"You have all left your old lives behind," Major-General Tatelov declared, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "From this day forward, you are property of Fallen Moon Station. For the next seven years, you will endure the most rigorous training imaginable, and only then, if you survive, will you earn your combat certifications. As knight pilots, you will become the vanguard of the Empress's will—drivers of our army of steel and blood, the bastion against any force that dares threaten the Nymphas Empire!"
The hall echoed with his words, and a ripple of unease spread through the gathered recruits. Hundreds of pre-teen faces stared up at him, their expressions a volatile mix of fear and awe. Whispers passed between some of them, trembling voices asking if they could make it, while others sat paralyzed, their small bodies visibly shaking under the weight of what they had just heard.
There were over a thousand recruits present, each one little more than a child. But the reality was stark: by the end of this program, fewer than an eighth of them would remain. The rest would be broken by the relentless demands of training, killed by the unforgiving process, or driven to quit. For the Nymphas Empire, the loss of so many lives was a necessary price. The worth of a single knight pilot outweighed the sacrifice of hundreds.
A knight and their machine of war were forces of destruction, capable of shaping entire battlefields. Encased in steel and powered by blood, they were juggernauts that turned the tide of war. But even they were dwarfed by the rare and unparalleled might of a Constellation Knight. Pilots who could synchronize with these demi-god machines were legends, their power able to cleave mountains, halt storms, and rewrite the fate of empires.
Tatelov's commanding gaze swept across the room, drinking in the sea of recruits. Most of them avoided his gaze entirely, keeping their heads bowed or staring vacantly at the floor. But then his eyes fell on a pair of turquoise irises among the artificial units.
She was watching him.
Unlike the nine others who stood like statues, their gazes locked on the base of the podium, this artificial girl scanned him intently. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, weren't just observing—they were thinking. Her stare wasn't one of fear or confusion but of awareness, as if she were trying to unravel the layers of the man standing before her.
'That shouldn't be possible,' Tatelov thought. Artificial units weren't supposed to develop self-awareness this early, especially not at this stage of the program. Her cognitive functions should have been limited, her programming focused entirely on obedience and operational tasks. But her gaze challenged that assumption.
Clearing his throat to regain control of the moment, Tatelov raised his voice again. "Silence!"
The hall fell immediately still, the murmur of whispers snuffed out like a dying flame.
"There are sixty instructors stationed here at Fallen Moon," he continued, his tone cold and uncompromising. "Each of you has been assigned to one of them. They will oversee your progress, enforce discipline, and determine whether you are fit to serve. Your instructors have already been provided your barracks assignments. From this moment forward, you will follow their orders without hesitation. Induction training begins promptly at fifteen-hundred hours. Dismissed!"
The recruits broke into groups, led by their respective instructors through various doors branching off from the hall. The air buzzed with their scattered conversations as they moved. Some sounded hopeful, eager to prove themselves, while others spoke in hushed tones, the fear in their voices barely contained.
Gradually, the hall emptied, leaving only the artificial units behind. They followed their instructor in eerie silence, moving with a precision and unity that set them apart from their human counterparts. Their light-grey hair and identical appearances only emphasized the unnatural aura that surrounded them.
As the group disappeared through the far doors, Tatelov's eyes lingered on the girl with turquoise eyes. She was at the back of the line, her movements deliberate and fluid, but as she reached the threshold, she turned her head slightly to look back at him.
Her expression was one of quiet curiosity—innocence, almost—as though she were trying to understand the events unfolding around her.
It wasn't fear that motivated her, nor the blank compliance of the other artificial units. It was something else entirely. She knew what she was. She knew she was different.
And that awareness was dangerous.
Tatelov's jaw tightened as she disappeared from view. 'If anyone else notices her self-awareness, she'll be marked for scrapping immediately. It was only a matter of time. let me see how far you survive, AKP.'
For now, he turned back to his staff, dismissing the thought. There was too much at stake, and distractions had no place in his mission. But the girl's turquoise eyes lingered in his mind, a small, nagging thread in the fabric of his carefully ordered world.
***
Seated in the small classroom with the nine others, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, my gaze darting from one blank face to another. No one spoke, no one moved—except me. The man who had led us here had left after muttering something inaudible, leaving us in uneasy silence. Why wasn't anyone asking questions? Why wasn't anyone doing anything?
The earlier speech in the hall had made one thing abundantly clear: this was a place designed to forge soldiers—knight pilots—through relentless training. But beyond that, I was still grasping at straws. What was my purpose here? Why had they created something like me? If they already had so many people willing to join this program, why go to the trouble of making us?
Made.
The word unsettled me.
The door creaked open, and the man who had brought us here returned, this time with another figure trailing behind him. The second man—shorter, thinner, with nervous energy—wore a white lab coat and clutched a tablet in trembling hands. As the first man paced between the desks, the scientist shuffled awkwardly to the front, fumbling with the computer until a presentation flickered onto the screen.
"G-greetings, AKP units zero through nine," the scientist began, his voice shaky but determined as he addressed us. "You are the first batch of the eleventh series of Artificial Knight Pilots—AKPs for short. You are artificial humanoids, genetically enhanced and outfitted with mechanical implants to create the perfect weapon. Weapons born to kill by order of the Empress herself."
The screen displayed diagrams—detailed schematics of humanoid figures overlaid with mechanical parts. It was... me. Us.
"My name is Professor Sanston," the man continued, gesturing toward himself, "and this is Lieutenant Dave. For the next month, we will be responsible for educating and preparing you for integration into the main training program alongside the human recruits. Are there any questions?"
Silence.
The professor moved on, unfazed, but his words barely registered. I was too busy grappling with the reality of what I'd just heard.
"I was... made?" I whispered to myself, staring down at my hand. I pinched the skin between my fingers, wincing at the sharp sting. "I can feel pain. How could they 'make' that?" The questions tumbled through my mind, but I had no answers, only the strange, hollow sensation of disbelief.
Tuning back in, I caught the professor saying something that sent another jolt of unease through me.
"Artificial Knight Pilots are also known by another name," he said, glancing at Lieutenant Dave. "A nickname given to you by the more... colourful members of the military. Tyrant Puppeteers."
The words hung in the air like a warning.
"This is because your design allows you to control up to one hundred unmanned knights while piloting your own as the central link. A puppet master on the battlefield."
He clicked to the next slide, which detailed even more about our capabilities. "You have enhanced respiratory, endurance, and physical capacities. Once you mature, your strength will be equivalent to ten fully grown men. Your brains have been augmented with special neural links, granting you faster reflexes and precision control over your knights. While you may be physically average now, by the end of your training, you'll be capable of taking down an entire squad of elite soldiers without needing a knight to assist you."
The words should have inspired awe—or perhaps fear—but I felt neither. Instead, I felt a strange emptiness, a numb acceptance of what was being laid out before me.
"As knight pilots," Sanston continued, "you will undergo extreme physical and mental stress. Overuse of your knights will shorten your lifespan by years—sometimes decades. But that is irrelevant. Your purpose is to serve the Empress and the Empire. You will serve until you retire... or until you die."
The finality of his words settled over the room like a shroud. My stomach twisted.
"We have also uploaded your brains with basic combat knowledge, military protocols, and strategic data," he added. "You know how to fight, how to follow orders, and how to think tactically. But your bodies have yet to learn. That is what this month of training is for—to synchronize your minds and bodies."
I relaxed slightly at the last part. At least there would be time to adjust to... whatever I was. Yet, as I let my guard down, I felt the weight of a gaze pressing on me.
Lieutenant Dave.
He was watching me, his eyes sharp and calculating, lingering far too long on my movements, my reactions. My small shifts of curiosity had betrayed me—set me apart from the others, who remained utterly still, devoid of any visible emotion or thought.
The presentation ended, and we were taken to an outdoor obstacle course. Sixty children in blue training suits were already there, running, climbing, and sweating under the scorching sun. The suits clung to their forms like second skin, much like the grey suits we wore. Some recruits reached the finish line, breathless and soaked in sweat, while others fell off ropes or stumbled over barriers.
The artificial units around me observed the human recruits with clinical detachment. I, however, found myself drawn to the world beyond the course—the sun's warmth, the fresh scent of the air, the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Birds flitted between branches, their soft chirps blending with the wind. The sky stretched endlessly above, clouds drifting lazily across the sun's glow.
"How beautiful," I murmured, my voice barely audible.
The reverie didn't last.
Lieutenant Dave stepped forward, his voice cutting through the noise like a whip. "You are to complete the obstacle course as quickly as possible," he barked. "You watched the recruits. You know what to do. Now, go!"
Something burned in my head—a signal, sharp and undeniable—forcing me to obey. Without hesitation, the ten of us charged forward.
The others moved with unnatural grace, their bodies in perfect sync with the commands uploaded into their minds. They climbed, jumped, and weaved through the obstacles as though they'd been doing it for years.
I wasn't so lucky.
My mind knew what to do, but my body refused to cooperate.
Climbing the wooden ramp, I stumbled, my legs tangling beneath me. Manoeuvring through the pillars, I slammed into nearly every one, my movements clumsy and uncoordinated. By the time I reached the rope over the pool, I was drenched in frustration and sweat.
Stepping onto the rope, I tried to balance, but one wrong shift sent me plunging into the water below. The cold shock ripped the air from my lungs as I surfaced, gasping.
'Why?' I thought, dragging myself to the edge of the pool. 'Why can't I do this?'
Pulling myself up, I looked into the faces of the other artificial units. They stood at the finish line, their expressions blank—but their eyes told a different story. Disappointment. Judgment.
The weight of their stares crushed me.
They were everything Professor Sanston had said we were meant to be—perfect, efficient, unstoppable.
And I was... pathetic.