The dream was a perfect, painful lie.
Leo was back on the farm, the evening sun casting long, golden shadows. His father, Thomas Vance, was showing him how to mend a fence post. "See, Leo?" his father said, his voice warm and solid. "It's all about a solid foundation. The land provides, son. You just have to listen to it." His mother was humming from the kitchen window. Mara laughed, chasing a firefly. It was peace. It was home.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"ON YOUR FEET, MAGGOTS! WELCOME TO YOUR FIRST DAY IN HELL!"
The dream shattered like glass. Leo's eyes snapped open to the grim reality of Bay 4. A Corporal was walking down the aisle, smacking a baton against the metal bedframes. The grey light of dawn offered no comfort. A cold tear was traced from the corner of his eye into his hair. He wiped it away quickly, the ghost of his mother's kiss still lingering on his forehead.
"Rise and shine, farm boy," Rourke grumbled from the next bunk, his voice thick with sleep. "Sounds like our beloved Sergeant is already in a charming mood."
The next hour was a chaotic, miserable scramble. They were given ten minutes to dress, use the latrine, and fall in on the parade ground. Leo fumbled with the stiff, unfamiliar buttons of his uniform. The wool was scratchy against his skin, a constant, irritating reminder that he was no longer in his soft, worn-out farm clothes.
Outside, the air was cold and biting. Sergeant Voss stood before them, a statue of disdain as they shivered in formation.
"From this moment, your soft, civilian lives are over!" Voss barked, his voice cutting through the morning air. "You will run because I tell you to run. You will eat when I tell you to eat. You will not think, because your own thoughts are worthless. Your only thought will be to OBEY! Is that clear?"
"YES, SERGEANT!" the formation shouted, the sound ragged and unsure.
"Pathetic," Voss sneered. "We'll start simple. A little five-mile jog to wake you up. Follow the marked path. If you fall behind, you will be recycled. And trust me, you do not want to be recycled. MOVE OUT!"
The run was torture. It wasn't the distance; Leo was used to long days in the fields. It was the pace—a brutal, unrelenting sprint set by a jeep that led the way. The gravel road punished their ill-fitting boots. Men began to stumble, their breath coming in ragged gasps.
Leo, his farmer's stamina kicking in, found a rhythm. He focused on his breathing, on the pounding of his own feet, using the techniques his father had taught him for enduring long harvest days. He fell in beside Rourke, who was already sweating and swearing.
"By the King's beard... who... runs like this?" Rourke puffed, his face red.
"Just breathe," Leo said between gritted teeth. "Don't fight it. Let your legs do the work."
Rourke shot him a look of pure agony. "Easy for you... to say... you're built... like a plow horse."
Behind them, they heard a yelp of pain. Finn, the clerk, had tripped on a loose stone and gone down hard, skinning his knees on the gravel. Lysander, the volunteer, immediately stopped to help him up.
"Leave him!" a Corporal riding on the back of the jeep yelled. "He either gets up or he's out!"
"Just go!" Finn whimpered, clutching his bloody knee.
Lysander ignored the Corporal, hauling Finn to his feet. "We're in the same squad, aren't we? We don't leave men behind. That's the whole point!" He slung Finn's arm over his shoulder, and the two of them stumbled forward, falling to the back of the pack.
Leo watched them, a strange feeling stirring in his chest. It wasn't just words. Lysander actually meant it.
After the run—which left half the recruits vomiting in the dirt—they were given a bland, lukewarm breakfast of porridge. They sat on the ground, too exhausted to speak. Leo found himself sitting with Rourke, Finn, and Lysander. Finn was wincing as he tried to straighten his leg.
"Let me see," Leo said. He took a clean-ish rag from his pocket, dampened it with his canteen, and started carefully wiping the gravel from Finn's wound. It was something he'd done a dozen times for Mara.
"Thanks," Finn said, surprised. "I... I'm not really built for all this."
"None of us are," Rourke laughed, shoveling porridge into his mouth. "Well, except maybe Leo. And Lysander here seems to think he's in a patriotic play."
Lysander straightened up. "It's about duty. We're here to protect our kingdom, our families. There's honor in that."
"Honor?" Rourke scoffed. "I saw plenty of 'honorable' men back in the docks missing limbs and begging for scraps. I'm here because they told me to be. Same as you, farm boy, right?"
Leo finished cleaning Finn's knee. "I'm here for my family," he said quietly. "That's all."
Before Rourke could retort, the whistles blew again.
The rest of the day was a relentless grind of physical training. Push-ups, sit-ups, climbing ropes, and an endless obstacle course of mud, walls, and barbed wire. Sergeant Voss was everywhere, his voice a constant weapon.
"LOWER, VANCE! YOUR CHEST SHOULD TOUCH THE MUD! ARE YOU TOO GOOD FOR THE DIRT?!"
"MILLER! YOU SWING A SACK LIKE A GIRL! PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT!"
"ALBRIGHT! IF YOU DROP THAT RIFLE ONE MORE TIME, I'LL PERSONALLY NAIL IT TO YOUR HANDS!"
Leo endured. The farm work had given him a hidden reservoir of strength the city boys lacked. He wasn't the fastest or the most agile, but he was relentless. He didn't stop. While others quit, he pushed through the burn in his muscles, driven by the image of Mara's face.
It was during a session of marching drills that the topic of the Sync Test came up. They were practicing forming a square, a basic defensive formation, when a low hum filled the air. From a nearby, more secure compound, a figure clad in gleaming, crystal-laced armor leaped onto a rooftop in a single, impossible bound. The Aegis Bearer stood there for a moment, the morning sun glinting off the suit, before jumping down out of sight.
The entire squad froze, staring.
"Eyes FRONT!" Voss roared. "That will never be you. You are grunts. Mud-foots. But tomorrow, by royal decree, you get to touch the crystal that makes them gods, and it will rightly reject you. It's a formality. Now, MOVE!"
That evening, utterly broken and covered in mud, the four of them—Leo, Rourke, Finn, and Lysander—collapsed on their bunks.
"I think... every bone in my body is broken," Finn moaned, lying perfectly still.
"Ah, you'll get used to it," Rourke said, though he was massaging his own sore shoulders. "So, tomorrow we get to play with the shiny rock. Anyone think they're special?"
"Syncing is a gift," Lysander said, a hint of yearning in his voice. "A chance to serve the kingdom on a higher level."
"Or a chance to get sent to the worst fighting," Rourke countered. "I, for one, am happy to be a lowly Null. Less attention."
"What about you, Leo?" Finn asked.
Leo was staring at his hands, calloused and dirty. "I just want to get through this," he murmured. "I don't want any special attention."
The next morning, they were marched to a sterile, white tent. The air inside was charged with energy. In the center stood a pedestal, and on it rested a raw Aetherium crystal, pulsing with a soft, internal light. It was beautiful and intimidating.
One by one, the recruits stepped forward. Most placed a hand on it, and nothing happened. They walked away, relieved or disappointed.
Lysander went. He placed his hand on the crystal with reverence. It flickered, a weak, sputtering light. The technician nodded. "Low-level resonance. Noted for potential support roles. Next."
Lysander's shoulders slumped slightly, but he held his head high.
Rourke was next. He slapped the crystal with a grin. "C'mon, baby, light up for me!" Nothing happened. He just laughed and walked off. "Never liked shinny rocks away!"
Finn was so nervous he could barely lift his hand. He gave the crystal a timid tap. Nothing. He scurried back to the line as if he'd just escaped a beating.
Then it was Leo's turn.
His heart hammered against his ribs. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be special. But as he stepped forward, the crystal's gentle pulse seemed to call to him. He slowly reached out and placed his palm flat against its surface.
It was warm.
Not the heat of an engine, but a deep, grounding warmth, like putting his hands in sun-baked soil at the end of a long day. For a split second, he felt a connection, a deep, resonant hum that traveled up his arm and settled in his chest. It felt like... home. The crystal's glow didn't flare. Instead, it seemed to dim, the light flowing into his hand like water into dry earth.
The technician stared at his scanner, frowning. "That's... an anomalous reading. Fluctuating energy signature. No stable sync pattern detected." He looked at Leo with a mix of confusion and dismissal. "It's a rejection. You're a Null. Next!"
Leo pulled his hand back. The warmth vanished, leaving a strange, empty coldness in its place. He felt a profound sense of loss, as if he'd been offered a drink of water after days in the desert, only to have the cup snatched away.
He walked back to the line, his mind reeling.
"Don't worry about it, farm boy," Rourke said, clapping him on the back a little too hard. "Welcome to the club."
But as Leo looked at his hand, he knew something was different. The sergeant was wrong. The technician was wrong. They had all called him a Null.
But for a moment, the crystal hadn't rejected him.
It had recognized him.
And that was far more terrifying.