Three years had passed since the boy from Morvain arrived. AB-774, the anomaly—white hair, heart-born mana, and silent eyes. He had grown from infant to child in the cold steel of Karnell's lowest chamber. Time inside the facility moved in circles, not lines. Light never changed. Pain never paused. For the older children, routine had become survival: injections at dawn, sparring at noon, diagnostics at dusk. Screams were background noise. What was once terror had turned mundane.
In three years, tens of thousands of children had come and gone—most gone.
And yet, some endured.
O-243, once a loud, angry boy, now moved with quiet confidence. Three of his mana paths had opened over the years—strength, reflex, and density adaptation. His strikes no longer echoed like fists, but like falling stone. He rarely spoke, but none dared challenge him. The Empire had high hopes for him.
Y-271 had stopped smiling a year ago. Her third mana path had surfaced in her second year, but she never advanced further. Her healing required the sacrifice of her own cells, and every use took something permanent from her. Her hair had dulled, her voice turned soft, but she never refused an order. Some said she wanted to die saving someone—anyone.
R-932 had changed the most. Last year, he opened his second path: micro-foresight, perceptual extension. He saw things just before they happened—eyes tracking movement no one else noticed. He didn't talk much. He didn't need to. He rarely fought, but he always knew how the fight would end. He became the silent right hand of O-889, the powerful older boy who led Chamber 5. Livia once observed, "He doesn't avoid pain. He calculates it."
The S-twins, S-410 and S-411, burned hotter than ever. Their synchronization had deepened, awakening a third path earlier this year. Fire twisted with echo resonance, the psychic flares between them volatile and beautiful. They laughed when they fought. Laughed when they bled. As if each spark of agony reminded them they were still alive.
But not all progressed. K-109, the one they called "sensitive," collapsed in his second year. The serum had overwhelmed his nerves. His heart burst under the pressure of pain, blood leaking from his ears and eyes as the staff tried to stabilize him. They didn't. His body was dragged away silently, another failure marked in the logs.
Pier—Z-007—had grown into something terrifying. At fourteen, his green hair and crimson eyes made him impossible to miss. Rumors swirled that he came from noble blood—the fallen Aren Olav family of the old southern provinces. His ability to release corrosive gas through his breath made him lethal. Uncontainable. The last spar he participated in left three chambers evacuated. He had outgrown Karnell. They sent him to the Citadel two days ago.
Q-001 left with him.
The quiet legend of the lab. Seventeen years old. The first to survive seven full years in Karnell. His mana paths had all opened—five streams of pure potential. Mental linking, pre-reaction foresight, heightened cognitive layering. He was a mind sharper than knives. Some said he could hear thoughts. Others believed he could slow time itself. Whether myth or fact, the result was the same: the Empire wanted him. The Citadel would weaponize him now.
In the researcher sector, the new patch had arrived.
Ten entered. Seven survived. Jorlan had been reassigned after his last group—all dead from disease, x-gene failure, and organ collapse. He didn't let himself hope anymore. His job was simple: log, observe, record. His datapod blinked with new ID entries.
Among the new batch:
—Y-906. Four years old. Pink hair, sky-blue eyes. Chamber 8. Born in Oisis, a small farming village in the now-broken nation of Carthia. Stella's invasion left her orphaned. Her readings marked her as a Y-Class healer, but Livia noted a stillness in her that was uncommon. She didn't flinch under the needle. Didn't scream during the dose.
—B-312. Six years old. Wild black curls, hunched posture, amber eyes. Chamber 6. His genetic reaction had produced a dense knot of mana around his back, making him likely to evolve a shielding-type ability. He growled instead of speaking. Refused to make eye contact.
—T-134. Eight years old. Towered above the others. Pale blond hair and grey, glassy eyes. Chamber 4. His first scan showed an abnormal concentration of mana along his torso, hinting at a T-Class enhancer. Already, he'd broken the sparring dummy's reinforced arm during reflex testing.
—K-560. Five years old. Quiet, tightly wound, head shaved clean. Chamber 10. His file showed advanced neural sensitivity, but also extreme emotional repression. Kaios flagged him for extended observation after his first EL-serum dose caused a full-body seizure—but no visible damage.
By the end of the day, the children were transferred into observation chambers. Some cried. Others shivered. A few stared back at the glass.
Jorlan entered data.
Vitals. Response patterns. Mana flow.
He paused only once—staring at Y-906's image, pink-haired and unmoving in her bunk.
"She's has adorable face doesn't she," Livia murmured behind him.
"I'm not here to give my opinions, It's just that her parent appearance doesn't resemble her," Jorlan said flatly, closing her entry file.
Elsewhere in the sector, two researchers in black coats stood by a screen quietly tracking departure records.
"You see it?"
"Yes. Q and Z finally transferred to Citadel," one confirmed. "Two out of thousands. Not bad."
"They're calling Pier 'Venom-born' now. Q... still just Q. Unreadable, even to the other candidates."
"They were monsters when they arrived. Now they're just assets."
The screen dimmed.
The day ended.
In the lowest part of the facility, Chamber 12 remained quiet.
AB-774, alone in the dark, didn't cry. Didn't sleep. Didn't move much at all.
No one spoke about him anymore.Not yet injected. But soon.The compound was ready.He had reached the required age.His trial would begin.