Where the Past Bleeds

The Academy's arrival bay was a stark threshold—steel-wrapped walls, dim blue lighting, and an eerie silence broken only by the rhythmic hiss of stabilization pulses. Emric stepped out of the induction transport into the world beyond the bridge, his boots clicking against polished alloy.

This wasn't school.

It was staging ground.

Dozens of other cadets spilled out behind him—some wide-eyed, others hardened by months of pre-induction prep. All wore the same dark induction gear, marked only by their cohort codes and the glow of their sync bands. Most syncs pulsed gray—unawakened, like Emric. Others already shimmered in the blues and violets of registered resonance.

"Group 12-C, you're on me," called a voice sharp as shrapnel.

A towering cadet with burn scars across his jaw gestured curtly. His Sync Band displayed glowing Vanguard sigils and the badge on his shoulder indicated three stars. He was still a student—but already outranked most of the group.

Renna fell in beside Emric. "Meet our babysitter."

"That's a three star cadet," Calen said from behind, keeping his voice low. "Saw him in a city-wide Academy trial broadcast last year—knocked a Tier-3 Kinetor flat using a momentum coil and his bare hands. Broke half his jaw doing it, though."

Renna raised a brow. "You always keep a war history channel open?"

"Better than being surprised," Calen shrugged. His tone shifted quickly. "They said he single-handedly dragged three wounded out after a rift surge. They gave him a two-star bump and a lifetime supply of neural stims."

Emric glanced at the cadet again, this time with more respect. He didn't speak—just observed. He could feel it already: the separation between those who'd earned their stripes and those who still had to.

As they crossed the interior gates, security drones hovered to scan their sync bands. The devices flashed momentarily: a short burst of light, then a soft ping.

[Academy Status: MILITRAY TRACK – Initiate, CLASS RANK: None]

Inside the main hall, automated banners unfurled overhead, displaying the academy's emblems: five swirling symbols—Cognivore, Vanguard, Arcanist, Kinetor, the elusive Obscurant and the lesser taken part Augmented(enhanced non-awakened). Below that, a sixth icon glowed dimly: the Academy Crest, encircled by silver laurels and the motto: "Stabilize. Adapt. Advance."

The hall branched into several wings. Senior cadets lined the walkways, monitoring traffic, their bands showing a mix of violet and silver ranks. They wore specialized uniforms—Initiate uniforms were matte-black, modular, and mostly unadorned. Cadets added color-coded trims denoting their class. Operatives wore reinforced synthweave threads—Néthra-active, shielded, and lined with merit patches. Above that, no one knew for sure.

"See the gray-trimmed coats?" Renna muttered to Emric. "Field-Active Division. Only operatives with Diszone clearance wear those."

Emric nodded slowly. The sheer infrastructure of the place—the hierarchy, the tech, the tension in the air—it felt like standing at the edge of something far more dangerous than a school curriculum.

"Fresh blood incoming," someone jeered nearby. A group of awakened initiates leaned along the upper walkway railing, watching their arrival with a mix of amusement and disdain.

"Let them laugh," muttered Shae, the quiet sketching boy from the transport. He hadn't stopped scribbling in his digital pad, eyes still locked on some imagined scenario. "They forget the Gauntlet kills your ego first."

Ahead, a dais flared to life, bathing the atrium in gold light.

A tall woman stepped forward—smooth dark uniform, metallic embroidery marking her as Elite-Arcanist. Instructor Raveen Sohl.

"The Gauntlet awaits," she said, voice projecting without a microphone. "But first, understand where you stand."

The holographic walls came to life, showing a three-ringed hierarchy chart.

INITIATE → CADET → OPERATIVE → COMMANDER

"Within these halls, your Sync Band is more than identification," she continued. "It tracks merit. And merit governs access. Meals, equipment, personal quarters, even training slots—everything is earned. Not given."

She gestured, and the chart expanded, showing merit numbers needed to advance along the military track.

"Outside these walls, you use credits. In here, you use merit. Fail to earn enough, and you fall behind. Earn more, and you rise. Rank isn't a formality. It's survival."

The hall fell into heavy silence.

"Initiates start at zero. You will be divided by aptitude, class if awakened, and qualifying attributes if not. Your first opportunity to shift your standing—starts in one hour."

She raised a hand. Lights dimmed.

"The Induction Gauntlet."

The floor beneath them shimmered—AR modules inlaid beneath the plating pulsed and surged upward, forming ghostlike mock-ups of terrain.

Crumbling buildings. Flickering rift-beasts. Simulated Néthra storms.

"This is not real nor is it virtual," Instructor Sohl said flatly. "Virtual is still only theory. This will push you, talent and all. That's why a small number of initiates always awaken during the Gauntlet"

Someone in the crowd asked, "Do we work in teams?"

"That depends on your rank after round one," she replied. "Initial runs are solo. The top 10% are grouped for second phase co-op."

Renna glanced sideways. "I knew they'd isolate us."

Emric said nothing. He was staring at the map as it formed.

A simulated Diszone corridor. Environmental hazards. Entity flares. Terrain collapse at randomized intervals. Most would fail.

That wasn't new.

What was new… was the subtle thrum in his skin.

He felt it again. Not power—just potential. A moment of imbalance. As if the air itself had shifted its attention toward him.

No sync reaction.

No flash of light.

He felt it again.

A moment of imbalance...

A timer blinked on the main wall:

[INITIATION GAUNTLET – PHASE 1 BEGINS IN FIVE MINUTES]

Emric's sync band vibrated. A new message scrolled:

[Initiation Phase: Individual Cognitive-Reaction Map Pending. Tailored AR Gauntlet will deploy at 0700.]

Across the hall, he spotted Karya in another cohort—already grouped with Elite-level cadets. Her gaze met his briefly. She didn't wave.

Renna, beside him, adjusted her wristband. "They're watching how we move already."

"I know," Emric said

"Planning something?"

He shook his head. "Not yet."

Calen sighed behind them. "I just want to survive this without cooking myself. Again."

"You'll be fine," Shae replied without looking up. "Unless your simulation involves gravity reversals. Then you're screwed."

Raveen's voice cut back in.

"Those who awaken in the Gauntlet will be held for further scans. The rest of you will either earn your first merit—or wash out before you do."

Emric flexed his hand slowly, watching the glowing structures fade back into flat floor.

No one knew it yet, not even him—but by the end of this test, his world would tilt.

And the real war—the one beneath the surface—would begin.