The next morning, Sector 7 awoke to something rare: silence. No patrol drones buzzed overhead. No sirens. No early brawls in the markets. Just the kind of heavy quiet that signaled something important was coming.
Kael felt it before he heard it—the low, throbbing hum of engines.
He stood in the orphanage courtyard, the cracked pendant tucked safely in his pocket. Sil stood beside him, eyes wide, hair tousled from sleep.
"What kind of ship is that?" she whispered.
Kael followed her gaze skyward.
A sleek black transport cruiser descended between the rooftops, engines rotating with mechanical grace as it slowed. No markings. No insignia. Just matte-black plating and glowing white stabilizers.
It hovered silently, then landed in the courtyard with a hiss of depressurization.
The orphans gathered at the windows. Sister Mae rushed outside, apron flapping in the wind, eyes narrowing.
The side hatch opened with a metallic snap.
Two figures stepped out. One was Serin Rook, the man in the gray coat from yesterday. The other was a woman in a crisp dark uniform, her posture so rigid she looked carved from stone. A visor HUD covered one eye, and her white gloves bore the silver crest of Regis Institute.
"Kael Vire," she said, her voice cool and formal. "You are to come with us immediately."
Sister Mae stepped in. "He's still a child. What gives you the right to—"
"We are acting under United Global Authority statute 7-1B: Mandatory Enrollment," the woman said without emotion. "All seventeen-year-olds are conscripted for training. Exceptions are only granted through death or confirmed disability."
Kael's expression didn't change. "I haven't turned seventeen yet."
The woman looked down at her console. "Your birthday is in twelve hours. This is advance collection protocol. You'll arrive at Regis precisely on the cycle."
Sil's mouth opened, but Kael held up a hand. "It's okay."
He turned to Sister Mae. "I knew this day would come. I just didn't think it would come in a war cruiser."
Mae's eyes softened. She stepped forward, taking his hands.
"Be careful," she said. "Whatever they're looking for… don't let them turn you into something you're not."
Kael hesitated. "I don't know what I am yet."
She smiled, sad and proud. "Then find out. But stay you."
He nodded.
Kael stepped onto the loading ramp.
As it lifted and the hatch began to close, Sil ran forward. "Wait!"
Kael looked back.
She tossed him a canvas pouch. "Food. And a comm bead. Just in case you decide to call home."
He caught it easily and gave her a small, rare smile.
Then the doors sealed shut, and the ship lifted into the sky.
Inside, the atmosphere was cold, clean, clinical.
Kael strapped into a seat while the transport shifted to high-speed altitude mode. Rook sat across from him, flipping through a datapad.
"You don't talk much," Rook said.
"You already got what you wanted," Kael replied.
"Wrong. What we want is still buried inside you."
Kael didn't answer.
The woman in uniform glanced back from the cockpit. "You'll be landing at Regis Institute Alpha. It's one of four mega-campuses. Houses over 13,000 cadets. Your rank will determine your dorm assignment."
"I don't have a rank," Kael said.
She smirked faintly. "Exactly."
Rook looked up. "You're going into Class 13-Z. It's where they send the unknowns. The mistakes. The misfits. And sometimes... the monsters."
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"Don't take it personally," Rook said. "Some of them come out stronger than anyone else. It depends on whether you break… or evolve."
Kael leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the hum of the ship fade into the distance. But in his pocket, the pendant grew warm—just slightly—like it could feel where he was headed.
They arrived hours later, the transport descending through clouds into a vast floating metropolis built into a mountain range. Regis Institute gleamed with glass and steel spires, energy fields shimmering across its perimeter like the skin of some enormous beast.
It looked less like a school and more like a city preparing for war.
As the cruiser touched down, Kael stepped out into a landing platform surrounded by gates, guards, and other arriving transports.
Everywhere he looked, teenagers wore glowing color-coded bands on their wrists—green for D-rank, blue for C, gold for B, red for A. Occasionally, he glimpsed a brilliant white flare—S-rank.
Then he looked at his own wrist.
Gray.
The color of nothing.
The color of the unranked.
He noticed the stares immediately—students sneering, whispering, pointing. Some looked confused, others disgusted.
Gray bands didn't belong here.
But Kael kept walking, his spine straight, eyes forward.
If they thought a rank defined him… they were going to learn how wrong they were.