The shuttle hissed as it touched down, its landing struts groaning under the weight. Outside the cabin window, Kael saw nothing but grey mist and metal towers piercing through clouds. Stellan Prime — the Academy planet — was colder than he'd imagined. Sterile. Lifeless.
And yet, this was where they were told heroes were forged.
A siren blared.
"Cadets, disembark immediately. Formation grid A-7. No delays."
The ramp lowered with a hard clang. Kael followed the others into the open air, his boots crunching against frost-covered tarmac. Harsh wind slapped his face as they marched across the landing field toward a wide steel platform with glowing floor panels marked by colored gridlines.
A dozen uniformed officers waited. One, tall and lean with silver-trimmed armor, stepped forward. His voice cut through the air like a blade.
"I am Commander Varrek. From this moment forward, your past lives no longer matter. Your name, your house, your family rank — irrelevant. Here, only your ability defines your worth."
He paused, letting the words sting.
"You will be evaluated. You will be sorted. You will survive. Or you will not."
The glowing panels lit up beneath their feet. Blue squares pulsed with energy as each cadet stepped forward to be scanned. One by one, the officers called names, recording ability types and assigning combat scores based on potential, control, and physical output.
"Feyla Voss – Type: Hydrokinetic. Score: 84. Group One."
"Jurik Saan – Type: Pyro-Burst. Score: 88. Group One."
"Torrin Vale – Type: Grav-Field. Score: 91. Group One."
Cadet after cadet was sent to the left — the elite group.
Then…
"Kael — no registered surname. Power reading… null. Combat score… 12."
Silence.
A few snickers from the crowd.
Varrek didn't blink.
"Group Two."
Kael walked to the right. Alone.
By the end of the sorting, two groups had formed. Group One stood tall, confident, laughing among themselves. They had power — and they knew it.
Group Two stood silent. Mixed ranks. Mixed abilities. Misfits. Weaklings. And one powerless boy who hadn't even been scanned.
Three Days Later
Dorms were small and brutal. Metal bunks. Cold showers. Rationed meals. Every cadet received 50 tokens per week — digital currency for food, water, medical supplies, or training gear.
Kael had five left by the end of his first night.
They were stolen while he slept.
"Hey Blank," one cadet sneered the next morning, flipping Kael's ration bar between his fingers. "You don't need protein. You're not building anything."
Kael didn't respond. He took the smallest plate at lunch. Ran the longest laps. Always showed up early. Always trained late.
They hit him. Mocked him. Shoved him into lockers. One even tried to choke him during sparring. But Kael never swung back. Never yelled. Never broke.
He just… endured.
A few noticed.
Feyla, the quiet water-user from Group Two, started sitting near him during meals — not talking, but not stealing from him either. That was the closest thing Kael had to an ally.
Others didn't bother hiding their contempt.
Torrin, the gravity user, loved knocking Kael's bag out of his hand from across the training field.
"C'mon, Blank. You gonna cry again?"
Kael didn't cry. He picked up the bag and kept walking.
Again. And again. And again.
Six Months Later
The academy changed with the seasons. What started as frost had turned to red dust storms and blazing sun. Cadets grew leaner, faster, meaner. Some started to unlock new stages of their powers. Some dropped out. A few vanished.
Kael remained.
Weaker than the rest. Slower than most. But always there.
Still standing.
On the morning of the 181st day, the announcement came.
"Group Two, report to Hall Six for mission briefing. Authorization: Tier 1 field exercise."
Kael sat up on his bunk.
Whispers filled the dorm.
"A mission?"
"Outside the compound?"
"They're actually letting us go to a beast planet?"
Kael tightened his boots. He didn't smile. But something flickered in his chest. A spark.
Briefing Room – Hall Six
A wide holo-table projected a hologram of a pale green planet with low mountain ridges and large flat plains. The projection slowly rotated, highlighting key terrain zones.
"This is Velros-9," said Commander Varrek, addressing the group. "A Class D training planet cleared for field exercises. Beast density is minimal. Threat level: Green."
A few cadets exhaled in relief.
"Your objective is simple: survive. Track a Class I beast. Extract a clean crystal core. Return as a team."
Someone raised a hand. "Sir — what kind of beasts?"
Varrek's expression didn't change.
"Nothing that should kill you."
That word again — should.
Kael looked around the room. The same people who stole his tokens. Who laughed at him. Who left bruises on his ribs and kept him silent for six months.
He was going to step into the field beside them.
Still powerless.
Still alone.
But this time… it wouldn't be the same.
He didn't know how.
He just knew something was coming.