The digital clock on Ethan’s battered bedside table blinked 11:59 PM. Sweat slicked his palms, despite the chill Vermont air seeping through the cracks in his window frame. Tonight, everything changed. Tonight, he turned eighteen.

The Shatter had occurred just months ago, a reality-bending event that had ripped the familiar world apart and stitched it back together with threads of…something else. Something fantastical. Something terrifying. He’d watched it unfold from his bedroom window, the sky tearing open in a kaleidoscope of impossible colours, the ground trembling beneath his feet. The old world, the world of homework, part-time jobs, and awkward crushes, was gone. Replaced with a world governed by levels, skills, and monsters that seemed ripped straight from the pages of a forgotten bestiary.

And now, the waiting was almost over. Eighteen was the magic number. Eighteen was the age of Awakening. The age when the System, the unseen force behind the new reality, would grant him a class, a set of powers that would define his place in this brutal new world.

He imagined the possibilities. Warrior, with enhanced strength and stamina, hacking through hordes of monsters with ease. Mage, wielding arcane energies, blasting enemies with fire and ice. He’d even considered the possibility of something more specialized, a Rogue perhaps, or a Ranger. Anything, really, as long as it was something…useful. Something that could help him survive.

The clock ticked over to midnight.

Nothing.

He held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. Maybe it took a moment. Maybe the System was still processing his request, sifting through the infinite possibilities to find the perfect fit.

Then, a wave of energy washed over him, cold and unsettling, like a burial shroud being pulled over his skin. A window appeared before his eyes, shimmering with an eerie, emerald glow.

**Congratulations, Ethan Blackwood! You have Awakened!**

**Class: Necromancer**

The words hung in the air, heavy with dread. Necromancer. The word tasted like ash in his mouth. He recoiled, as if physically struck.

No. This couldn’t be right. There had to be a mistake.

Necromancers were whispered about in fearful reverence, or, more often, outright disgust. They were the pariahs of this new world, reviled for their association with death and decay. They commanded the undead, reanimating corpses to do their bidding. They were considered inherently evil, tainted by the very essence of mortality.

He frantically scrolled through the System window, searching for a button, a command, *anything* that would allow him to reroll, to change his fate. But there was nothing. Just the stark reality of his assigned class.

Below the class designation, another line appeared:

**Skill: Summon Skeleton (Level 1)**

**Description: Summons a basic skeleton warrior to fight at your command. Durability: Low. Strength: Low. Mana Cost: 5 MP.**

A cold dread settled in his stomach. He was trapped. Doomed to be an outcast, feared and hated by everyone. He pictured his neighbours, people he’d known his entire life, their faces twisted with disgust and fear as he walked down the street. He imagined being ostracized, hunted, maybe even killed, simply for the class he’d been assigned.

But amidst the despair, a flicker of…something else sparked to life. Curiosity? Resignation? Or maybe, just maybe, a touch of defiance. He wasn’t just going to roll over and accept his fate. He would figure this out. He would learn to control this…curse.

Taking a deep breath, Ethan focused his will. He felt a strange pull, a drain on his internal energy. It wasn’t painful, just…unsettling. The emerald glow intensified, and a swirling vortex of dark energy materialized in the centre of his room.

He watched, mesmerized and apprehensive, as the vortex slowly dissipated, leaving behind…a skeleton.

It was exactly as the description had stated: basic. Frail, even. Its bones were thin and brittle, its movements jerky and uncoordinated. It stood about five feet tall, its empty eye sockets staring blankly ahead. It was armed with a rusty, chipped short sword and a dented shield, both clearly scavenged from somewhere.

The skeleton stood motionless, awaiting his command.

Ethan felt a strange connection to the creature, a sense of…ownership. It was his, brought to life by his power, bound to his will. But it was also…pathetic.

“Uh…attack?” he said tentatively, unsure of how to command it.

The skeleton twitched, then shuffled forward a few steps. It raised its sword in a clumsy arc, nearly dropping it in the process.

Ethan sighed. This was worse than he imagined. He was a Necromancer, saddled with the most reviled class in the new world, and his first summon was a glorified pile of bones that couldn’t even swing a sword properly.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration welling up inside him. He had to do something. He couldn't just sit here and wallow in self-pity. He had to learn how to use this power, to master it, to turn this curse into…something else.

He looked at the skeleton again, its vacant gaze unwavering. An idea, a small spark of hope, ignited in his mind. The System had said his skeleton was *basic*. That implied there was room for improvement, room for…evolution.

He’d heard rumours, whispers from other Awakened, about the potential for classes to evolve, to transcend their initial limitations. Maybe, just maybe, he could do the same with his undead.

He took a step closer to the skeleton, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He focused his will, pouring his energy, his *intent*, into the creature. He tried to visualize it stronger, faster, more resilient. He tried to push past the limitations of its skeletal form, to imbue it with…something more.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, focusing even harder, channeling all his frustration and determination into the effort. Still nothing.

He was about to give up, to dismiss the idea as wishful thinking, when he noticed a faint shimmering around the skeleton’s bones. A subtle shift in its form. A barely perceptible increase in its size.

He held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest.

He wasn’t imagining it. Something was happening.

The shimmering intensified, the skeleton’s bones glowing with an eerie, inner light. Its frame grew larger, its bones thickening and becoming more dense. The rusty sword and dented shield seemed to reform, becoming sharper and more durable.

The transformation was slow, agonizingly slow, but it was undeniable. His basic skeleton was…evolving.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the shimmering subsided. The skeleton stood taller, more imposing. Its bones were now a polished white, its movements fluid and purposeful. The rusty sword had been replaced with a gleaming, steel blade, and the dented shield had been transformed into a sturdy, reinforced buckler.

The creature that stood before him was no longer a frail, pathetic skeleton. It was something…more. Something dangerous.

**System Notification:**

**Your Skeleton has evolved into a Skeleton Warrior!**

**Stats Increased!**

**New Skill Learned: Basic Combat Training (Level 1)**

Ethan stared at the evolved skeleton, his mind reeling. He had done it. He had found a way to break free from the limitations of his cursed class. He had found a way to…evolve.

He felt a surge of exhilaration, a rush of power that washed away the fear and despair. He was a Necromancer, yes, but he was a Necromancer unlike any other. He was a Necromancer who could evolve his undead, who could push them beyond their initial forms, who could unleash their true potential.

He looked at the Skeleton Warrior, its empty eye sockets now seeming to gleam with a newfound intelligence. He felt a surge of pride, a sense of accomplishment that he hadn’t felt since…well, since before the Shatter.

He knew he had a long way to go. He knew he would face prejudice, fear, and hatred at every turn. But he also knew that he wasn’t alone. He had his evolving undead, his loyal companions in this brutal new world.

And he had a secret weapon, a unique talent that could make him a force to be reckoned with. He was Ethan Blackwood, the Necromancer who could evolve the dead. And he was ready to face whatever the apocalypse threw his way.

He looked at the Skeleton Warrior, a determined glint in his eyes. “Alright,” he said, his voice filled with newfound confidence. “Let’s see what you can do.”