A savage wind howled across the heights of the Zetra Academy. Dack stood tall on one of the terraced rooftops, motionless, defying the gusts that snapped and pulled at his novice uniform. His eyes, burning with a deeper, more resonant glow than years before, were fixed on the infinite horizon where the sea and the sky bled into a single expanse of bruised blue.
A heavy silence enveloped him, broken only by the whistling air between the city's crystal spires. Dack inhaled deeply, the crisp, thin air of MEL filling his lungs.
"Three years..." he murmured. His voice had lost its childish tremor, gaining a firm, unshakable edge of command. "Three years since I crossed the veil."
His gaze drifted toward the distant haze, where the clouds seemed to guard forbidden worlds.
"Glad is still missing. Mother is still a captive of the Octagon... and I don't have the slightest clue where to begin the hunt. If only Father were here..."
He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned bone-white. Frustration and helplessness—those ancient enemies—tried once more to gnaw at his spirit, but they struck a fortress of pure will.
"I am twelve now," he breathed. "I am still too young, too weak to challenge those men. I must become stronger... I must be capable of crushing them, one by one, until the very last."
A cold, incandescent fire ignited in his eyes. The lost, terrified boy who had trembled in Zone Beta was dead. The young man standing here no longer sought to flee his destiny; he wanted to meet it head-on and break it if necessary.
Hours later, on the main training grounds, the atmosphere was electric. A hundred students had gathered in a perfect circle around a stone dais. The sun was dipping low, bathing the scene in a solemn, golden light.
At the center, Master Syril stepped forward. His dark cloak, embroidered with golden threads, billowed behind him, accentuating his imposing stature. His piercing gaze swept over the assembly like a raptor scanning the plains.
"Three years..." he began, his voice resonating with an authority that instantly stifled the final whispers. "Three years you have struggled to master the first tier of the Cosmos. You have progressed, you have endured, and some of you have proven yourselves worthy of going further."
Dack, standing in the front row, absorbed every syllable.
"Make no mistake," Syril continued, his face as unyielding as marble. "Reaching the higher tiers of the Cosmos is not a gift granted to everyone. It is not a matter of fairness, nor simply a question of willpower, but of raw predisposition. However..."
He paused, a faint, almost predatory smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"It is said that most of those who awakened Tiers 2 and 3 did so only when pushed to their absolute limits. Awakening does not happen in comfort; it happens in adversity. That is why, at the conclusion of this cycle, the Gleaner aspirants are sent for the first time to Meteorite Island!"
A collective shiver rippled through the crowd. Meteorite Island... the primordial site, the place where the pure energy of MEL was at its most volatile and unstable.
"There, you will be confronted by a hostile environment and trials you will never find within these walls," Syril concluded sharply. "We depart at dawn. Rest and be ready. Because once we are there... do not count on mercy."
Dack remained frozen, his eyes closed. He felt his heart hammering against his ribs, not with the rhythm of fear, but with a wild, hungry excitement.
"This is it," he whispered to himself. "This is the threshold I must cross."
Dawn barely teased the horizon II, tearing through the gloom with a jagged streak of crimson, as the group of Gleaner aspirants boarded their transport. The vessel—a sleek, aerodynamic marvel of Zetra's engineering—emitted a low, rhythmic hum that vibrated through the metallic deck. As it rose slowly from the launch pad, it left behind the glittering spires of the Zenith, surging toward the unknown.
Dack, seated by a porthole, watched the sea blur beneath him. He was no longer the boy who had stumbled through the dimensional rift three years ago; his posture was rigid, his gaze impenetrable. Meteorite Island was not merely a training ground. It was a land of myth, scarred by the impact of an ancient cosmic fragment—a place where the fabric of reality itself wore thin.
In the main cabin, twenty students sat on wall-mounted benches. The atmosphere was electric, a toxic cocktail of raw excitement and stifling apprehension. Dack was flanked by his inner circle: Kyra, Ilan, and Liora.
"So, this is it," Liora broke the silence, her arms crossed tight, her voice betrayed by a flicker of nerves. "We're actually going to see the legendary island…"
"You look stressed," Ilan noted, giving her a sidelong glance.
"I'm a realist," she shot back. "We all know this isn't just a field trip."
Kyra, true to form, flashed a provocative grin. "That's exactly why it's exciting, isn't it? We're finally going to face something real!"
Dack remained silent, absorbed by the shifting landscape. His thoughts were anchored to Syril's words: Awakening through adversity.
"I'm thinking about what this trial actually means," he finally said when Ilan nudged him. "I want to see exactly how far I can push myself."
Suddenly, a voice crackled over the intercom:
"Arrival at Meteorite Island in three minutes. Prepare for disembarkation."
Everyone scrambled toward the viewports. The island finally loomed ahead—dark, massive, and encircled by a strange mist that seemed to shimmer with invisible energy. Jagged black mountains pierced the center, their peaks lost in the swirling clouds, while forests of silver-leaved trees bordered shores of obsidian sand.
The ship docked with a heavy, metallic thud. Stepping onto the beach, Dack felt the ground vibrate beneath his boots, as if the island possessed a heartbeat of its own. But what froze him in place were the other vessels already anchored there.
The Five Nations of MEL had arrived, each flying their colors with predatory pride:
The South: Titans in light tunics, radiating a aura of absolute martial discipline.The East: Strategists in heavy plate armor, quiet and calculating.The West: A boisterous group, seemingly relaxed but possessing razor-sharp eyes.The North: Silent warriors in fur-lined gear, watching the crowd with icy disdain.The Zenith: Dack and his comrades, the perfect equilibrium of strength and technique.
The tension was thick enough to choke on. Gazes crossed like clashing blades. Then, a sarcastic laugh shattered the quiet.
"Didn't think I'd see you again so soon, Dack."
Ryn stepped forward, arms folded, his eyes burning with a grudge he hadn't let go of in three years.
"You got lucky last time, but here, things are different. The island strips us all down to the same level."
"We'll see about that, Ryn," Dack replied, his face a mask of marble. "The trial has only just begun."
Before the confrontation could escalate, a hooded figure appeared on a rocky crag overlooking the beach. A natural, crushing authority radiated from them, silencing hundreds of students with a single gesture.
"Silence!" the figure thundered. "The trial begins at sunrise. Use this night to prepare… for tomorrow, the island will test your very souls."
Silence reclaimed the black sand beach. Dack stared into the jungle where the sand ended and the nightmare began. Deep down, he knew that some of them would never leave this island alive.