The testing grounds of Central Academy stretched across the eastern edge of Granton, a sprawling field of steel platforms, obstacle courses, and shimmering barrier domes.Crowds of spectators leaned over railings on the upper tiers, their voices a constant murmur broken by bursts of cheers whenever someone did something spectacular. Somewhere overhead, a pair of drones buzzed, tracking every move for the academy.Daniel Reed stood near the far wall with the last group of candidates, watching the chaos unfold in the trial zone.A boy's arms bulged as he swung a slab of concrete overhead and launched it across the arena. It slammed into the target dummy, flattening it in a single blow. The crowd's roar swelled.A moment later, a girl dropped from the wall, hair flaring like a torch and without slowing, sent a stream of fire punching through three metal targets.The crowd roared again.Daniel kept his hands in his pockets watching on.His eyes weren't on the fire, the shattered dummies,

The holo-board dimmed, but the instructor wasn't done. His voice dropped lower, cutting sharper than before."Remember this: ranks and points won't save you out there. Only your choices will. Some of you will rise while most of you won't even make it past the first year here. The academy isn't here to coddle you. It's job is simple: train those who can fight and cut loose those who can't"The murmurs in the hall had long died. Every eye in the hall was on him now. The instructor raised his hand toward the side doors. "Your assignments have been issued already. Muster at your designated bays. You'll be judged from this moment on."The crowd dissolved into an orderly chaos. Recruits spilled into the corridors, their chatter split between excitement and dread. Instructions on their wristbands directed them to muster bays across the academy.Daniel scanned his display, then angled toward Cargo Bay C where a tall woman in combat gear stood waiting. Her hair was cropped short, her posture r

The barrier sealed shut behind them with a sharp crackle, fading into silence.The squad spread out onto the ruined street, their boots crunching over glass and rubble. The weight of the Zone pressed down on them — heavy and laced with Aether. Every breath carried a stale dampness, like the place had been sealed off for centuries.Hart's voice crackled over their comms, clipped as always."Stick together, no glory runs and remember, survival is always the priority. Are you clear?""Yes, Sergeant," the squad echoed. Their voices were uneven, some tight with nerves, and others forcing confidence.Daniel adjusted the strap of his pack. He didn't bother replying, even at this stage he hadn't interacted much with his squad mates. He instead focused more on the ruins ahead and the information he could glean from them.The formation settled quickly: Owen up front, armored plates clinking as he marched like he owned the street. Kade swaggered a few steps behind, rifle swung loose, with the sa

The squad moved cautiously. The silence that followed the first wave of ferals was unnatural, still reeling from what had just happened.Breaths came ragged, sweat streaked with grime. For a moment, no one spoke — the bravado had been stripped away, replaced by the raw awareness that survival was only temporary.Owen leaned against a wall, one hand on his thigh, chest heaving. "Not… bad," he muttered, voice rough. "For a warm-up."Sera knelt beside him, rolling her eyes. "Warm-up? You nearly got yourself torn in half." She pressed a cloth to his wound, tying it off with practiced efficiency. "Try surviving first before bragging."Owen hissed, pulling at her restraint. "Don't pinch my leg too tight," he groaned, shifting impatiently. "I'm fine, really—""You're not fine," Sera cut him off, voice calm but firm, her eyes narrowing. "And if you keep squirming, I'll make it tighter anyway."Owen grunted, leaning back against the wall. "You know, one day, I'll get tired of your lectures.""

After a short rest, he tested his comms again but it was still only static noise coming out.The chamber tilted for a second, then steadied. His head throbbed, and the ache wasn't just from tiredness. It was the memory of trying to fit something so vast in his mind.It isn't that Aether won't answer, he thought. It's that I can't hold its language.The images of raw distortion, the way the Aether in the zone had felt like a vast ocean — all of it had crashed into him and washed away. His mind had been a cup trying to catch a waterfall.He stared at the magazines spread beside him, the consoles, guides, damage tables and stat blocks. He'd read them before and felt the first pull. Now, with the sting of failure still sharp, the pull had taken shape.He flipped the page again, slower. The old guide's layout was efficient, almost mechanical: names, numbers, categories. "HP," "Defense," "Durability," columns of values. The old world had reduced messy possibilities into lists and brackets s