Draegon stood in the center of the shadowed alleyway, heart pounding. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the approaching figures. They were like wolves closing in on their prey.

“You’ve been spotted, Null,” the first man sneered, his voice cold with disdain. He wore tattered armor, the insignia of a rogue group—ones who had long turned away from any allegiance. Power-hungry, dangerous, and without limits.

The other two came from behind, blocking his escape. They moved quickly, as if they already knew what he would do.

Draegon clenched his fists at his sides, but his breath hitched in his throat. He had no powers. Not like them. They had fire, lightning, speed—everything he lacked.

“What’s it like, I wonder,” the second rogue taunted, voice thick with mockery, “to be so… helpless?”

His heart sank. For as long as he could remember, Draegon had been just that—helpless. His training, his constant striving to awaken something, anything, had always failed. And in a world where power ruled, where energy pulsed through everything like lifeblood, his lack of it made him little more than a shadow.

“Stay calm,” Draegon muttered to himself, forcing his body to hold steady, even as the rogues advanced. He needed to focus, stay in control.

Before he could even think to move, the first rogue lunged, a bolt of crackling energy sparking from his fingertips. Draegon’s instincts took over. He flinched back just as the bolt shot past him, splintering the wall behind him.

And then—everything went gray.

The world around Draegon seemed to vanish in a breath, as if color itself was sucked from the space. The air thickened, and the usual vibrant hum of energy became dead silent. No light, no spark, just black and white, suffocating and still.

The Nullzone had activated.

It was nothing Draegon had summoned. Nothing he even understood. It simply was.

The rogue’s bolt stopped in midair, frozen by the unseen force. His eyes widened in disbelief as the lightning fizzled and died, vanishing without a trace. The oppressive silence thickened, stretching out as Draegon felt a strange pull in his chest, a deep pulse of power rising from within him.

A surge of energy—an energy he had never known—flooded through him, too fast for his thoughts to catch up. His body trembled, not from fear, but from the sudden strength filling his limbs. It wasn’t control. It was raw. Untamed.

He didn’t know how, but he was moving. A thoughtless instinct, a desperate need to survive, pushed him forward.

The second rogue rushed at him, faster than Draegon had expected. But in the Nullzone, everything slowed. Draegon sidestepped with unnatural ease, his arm snapping out to deliver a powerful strike. His fist slammed into the rogue’s jaw with a crack. The force was enough to send the rogue crashing to the ground in a heap.

Draegon stood there for a moment, staring down at his hand in disbelief. What had just happened? His body, once weak and frail, felt like it was capable of anything. But it didn’t make sense. He had no powers… or so he thought.

The third rogue grinned, his eyes glowing with energy, clearly undeterred by the Nullzone. “You’re a freak. Let’s see how long you can keep this up.”

His words barely registered. Draegon didn’t even have time to think before the rogue lunged, thrusting a blade crackling with raw kinetic energy toward him. Draegon dodged, his reflexes sharpened in ways he didn’t understand. He twisted, barely managing to block the strike with his arm, the impact reverberating through his bones.

It felt wrong. His body wasn’t used to this power, but it responded with a force that barely seemed his own. He felt strong—stronger than he had any right to be—but not completely in control.

The first rogue charged again, gathering energy for another attack. Draegon’s mind raced. This wasn’t right. None of this was what he’d expected. But there was no time for second thoughts.

Instinct took over.

Draegon sidestepped, ducked under the rogue’s attack, and twisted, using the rogue’s own momentum to send him crashing into the ground.

The fight ended almost as suddenly as it had begun. The rogues lay unconscious at his feet, their power drained, defeated by something Draegon couldn’t comprehend.

The Nullzone faded. The gray world returned to its vibrant hues, but Draegon felt different. His body, still humming with energy, was sore from the exertion. He was panting, his chest heaving, and his mind was still spinning with the shock of it all.

Footsteps echoed behind him, and Draegon turned to find Kaedeic, his mentor and the strategist of the Crimson Vigil, emerging from the shadows.

“You did well,” Kaedeic said, his voice low but approving. He surveyed the unconscious rogues with a measured gaze before turning back to Draegon. “But you’re playing with fire, Draegon. The Nullzone is a dangerous thing, even for you.”

Draegon’s breath hitched. “I… didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

Kaedeic didn’t respond immediately, his eyes narrowing as if weighing something deeper. “That’s the problem,” he said at last. “You don’t control it yet. But you will.”

Draegon’s heart sank as he looked at his hands, trembling. “I don’t want to be the kind of person who hurts others. Not like this.”

Kaedeic placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then you’ll learn, Draegon. You’ll learn to wield it. And if you can control the Nullzone, you might just become the person Aetheris needs.”

But inside, Draegon knew the truth—he had already changed. The fight, the powers, the cost of what he had done—it had awakened something in him. And he didn’t know if he could ever turn back.