moment, she could’ve sworn she saw electricity crackle around her opponent’s blade. Blood-red arcs dancing along the metal.
She blinked and the electricity was gone. She must have been seeing things.
Her opponent settled into an en garde position.
"Ready?" The feminine voice muffled by the mask asked.
"Ready," Amara said, settling into her stance.
And they began, as the first clash of blades rang through the hall like a bell.
***
[SYSTEM CLASSIFICATION ARCHIVE: AWAKENER INDEX]
Display: Tier Progression Sequence
[Class D – Dream Walker ▮]
"Vessels of this class barely manifest their Spirit Weapons. Tools appear fragmented, unstable, incomplete—able to draw only basic, latent functions. Anchors and Contractors fare little better, touching power sources in small, fleeting bursts."
—Threat Level: Minimal
—Containment: Standard suppression cuffs
[Class C – Shaper ▮▮]
"Full manifestation achieved. Shapers reshape their environment to significant degree. Exceptional individuals rival entire military forces."
—Risk Level: City to Country
—Containment: Anti-manifestation cuffs, energy dampening fields
[Class B – Tyrant ▮▮▮]
"Apocalyptic forces. Abilities evolve to extinction-level threat potential."
—Risk Level: Country to Planetary
—Containment: Reality Stabilization Field (RSF-4) emitters, enhanced suppression systems
[Class A – World Forger ▮▮▮▮]
"Reach extends beyond Earth into alternate dimensions. Can reduce worlds to cinders. Automatic abilities: flight, space survivability. Deployment requires extensive threat assessment."
—Risk Level: Planetary to Universal
—Containment Protocol (WF-1): Black Zone isolation
[Class S – Omega ▮▮▮▮▮]
"Outside measurable scale. No recorded ceiling. No reliable containment. Four confirmed on Earth."
—Observation: Inconclusive
—Containment Protocol (Ω-0): Music Box [50% effective], The Book [Inconclusive]
[Class 0 – Prime ▮▮▮▮▮▮]
—NO INFORMATION
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