The transport didn't shake. It didn't roar. It simply un-existed around him.
One moment, Kaelen was staring at the grey, featureless wall of Earth's Last Bunker, the air tasting of recycled fear and the faint, ever-present tang of ozone from the sterilization fields. The world outside—what little remained of it—was being erased by something the scientists called "The Silence," a slow, inexorable bleaching of reality that turned matter into nothingness and memory into forgotten dreams. The evacuation lottery had been humanity's final roll of the dice. His number, 7,241,302, had never been called.
The next moment, the wall wasn't grey. It was everything. A kaleidoscope of impossible colors that didn't have names, textures that shifted between velvet and diamond and liquid light under his gaze. He stood on a platform of swirling, iridescent energy that felt simultaneously solid and like standing on the surface of a sun-warmed pond. The air was thick, potent, a cocktail of unfamiliar scents that his brain scrambled to categorize: ozone and incense, molten metal and blooming flowers from a world with three different photosynthetic cycles, the petrichor of rain on alien soil, and beneath it all, a deep, resonant hum that vibrated in his bones.
Sensory Overload.
His knees buckled, but the platform seemed to adjust, cradling him upright. He wasn't alone. Hundreds—no, thousands—of beings materialized in shimmering bursts of light all across the vast, impossibly large arrival plaza. A girl with hair of living, sapphire-blue flame was tracing intricate symbols in the air with her finger, each one burning briefly before collapsing into sparks that fell upward. Next to her, a giant composed of what looked like polished obsidian and shifting magma floated a foot above the ground, deep cracks in its stone skin glowing with inner fire. A being of pure, coherent light shaped like a floating jellyfish pulsed softly, tendrils of prismatic energy drifting around it. There were humanoid figures in armor made of crystallized sound, creatures with too many eyes and limbs that followed beautiful, non-Euclidean geometries, and entities that seemed to be made of shadow and starlight.
Kaelen looked down at his own hands—pale, calloused from manual labor in the bunker's hydroponic farms, utterly, boringly human. He still wore his faded grey jumpsuit, a patch over the left breast that read 'TERRA-3: MAINTENANCE TECHNICIAN, LEVEL 2.'
A wave of vertigo, deeper than the disorientation of his arrival, washed over him. This was a mistake. A colossal, cosmic error.
"Welcome."
The word wasn't a sound. It was a data-packet, a complete concept, inserted directly into the core of his consciousness. It carried with it impressions of age, of immense weight, of a weary, enduring patience. It silenced the murmur of the crowd—the clicks, the hums, the psychic chatter—instantly.
At the center of the plaza, space folded. Not an illusion, but reality itself pleating like origami, and from the fold stepped a figure. He appeared as a tall, slender humanoid, but only as a courtesy to visual perception, Kaelen instinctively knew. His robes were the deep black of the void between galaxies, sprinkled with pinpricks of light that moved, forming and dissolving constellations. His face was ageless, serene, but his eyes… his eyes were twin vortices containing slowly spinning nebulae.
"I am Headmaster Solom," the concept-voice continued, echoing in their minds. "You are the Scions of Doomed Worlds. The final inheritors. The last viable seeds plucked from the branches of reality before the pruning flame of the Silence reaches them."
A holographic display, miles high, shimmered into existence above him. It showed a multiverse—a breathtaking tapestry of interconnected spheres, threads of light linking them. And at the edges, a creeping, dull greyness. The Silence. As they watched, one of the spheres, glowing a vibrant green, was touched by the grey. Its light didn't explode or shatter; it simply… faded. The sphere turned monochrome, then translucent, then empty. The threads connecting it to others withered and vanished.
"Your homes are gone, or going. Your destinies, as you knew them, are concluded. Here, in the Apex Versity—the academy built in the liminal space between endings and beginnings—you will forge new ones. You will learn to harness the fundamental principles of existence: Thaumaturgy, Cultivation, Techno-Forging, Psionics, Divine Resonance. You will grow strong. You will learn. You will fight. You may even learn to delay the end."
The Headmaster's nebula-eyes swept over them. "The Silence consumes all. But here, we resist. Here, we prepare. For some of you, preparation means achieving personal apotheosis to survive what comes. For others, it means learning how to build arks for fragments of your people. For a rare few, it may mean discovering a way to fight back. Your path begins now."
A shimmering, rectangular interface materialized in front of each new arrival. Kaelen watched, mesmerized, as the sapphire-flame girl's screen blazed with golden script:
[Designation: Ignia of Emberfall]
[Origin Realm: Pyros-7 (Consumed)]
[Primary Affinity: Pyro-Thaumaturgy | Soul-Flame Synthesis]
[Potential Rank: SUPREME]
[Assigned: Spire of Thaum, Pyroclastic Wing]
She smiled, a fierce, proud thing, and her hair flared brighter.
The obsidian-magma giant's screen displayed:
[Designation: Boulder-That-Thinks (Translation: Gran'vok)]
[Origin Realm: Geode Prime (Critically Degraded)]
[Primary Affinity: Terra-Forming | Planetary Soul Communion]
[Potential Rank: EXALTED]
[Assigned: Celestial Peak, Earthheart Sanctum]
The being of light pulsed happily, its screen showing [Affinity: Photonic Consciousness | Data-Weaving. Rank: EXCELLENT. Assigned: Engine of Genesis, Logic-Core.]
One by one, the spectacular found their places. The armored knights were assigned to the "Hall of Valiant Echoes." The shadow-and-starlight beings to the "Grove of Twilight." The air crackled with released power, excited psychic murmurs, the thrum of destiny being acknowledged.
Kaelen's own screen flickered to life with a soft, almost apologetic ping. The text was plain, a sterile blue-white.
[Scanning Origin Point...]
[...Located. Earth (Designation: Terra-3, Sol System, Orion Spur). Status: Final Degradation Phase.]
[Biometric Analysis... Complete.]
[Genetic Anomaly Scan... Negative.]
[Latent Psionic Resonance... Null.]
[Thaumic Conduit Capacity... Null.]
[Spiritual Root Integrity... Null.]
[Techno-Organic Symbiosis Potential... Negligible.]
[Re-analyzing...]
[...Result Unchanged.]
[Anomaly Detected in Enrollment Protocol. Recategorizing...]
[FINAL DESIGNATION: ADMINISTRATIVE ERROR - NULL-TYPE.]
[POTENTIAL RANK: NIL]
[ASSIGNMENT: Null Quarter, Residential Sector 7, Dormitory Block C, Berth 42.]
[ADVISORY: Report to Maintenance Oversight for non-academic duty roster assignment.]
A cold, heavy lump settled in Kaelen's gut. Null-Type. Nil. The words were brutally final. Around him, a few of the nearby arrivals glanced at his screen. A humanoid with crystalline skin and eyes like cut gems smirked. A furry creature with four arms chittered something to its companion. The message was clear, even without translation: Dead weight. A mistake. Why waste resources?
The grand spectacle of cosmic salvation suddenly felt like a cruel joke. He'd been plucked from a dying world not as a "scion," but as a clerical error. He wasn't a seed; he was a piece of dust that had gotten stuck to the package.
Headmaster Solom's gaze seemed to pass over his section of the crowd. Did those cosmic eyes pause on him for a fraction of a nanosecond? Kaelen couldn't tell. The figure gave a final, slight nod.
"Your interfaces will now guide you to your assigned quarters. Acclimation protocols are active. Formal orientation begins in 36 cycles. Use this time to settle, to explore your immediate surroundings, and to comprehend your new reality. The Versity provides basics. Everything else… you must earn."
With another fold of space, the Headmaster was gone.
Guides—shimmering, semi-transparent humanoid shapes with neutral faces—appeared at the edges of the plaza, holding up glowing signs with symbols and, presumably, translated names for the various districts. One guide held a sign that simply showed a complex, elegant symbol that radiated power and knowledge: the Spire of Thaum. Another showed a mountain piercing clouds: the Celestial Peak. A third showed a spinning gear inside a lotus: the Engine of Genesis.
Off to the side, a smaller, less luminescent guide held up a sign that flickered slightly. The symbol on it was… a question mark inside a circle, rendered in simple, unadorned lines. Below it, text scrolled in various languages. Kaelen's eyes caught the English: "Null Quarter & Administrative Reconciliations. This way."
A ragtag group began to shuffle toward it. A tiny creature that looked like a walking fern. A humanoid whose body seemed to be made of unstable, wobbly jelly. A being that was just a floating, sad-looking eyeball with vestigial wings. And him. Kaelen, the maintenance technician from Terra-3.
Shame burned his cheeks. He forced his legs to move, falling in step with the other cast-offs. As he walked, he kept his eyes on the ground—the fascinating, ever-shifting ground that was made of solidified memory and architectural intent. He didn't want to see the pity or derision in the eyes of the flame-haired Ignia or the mighty Gran'vok as they strode confidently toward their glorious destinies.
The guide led them away from the majestic spires and floating islands, toward a section of the Versity that seemed… patchwork. It was as if someone had taken the leftover architectural elements from a hundred different projects and mashed them together. A wall of sleek, black alloy abutted a section of living, breathing coral. A rooftop garden of glowing mushrooms sat atop a structure that looked like a crashed, crystalline starship. Streets curved for no apparent reason, and the air here was thinner on mystical energy, thicker with the smell of ozone, hot metal, and something like damp concrete.
This was the Null Quarter. The place for the errors, the glitches, the beings of negligible potential.
"Berth assignments are listed on your interface," the guide said in a flat, synthesized voice. "Food synthesis terminals are marked. Do not attempt to enter other districts without proper authorization. Unauthorized power usage is monitored. You may now disperse."
The group broke apart, each creature shuffling off to find their berth. Kaelen's interface displayed a faint, pulsing arrow and a simple map. Dormitory Block C. It looked like a large, rectangular structure made of dull, grey material that might have been concrete or some alien equivalent. It had windows, but they were dark.
He found the entrance—a simple archway—and stepped inside. A long hallway stretched before him, doors on either side. The lighting was low, functional. It felt like the bunker back home, just… emptier. He found Door 42. It slid open with a soft hiss at his approach.
The room was small, maybe ten feet by twelve. A simple, flat sleeping pad on a frame. A desk and chair that extruded from the wall. A small, personal food synthesizer slot. A transparent panel on one wall that currently showed a view of a blank, grey void—the "outside" of the Versity, he presumed. It was barren. Efficient. Soul-crushingly mundane.
He sat on the edge of the sleeping pad, the weight of it all finally crashing down. The terror of Earth's end. The shock of arrival. The humiliation of his designation. He was alive, yes. In a place of unimaginable wonder. And he was, categorically, nothing.
He put his head in his hands, focusing on the coolness of his own skin, trying to stave off the rising panic. As he did, his fingers brushed against the small, hard rectangle in the chest pocket of his jumpsuit.
He'd forgotten about it.
He pulled it out. A standard-issue, ruggedized tablet computer from the bunker. A Galaxy Tab A237, with a cracked screen and a battery that had seen better days. He'd used it for maintenance manuals, schematics for the hydroponic pumps, and, in the desperate final days, to read downloaded copies of old fantasy novels as a form of escape. It was utterly, completely obsolete. A relic. He'd shoved it in his pocket out of habit as the world ended, a last, pathetic connection to his lost life.
He almost threw it across the room. But instead, with a sigh born of sheer, numb habit, he pressed the power button.
It flickered. The battery icon was red, 1%. The familiar, simple home screen loaded, littered with icons for PDF readers, a calculator, a notes app.
And then, the screen glitched.
A horizontal line of static tore through the middle. The icons scrambled and reformed. The background—a photo of a forest he'd never visited—dissolved into cascading green symbols, like the digital rain from an old movie.
Text appeared in the center of the screen, in the same plain, system-default font as his old manuals.
// Signal detected.
// Unauthorized access point registered.
// Legacy device compatibility layer engaged.
// Linking to local auxiliary network...
// ...Link established. Security: NONE.
// Root access permissions detected: AMBIGUOUS. (Querying...)
// Welcome, User_KAELEN.
// Diagnostic mode active.
Kaelen stared, his breath catching in his throat. The tablet was warm in his hands, humming slightly. It was connected to something. To the Versity's… systems?
Tentatively, he tapped the screen. A cursor appeared. He typed, his fingers clumsy.
> What is this?
The response was immediate.
// This is a diagnostic and monitoring interface for localized reality-node maintenance. Primary user: Apex Versity Central Administration (AVCA). Current access point is flagged: ANOMALOUS/LEGACY.
His heart began to pound. > What can I do?
// Functionality limited by device hardware and ambiguous permissions. Available modules: BASIC DIAGNOSTIC SCAN, LOCAL SYSTEM LOG VIEWER (read-only), PASSIVE REALITY-STREAM MONITOR.
> Show me the local system logs for my arrival.
A flood of text filled the screen, too fast to read. He saw his own designation string: [ERROR_NULL-TYPE_KAELEN_TERRA3]. He saw energy allocation records: [ALLOCATION: 0.001 V-units (Life Support Baseline)]. He saw the scan results that had branded him 'Nil.'
And then he saw something else, near the end of the log. A line that was formatted differently, in a deeper shade of green.
[SOURCE ORIGIN VERIFICATION: INCONCLUSIVE. MANIFESTATION PROTOCOL: [FILE CORRUPTED/MISSING].]
[ADMINISTRATIVE OVERRIDE FLAG DETECTED ON ENROLLMENT BEACON. SOURCE: UNKNOWN.]
[SYSTEM RECOMMENDATION: ISOLATE FOR OBSERVATION. PRIORITY: LOW.]
An override. Someone or something had flagged his arrival. Not as a chosen one, but as an anomaly to be watched. The "Nil" reading wasn't because he had no power. It was because the system couldn't identify what his power source was supposed to be. The file was corrupted.
He wasn't a null. He was… undefined.
A wild, desperate hope, thin as a spider's thread, began to weave itself in his chest. He looked around the barren room. His eyes fell on the only other feature: a single, softball-sized orb of white light that hovered near the ceiling, providing illumination. It was simple, plain. Probably the most basic piece of tech or magic in this entire universe.
He pointed his tablet's camera at it. > Run diagnostic scan on that light source.
Lines of code scrolled.
[Object: Standard-Issue Lumina-Orb, Model LS-5.]
[Function: Ambient photonic emission via stabilized Gel-Space lattice.]
[Energy Source: Versity Ambient Grid (Tier-0). Cost: 0.003 V-units/cycle.]
[Status: Functional. Efficiency: 88.7%.]
[Diagnostic Note: Minor lattice harmonic misalignment detected at nodal junction 45B. Cause: Fabrication tolerance error. Result: 12.3% energy loss to harmless photon bleed.]
[Suggested Corrective Action: Apply targeted kinetic resonance pulse (frequency: 4.7Hz) to junction 45B to re-sync lattice layers.]
A schematic overlay appeared on his tablet screen, superimposed over the camera view of the orb. A single, tiny point on the orb's surface glowed a soft blue. The "misalignment."
Kaelen lowered the tablet. He stared at the orb. A 12% energy loss. A tiny, meaningless flaw in a basic light in the room of a "Null-Type." To anyone else, invisible. To the Versity's vast systems, beneath notice.
But to him… it was a line of code. A bug report.
He didn't have flame for hair or a soul made of stone. He didn't have psionic might or divine favor.
He had a cracked tablet with a dying battery and admin access to the cheat codes of reality.
Slowly, a smile touched his lips. It wasn't a smile of triumph, not yet. It was the smile of a technician who has just found the schematic for a broken machine.
He looked from the orb to the tablet, then back to the orb.
"Okay," Kaelen whispered to the empty room, the weight of his null-status beginning to lift, replaced by the fierce, focused curiosity of a problem-solver. "Let's see if I can fix a light."
The Chronicles of the Apex Verse had begun. Not with a roar of power, but with the quiet click of a diagnostic tool finding its first bug.