The air in the Synchronization Arena was cold, sterile, and hummed with a low-frequency energy that vibrated in Roewi Verdent’s molars. It was the sound of power, of potential, a sound that for everyone else was a symphony of promise. For him, it was a funeral dirge.Before him, the holographic interface of the System Core shimmered, a beautiful, intricate lattice of light waiting to be awakened. Around him, the muted sounds of other students successfully syncing filled the cavernous space, the sharp zing of a weapon manifesting, the triumphant chirp of a familiar digital taking form, the excited murmurs of approval from the observing instructors.Roewi took a shaky breath, the scent of ozone and anticipation filling his lungs. He placed his palm on the cool, crystalline surface of the podium. The familiar, dreaded sequence began. Lights danced across the interface, scanning his biological signature, probing his neural pathways.[Initiating Synchronization...]The text, a calming blue

The following days were a lesson in controlled paranoia. Every flicker of a light, every distant chime of an academy alert, every glance from a passing student felt like a potential accusation. Roewi moved through his routine like a ghost, but for the first time, he felt solid. The hollow ache of rejection had been filled with a thrumming, dangerous energy. Vextor was a constant, silent passenger in his mind, a presence he was slowly learning to navigate, like learning to live with a new, powerful limb that occasionally had a mind of its own.His curiosity was a live wire. He couldn't risk another major energy spike in his dorm, but the academy was vast, full of forgotten corners and poorly monitored training zones. His target was the Auxiliary Training Dojo #7, a dusty, rarely-used chamber tucked away in the older section of the campus. Its systems were outdated, its security logs famously glitchy. It was the perfect place for a ghost to practice being real.The air inside was still

The instructor’s “office” was a sterile, soundproofed interrogation room tucked away in the administrative wing. The air was cold, recycled, and smelled of antiseptic and anxiety. Commander Jax, the instructor, didn’t sit behind his desk. He paced, a predator circling its confused prey.“What was that, Verdent?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm. “A new piece of tech? A jamming device smuggled in from the Rust Markets?”Roewi sat stiffly in the metal chair, his mind racing. The official story, the one he’d rehearsed in his head during the walk over, felt flimsy. “I don’t know, sir. I just… focused. I was angry. Maybe it was a fluke in the arena’s dampening field.”“A fluke,” Jax repeated, stopping to loom over him. “That ‘fluke’ momentarily destabilized a Prime-class Chrono Drive. We’ve run diagnostics. There was no external field interference. The anomaly originated from you.”[Elevated stress markers detected. Deception is suboptimal. Recommend strategic omission.] Vextor’s advic

The electronic whine wasn't just close; it was triangulating. Red targeting lasers, visible only in Vextor's enhanced spectrum, began to paint the walls around him, sketching a cage of light. They were herding him. The Division Zero agents weren't blundering enforcers; they were surgeons, and he was the tumor they meant to excise with precision. [Tactical assessment: Three hostiles. Designation: Cleaner Team Sigma. Armament: Non-lethal suppression gear. Neural disruptors. Their orders are for live capture.] Live capture. The words should have been a comfort, but they weren't. Being erased in a firefight was one thing. Being taken alive by Division Zero meant being dissected, studied, and having every secret pulled from his mind until he was an empty shell. The vision of the Collapse flashed behind his eyes, a stark reminder of what "order" did to things it couldn't understand. He had no weapons. No combat training. All he had was dissonance. As the first agent rounded the corner,

The gunshot’s echo was a physical thing, ringing in the small, ruined space. For a heartbeat that stretched into an eternity, no one moved. The lead Division Zero agent, his face a mask of cold fury, stared at Ereun, his weapon still aimed at the ceiling. The other agents, their systems rebooting in a chorus of error chimes, looked between their commander and the academy’s golden boy who had just committed an unthinkable act of treason.Roewi swayed on his feet, the world tilting. The cost of the Fracture Field was a fire in his brain, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Myra grabbed his arm, her grip the only thing keeping him upright.“Solus,” the lead agent’s voice was dangerously quiet, the monotone replaced by a razor’s edge of anger. “Explain your action.”Ereun didn’t look at the agent. His gaze was still locked on Roewi, but the shock was hardening into something else, a desperate, rigid comprehension. He slowly lowered his hand, his body thrumming with tension.“