The circle of conversation returned to its starting point. "Mutants," I murmured. "You still haven't explained what they actually are."
Gerrald exhaled, as if stepping into dangerous terrain. "Mutant is not a title. It's... a condition. A label for beings or humans, who possess something 'extra.' Something inhuman. It could be extraordinary physical strength, the ability to manipulate elements, rapid wound healing, or other things that surpass ordinary human limits. Some call them failed experiments; others believe it's the next stage of evolution, or a curse for sinners."
He paused, making sure I caught every word. "To the government and the aristocracy, Mutants are a threat. An uncontrolled variable. They fear powers they cannot command or predict. So Mutants are hunted. Captured. And if they refuse to submit, they are 'cleansed.' That's why suspecting someone of being a Mutant is a very serious accusation, Nico. It can mean death."
My heart raced. The scar on my chest suddenly felt hot, as if reminding me of something far away and dark. "And you think I...?"
"I don't know," Gerrald shook his head.
"As I said, I might be wrong. But the way you endured the trials, your calm in the midst of chaos... all of it raises questions. Or maybe," he continued, "it's just coincidence. Maybe you're simply very lucky and resilient, with a bleak past."
The room fell quiet again. His explanation opened up a world darker and more complex than I had imagined.
"What should I do?" I asked, my voice almost a whisper. I felt submerged in an ocean of information I wasn't ready to accept.
"For now," Gerrald said, rising from his chair and walking to the small cabinet beside his bed, "you must learn. And stay silent."
He produced a thin, worn book, its cover nearly detached. "This is not an official book. It's a personal record, a collection of information I've gathered. About history, politics, and... other things. Read it quietly. Do not let anyone see it."
I took the book with trembling hands. It felt heavy—heavier than its physical weight. "Why do you trust me with this?"
"Because you gave me something worthy earlier," he answered. "You trusted me with your secret. This is the return. And because..." He hesitated.
"Because I have something to hide too, Nico. I'm not from Snau or Metik. My family is Noble, though not the highest. I'm here not merely as a cadet or soldier. I'm undercover to observe. Searching for seeds of rebellion, or... Mutant. But I got pulled into this place, Nethera Academy. The hub of a major rebellion. Now I am truly miserable, unable to do anything in this place, even losing my means of communication."
His confession froze me. Gerrald—a noble? A spy? It explained his perpetual composure, his sharp observation.
"I tell you this," he went on, "because I feel you are not a threat. Or at least, not a threat to me personally. And perhaps, you're the one who needs protection. If others suspect you, they won't be as lenient as I am. They will act."
A new fear crept through me. I had not only lost my memory; I was stranded in a game of power and danger I did not understand.
"I... I understand," I said, clutching the book tight. "Thank you. For your honesty. And for this."
Gerrald nodded. "Read it, learn it, and remember, Nico. In this world, knowledge is the only weapon you can rely on when you don't know who you are. It will keep you alive."
That night, after Gerrald fell asleep, I opened the book under the small lamp by my bed. The pages were filled with neat handwriting, diagrams, and clippings from newspapers.
I read about the Liberation War that ended the era of great continental wars and plunged the world into a new age of advancement and hardship.
About the Great Divide that split social classes into Snau, Metik, Noble, and Government.
About the feared Department of Homeland Security tasked with "handling" Mutants.
And then, about the Mutants themselves. The various types believed to exist: those with brute strength, Brutes; those who could influence minds, Whisperers; those who could manipulate natural elements, Elementalists; those able to heal, Rejuvenators; and those who can control energy, Energisers.
Each note came with warnings: "Highly dangerous," "Must be reported," "Show no mercy."
My heart pounded. With every description, every symptom, I compared them to myself. Am I strong? No more than a trained man. Can I read minds? No. Can I control fire or water? No. Do my wounds heal quickly? I don't know. The scar remains—deep and ugly.
Nothing fit. Or perhaps I simply hadn't found it yet.
I closed the book as dawn began to break, my thoughts whirlpooling. Fear and confusion remained, but now there was also a small purpose: to learn, to understand. Gerrald had given me a tool to survive, and I intended to use it.
•
•
•
Dawn seeped through the small window, painting the room in a somber shade of gray. The book burned in my hands like embers, its secrets searing my skin. Gerrald's steady breathing from the other bed was the only sound, a stable rhythm against the storm inside my head.
Noble. Spies. Mutant. Snau. Metik. Purged.
The words circled endlessly, a deadly poison of fear and revelation. My eyes stung from lack of sleep, but my thoughts raced on.
Carefully, I slipped the book beneath my mattress, its weight pressing down as if it might pierce through the springs and fall straight to the floor below. Lying back down, I stared at the ceiling.
A soft chime echoed through the dorm, subtle and artificial. It was followed by a calm female voice seeping from the hidden speakers in the walls. "Cadets. Morning assembly in the main courtyard in thirty minutes. Uniforms required. Attendance non-negotiable."
Gerrald moved instantly, his military training crushing any trace of sleepiness. He sat up, rubbed his face, and his dark eyes locked on me.
"You heard her," he said, his voice hoarse from sleep but his tone firm. "Non-negotiable means they'll drag you out if you're late. And you don't want that."
We dressed in silence.
The door hissed open, and we merged into the current of cadets flowing down the hall. The air was taut with silence, broken only by the synchronized rhythm of boots against polished metal floors. Faces around me were a blend of fatigue, lingering fear, and hardened resolve. In the cold light of day, we looked like children playing at being soldiers.
Aurel and William walked alongside us. Aurel's silver hair was tied neatly into a bun, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She gave me a brief nod.
"You look awful, Nico," William said with a faint smirk. "Did Gerrald snore that badly?"
"Something like that," I muttered.
The main courtyard stretched wide, a bleak expanse of black composite stone, hemmed in on all sides by the academy's spire-like architecture. The sky overhead was a sheet of dull gray, offering no comfort.
At the far podium stood Instructor Daniel Harmen, the image of a military officer in his pristine uniform, accompanied by the researcher, Hera Nethis, who observed us with cold, clinical detachment.
We were arranged into clean rows. I could feel the senior cadets watching from the balconies above, their expressions unreadable.
"New cadets," Daniel's voice boomed, amplified by the courtyard's acoustics. "Welcome to your first official day. The exams are over. The real work begins now."
He walked slowly along the edge of the podium, his gaze sweeping over us. "Your performance… acceptable. Some of you show promise. Most of you display a remarkable talent for not dying. That's a start."
Nervous chuckles were quickly silenced by his sharp glare.
"Nethera Academy is not a school for children. It is a forge. We are here to temper you, harden you, burn away your weakness until only steel remains. You will be tested, pushed, broken, and rebuilt stronger. You will learn combat, strategy, infiltration, and sabotage. You will study the history, politics, and technologies of our enemies. You will become the sharpened blade this rebellion requires.:
He stopped pacing, his eyes locking directly onto our group. "We make no exceptions. Even Mutants will be embraced if they walk our path. But strength without control is a liability. Power without discipline is a danger to oneself and others. That is why your first evaluation begins today. Not with weapons. But with this."
Hera Nethis stepped forward. In her hands was a small crystal orb, pulsing with a soft inner glow.
"This is an Icesle resonance scanner," she said, her voice cold and precise. "It measures the genetic signature within a living being, whether human or mutant. It is also our primary tool for identifying… unique abilities, or ordinary ones, within you."
Ice filled my veins. My eyes flicked to Gerrald. His face was stoic, but I caught the tightening of his jaw.
I couldn't help but wonder why he seemed to despise mutants so much. Did he carry some past scar tied to them?
If this Academy truly did not discriminate between human or mutant, then anyone aligned with its ideology would be safe.
Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that tension would still fester among cadets in the shadows of the Academy.
"Form a line," Daniel commanded. "Each of you will place your hand on the orb. The readings will be recorded. There is no pass or fail. This is only a baseline assessment."
Panic, sharp and cold, clawed at my throat. This was it. The moment of truth I feared.
What if the orb glowed?
What if it screamed?
.....