The world came back in fragments.
First, the cold. A stinging bite across my spine like the breath of something ancient exhaled through steel lungs.
Then, the hum. Low, rhythmic, like a growl muffled under layers of earth. I opened my eyes.
White light. Blinding. Clean. Cruel.
I was in a dome-shaped chamber made of polished steel. The floor below me thrummed faintly, alive with energy. Crimson threads of circuitry glowed along the walls, forming patterns that pulsed like veins. It didn't feel like a room—it felt like a lung, waiting to breathe me in.
A mechanical voice echoed across the chamber:
"Initializing Seirpe Scan."
A beam of red light snapped down from the ceiling, locking onto my chest again. Unlike before, this wasn't fire. It was something colder, stranger. Like fingers made of data threading through my mind, peeling back thoughts and memories like meat from bone.
I clenched my fists. My breathing slowed, but my heart didn't race.
I couldn't panic.
Not since the joy was taken.
Through the red haze, I heard another voice—not mechanical this time, but strained with caffeine, fatigue, and genius.
"Run him again. Slow pulse but too stable. Could be masking. Check deeper. Override restraint 4B."
Perzer Mock.
The man behind the machine.
I'd heard the name whispered by some older recruits. Said to be a former citizen engineer who'd lost his entire family to Neighers, only to build the Seirpe system in vengeance. They said he'd given up love to survive the awakening, and now saw people as data clusters in skin suits.
I could believe it.
The scan deepened. Suddenly, I was seeing again—memories flickering across the dome ceiling like a film reel. Me holding the chain. Lira smiling, seconds before her eyes went dead. The moment I knew I wasn't human anymore.
"Hmm. Trauma lock fused with awakening instability," Perzer murmured. "Sword type. Fast decision maker. Joyless. Potential high-risk leader class… if he survives."
The scan ended with a harsh buzz.
A voice returned—detached and dead.
"Candidate 077. Evaluation phase complete. Transfer to Stage Two."
The floor beneath me shifted, and with a violent hiss, a gate opened to my right. I walked through.
---
The second chamber wasn't empty.
Twenty-four others waited. Some sat. Some paced. Some stood in complete stillness like statues before war.
The room was shaped like a hexagon. Steel grated floors. Vents hissing steam. Harsh white light spilling down in uneven pools.
No one spoke.
Not until the upper balcony door slid open and a figure stepped into view.
A tall man in a high-collared black coat. His face was hidden beneath a metal visor, but his voice—sharp, clipped, amplified—carried across the room like a scalpel.
"Congratulations," he said. "You've survived Seirpe."
No one clapped.
"Now comes the part that decides whether your scan was a mistake."
He stepped forward and pointed toward the center of the room, where lines of glowing red ran in a perfect circle.
"You have five minutes. That's all. Five minutes of pain. Five minutes of breath. Five minutes of choice."
Around the room, we began to hear the clunk of gears. Pressure locks disengaging.
The walls were shifting.
The speaker's voice dropped like a knife:
"Just survive."
Then the lights cut.
Total darkness.
For two heartbeats, there was only the sound of breathing—twenty-five lungs trying not to scream.
Then—the gates opened.
---
Meanwhile, back in the observation wing…
Gord leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the central display where heartbeat graphs, body temps, aura flux, and mental thresholds flickered in real-time.
Around him, other mentors from the Division stood still, watching.
"They're ready," said one—a short woman with cybernetic fingers and a spear symbol etched onto her jaw.
Gord didn't respond immediately.
He watched as Candidate 077's vitals began to shift—not spike, not collapse—just move. Fluid. Controlled.
"Sun's the one to watch," Gord muttered.
"You trust him already?" another mentor asked.
Gord shook his head. "I don't trust anyone who still has something to lose. But I've seen the way he holds silence. Not like he's waiting for something. Like he already buried it."
There were murmurs of agreement.
Another monitor zoomed in on the arena floor as the first Neighers were released—low-grade Matured types. Crawlers with fused bone-plates, long serrated claws, and no eyes. Their screams were like boiling tar, thick and wet and vibrating.
Gord crossed his arms.
"Seirpe already proved their bodies are capable," he said. "But this part? This tells us if their minds belong on the battlefield."
---
Back in the arena…
The light returned—but dim this time. Just enough to see shadows.
The Neighers emerged from the gates on all sides, stalking low like wolves. Their movement was jittery, unnaturally fast, their heads twitching in different directions as if sniffing out weakness.
The candidate next to me—a boy with twin daggers—swore under his breath.
One of the girls screamed and bolted toward a corner. Mistake.
The Neigher closest to her leapt forward, and the sound of her body hitting the wall echoed through the chamber like a gunshot.
I didn't move.
I stepped back only once, aligning myself to the wall so I couldn't be flanked.
The sword was still sheathed at my hip, a practice one for now. But it had weight, balance, density.
And more than that—it had silence.
I watched. I breathed.
I learned.
The Neighers weren't mindless. They were rage. Pure rage. But they responded to panic. They sought out motion, sound, scent.
The ones who ran would die.
The ones who screamed would die faster.
The ones who thought they were fighters? They'd die confused.
A timer ticked overhead.
4:17
One candidate charged—he spun a heavy staff with decent form. A Neigher lunged, and he managed to strike it midair. The hit landed, even forced the thing back a step. Everyone around him gasped.
He smiled.
Then the second one came from behind and bit through his throat.
3:49
Another died. Then another.
I counted seven gone already. Screams, blood, teeth. Some tried to fight, some tried to hide. None of it mattered.
The Neighers didn't hunt.
They punished.
But not me.
I moved with intention—small steps. I baited one close. It stalked me for a moment, circling. Waiting.
I unsheathed my blade.
Not to strike.
Just to draw.
The Neigher cocked its head. Twitching.
It lunged—
—I dropped low, blade up.
Sparks flew as its claws met steel.
I slid under it. Not slashing. Just watching. Studying.
Every strike it made taught me something.
Its pause before it leapt.
Its rhythm before it lunged.
Its hesitation when light struck its teeth.
3:00
A third of us were dead now.
The visored man on the balcony hadn't spoken again. There were no instructions. No guides. Just the chaos of pain and the decision to keep breathing.
Blood slicked the floor. The silver-haired girl had taken out two by pinning them against each other and driving her spear through both. She was bleeding from a shoulder wound, panting, but alive.
2:14
One turned to me again. Its jaw unhinged wider than any human's ever should. Rows of teeth twitched, vibrating with need.
I held the blade low, stance tight.
"You're not rage," I muttered. "You're the absence of control."
It charged.
I parried, not with power—but with balance. The blow skidded off my blade, sending a pulse of pain through my wrist. I gritted my teeth. Side-stepped.
It tried again.
This time, I didn't move.
I stood my ground.
And just before it reached me—
—I screamed.
The Neigher flinched.
That one second was all I needed.
The hilt of my blade cracked across its skull with a dull thunk.
It fell sideways, twitching. Not dead. But stunned.
1:03
I wasn't killing them. Not yet.
I was surviving.
That's all they wanted.
"Just survive."
Fine.
But I'd do it on my terms.
---
The final minute blurred. Three more candidates fell. The rest of us began circling together, forming instinctive formations. Not friends. Not allies.
Just survivors.
And survivors cling to motion.
00:05
The Neighers began to retract—pulled back through gates by red-lit restraints. Howling. Raging.
00:00
The lights returned.
All gates locked.
Only twelve of us stood.
Sweat. Blood. Silence.
The speaker returned:
"Round seven. End."
And I, Sun, stared across the room—not at the dead—
—but at the ones who still breathed.
And I thought:
"These are the people I'll bleed beside… or bury."