Gray, alongside the others, stepped cautiously onto the humming deck of the ship. No one spoke. The sound of boots on steel echoed through the hollow corridors. Every few steps, the scurrying of mice darted beneath crates or vanished behind loose floor panels. The entire vessel felt aged, worn by time and something more sinister.
They were led below deck by a silent officer wearing the same strange black uniform as the man who recruited Gray. Eventually, they arrived at a wide, circular chamber made of corroded metal. It reeked faintly of rust and salt. The air inside was bitterly cold.
The room was nearly empty save for a few rusted chairs and a large glass projector embedded into the far wall. Lines of dim light ran through the ceiling like faint veins, pulsing slowly.
Gray was the first to sit, claiming a seat near the front. His fingers tapped anxiously against the armrest. The others shuffled in behind him. No one spoke. Fear hung in the air like mist.
A few minutes passed before a new figure stepped in.
He looked older than the recruiter — maybe mid-thirties. His dark hair was slicked back and tied into a short knot. He wore a white labsuit, the collar smudged with what looked like old blood. A small clipboard rested in his hands. His glasses reflected the dim light, making it hard to read his expression. But when he spoke, the coldness in his voice told them enough.
"Alright. Listen carefully. I won't repeat myself."
The tone was dry, but carried enough weight to silence even the twitchiest among them.
"Nearly a century ago, a new landmass rose from the sea. We call it Nyxterra. With it came disease, nightmares, and creatures not meant to exist."
Everyone knew this story. It was the only history they were allowed to learn back in Ironhold. But hearing it here, like this, made it feel real in a way textbooks never could.
"You've been selected to deliver supply crates to our frontier camp. This ship will transport you through safe airspace. After landing, you will disembark, deliver your packages, and return."
The air in the room shifted.
He hadn't said it outright, but everyone knew what he meant.
Nyxterra.
The name alone was enough to turn stomachs.
One of the smaller recruits, a boy no older than fifteen, audibly whimpered. The girl with the braids clenched her fists. Even the large man in the back who had barely flinched until now finally straightened in his chair.
Gray didn't move. But a knot twisted in his stomach.
"Before you panic," the man continued flatly, "you'll have a handler and a trained combat escort. You're not expected to fight. You'll be entering a Rank 1 zone."
A few heads turned. Rank 1 meant minimal threat. At least, in theory.
On Nyxterra, regions were divided by threat levels. Rank 0 meant safe. Rank 5 meant nothing came back. It was simple. But simplicity rarely meant honesty.
Gray narrowed his eyes. There was something missing. Something being hidden.
The man gestured to the glass wall. It flickered and lit up, showing a projected map of the new continent. Dozens of regions glowed faint red, while others were pure black. As the group stared, their names appeared along the bottom of the map.
"Suiting is next," the man said without enthusiasm. "Your assigned uniforms will monitor vitals, provide minor environmental resistance, and sync with system protocol."
Gray raised an eyebrow.
System protocol?
Before he could ask, the room's side doors hissed open. White mist rolled in. A mechanical platform extended out, each section holding a folded black suit. They looked sleek and reinforced with faint blue lights that pulsed like a heartbeat.
The group moved silently, each picking up their assigned gear. The younger boy struggled with his gloves.
Gray stepped into his.
The material was cold at first, but quickly adjusted to his skin. As the final segment sealed around his spine, a low hum vibrated through his chest.
Then came the flicker.
A soft light appeared in his vision. Not in front of him, in his mind.
It was a message, written in pale blue text. A voice accompanied it, low and emotionless.
[Name: Gray]
[Status: Starving]
[Rank: None]
[Strain: None]
[Passive Trait: Unawakened ]
[Skills: None]
[Afinnity: Unknown]
[Talent: none]
He blinked. The message faded before he could process it.
'What in the hell?'
Gray was utterly confused. Rank? Passive trait? Affinity? He couldnt understand any of this. What made him even more confused was that this "system" said he was talentless!
His chest tightened, but no one else seemed alarmed. Either they had experienced something similar, or they had no idea what just happened.
The scientist glanced at them one last time, scribbled something on his clipboard, then walked off without another word.
One of the officers gestured silently for them to follow.
They were led to a long, dark chamber filled with sleep pods lined up like coffins. Each was tall, shaped like a standing capsule. Gray stepped toward one, his fingers shaking just slightly.
The pod hissed open.
"Lay back. You'll arrive in ten hours," the officer muttered. "You'll be briefed on landing."
Gray nodded numbly.
He stepped inside.
As the pod sealed, the hum of machinery soothed his nerves. A pale light swept through his suit. The world grew muffled, and his vision blurred. The inside of the chamber grew distant. Then there was only darkness.
He did not dream.
When his eyes opened again, everything was red.
The sun was rising over the blood-stained sands of Nyxterra.
And the doors to the outside world were hissing open.