Everyone is born with a path.
A glowing arc across the soul. A number. A level. A system-given destiny. In this world, you either follow it… or you die trying.
Except me.
Because I wasn't supposed to be born at all.
The air stank of ash and ozone. The ruins groaned under their own weight, and the sky outside the shattered ceiling blinked with static—broken stars flickering like dying pixels.
Kael Veyron stirred beneath a collapsed beam, his body bruised, burnt, and caked in dried blood. Rubble pressed into his back, and every movement sent shocks of pain through his ribs. He blinked slowly, his mind a blur of fragments—flashes of needles, screams, and a name he couldn't remember if it was his or someone else's.
But one thing was clear.
He was alive.
Barely.
His right hand twitched. Something cold wrapped around his wrist—thin, black, and softly glowing. A thread. It moved like smoke, weightless yet tangible, curling around his fingers with eerie sentience. It was cold. Not just to the touch, but to the soul. Like void wrapped in silk.
He stared at it, and it stared back.
Then the voice came.
> "Subject 43..."
"Vitals: Stabilized."
"Pathway: None Detected."
"Status: Anomaly Identified. Initiating System Mark."
The voice was mechanical—genderless, clinical. It echoed from nowhere and everywhere, vibrating through the shattered air like a god that had forgotten how to care.
Kael opened his eyes fully now, revealing irises the color of rusted steel—dull, heavy, ancient despite his youth.
"…No," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Not again."
He didn't remember what "again" meant. But it tasted like betrayal.
The thread pulsed.
> [SYSTEM ALERT]
> Code Rejection Thread: Activated. Probability Disruption Engaged.
Suddenly, light blazed above him—an emergency defense turret snapping online. A thin bolt of crimson shot downward, meant to vaporize him before he could stand.
It didn't.
The thread shimmered.
And reality blinked.
The beam never fired. Not dodged. Not blocked.
Unmade.
Like it had never been conceived.
Kael slowly pushed himself upright, bones grinding, lungs burning. He didn't understand what had just happened. But deep down, something primal whispered that this thread was not a gift.
It was a scar.
And it was alive.
Around him, the ruins whispered too—data flickers across glass shards, fractured screens glitching with half-loaded logs. This had once been a lab. A hidden facility buried beneath a forgotten city. Now it was a grave.
A memory burst hit him—syringes. People in white coats. Someone screaming. Was it him? Was it someone else? He couldn't tell. It was all gone.
The world had changed. A decade ago, the Rift Event tore reality open, fracturing the skies and rewriting physics. From it came monsters, systems, pathways—an entire new framework of existence. Humanity adapted. Or perished.
The System became law. Everyone was scanned at birth. Given stats. Levels. Classes. Purpose.
Everyone except Kael.
Because Kael… wasn't supposed to exist.
> [ERROR: Pathway Not Detected.] [ERROR: No Class Assigned.] [ERROR: Subject is Null-Class.]
A new window flickered into view in front of him, this one in red:
> Name: Kael Veyron
Level: N/A
Pathway: None
Class: Invalid
Threat Level: Cosmic (Unclassified)
He chuckled, bitter and quiet. "Great. I'm a cosmic mistake."
The thread danced.
Then—footsteps.
Above. Fast. Heavy.
Kael's body tensed. His hand reached for the thread without thinking.
A voice crackled through the facility's busted intercom.
> "Search Team Alpha to Command. We've located the anomaly."
Hunters.
System enforcers. Government-sanctioned erasers. They weren't coming to help.
They were coming to finish what someone had failed.
Kael stumbled toward what used to be an emergency exit. The path was half-buried in rubble, but the thread seemed to glide ahead of him—guiding, sensing, pulling.
A flash of red appeared behind him.
> [Hunter-Class Operative Detected] [Erasure Protocol: LIVE]
The Hunter dropped from the upper floor, armor glowing with kinetic runes, face masked behind a polished helmet. He moved with the precision of a killer taught by data, not instinct.
Kael didn't hesitate.
He reached for the thread.
> [Incoming Fatal Event: Confirmed] [Thread Response: REJECTION INITIATED]
A pulse tore through the air.
And again—the future shattered.
The Hunter's blade, aimed for Kael's spine, never arrived. The moment it would've existed, it was gone.
Kael swayed, blood trickling from his nose. The price of rewriting probability was pain. It always was.
The Hunter recalibrated. Fired a burst of energy rounds.
Kael pulled the thread again.
All five bullets dissolved into sparks mid-flight.
> [ERROR: UNDEFINED POSSIBILITY REJECTION]
The Hunter paused. Kael looked up at him, exhausted but defiant.
"I'm not a bug," Kael rasped. "I'm the code you couldn't delete."
He pulled the thread one last time—not to stop a bullet, but to erase the moment itself.
Reality bent. Walls rippled. Sound warped.
And when it ended—the Hunter was gone.
Not dead.
Just... erased.
Kael collapsed to his knees. The thread coiled around him like a ghost trying to comfort a corpse.
He wasn't supposed to exist.
But he did.
And now the world had a problem it couldn't calculate.
The wind outside shifted. Cold. Empty.
He stood, eyes scanning the horizon.
Somewhere beyond this broken shell of a world, the System ruled everything.
But not him.
> "Kael Veyron," the System whispered through fractured static.
> "You are not real. You are not allowed."
Kael smirked, blood still running down his chin.
"Then maybe it's time someone like me rewrites the rules."
He walked into the wasteland.
The thread followed.
End of Chapter 1: The Thread That Shouldn't Be