The automated vehicle drifted back into the rhythmic arteries of the Inner City, leaving Ash at the curb where his journey into this new life had begun.
He stood for a moment, the silence of the city's heart contrasting sharply with the chaotic echoes of the Door still ringing in his mind.
He needed a place to stay—somewhere to wash away the literal and metaphorical grime of the Ash Area.
Despite the supernatural cleanliness of his new physiology, a deep, bone-weary exhaustion tugged at his soul.
He wanted the simple, human luxury of a hot shower and a bed that didn't smell of rust and despair.
He tapped his Identity Chronograph. While in the car, he had discovered that every newly registered Opener was granted a stipend of five hundred thousand Union Credits.
In this unified world, the Credit was the universal breath of commerce. To the elites of the Inner City, it was a modest sum, but to Ash, it was a fortune.
In the Ash Area, his parents had labored an entire month just to bring home five thousand. This stipend was enough to sustain him for months, provided he didn't succumb to the glitz of his new surroundings.
Using the device's 3D navigational interface, he filtered for a hotel that balanced comfort with anonymity.
His finger stopped at a name: The Simson.
...
The Simson loomed above him, a hundred-story monolith of glass and polished chrome. It wasn't the most opulent establishment in the district, but it was respectable—a fortress of temporary solitude.
As Ash stepped through the automated glass doors, the sudden transition from the street to the climate-controlled luxury of the lobby hit him like a physical wave.
The floor was a sea of white marble, and the air carried the faint, crisp scent of expensive sandalwood.
He approached the reception desk.
The woman behind the counter, dressed in a sharp blazer, looked up. Her eyes flickered over Ash's worn, out-of-date clothing—scraps from a world she likely only saw on the news.
A shadow of disdain crossed her features, assuming him to be a distant relative of a Chosen family, a hanger-on from the slums.
But then, she met his eyes.
The disdain froze. Ash's gaze was a hollow, silver-gray abyss, devoid of warmth or hesitation. The aura of Apathy clung to him like a cold shroud.
The woman felt a primal shiver run down her spine, and her professional smile became a frantic mask.
"I... I would like a room for two days," Ash said, his voice flat.
"Of course, sir," she stammered, her fingers dancing nervously across the holographic interface.
"Will you be requiring our full-service package? It includes access to the private lounges, the high-energy buffet, and the recovery spas. It is... more expensive."
Ash caught the flicker of doubt in her eyes.
'She thinks I can't afford it ?'
He didn't feel insulted; he simply found it curious.
He pulled back his sleeve, revealing the matte-black Identity Chronograph.
The woman's breath hitched. A Chosen.
She immediately began a mental retreat, cursing her own inability to recognize the predator standing before her.
"My apologies, Honorable Opener," she said, her voice dropping an octave into a sultry, desperate tone.
She leaned forward slightly, adjusting her posture to highlight her silhouette.
"For a Chosen of the Union, there is a ten percent discount. The total for two days, with full services, comes to four thousand five hundred credits. Is there... anything else you might need? Any personal services? They are complimentary for someone of your status."
Ash stared at her, his expression unchanging.
The coldness in his eyes turned to a sharp, clinical chill. The woman recoiled as if struck, standing up straight and trembling.
"Just the room," Ash muttered.
He completed the transaction with a tap of his watch. His room key was integrated into the device's chip, and he turned away without a second glance.
The receptionist watched him go, a mix of fear and regret gnawing at her. In this world, tethering oneself to a Chosen—even as a mistress—was the fastest way to escape the mundane. But Ashfei was not a man to be tethered.
His room was on the 80th floor—Suite 888. He used the internal teleportation gate, a localized shimmer of blue light that transported him to his floor in a heartbeat.
The suite was vast, dominated by a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city.
From this height, the bustling crowds below looked like a frantic colony of ants. Ash didn't admire the view for long.
He stripped, washed himself until his skin was raw, and then collapsed onto the bed.
For the first time in his life, he didn't have to listen for the sound of intruders or the coughs of the dying.
He fell into a dreamless, heavy sleep.
...
Two days vanished in the blink of an eye.
Ash stood before the mirror, finalizing his transformation. He was wearing the tactical suit he had ordered. It was a masterpiece of minimalist lethality.
The carbon-fiber trousers were flexible yet sturdy, and the high-collared jacket hid the lean, explosive muscle he had gained in the Door.
Combined with his dark violet-black hair and those haunting gray eyes, he looked less like a student and more like an omen of death.
"It's time."
He descended to the lobby.
A few minutes later, a heavy military armored transport pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Hearth's rugged, serious face.
"Get in, kid. We're on a schedule."
Ash climbed into the passenger seat. The interior smelled of oil and leather. He noticed the back was empty.
"Where are the others?"
"They arrived a day early," Hearth said, gunning the engine.
"You're the last one. We figured you needed the extra rest more than they did. Today is the official commencement."
As the vehicle roared toward the Northern district, Hearth began the briefing.
"The Aegis Academy is built on the northern fringe. It's half-school, half-military outpost. We built it right next to the active combat zones. Here, theory and practice aren't separated."
They drove for over an hour, leaving the glass towers behind for the vast, emerald grasslands of the North.
The silence in the car was heavy, but not uncomfortable.
"We're here," Hearth announced.
Ash looked out the window. There was nothing but open field. He turned to ask Hearth if they had taken a wrong turn, but then—
PLOP—
The vehicle passed through an invisible atmospheric ripple—a massive cloaking and defense barrier.
Suddenly, the forest materialized around them, and in the center of the clearing stood the Academy.
It was a sprawling obsidian fortress, a gothic castle of black stone that seemed to absorb the light. Sharp, jagged spires reached for the heavens like the claws of a buried beast.
Blue energy veins pulsed rhythmically across the walls, glowing like the circulatory system of a living god.
Floating in the air around the central keep were twenty satellite towers, hovering without support, held aloft by anti-gravity cores.
They rotated slowly, glowing with different hues of power.
As the car approached the main gates, Ash saw groups of young men and women—all Chosen—walking toward the entrance. He frowned.
"I thought there were only eleven of us this year."
"Every five months, a new class starts," Hearth explained.
"You are part of the 1000th Class. New Age City is the crown jewel of the Union; students from all over the world travel here for this training. But you're right about one thing—this year, New Age only produced eleven Openers of its own. That's the lowest in our history."
Hearth stopped the car at the threshold.
"This is as far as I go. Once you cross that gate, you'll receive your instructions. Good luck, Ashfei. Try not to die on the first day."
Ash stepped out, offering a curt nod of gratitude. Hearth drove off, leaving him to blend into the sea of students. He walked through the massive iron gates, and his watch vibrated.
[Opener Ashfei: Class 001 – 1000th Intake. Follow the navigational markers to your designated classroom.]
The interior of the academy was a labyrinth of shifting hallways and spatial anomalies. It felt as though the building itself was alive, testing the students' spatial awareness.
After a long trek through the obsidian corridors, Ash reached the door labeled 001.
Even through the heavy reinforced wood, he could feel the concentrated pressure of the souls inside.
It was a thick, suffocating aura of competing powers.
He placed his hand on the cold handle, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
Ten pairs of eyes—each sharp, powerful, and filled with the arrogance of genius—slammed into him at once.