body. Bruises bloomed like dark flowers across his skin, a testament to the night's violence. A low, humorless chuckle escaped him. He wasn't laughing at the cruelty; he was laughing at the sheer

It wasn't a whispered promise; it was common knowledge, a shared hope among the city's downtrodden. It was a dream, a phenomenon that se

ed without a trace. Others, once frail and weak, found themselves imbued with unexpected strength and resilience. Some even spoke of gaining abilities they never possessed before, abilities that defied

parents or any loved ones. He was alone in this world, discarded, but he didn't want to remain forgotten. He craved a life beyond the shadows, a life of being remembered, celebrated, even experiencing simple joys like the

ave anyone to wake up to." It was a brutally honest assessment, a stark truth about his life. He knew the worst that could happen was never waking up from the dream, being trapped inside it, forever forgotten, ju

ivion. Yet, in that moment, hope, fragile and flickering, clung

perhuman speed, even control over elements. Others spoke of more esoteric powers, abilities that bent reality to their will. But the system wasn't just a source of power; it was a double-edged sword.

owever slim, to escape his miserable existence, to transcend his limitations, to finally be more than just a dying boy in a forgotten alley

thing that would offer purpose and direction. All his life he was alone, unseen, unheard. This system, this dream, was a cha

f transformation. A sign, perhaps, that the dream, *The Awakening*, was near. But he never noticed any of that. He closed his eyes, the grim reality of the alley fading as the hope, however slim it might be, became suddenly more vibrant, more alive. His eighteenth birthday was approaching, and it might just be the start of something incredible, or his final, fatal curtain call. He would face it either way, braced against the unknown future, waiting for the dream to take hold. If it even *chose*