Neale loosened the fingers that had been gripping the knife's handle so tightly, but the tension of that moment remained in his muscles, rigid like violin strings. Leonardo Krivak, a soldier and member of the Lions of Leonidas, slept standing up—an unmoving sentinel in the center of the vehicle whose presence lightly weighed on the air. "Mediocre." The word kept echoing in Neale's mind, mixing with the sound of the engine, almost as if the engine itself were repeating it in his head without stopping. At the same time he wondered why he was one of those who couldn't see it—what was different about him? That's what he thought as he looked at his own chest beneath his shirt, searching for the mark.
He knew that most of those "mediocres" seemed to ignore, with serene faces, the crushing pressure that man transmitted. It wasn't something that could be reduced to simple fear; it was pure physical power, a presence beyond words.
His bones still vibrated with the resonance of the lingering Dark Yellow Justa Irá in the vehicle. Neale couldn't explain that strange sensation that pierced his skin. It was similar to what he'd felt when he encountered the lesser winged demonic beast, and yet different. If he had to describe it in his own words it would be something like: "That lesser winged demonic beast—of the eleven people in this vehicle, not counting the driver and co-pilot—that thing might be able to kill four of them at best. Now that man, Leonardo—if he wanted to—could turn everyone here into red paste without ever drawing a weapon, and still fight that monster calmly if it stood alone."
Neale began looking around as if searching for his sanity while it seemed to slip away. The blond girl with red streaks looked pale, beads of sweat still forming on her forehead as she clutched her knees, as if trying to hide from her own fear. Her eyes were a watery blue—completely different from Neale's, whose irises seemed to hold a universe. Then their gazes met.
"It felt… like the air was going to crush my lungs… it was so heavy," she whispered, her voice trembling, almost inaudible over the vehicle's noise.
"You felt… the heat," Neale said, more statement than question.
"Yes. Hot and dense—like the air in my lungs was trying to force itself out. And the others…" She slowly lifted her face from between her legs and looked at the other students, some sleeping peacefully, others talking quietly, oblivious as if nothing had happened. "They probably only feel fear of him, nothing more. They don't seem… to have felt that density."
Neale nodded, staring back into nothing. "Better that way. If they didn't notice—or didn't feel it—then they won't draw attention. Who knows what that man would've done if he'd noticed they sensed something."
"You… you're probably right… I'm Lira," she said, handing him a slightly trembling hand.
"Neale," he replied, squeezing her hand briefly; the touch was cold for both of them but not hostile. "Try to sleep, Lira. We need to be whole when that door opens."
The next two days dragged by in a gray blur of endless jolting, dry rations that tasted like dust, small cups of water, and restless naps in which Neale's last memories of his parents haunted his dreams. The vehicle kept moving, slowing only twice, as if trying to avoid drawing something's attention—and each time, moments before it happened, Leonardo woke instinctively, alert, as if he were watching the entire perimeter simply by opening his eyes, then returned to his vigilant hibernation.
Then, finally, the shift in the atmosphere was so palpable that the air inside the vehicle became electrically charged—not because of Leonardo, whom everyone was getting used to, but because of something external and massive. A concentration of Justa Irá so dense it made Neale's teeth ache.
"We've arrived," Leonardo announced, opening his eyes at the exact moment the vehicle suddenly reduced speed. "Prepare yourselves. Kirden won't tolerate sluggish kids like you."
The rear ramp dropped with a hydraulic hiss and the crash of heavy metal against reinforced concrete.
Afternoon sunlight flooded the compartment, momentarily blinding students used to the alternating red-and-white lights.
"Move! Out! Get moving, you worms! Get out before I kick you, rookies!" shouted an officer outside, his voice amplified by some device. Leonardo was the first to step out, greeting the man as if he were a friend.
Neale jumped down, his boots striking the paved ground. What he saw stole the breath from his throat.
Kirden wasn't just a city—it was a mountain of metal, stone, and survival. Walls that seemed to touch the sky, in both literal and figurative senses, surrounded the city, bristling with heavy artillery and sentinels glowing with their auras or with the auras of their weapons and gear. The air had no odor and felt light despite the sheer amount of Justa Irá present. The sky above the city seemed to vibrate, suggesting an invisible protective dome—or simply an absurd concentration of power in that place.
They stood in an immense sorting yard, the "Gate of Kidernia," with a massive gate at the far end. Hundreds of other youths were disembarking from other vehicles, each carrying ten students. The V-zero stood at the front—isolated, imposing, black as a titanic beetle—its "elite" students stepping out with a natural arrogance of superiority. Their clothes were impeccable, contrasting with the rags of others and Neale's simple outfit.
"Welcome to Kidernia… rookies," Leonardo's voice sounded behind Neale as the soldier adjusted his gloves. "From now on, the world out there does not exist for you. Here you don't even have names—you have no past and no families. You have numbers and a statistically low chance of survival."
He pointed toward a massive complex of gray buildings in the distance.
"That's the direction of Hall Zero. You'll stay there for a month. You'll learn the basics: refine hand-to-hand skills, handle forged weapons, and the fundamentals of theoretical Justa Irá. There we'll find out whether you rookies are useful at all—whether you can serve as student-soldiers in the Order's houses within Kidernia—or whether you're only good as fertilizer for the lands of Auraverde. That said, I hope I don't have to see or hear about you again anytime soon."
Neale looked at the immensity of the fortress. He had made it. He was inside the womb of humanity's greatest hope. But as he stared at those walls and replayed Leonardo's words, a chill ran down his neck—if he didn't take care, if he didn't grow strong here, inside those walls would be his death: cruel, and his revenge unfulfilled.
Neale slapped his face with both palms, then adjusted the rest of the overcoat at his waist, tightening it.
"Hey, Neale," Lira called, looking lost as she was the last to leave the vehicle and stopped amid the crowd of rookies. "Where do we go now?"
"To Hall Zero," he replied, eyes fixed on the other students—specifically the elite ones who'd come down from the V-zero—wondering if they truly were stronger than him. "We'll learn to fight, and I'll get strong. Strong enough to kill. And then I'll find out how to kill things even worse than simple beasts."