"New faces. Old ghosts.She walked through the gates like a shadow pretending to be human."
The registration hall was enormous.
A marble floor gleamed beneath her boots, reflecting the high archways above. Gold trim ran along the walls, framing the emblems of the elite: swords, tomes, gear, and the emblem of Ironvale—a burning crown surrounded by stars.
Aeris adjusted the black ribbon of her uniform collar. It wasn't much different from the others around her—just enough to blend in.
Her name tag read:
Alina V. — Transfer Student
Fake, of course. But clean. Professional. Enough to fool the surface.
She moved through the line, quiet and observant.
Students murmured around her, most too distracted to notice her cold stare.But a few turned their heads—subconsciously reacting to her presence. Not fear. Just something they couldn't place.
Wrong frequency, she thought. I shouldn't resonate here… but I do.
At the front, a bored-looking attendant flipped through papers.
Admin Officer:
"Name?"
Aeris (flat):
"Alina V."
Admin Officer:
"Transfer from District 12… former military prep?"She glanced up. "You don't look the type."
Aeris smiled lightly.
"I lost the uniform."
The officer blinked, checked a box, and handed her a datapad.
Admin Officer:
"Welcome to Ironvale Fort Academy. You'll receive your housing info, schedules, and club listings on this. Your initial evaluation will be this Friday. You'll be monitored."
Aeris:
"Naturally."
She took the pad and stepped away from the counter.
As she walked deeper into the main lobby, her eyes scanned everything.
📍 High ceilings.📍 Surveillance orbs hidden in the lamps.📍 Security drones at the far corners—disguised as janitors.
This wasn't just a school.It was a fortress. A staging ground.
After completing registration, new combat-track students were directed to a sealed section of the east wing: Armory Clearance. It looked more like a customs checkpoint than a school building.
Bright white lights. Automated scanners. Instructors in black coats observing every box, every student.
Aeris waited in line, carrying a single case.
It wasn't large.Wasn't high-tech.Wasn't even new.
The battered, gunmetal-grey crate had scratches, dents, and a faded military serial number burned into the side.
In front of her, other students showed off personalized gear:
Plasma blades with AI syncing.
Modular drones with predictive motion.
Smart rifles with biometric locks.
Each one sleek. Branded. Polished.
Then came Aeris.
She placed her case on the table with a quiet thunk.
Instructor:
"Name and transfer ID?"
Aeris (calm):
"Alina V. – D12-9871."
The instructor nodded and began unlocking the crate.As the lid opened—he stopped.
Metal. Wood. Heavy mechanisms.
Inside:
A WWII-era SKS-45, modified with a forged blade beneath the barrel, its steel worn but deadly.
A compact Nagant-style revolver, the metal darkened by time and use.
A military-issued combat knife—not a modern vibroblade. Just steel and sharp edge.
A set of detonation charges, cold-war era, clearly reconfigured for modern fuses.
Instructor (blinking):
"…Are these antiques?"
A nearby student chuckled under his breath.
Another whispered, "What, she shopping at a museum?"
But Aeris didn't flinch.
Aeris (flat):
"They're maintained. Calibrated. Effective."
The instructor scanned the weapons again.
No illegal mods.No digital interference.No AI.Just pure, analog death.
He cleared his throat, unsure how to proceed.
Instructor:
"You… know this gear is outdated compared to academy standards, right?"
Aeris (calm):
"I don't plan to miss."
Silence followed.
He stamped her approval form, still stunned.
"...Approved. Unconventional gear. Signature required."
She signed.
Took her case.
And walked out—leaving students staring, half-confused, half-intimidated.
Hallway outside Armory Inspection — Midday
The doors hissed shut behind her as Aeris stepped out, now carrying the case again in one hand. Most other students walked in groups, chatting about their gear and upcoming evaluations.
Some glanced her way — especially those who'd seen her inspection.
That girl with the old gun.
Didn't even flinch when they laughed.
Was that a blade under her rifle? What century is she from?
She ignored them all.
As she walked down the corridor, a student stepped aside to let her pass — unconsciously. He couldn't explain why.
She wasn't threatening.She wasn't tall or imposing.But something about her presence, the way she moved, the sound of the metal crate rolling against her thigh — made people give way.
From behind, someone whispered:
"I think she's a collector."
"Or a psycho."
"Or ex-military."
Suddenly, a staff member — uniformed, clipboard in hand — called out.
Instructor Aid:
"Excuse me! Student—uh, Alina V.?"
She stopped.
Instructor Aid (approaching):
"You forgot to submit the weapon origin tags. For registration archives."
Aeris (without turning):
"They have no digital origin. They're not tagged."
Instructor Aid:
"Not tagged? We need at least a manufacturer ID—"
Aeris turned slowly, then said:
"Eastern Bloc manufacture. Mid-century.Hand-retrofitted in D12 black zones.The person who tagged them is dead."
A long pause.
The instructor aid blinked.
Instructor Aid:
"...I'll mark it as legacy-grade import. That works."
Aeris nodded once and resumed walking.
A small moment. A small hallway.But every step she took was a signal:
She wasn't from this world.
She wasn't here to impress.
She was here with a job.
And whether the other students realized it or not, the deadliest person in the room wasn't the one with the newest toys.
It was the one who could kill without them.
Scene: Ironvale Fort Academy – Training Grounds A
Friday arrived.The evaluation field buzzed with energy—an open arena set between two watchtowers, surrounded by students. Sunlight bounced off synthetic armor and plasma-polished blades.
Each transfer student would be tested in one-on-one combat.Speed. Precision. Adaptability.
And Alina V. was last on the list.
Overseer:
"Transfer student Alina V., step forward."
Aeris walked into the center of the field, calm and composed.Her case clanked softly as she set it down.She opened it, revealing her SKS-45 with the forged bayonet and the Nagant revolver strapped at her side.
The arena murmured.
She's bringing that again?
What is she doing with museum gear?
They're gonna eat her alive.
Overseer:
"Your opponent: Juno Krell, top 3 in Year Two.Custom kinetic exosuit. Neural-linked twin sabers. High mobility."
The student stepped forward with confidence, his armor shifting with his breath.
Juno (smirking):
"Didn't think I'd get to break antiques today."
Aeris didn't answer.She just lifted the SKS slowly, blade attached.
The air stilled.
Overseer:
"Begin."
⚔️ The Fight Begins
Juno rushed her immediately, armor boosting his stride—But Aeris didn't aim. She stepped forward, pivoted—sidestepped—and brought the butt of her rifle hard into his ribs.
CLANK.
Juno stumbled.
He recovered fast, slashing in with his twin sabers. Sparks flew.Aeris blocked one strike with the SKS's barrel, ducked under the second, and kicked Juno's knee sideways.
She fought like a predator—Not trained. Refined.Every move came from somewhere deeper than combat class.
Juno swung hard—Aeris slid low, the bayonet flashing upward—
SCRAATCH— across his chestplate. Not deep. But direct.
He jumped back, shocked.
"You scratched me with a bolt-action?"
She raised her revolver.One shot.The bullet ricocheted off the arena wall—then struck the handle of his saber.
It flew out of his hand.
Gasps. Laughter. Then silence.
Overseer (startled):
"Enough!"
The fight paused. Juno stood still, staring at her.
Overseer (after checking data):
"Alina V. – passes evaluation.Combat rating: Unorthodox class—manual high-lethality combatant."
Some students clapped. Others just stared.
Aeris retrieved her weapons, calm and slow.Juno gave her a sideways look—not angry. Curious.
Juno:
"...You fight like you've been doing this long before us."
Aeris (quiet):
"Longer than I remember."