Green eyes stare back at Mikey, rippling in the shallow puddle at his knees. His breath is steady, rehearsed.
"You can do this, you can do this... you're a Grant... you're a Grant."
Mikey is knelt down, staring in a puddle from water that trickled from a burst pipe overhead, tapping against the concrete floor. The room was small, cold, lit by a single buzzing bulb. Beyond the heavy steel door, the muffled roar of a crowd echoed down the hall—cheers, chants, voices rising as an announcer hyped them up. Mikey cupped the water in both hands and splashed his face. His dim reflection wavered, then disappeared in the ripples, the could see his eyes narrowing.
"You got this. You're a damn Grant."
A metallic hand landed on his shoulder. Ryosuke stood over him, calm but unreadable.
"It is time, young Mikey."
Mikey inhaled deep, stood tall, his jaw set.
"Yeah."
Ryosuke handed him his weapons—two long, fifteen-inch daggers. The steel caught the overhead light in sharp flashes.
"Recall what I told you this morning? The test has three phases. You pass two, and you join Savior, you become one of us. First, they'll test your given skill. Be ready to use these."
Mikey slid the daggers into their sheaths along his thighs. His clothes were worn thin from training: black cargo pants, a shredded white tee that looked more gray from dust, his heavy brown jacket thrown over it. Sweat clung to his olive skin, his long hair spilling onto his shoulders.
"I'm ready, Sensei."
Ryosuke smiled faintly, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He already knew what this test really meant. Luce had told him what Bobo heard. Still, he kept it to himself. All he could do now was trust Mikey's spirit.
"Remember—fight your way. Calm but thorough. Use what makes you unique. Do not be afraid, this phase will test your skill with those blades. Did you practice this morning?"
"Yes, sir." Mikey gave a sharp nod. "I'm ready."
"Good." Ryosuke patted his shoulder. "I'll be watching."
He opened the door. The roar of the crowd surged in like a wave, then cut off as it closed behind him.
Mikey reached for the necklace around his neck. His mother's. The chain still carried her bracelet and her ring, with a solemn look he pressed them tight against his chest.
"Mom. Dad. Give me the strength to pass. To live as you did. I love you."
He looked one last time at his reflection in the puddle, hopping up and down in place, muttering affirmations under his breath. Then he drew in a final breath, squared his shoulders, and opened the door. The crowd's voice crashed over him, thunderous. The hallway stretched ahead, narrow and long, lights guiding the way. Ryosuke leaned against the wall halfway down, waiting. As Mikey approached, his mentor gave a single nod before following him out. The end of the tunnel glowed. Mikey stepped into the light, shielding his eyes against the sudden brightness. When they adjusted, his mouth fell open.
The dome was massive. A sprawling arena of rusted concrete and steel, the floor scarred from years of combat. The stands rose all around him in tiers of 15 rows, filled with workers, soldiers, civilians, even children—it looked like damn-near half of the Defectors in the Silo Core seemed to be here. Their cheers shook the metal rafters.
Front and center, elevated above the crowd, were the Saviors. Bobo, Luce, Amelia, and Tobi sat together. Bobo and Luce masked their worry with loud cheers, hands cupped around their mouths like proud parents, Tobi leaned hard over the railing, shouting something Mikey couldn't make out.
Amelia sat with her arms folded, her expression dull, until their eyes met—the first time since the bonfire. Mikey's gaze said what words couldn't: I'm sorry. For a second, her stern mask cracked. Her cheeks warmed, her lips tightened into the faintest smirk. She lifted a thumb, quick, almost embarrassed. Mikey grinned wide, heart hammering. He whispered under his breath:
"She finally gave me some approval… I'll pass now. Definitely. God, she looks cute."
He shook his head, forcing himself back to focus. That's when he spotted big arms waving at him, he looked overland saw Willie in the crowd, beside Silvia, Jasmine, and Marlene. Angelica sat on her lap, waving wildly with both hands, her baby teeth flashing gaps in her smile. They were just above the Saviors, 5 rows or so. Mikey laughed, waving back:
"Little Angel!"
She couldn't hear him, but it didn't matter. The gesture was enough. In the corner of his eye, he caught Ryosuke climbing the stairs to join the others. He sat beside Luce and Bobo. Luce leaned in, whispering low:
"I'm worried for him."
Bobo wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hiding his own unease with a smile.
"He'll pass. Don't worry."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, rubbing her back. She blushed, leaning against him despite herself.
"I hope so…"
Ryosuke's gaze stayed fixed on Mikey. His tone was measured, but heavy.
"Lat month I gave Isaak my notes on young Mikey's given skill and style. Let us see what they throw at him."
The crowd hushed as a figure stepped forward onto a raised platform at the top of the stands. His voice boomed through the dome, crisp and commanding.
"Ladies and gentlemen! I am Isaak Pope, your Head of Military. Today we hold our first test in two years. Michael Grant will attempt to join our Ace Hit Squad—Savior." His words cut the silence clean. "Phase one will begin shortly. Thank you for your patience. From the Depths We Rise!"
The crowd erupted, deafening. Mikey stood in the center of the arena, his heart pounding, every nerve on fire. He was scared, excited, and desperate all at once, still unaware that the fate waiting for him wasn't just a test—it was a trap. If he passed, he would join Savior. If he failed… he would be banished into the Bloody Mist.