I thought the Academy would be louder.
Not crowded, not chaotic—just... louder. More noise. More life. Something.
Instead, it was quiet.
The kind of quiet you get before the wind rises.
Where everything holds its breath for just a second longer than it should.
We stepped out of the transport tunnel, and for the first time, I saw the Varen Axis with my own eyes.
No simulation. No filtered drone footage. Just the real thing.
Built into the upper cliffs outside the capital, the Academy rose out of stone and metal like it belonged there. Not planted. Not constructed.
Like it had always been waiting.
Its towers weren't jagged or brutal—they were clean. Smooth edges. Faint Spectra conduits ran along the surfaces like veins under glass. It didn't look like a fortress.
I'd seen cities burn before. Not this one, not in this life—but the shape of ruin lingers, even in beauty. This place was too clean. Too untouched. Like it hadn't learned anything yet.
It looked like progress.
Kaito let out a long whistle beside me. "Okay, this is... yeah. This is kinda sick."
Even Emi stopped walking for a second.
The air was different here. Cold, but not dead. Brighter than I expected, too. Light danced across the reinforced glass walkways stretching between buildings, casting soft reflections against the mountainside.
Down below, the capital of Varen blinked in layers—tiered streets, kinetic rails, rows of glimmering data towers. The heart of Tenka. The only nation left after the Collapse.
It was the kind of view they put on official broadcasts.
But no recording ever got the temperature right. Or the stillness.
There was a sign at the entrance. Simple. Etched into black alloy.
"Elite Academy – Varen Axis"
"Founded Year 1 – Post Collapse"
Kaito leaned over to read it.
"That's what, seventy-something years ago?"
"Seventy-three," Emi said.
He nodded, like that made it heavier. "Feels recent."
It didn't, to me.
It felt like something from a different timeline.
We kept walking. The outer halls were wide, lined with pale lighting and reinforced paneling. Not prison-gray—something warmer.
A soft silver with flickers of blue where the walls met the floor.
They weren't trying to intimidate us.
They were trying to welcome us.
Or prepare us.
They taught us the basic version of the story in school.
How the Last Red Spectra appeared and tore the world apart.
How nations crumbled. How survivors formed Tenka—a single shield wrapped around a cracked planet.
How the Gold Spectra made their final stand and vanished.
They said no one survived a direct encounter with a Red. Ever.
But the way they told it... it always sounded like fiction. A warning. A bedtime myth for future soldiers.
Now I was here.
Inside one of the institutions that came from it all.
Born from that collapse.
And even if most people didn't believe in Reds anymore...
The walls here still did.
The halls opened wider, then narrowed again—like the Academy was breathing.
Nothing here looked temporary. The floor plating was old, but reinforced. The kind of reinforcement you don't bother with unless you expect something to break.
We passed a few more students. Older. Higher-ranked.
Their Spectra bands pulsed a steady Blue. None of them smiled.
One of them looked straight at me when we passed.
He didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.
We found a long bench near a cross-junction of halls, across from what looked like a sealed practice chamber.
Emi sat first, eyes forward, back straight. Always aware.
Kaito slumped against the end, one leg stretched out, chin tilted back.
I sat between them.
Above us, a thin display flickered to life on the wall:
"Cadet Orientation: AXIS SIX – Arrival Confirmed – Awaiting Final Pairing."
Kaito read it out loud. "Axis Six. So we have a name now."
Emi's brow twitched. "Unit names change. Some don't last."
"Yeah, but I kinda like it. Sounds cool. Dangerous. Secret mission type."
I didn't say anything.
Seven seats. That's what the display showed in its data feed.
Three confirmed.
Four unknown.
They weren't random pairings. There had to be a system.
Maybe balance. Maybe compatibility.
Or maybe just whoever survived the Soul Lens Trial without breaking.
Kaito glanced at the timer beneath the display.
"Thirty minutes till full activation. Orientation follows. Think they'll throw us straight into a spar?"
Emi didn't answer.
He kicked lightly at the floor.
"You know my dad said these squads used to be twice the size," he muttered. "Back during the old war academies. Some teams had fifteen, twenty members."
She looked at him. "That was before the Collapse."
"I know. Just weird, right? How they used to train for armies, not survivors."
The word sat there for a second.
Survivors.
I wasn't sure if Kaito meant it seriously.
I wasn't sure if he knew how serious it was.
Outside the window, I could still see Varen's skyline.
The kinetic rails twisting upward through the towers, blue-lit roads flickering with suspended transport.
You wouldn't think a world like this ever fell.
But seventy-three years ago, it did.
One man.
One Red Spectra.
And everything broke.
I remembered the documentaries. Mostly dramatized. Hazy footage. Voiceovers about destabilization events, psychic ruptures, irreversible Spectra decay.
None of it looked real.
But the cities never got rebuilt in some places.
The soil never grew anything again.
And people still whispered about Golds like they'd show up again someday.
They wouldn't.
Emi leaned forward.
"Axis Six used to be called something else," she said.
Kaito looked over. "What?"
"It's not the first time they've restarted the roster. Three years ago, the team dissolved mid-training."
"Why?"
"No official answer," she said. "Just a report that no cadet from that batch completed the cycle."
She didn't elaborate. But her fingers tapped once against the bench.
She already knew something we didn't.
I let my eyes trace the inner hallway again.
There was writing etched lightly along one wall—not visible unless you caught it at the right angle under the lighting grid.
"Those who pass survive. Those who survive forget."
Probably just an old saying.
But it didn't feel like one.
The timer above the screen hit zero.
For a moment, nothing moved.
Then a soft chime rang out. The corridor across from us hissed open—locks releasing with a deep, mechanical breath.
They came in one by one.
The first was quiet.
Rin Sato. Blue Spectra. Level 110.
She stepped through like a shadow slipping through a crack in the wall—eyes sharp, steps almost noiseless. Her uniform was pristine, her bow collapsed into a smooth piece of alloy over her shoulder. No ornamentation, just utility.
She didn't make eye contact.
Didn't say a word.
Just scanned the room and moved to the far end of the bench, as far from the center as she could go.
I felt my own Spectra flicker, like it knew not to breathe too loud around her. She wasn't the kind of person you sparred with. She was the kind you survived.
Kaito whispered, "I think she knows how all of us die."
I didn't answer, but I didn't disagree.
The next cadet walked in like she owned the walls.
Yui Arakawa. Violet Spectra. Level 151.
There was nothing arrogant about her—only precision. From her posture to the angle of her steps, everything was intentional. Two blades crossed her back in a tight X-formation, designed for speed. Her uniform was military-cut, even though none of us wore ranks yet.
Her eyes scanned each of us. Not dismissive. Not impressed either.
When they landed on me, they paused for a second longer than the rest.
I wasn't sure why.
Then she sat.
The third arrival was heavier. Slower. But not in a bad way.
Riku Asano. Green Spectra. Level 82.
He looked like a brawler—broad arms, scarred knuckles, and a blunt iron staff slung casually over one shoulder. But there was a calm to him, too. Not lazy. Just steady. The kind of steady you get from being punched and punching back.
He offered a small nod as he passed us.
No tension. No edge.
He sat a few seats away from Kaito and stretched his arms with a quiet exhale.
Kaito gave him a half-wave. Riku returned it.
Then came the storm.
Toru Vance. Green Spectra. Level 95.
Every step announced itself—polished boots, exaggerated posture, confidence sharpened into something just short of mockery. He walked like someone born into command. Like the rest of us were here to orbit him.
"Wow," he said as he entered, scanning the room. "They really pulled from the leftovers, huh?"
No one answered.
He didn't care.
He dropped into the center seat, leaned back, and kicked one leg over the other.
I saw Riku grin as he sat down beside him.
"Took you long enough," he said to Toru.
Toru rolled his eyes. "Had to take the long route. Some idiot screwed with the transport scheduling."
"You mean you woke up late," Riku said.
"Semantics," Toru replied, smirking.
That made seven.
The full team.
Axis Six.
The screen above flickered again.
ALL MEMBERS CONFIRMED
AXIS SIX – CADET CORE REGISTRY: ACTIVE
INSTRUCTOR INBOUND – STANDBY FOR ORIENTATION
Kaito leaned back on the bench. "So… we just sit here and wait to be judged?"
Toru made a noise in his throat. "Speak for yourself."
Emi didn't flinch. She was watching Toru, quiet but focused.
Rin stayed silent, arms folded.
Yui glanced toward the hallway.
Riku leaned forward a bit, like he was trying to catch everyone's rhythm.
I just watched.
Seven of us. One seat each.
No idea who would last.
A new tone rang out.
The doors at the far end slid open again.
A man stepped through.
He was tall. Not in the exaggerated way some fighters carried themselves—but in the way someone looks when they've stopped trying to prove anything.
His coat was plain. Reinforced. Blue Spectra band glowing faintly against one wrist—Level 140.
Hiroshi Kai. Instructor.
And not the kind you joked about behind his back.
He walked halfway into the room, stopped, and looked at us all.
No greetings.
No smile.
Just the kind of silence that makes people sit up straighter.
Then he spoke.
"You're not here to win," he said, voice quiet but sharp enough to cut.
"You're here to learn how not to die. And if you're lucky—how not to get anyone else killed."
Toru tilted his head, but didn't speak.
No one else did either.
Hiroshi let the silence settle again.
Then:
"Axis Six begins now."