What distinguishes Rank 3 is the ability to extract essence and make it tangible.
As for Rank 4, it is the transformation the body undergoes.
But what about Rank 5?
Rank 5, which marks the beginning of the higher ranks, whether for humans or monsters.
The reason awakened ones at Rank 5 stand out was not that ridiculous physical strength nor absolute control over essence.
No, but something else.
Principle of Transcendence.
The power that makes every Rank 5 individual unique.
And Arthania was no exception. As someone at the peak of Rank 5, she had achieved her Principle long ago.
And now, for the first time in centuries, some of the threads binding her mind and obscuring her from reality were severed.
In that moment, memories began to flood into her consciousness... things she had forgotten and never wanted to remember.
But part of her wanted to remember.
Two conflicting intentions... like any other human.
Thus, the moment she recalled the origin of those threads, she unconsciously used her Principle.
A Principle that allowed her to burn essence itself.
And so, the threads binding her burned away and disintegrated without return.
"Arthania... Arthania, we must protect this place," an old and warm voice echoed.
But it did not come from anywhere around her—not Caius, who stared at her in shock, nor the old man in the distance, not even the others behind her spoke.
Yet she continued hearing those voices inside her head.
They were old... very old.
...
Amid wars that stained the world and humanity facing an existential crisis due to the rifts, Arthania was born.
Born in this hidden city between those walls.
Both her parents were among the first awakened, those who received guidance from the system, which was different back then.
In the era when the rifts first appeared, the system window was far more detailed.
It did not only display ranks and abilities, but even the method of advancing through ranks, from Rank 1 to Rank 7.
Thus, at that time, driven by death itself, humans managed to grow at an astonishing speed.
At the age of three, Arthania’s mother died at the hands of a monster... even though the rifts were only just beginning back then.
So only her father remained.
But for her father, little Arthania was not his only responsibility—rather, all of Asfaria.
As the strongest person in the city, it was inevitable that responsibility would fall upon him.
Thus, others were the ones responsible for raising her... they raised and cared for her with utmost sincerity.
But that never replaced her parents.
So, every moment with him was etched deep into her mind.
She still remembered when he came and stood before her with his large body and bulging muscles, as if he could crush her.
But his honey-colored eyes, like hers, held nothing but warmth as they looked at her.
That man who had spilled so much blood knelt before her, opening his arms wide and pulling her close.
"Did you miss me, little one?" his deep voice echoed beside her ear.
The eight-year-old girl nodded.
"Yes, I missed you, Father... a lot."
Her father laughed.
"But it’s only been two days since we were together."
Little Arthania pouted.
"Two days is too long."
With a soft chuckle, he lifted her onto his shoulder.
"Do you want me to take you somewhere beautiful?"
At that question, Arthania answered like any child would.
"...Yes... yes."
...
At the edge of the towering wall of the labyrinth, under a clear, star-filled night.
Little Arthania sat in her father’s lap near the edge overlooking the city.
Asfaria, which was much larger, filling the entire center before extending into the massive rifts.
"It’s beautiful, isn’t it?" her father’s voice sounded.
Amazed by the sight from such height, Arthania answered a moment late.
"Wow... it’s so beautiful from here... even the sky looks different, and the stars are clearer."
At that time, the moon was still whole in the sky, and the cycle of day and night remained normal.
Her father nodded.
"It is beautiful. That’s why we fight for it."
Arthania fell silent upon hearing those words, like a displeased child, though she did not show it.
But it was not hard for her father to notice.
"You may not understand it now, but this is our home... the place we came from and return to."
"So, we must fight for it."
"I don’t care if this place collapses... all I care about is staying with you, Father," Arthania interrupted.
He simply smiled.
"I don’t care if this place collapses either."
"Really?" it was clear she was surprised.
He nodded.
"Yes... but what we protect is not the city itself, but what is inside it."
His eyes glanced at the many people walking below as he continued.
"People are what we protect... they are the ones who make a home, not stone structures."
He raised his hand and placed it on Arthania’s small head, gently stroking her hair.
"And for me, you are home."
"So I must fight to protect my home."
...
Years passed, and the rifts increased.
Although more awakened appeared, and those who survived grew stronger, it was not enough.
And eighteen-year-old Arthania awakened and had already reached the peak of Rank 2, even approaching her father at Rank 4.
Her talent was praised, and it was said she could reach Rank 7 if given enough time.
But that girl did not care about those words... especially on a certain day.
She stood there before a torn body wrapped in many white cloths... or what used to be white before being stained red with blood.
There lay a familiar man.
Her father.
Dead.
He died protecting her and everything here.
Although many people spoke to her and surrounded her, trying to console her that day... she heard nothing and remembered nothing.
Everything in her memory was hazy except one thing.
The image of her father’s corpse and the words he always used to say.
That night, she sat in a corner of the empty house, hugging herself with her head lowered.
There were only dark thoughts in her mind.
’What is the point of all this fighting, Father?’
’Nothing... all that awaits us is death... only death.’
Lost in her thoughts and memories, she heard footsteps approaching her.
The house was supposed to be empty that day.
Slowly, she raised her head to see an old man she knew well.
Elias. A mere elderly man who had somehow awakened and managed to climb the ranks even at such an age.
Truly, miracles always find their way in the darkest times.
Arthania narrowed her swollen eyes from crying as she asked,
"What do you want, old man?" her voice came out rough and broken.
But without any concern, Elias stepped forward and placed his hand on her head.
"Don’t worry, I’m not here to disturb your solitude."
His other hand moved as he pulled something from his pocket and handed it to her.
It was just an old paper envelope.
"I’m only here to give you this."
Arthania looked at the envelope as she reached for it.
"What is this?"
"A letter."
With those simple words that explained nothing, Elias disappeared after delivering what he came for.
Arthania looked at the envelope, her heart beating faster.
It didn’t take a genius to know who it was from.
With trembling hands and under the faint light seeping from the nearby window, she opened the envelope and took out a neatly folded paper.
Hesitantly, she unfolded it, only to see that familiar handwriting.
Then, in a faint trembling voice, Arthania read the words written in dark ink.
"I am writing this, hoping you will never read it."
"Recently, many rifts have been opening, far larger and more dangerous..."
"I am always at the front, so I constantly see death before me... how fast and indifferent it is, the way it comes in an instant and imposes itself upon us."
"So, I know I might die at any moment, without even saying goodbye to my beloved daughter."
"My daughter who has been showing incredible talent recently and fights in the rear... that girl I hear people around me praising... some even say she will reach Rank 7 at this rate."
"But I don’t really care about that... after all, you are just a little girl to me."
"Perhaps this era didn’t give us the chance to be father and daughter..."
"I’m sorry."
Warm drops fell onto the paper in her hands.
"I’m sorry, Arthania... sorry that I left... that I abandoned you."
With every word, her faint voice trembled more, as if she were suffocating.
"I’m proud of you... the proudest father."
"I don’t know what you will do after I’m gone, but I want you to do what you want... you don’t have to carry the responsibility I carried if you don’t want to... and honestly, I don’t want you to."
She looked at the end of the letter.
’No... don’t end.’
"Once again..."
"I’m sorry, Arthania."
’Please...’
"I love you, my little one."
The letter ended, and with it, her father’s final words.
"No... no..."
In her trembling hands, the thin paper was soaked with warm tears, her muffled sobs echoing through the empty house, as the ink forming the words blurred and mixed into a small chaos.
Like her heart.