The cargo cut through the skies like a spear forged of black metal, swallowed in the storm that choked the northernmost frontier of the Stella Empire. This was no ordinary region—it was Karnell, a forbidden zone carved into the freezing wastes at the far edge of civilization.
No sun pierced the clouds. Snow drifted endlessly, coating everything in white silence. Only the dead and the forgotten belonged here.
As the cargo approached the jagged border towers of Karnell, loudspeakers crackled through the storm.
"Identify. Present the seal."
The lead cargo slowed. Its engines steamed and whined. The front hatch opened, and two men emerged—soldiers in the black-iron uniform of Stella's elite.
One raised a black metallic sigil etched with twin serpents circling a broken star. At its center was a stamp: sealed in red wax and blood. The name etched beneath the seal was unmistakable—
Arkanos Stellare III
The border opened without further word.
The cargo rolled forward, snow crunching beneath reinforced wheels.
Karnell awaited.
The facility lay buried in the snow, with only its tower-tips and antennae visible above the frost. Beneath this frozen earth, a vast underground complex stretched across kilometers. It wasn't a laboratory. It was a fortress of experimentation. A factory of futures.
The doors of Karnell opened with a hiss, revealing dozens of workers in white thermal suits. No one greeted the soldiers. No one questioned the cargo.
Inside, the children were unloaded—silent, half-frozen, terrified. Many stared blankly. A few cried. One tried to run and was quickly beaten until he couldn't walk.
They were ushered into a wing called the Sorting Sector, where machines hung from the ceiling like silver vultures.
Twelve vertical pods stood in the center, each humming faintly with red and blue light. The children were placed into them one by one—naked, vulnerable.
Metal limbs extended, pricking skin, drawing blood, scanning bones. Their screams went unanswered.
In a dark room above them, behind a one-way glass, two men watched.
One stood tall, his presence as suffocating as the frost itself.
Scoff Karios
In his fifties, with thick gray hair brushed back from a stern, lined face, he looked as if carved from stone. His eyes were a cold shade of iron, and he bore the silent arrogance of royal blood. His family, the Karios line, was a cadet branch of the ancient Stellare dynasty. While they held no claim to the throne, they were respected—and feared—for their ruthlessness in science and statecraft.
Scoff was more than a noble.
He was the Head of Karnell.
Even his peers in the imperial court whispered about him with caution. "That madman in the snow," they'd say. "The butcher of potential."
Beside him stood a smaller, unsettling figure.
Kaios Verma, the Head of Search—the one who tracked, captured, and transported "subjects" to Karnell. He was bald, his face partially disfigured, the skin around his jaw twisted and puckered. He wore a black breathing mask shaped like a gas filter, which hissed softly every time he inhaled.
His eyes—black and void—showed nothing but cold efficiency.
"This batch has a higher concentration of Class S and Class R markers than usual," Kaios said through his mask. "Most came from Morvain and nearby hills."
Scoff didn't look away from the screen. On it, blood results scrolled like rivers of data.
"What of the anomaly?"
Kaios tapped a line on his own screen.
"Subject AB-774. Still running composite tests. Compatibility unknown. Physiology suggests potential surpassing Class O baseline, but we can't quantify yet."
Scoff leaned slightly forward. His hand curled into a fist.
"An AB-Class born in Brena?" he said quietly. "Tch. Earth continues to surprise us."
"Shall we send the body for dissection after baseline testing?"
"No," Scoff snapped. "We observe. Upgrade only after psychological profiling. Do not ruin another specimen."
He turned and walked toward the exit, his cloak billowing behind him like shadow cast by a dying star.
"And the others?" Kaios asked.
Scoff paused.
"Send them inside," he said coldly, the words more routine than command. "And make the new worker—Livia—record the new patch development."
Kaios bowed his head.
"As you command, Director Karios."
The children were sorted as instructed. They were given code names. No identities. No mercy. They were resources. Lab meat. Failed experiments would be discarded.
The classification system was ancient but refined.
O-Class: Potential for regenerative strength. Pro: endurance. Con: metabolic instability.
S-Class: Psionic and pyrokinetic affinity. Pro: mental link in groups. Con: severe energy demands.
R-Class: High perception and predictive neural latency. Pro: foresight in combat. Con: strain leads to cranial collapse.
Y-Class: Capable of life-force healing. Pro: field support. Con: shortens user's life.
K-Class: Blood-based mental infiltration. Pro: espionage. Con: mental disintegration.
Q-Class: Adrenaline overproduction. Pro: berserker strength. Con: internal rupture.
L-Class: Sonic disruption potential. Pro: crowd control. Con: nervous system decay.
B-Class: Thermal absorption. Pro: covert ops. Con: extreme body temperature fluctuation.
T-Class: Enhanced bone density and skin. Pro: tank unit. Con: limited mobility.
Z-Class: Gas adaptation. Pro: toxic zone ops. Con: dependency on oxygen injections.
N-Class: Electromagnetic resonance control. Pro: tech disruption. Con: causes seizures.
And then there was:
AB-Class: Unknown. Genetic alignment so rare only one in ten million exhibited the markers. No confirmed abilities. All theoretical.
Reports sent to the inner circles of Stella's science division.
And outside, the storm raged on.
A new batch of test subjects had arrived.
And the empire would mold them into weapons.
Or let them die trying.