Morning light spilled gently across the academy's training grounds, painting long silver lines over the steel flooring. The air hummed faintly with the resonance of energy fields recharging after last night's chaos. Auren stood at the far edge, his gaze distant, thoughts heavy.
The night still clung to him like a shadow—sirens, shattered walls, the acrid scent of burnt metal. The defense system, once hijacked by Alys's family, had come alive too late. It had repaired itself only after the assassin's ashes had cooled at his feet. When the alarms blared, the entire sector had flooded with soldiers, medics, and instructors… only to find him standing alone amid ruin.
Auren could still hear their voices—sharp, rapid, demanding answers. What happened? What did you do? Who attacked you?
He had tried to answer, but his thoughts were misted over, fragments out of place. Each memory blurred and twisted, and within the noise of his own mind lingered something foreign—like a whisper that did not belong to him.
When he'd fallen into silence, too tired and too uncertain to speak further, the instructor had only exhaled, his stern expression softening into something like quiet understanding. A single nod, a hand on his shoulder, and nothing more.
Now, the chaos was gone. Yet, in this dawn stillness, it haunted him more than ever.
Auren's fellow cadets gathered across the field, chatting, laughing, sparring in pairs. The gleam of the training gear caught the sunlight, but his gaze held steady on the scorched horizon of his memory.
From the opposite side, a pair of icy blue eyes watched him.
Alys stood among her faction, silent. Her usually calm face was etched with disbelief, her lips whispering words meant for no one.
"How is it possible… that he survived 001?"
Her nails dug into her palm, fury and confusion twisting within her like a coil of venom—until a faint vibration pulsed through her wristband. Her holo-screen flickered to life.
Incoming message.
Her eyes darted across the contents, and slowly, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Cold. Amused.
"…Now this is interesting."
Before she could ponder further, a voice thundered across the grounds.
"Cadets!"
Instructor Ryn's tone carried power—each syllable slicing through the murmurs of the crowd. Every head turned.
Above them, the sound of engines filled the air—a low, rising hum that grew into a roar. In an instant, the morning sky split open with descending craft—six sleek spacecraft cutting across the clouds like shards of black glass.
Auren lifted his gaze, watching as they descended in perfect formation. Dust and wind kicked up across the ground, cloaks and hair whipping wildly as the ships settled into position.
The instructor's expression darkened. "Today marks the beginning of your next phase of training."
With a snap of his fingers, the ground beneath them split apart with mechanical precision. Steel panels shifted aside, and from the gaping rift rose multiple armored containers—black, marked with the emblem of the Ion Sector.
"These," Ryn said, gesturing toward the crates as the locking mechanisms hissed open, "are military-grade weaponry and battle suits. Starting today, you will train with them—survive with them—or be broken by them."
As the final spacecraft doors slid open, six figures stepped forth.
Each wore a battle suit unlike any the cadets had seen—unique in color and aura, each radiating their own oppressive presence. The air thickened instantly under the weight of their spirits.
Even from a distance, Auren could feel them—power so tangible it pressed on his lungs, threatening to crush him.
Ryn's voice boomed again, steady yet edged with reverence.
"Cadets, allow me to introduce the elite guardians of the Ion Sector—each a legend in their own right. The Xeon Warriors."
He paused, letting the name settle into the stunned silence.
"These are the ones who stand at the heart of our Zone. Watch them, learn from them, and understand—every scar they bear was carved by battles beyond your imagination."
The wind whipped across the field, carrying sparks of dust and light. One of the Xeons stepped forward, his armor dark silver, eyes glowing with calm fury.
"This will not be training," he said quietly. His voice rolled like thunder. "It will be survival."
And somewhere in that crowd, Auren felt the presence of one particular person .
Auren's attention locked on one figure among the six Xeon Warriors—a man clad in a battle suit the color of molten sunset, the armor etched with streaks that shimmered like flowing magma. His eyes were razor-sharp, trained on Auren with unsettling precision.
This was Viron.
He caught Auren's gaze, and a slow smirk curled across his lips. Without a word, he stepped forward, his presence cutting through the crowd like a blade. Even the other Xeons glanced at him in mild annoyance while the instructor's brow furrowed.
"I want to see if this batch is worth training," Viron declared. His voice had the weight of command, the kind that made every cadet stand straighter.
He extended his hand. A shimmer rippled through the air as nanotech particles surged and assembled, forming a sword of pure crimson blaze. Its heat was immediate—an oppressive wave that rolled outward in violent pulses. The ground beneath his feet cracked, scorched by the aura it gave off.
The pressure raced across the training ground like a tidal wave, slamming into every cadet, instructor, and even the other Xeons. Heat stung skin, the air shimmered with distortion, and every heartbeat felt heavier than the last.
"If you can endure this pressure for ten seconds," Viron said evenly, "you pass. If not—you're expelled. Immediately."
From the sidelines, the instructor and the other five Xeons exhaled with a mixture of impatience and resignation.
"Here he goes again," one murmured.
Another gave a knowing glance. "Looks like one particular cadet caught his attention…"
Auren planted his feet, muscles locking as he held his ground. Around him, cadets faltered—some gripping their chests, others buckling to one knee. Only four remained standing after the third second: Auren, Alys, and two others whose faces were twisted in raw determination.
At the fourth second, Viron's smirk widened. "Looks like we've got some seeds worth nurturing."
Then the pressure intensified—but only on the four who still stood. The temperature spiked; the air itself seemed to scream. One cadet dropped instantly, leaving only Alys and Auren locked in an unspoken rivalry.
It wasn't about survival anymore. It was ego, pride—both unwilling to yield first. If there was one person in the world Auren couldn't accept losing to, it was Alys. And for Alys… that person was Auren.
Seven seconds in, the strain began to show. Blood trickled from their ears; their knees quivered; teeth clenched hard enough to ache.
Eight seconds—both were close to collapse. Their knees bent lower, fingers twitching from the sheer force pressing down on bone and muscle.
Nine seconds—Alys dropped first, her gauntlets scraping the ground with a sharp thud.
Auren was barely standing, vision tunneling. But deep inside, beneath the pain, he felt the faint burn of his core—an eternal blue flame coiled within him. With a single breath, he reached for it.
The energy surged outward like a miniature sun igniting at his center, flooding his limbs with raw vitality. His body straightened.
Ten seconds—and he was still upright. The collision of Viron's crushing pressure and the unyielding force from Auren's core filled the air with an almost audible tension, the space between them shimmering with unstable heat.
Everyone was silent. Not a word, not a breath.
Viron dismissed the pressure with a flick of his wrist. The heat vanished instantly, leaving behind only the scorched marks on the ground.
Then—a low, booming laughter.
"You're something else, kid!" Viron barked. He turned toward the instructor. "Where did you find this monster?"
He laughed again, deep and genuine, as the whispers of awe rippled through the cadets around them.
Auren didn't respond. His eyes lingered on Viron,