The morning of orientation arrived like a loaded gun—tension in every step, pressure in every breath.
Kael stood at the edge of Drill Square 4, a wide-open training field flanked by gleaming barracks and towering digital banners. Above them, holographic screens rotated with glowing text:
WELCOME TO REGIS INSTITUTE — INITIATION PROTOCOL: YEAR 143-ENTRY
Hundreds of cadets stood in uniform lines, forming neat ranks by color: green, blue, gold, red. All of them had some rank—an official status, a legacy.
Except for the ones at the far end, in gray.
There were only twelve.
Kael among them.
His gray-band rested cold against his wrist. Cadets around him sneered or stared. Some didn't even try to hide their laughter.
"Must be rough," a blue-band muttered nearby, loud enough to hear. "No ability, no backing, no clue."
Kael ignored it.
Lira Kess stood beside him, arms behind her back, face unreadable. Despite being a verified Rank B, she'd requested reassignment to 13-Z. No one knew why. Most assumed pity. Few understood it was curiosity.
On Kael's other side, Dane Hollis cracked his neck with a loud pop. "If one more rich brat looks at me like I crawled out of a sewer, I'm lighting someone's hair on fire."
"You'll get expelled," Lira said without looking at him.
"I said light, not burn," Dane muttered.
Kael watched quietly as the main stage platform activated. A woman stepped forward—tall, commanding, dressed in black UGA military armor lined with silver trim. Her voice boomed across the field.
"Cadets. Welcome to Regis."
Her visor glowed faintly as she scanned the rows.
"I am Commander Kara Ryce, senior operations director and battle coordinator. For the next three years, you will live, bleed, and grow under my watch. You have been chosen—some by blood, some by record, and some by... exception."
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the gray-band group.
"Regardless of background, this institution demands one thing: strength. Not excuses. Not legacy. Strength of mind. Strength of will. Strength of power."
She paused, letting the silence stretch.
"You will be broken down and rebuilt. Some of you will rise. Others will fail. But only the strongest will walk out as certified operatives of the Global Authority."
A second figure stepped onto the platform—Instructor Vale, younger, leaner, with a smile like a blade.
He gestured theatrically. "And to begin our little transformation… a tradition."
The screens above the cadets flickered, showing the words:INITIATION TRIAL 01 – COMBAT EVALUATION
Groans and scattered cheers rippled through the crowd.
Kael narrowed his eyes.
Commander Ryce continued. "Each of you will participate in a live combat simulation. No weapons. No amplifiers. Only your body, your ability, and your judgment."
Lira glanced sideways. "They're starting with fights?"
"Of course they are," Dane said. "They want to see who's got real bite."
"Or who bleeds easiest," Kael murmured.
An hour later, the cadets were moved to an underground training coliseum—hexagonal walls lined with shimmering force fields, observation drones circling above like vultures.
Kael and the rest of 13-Z were corralled into a separate pen, awaiting their matchups.
Dane paced like a caged animal. "They're not even giving us time to prepare."
"Maybe that's the test," Kael said.
A loudspeaker crackled to life.
"Match Four. Combat Pair: Kael Vire versus Garran Lux."
Heads turned. A few chuckles rose from the gold-bands. The name Garran Lux carried weight. He was a Rank A cadet from House Luxon, a family known for kinetic manipulation—force-based attacks capable of turning steel to sand.
Dane whistled low. "Well, they're not pulling punches."
Kael stood, unbothered. "Didn't expect them to."
He walked into the arena, alone, as Garran Lux entered from the opposite gate. Tall, smug, wrapped in a cloak lined with gold threads. The kind of student who had never been told no.
The crowd buzzed as Garran smiled. "They're actually letting you fight? Cute."
Kael rolled his shoulders. "We done talking?"
"Oh, we're just getting started."
A buzzer sounded.
Garran's hands flashed. The ground beneath Kael trembled as kinetic energy surged forward like a pulsewave.
Kael leapt to the side, tumbled once, and closed distance in seconds. Garran barely reacted before Kael's foot crashed into his side with a sickening thud, sending the A-rank stumbling.
Gasps echoed through the stands.
Garran growled, lifting both hands. A concussive burst of energy exploded outward.
Kael skidded across the floor, breath knocked from his lungs. But he was already moving again—analyzing, adapting.
His tells are wide. Left shoulder dips before each pulse. Five-second cooldown between surges.
He charged again, feinted left, then ducked low as Garran's strike went wide.
Kael struck twice—ribs, jaw—and drove his elbow into Garran's temple. The A-rank staggered and fell.
Silence.
Then the buzzer.
"Winner: Kael Vire."
The crowd didn't cheer.
They stared.
Later, back in the prep room, Kael wiped blood from his knuckles as Lira approached.
"That wasn't luck," she said.
"No," Kael replied. "It wasn't."
Dane grinned. "You just dropped a Luxon. You know that, right? Their house is gonna lose their minds."
Kael didn't respond. He felt something shift deep in his chest. Not pain. Not exhaustion.
It was power. Rising.
And it was just getting started.