[ January 29th, 2088 (Thursday, Afternoon) ] - [Sector 13's Highway > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
Cold salt air rolled in from the open ocean, sharp enough to sting the lungs.
The Harbor Sector of Mega-Ark City 01 was never quiet—not even in the early morning. Steel cranes groaned like waking beasts. FoldTech-based hexagonal cargo containers stacked like honeycomb. Forklifts beeped as they reversed. Massive ships sat in the water like sleeping giants, their hulls painted with corporate insignias and Dominion registry numbers.
Fishing vessels, cargo carriers, armored haulers—everything that kept the Ark-City alive moved through here.
Above it all, the sky was pale, washed-out blue, with thin clouds drifting like torn cloth.
And beyond the skyline…
The defenses.
Even from the harbor, you could see the faint shimmer of the Defense Gates—tower rings spaced evenly across the perimeter, their energy fields barely visible unless you stared long enough. They looked like heat haze, except too clean, too controlled.
And farther out, like a grim line at the edge of the world, stood the last barrier:
The Wall.
A massive circular fortress encasing the island, bristling with gun emplacements, watch stations, anti-air arrays, and spotlights that never truly turned off. It didn't look like a wall meant to keep people in.
It looked like something meant to keep something else out.
And above all of it—the most unnatural, most sacred presence of all—
The distant glow of EdenTree's divine barrier.
The Shimmer.
A faint, prismatic curtain hanging over the Ark-City like the skin of a bubble. Not fully visible unless the light hit it right… but everyone here knew it existed. Everyone here lived because it existed.
Without it, the fog would swallow Mega-Ark City 01 whole.
Without it, Radiant City would become just another dead zone on the map.
=
The harbor felt less like a terminal and more like a mobilization zone.
Three massive cargo ships dominated the docking bays—hulking, industrial, and heavily modified. What were once standard freight carriers now carried an entirely different purpose: reinforced hull plating, defensive turrets mounted along the upper decks, and angular sensor arrays sweeping the water like watchful eyes.
Phalanx-style auto-miniguns tracked slow arcs across the horizon.
Missile pods sat recessed behind armored shutters.
Even the sonar systems were active—soft, periodic pulses rippling through the harbor like invisible heartbeats.
And yet, despite all of that military presence…
The place was full of life.
Roughly three thousand candidates filled the docking grounds. Teenagers bundled in travel gear, military academy tags clipped to jackets, identification bands glowing faintly on wrists. Some stood confidently. Others clung tightly to parents who were trying not to show how uneasy they felt.
Because everyone here understood the same unspoken truth:
This wasn't just a boarding school.
It was a transfer into another world.
Queues stretched across the dock in neat, color-coded lines. Registration officers and Mechanoid staff moved along them, scanning IDs, luggage tags, and biometric markers with practiced efficiency.
Above it all, loudspeakers repeated calm, rehearsed instructions:
"Gallagher-Sandoval Military Academy transport boarding phase is now active. Please proceed in an orderly fashion."
=
Near the center docking bay, the Ripley family stood together amid the controlled chaos.
Niero's bag sat at his feet—already checked twice, then checked again by Sophie, then Daisy, then Sophie again.
Daisy was currently inspecting his luggage list like it was a life-or-death checklist.
"You have extra socks, right?" she asked.
"Yes," Niero replied flatly.
Sophie leaned in immediately.
"How many pairs?"
"Too many."
"Not an answer."
Niero sighed, rubbing his temple.
"I have like 7 pairs."
That only made Daisy nod more seriously, as if confirming a critical mission parameter.
Mom stood slightly behind them, arms crossed, watching the exchange with a tired but fond expression. Alura was nearby too, leaning against a crate, sipping something warm from a paper cup like this was just another inconvenient but normal morning.
Niero glanced at his sisters.
"Is this really necessary?"
Sophie didn't look up from the bag.
"Yes."
Daisy added immediately:
"Extremely."
Mom stepped in then, gently placing a hand on both girls' shoulders.
"They're just worried," she said simply.
Sophie finally looked up at that.
Daisy's grip on the checklist softened slightly.
Mom's voice stayed calm but steady.
"Let them be."
A brief silence passed between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just full.
Niero looked at both of them for a moment longer than usual.
Then he exhaled through his nose.
"Alright. Inventory inspection complete. Commander Daisy approved?"
Daisy blinked.
Then she nodded seriously.
"Approved."
Sophie gave a small huff.
"Barely."
Alura snorted into her coffee cup.
"This is the weakest military academy deployment I've ever seen."
That got a faint laugh out of Niero.
Mom pulled Niero into a hug first.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't hesitant.
It was the kind of hug that had been given a thousand times before—over scraped knees, late nights, quiet worries—but this time it carried something heavier underneath.
"My baby badge…" Mom murmured, holding him a little tighter than usual.
"You're growing into a strong, determined man."
Niero went still for a second.
Not because he didn't know what to do—
but because his body didn't immediately know where to put the feeling.
The harbor noise kept moving around them. Engines. Waves. Voices.
But in that moment, it all felt slightly farther away.
He exhaled slowly.
"Mom… I'm not a baby."
That earned a soft laugh from her.
But she didn't let go right away.
Alura, leaning nearby, straightened and clapped her hands once.
"Alright. Bon voyage gifts time."
Niero blinked, slightly confused.
"I already got the hair thing, didn't I?"
His hand lifted instinctively toward his braids.
Three of them—carefully woven: one long braid on the right sideburn and two smaller braids tucked behind his ear. Wooden tube beads and carved charms threaded through them, simple but deliberate.
Sophie and Daisy had insisted on doing it themselves.
A symbol, they said.
Not decoration.
Something that stays.
Sophie stepped closer first.
"That's not the gift."
Daisy nodded firmly.
"That was the promise."
Niero frowned slightly.
"Promise?"
Sophie hesitated just a fraction before speaking more softly.
"We did that the day you told us."
Daisy looked down for a moment, then back up at him.
"When you said you were adopted."
Silence tightened briefly.
Not awkward.
Just honest.
Sophie continued.
"We didn't care that you are adopted."
Daisy nodded quickly, as if reinforcing it like a fact that didn't need debate.
"You're still our brother."
Sophie stepped forward and lightly touched one of the braided strands.
"Blood doesn't matter."
Daisy followed, hugging him around the middle with sudden force, like she was making sure the idea physically stuck.
"You're ours."
Sophie joined a second later, wrapping in as well.
For a moment, Niero was just… surrounded.
Held.
Not as something exceptional or dangerous or complicated.
Just family.
Alura looked away slightly, pretending to sip her drink again.
Mom didn't.
She just watched, quiet and steady, like she was confirming something she already believed.
Niero let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
His voice came out quieter than usual.
"…you guys are weird."
Daisy muffled a laugh against him.
"You're weirder."
Sophie added immediately:
"Way weirder."
That got a small, real laugh out of him.
But his teary eyes stung by the cold anyway.
And he didn't bother hiding it this time.
Alura lifted one hand like a drill sergeant calling cadence.
"On my count of three."
Niero blinked.
"Wait—why are we doing a military send-off like it's a firing squad—"
"Two."
Mom stepped forward first, already ignoring his complaint.
Sophie and Daisy tensed beside him like they were preparing for impact.
Alura's voice stayed flat, almost ceremonial.
"One."
They moved at once.
Not chaotic.
Intentional.
Like they had rehearsed something important without ever saying so out loud.
Sophie stepped in first.
She held something small but clearly high-end—sleek, compact, with a reinforced casing that caught the harbor light.
A FoldCap.
The moment Niero saw it, his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Wait… isn't this—"
"Yeah," Sophie cut in quickly, a little too fast. "It is."
She shoved it gently into his hands like she didn't want him to argue his way out of it.
"It's a spatial fold storage device. 3x3 base units. Expandable pocket dimension indexing."
Niero turned it slightly, recognizing the tech immediately.
A small handheld device that utilizes a special patented spatial folding technology that "folds" the spatial dimensions of an object into its pocket dimension storage in a fixed grid inventory system with some support is a zero-point temporal loop that keeps the said object in pristine condition. This device revolutionized inventory storage systems since 2027, not only bypassing the issues in storage size and weight but also creating multiple variants and applications to fulfill various purposes.
This wasn't cheap.
Not even close, even for a 3x3 commercial model.
Sophie looked away for half a second, scratching her cheek.
"I picked up extra shifts from my part-time jobs. Saved up. Don't make it weird."
Then she pointed at the casing.
Engraved into the surface were tiny chibi figures.
Sophie.
Daisy.
Mom.
Alura.
All of them were drawn in a slightly chaotic, overly affectionate style that somehow made it more sincere.
"So you don't forget who you're coming back to," she added quietly.
For a moment, Niero didn't respond.
Then he exhaled.
"This is… actually insane."
"Take it," Sophie said immediately. "Before I change my mind."
Daisy was already bouncing slightly on her heels, waiting her turn.
She stepped forward next.
Far smaller item.
Far heavier meaning.
An Omamori-style charm, stitched neatly and carefully sealed.
But when Niero took it, something flickered faintly inside the fabric casing.
Three embedded UR Sororitae cards.
Holographic projection systems built into collectible-grade frames—illegal in some districts purely because of how rare and powerful authenticated sets could be on the secondary market.
One image stabilized clearly as it activated in his hand:
[Sifang, the Mistress of Elements]
Blindfolded.
Calm.
Surrounded by shifting fire, water, earth, and wind—each element orbiting her like obedient satellites.
Niero's brows rose immediately.
"Daisy… these are UR-tier cards."
Daisy nodded proudly.
"I know."
"This is your collection?"
"They WERE my collection."
Niero looked at her sharply.
"That's not how collections work."
Daisy stepped closer, poking his chest lightly.
"It's like a lucky charm for me. Now, it will be your lucky charm as well."
A pause.
Her expression softened just a little.
"Keep it. At least until you come back."
Then, quieter:
"Then give it back to me when you're safe."
That line landed heavier than the item itself.
Niero didn't joke this time.
He just closed his fingers around the charm more carefully.
Behind them, Mom and Alura were still holding their own gifts, watching the exchange unfold.
Aunt Alura was next.
She didn't make a big scene about it this time.
Just stepped forward with a small, worn object resting in her palm.
A gold coin.
Tied in a small cord as a necklace.
Old enough that the edges were softened by time—or handling—or both. It caught the harbor light in a dull, stubborn shine that didn't look like modern minting at all.
"This is my lucky coin," Alura said casually.
Niero tilted his head.
"You say that about everything you own."
"Yes," she replied immediately. "And it keeps working."
She flipped it once between her fingers before pressing it into his hand.
"Won it off an aggressive gamble a few years back."
Daisy leaned in slightly.
"What is it?"
Alura shrugged.
"Supposedly a gold coin with the face of King Croesus of Lydia. Ancient Greece. Over two thousand years old."
Mom gave her a look.
"That is either I won a national treasure or I was scammed with a counterfeit medal."
Alura smiled.
"Exactly. Either way, it's my win."
She nudged Niero's hand closed around it.
"Wear it. Or don't. Just don't lose it."
Niero studied it for a moment, then—without overthinking it—slipped it onto a cord and looped it around his neck, tucking it under his shirt collar.
It settled there like it had always belonged.
Then Mom stepped forward.
The energy shifted immediately.
Not playful.
Not casual.
Something steadier.
She held out a small sheath.
Worn leather. Maintained carefully. Repaired more than once.
Inside it rested a karambit dagger.
The blade itself was unmistakably functional—curved, balanced, old in the way good weapons become old: not fragile, but experienced.
"This is Purple Fang," Mom said quietly.
Niero didn't reach for it immediately.
That alone made everyone pay attention.
Mom continued.
"It was with me during my service. Kept me alive more times than I can count."
A pause.
"It's not ceremonial. It's not decorative."
Her eyes held his.
"It's for when things go wrong."
Then she placed it into his hands.
"Now it's yours."
For a moment, Niero just looked at it.
Then he slowly unsheathed it.
The blade caught the light—clean, sharp, and still unmistakably dangerous.
He turned it once.
Then again.
Testing balance more than intent.
The motion was smooth.
Too smooth.
Daisy immediately stiffened.
"Bro!—Wait—Don't—!"
The blade spun again between his fingers in a controlled arc, almost like an instinctive flourish. Fast, precise, confident enough to make it look effortless—and dangerous enough to make everyone else flinch.
Sophie grabbed Daisy's shoulder instinctively.
Mom didn't stop him.
But her gaze sharpened slightly.
Niero finally halted the motion, catching it cleanly by the handle.
Silence.
He looked down at it.
Then tucked it back into the sheath.
"…yeah," he muttered. "I get why you kept this."
Mom nodded once.
"Don't get careless with it."
Alura crossed her arms.
"Or we'll have to rename you 'One-Armed Marauder' before you even leave."
That broke the tension just enough.
But the weight of the moment stayed.
Not heavy in a bad way.
Heavy, like something being officially handed over.
Responsibility.
Distance.
Mom hadn't even finished speaking about self-defense discipline when Sophie and Daisy suddenly snapped upright like they'd just remembered a critical mission parameter.
"WAIT. WE ALMOST FORGOT."
Niero blinked.
"Forgot what? More weapons?"
Sophie was already reaching into her bag.
Daisy followed immediately after, dead serious.
Within seconds, two compact items were placed into his hands:
A concealed-carry-sized taser.
And a canister of bear-grade pepper spray.
Niero stared at both.
Slowly.
Then at them.
"…why do I feel like I'm being prepped for urban survival in a horror scenario?"
Daisy didn't hesitate.
"Because you are."
Sophie nodded firmly.
"Specifically the 'evil and horny girls' scenario."
Niero's expression flattened.
"That is not a recognizeable threat."
"It is for us," Daisy said immediately.
Sophie leaned in slightly, pointing at the taser like she was briefing battlefield doctrine.
"If anyone tries to grab you, block your movement, or—"
Daisy cut in with absolute conviction:
"—or tries to get into your pants like a rabid animal—"
"Daisy," Niero interrupted flatly.
She didn't stop.
"—you pepper spray in their face first, right in their eye or their nose."
Sophie continued seamlessly:
"Then taser at the neck/jugular region for immediate deterrence."
Niero stared at them.
Long pause.
"…you two are recommending I commit felony-tier assault as a preventative dating strategy?"
Daisy nodded.
"Yes."
Sophie also nodded.
"Correct."
From the side, Alura slowly raised a hand.
"Okay, that's… maybe excessive."
Sophie and Daisy didn't even hesitate once they started laying down the "final terms" of the deployment.
"Stay safe."
"Don't get into trouble."
"Call us every day."
Niero held up a hand.
"That's already unrealistic."
They ignored him completely.
Daisy stepped forward, very serious now.
"And no girls."
A beat.
Niero blinked.
"…come again?"
Sophie nodded like it was a formal clause.
"No girlfriends. No female friends that are 'suspiciously close.' NO GIRLS. PERIOD."
Niero slowly turned his head.
"So your official stance is that I am to become a turbo-virgin exile monk in a foreign military academy."
Daisy nodded immediately.
"Yes."
Sophie added, just as firm:
"Correct."
A pause.
Then Niero exhaled through his nose, staring at both of them like they had just passed a unanimous legislative bill against his future social life.
"You two are insane."
They said nothing.
Which, unfortunately, was confirmation enough.
Alura leaned to the side, watching this unfold, then muttered:
"Yeah, that's not going to survive first contact."
Mom gave a tired laugh, stepping in before the conversation spiraled further.
She reached out and lightly tapped both girls on the head.
"You love him too much."
Sophie didn't deny it.
Daisy didn't either.
Mom continued, softer now:
"But you can't hold onto him like that."
That finally made Sophie's expression shift a little.
Not disagreement.
Just reluctant acceptance.
Mom sighed, then looked at Niero.
"Calling every day is a bit much. Once a week is more realistic."
Daisy immediately looked betrayed.
"That's not enough!"
"It is," Mom said calmly.
Niero raised a brow.
"Thank you for at least introducing a concept called 'realism' into this discussion."
Mom ignored him and softened her tone again.
"But safety matters more than schedules."
Her eyes met his directly.
"You're going somewhere that isn't home."
That line landed differently.
Not dramatic.
Just true.
=
The closer Niero got to the cargo ship, the more the harbor felt less like a "departure point" and more like a checkpoint into another life.
The wind coming off the sea was cold enough to sting, carrying the smell of saltwater, diesel fumes, and metal—mixed with the distant cries of gulls and the constant hum of engines.
Ahead of him, the ship loomed like a floating fortress.
Not sleek like a luxury ArkNet ad.
This was a working beast.
Steel plating scarred with old repairs, reinforced rails, mounted defense turrets, and floodlights that swept over the crowd like watchful eyes.
And below the ship's name was a Bloom Dominion stamp in bold letters:
CIVILIAN-MILITARY TRANSPORT UNIT – AUTHORIZED
Niero tightened his grip on his duffel bag strap.
Behind him, Sophie and Daisy followed close like anxious bodyguards.
Mom and Alura stayed a step behind them, watching the line move.
Nobody spoke much anymore.
It wasn't awkward silence.
It was that kind of silence that happens when everyone realizes the moment has already started becoming a memory.
The line crawled forward.
Candidate after candidate stepped up.
Names called out.
IDs scanned.
Bags searched.
Some families hugged their kids before letting go.
Some cried openly.
Some pretended they weren't crying.
Then finally—
Niero reached the registration table.
A Bloom Dominion staff officer sat behind a terminal, face tired but professional, dressed in gray-blue uniform with a Dominion badge on the shoulder.
Next to her stood a Mechanoid assistant holding a scanning wand.
The officer didn't look up immediately.
She just spoke with a practiced monotone.
"Candidate number?"
Niero pulled his laminated bib from his jacket pocket and held it up.
"Zero-one-five-seven. Niero Ripley."
The officer scanned it.
A small beep.
Then she nodded and read aloud from the holographic profile that appeared.
"Candidate 0157. Niero Ripley. Citizen ID… MAC01-1155-720521."
Her eyes finally flicked up, scanning him briefly.
Not with suspicion.
With the same expression she gave everyone.
Just another name.
Just another kid going into the grinder.
She tapped her terminal.
"Confirm your destination: West Port-City, Los Angeles. Gallagher-Sandoval Military Academy intake division."
Niero swallowed.
"Confirmed."
"Any declared meta-talent?"
"Psionic, enhancement-type [Booster]."
The officer typed it in.
Then she gestured to the conveyor belt.
"Place all bags on the belt. Remove any metallic objects from your pockets."
Niero complied, placing his backpack first.
It held his books, his portable game console, charger cables, a notebook, and some snacks his sisters shoved in at the last second.
Then the duffel bag followed.
Clothes.
Toiletries.
Spare socks.
A small towel.
The weight of normal life.
The bags slid forward into the X-ray scanner.
A transparent panel glowed blue.
Inside, the silhouette of his belongings appeared in layered colors.
The Mechanoid assistant tilted its TV-like head slightly, processing the scan.
Then it raised a scanner wand.
"Stand still, arms out."
Niero stood in place.
The wand swept over his jacket, torso, and legs.
A faint buzzing noise.
The Mechanoid paused at his waist.
A second longer than normal.
Niero felt his spine tighten.
The moment the scanner beeped a little too sharply, the entire line behind Niero seemed to collectively feel the situation turning.
The Mechanoid assistant angled its head.
The female security guard leaned slightly forward.
"Step aside. Pocket contents. Now."
Niero exhaled slowly and did as instructed.
One by one, the items came out.
Gold coin necklace.
FoldCap.
Taser.
Pepper spray.
Omamori charm.
Sheathed karambit.
The pile on the inspection tray grew in a way that was less "student belongings" and more "localized self-defense."
The guard paused.
Looked at the tray.
Looked at Niero.
Then looked again.
"…Explain."
Niero opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then opened it again.
"It's complicated."
Behind him, Sophie quietly muttered:
"That's an understatement."
Daisy nodded very seriously.
"He needs them."
The guard slowly rubbed her temples.
"He is entering a civilian-military transport vessel, not a warzone insertion drop."
Alura, meanwhile, casually stepped forward as if she had just remembered something important.
She reached into her pocket.
Pulled out a Swiss army knife.
And placed it onto the tray with a clink.
"Oh, I forgot this."
A beat.
"Bon voyage gift."
The guard stared at her.
Then at the expanding arsenal.
Then back at Alura.
Niero whispered, barely audible:
"Why would you add more? In front of her of all times?"
Mom immediately stepped in before the situation spiraled further.
Her tone stayed calm.
But there was a very controlled edge underneath it now.
"Listen. My son is about to cross the Pacific on a heavily armed cargo vessel through anomalous fog zones, under mixed civilian-military oversight, heading into an academy intake pipeline that is considered a "high attrition risk."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Are you, for the sake of the Radiant Empress and all that is divine, absolutely guaranteeing his safety if he travels unprotected?"
Silence.
Not dramatic silence.
Administrative silence.
The kind where no one wants to be responsible for the answer.
The guard's eyes shifted slightly.
She looked at the tray again.
Then at Niero.
Then at Mom.
Finally, she spoke.
"Weapons onboard civilian transport are prohibited."
A pause.
Then, more measured:
"However… given declared route conditions and candidate profile…"
Her gaze flicked to the karambit specifically.
"Bladed self-defense tools may be permitted if secured and sheathed."
She pointed at the taser and pepper spray.
"Electrical and chemical deterrents are conditionally allowed but must remain sealed unless emergency protocol is declared."
Then, finally:
"Any use in public non-emergency conditions will result in disciplinary action."
Niero stared at her.
"So… I'm allowed to keep them… but also not allowed to use them… unless I need them."
The guard nodded once.
"Correct."
A long pause.
Niero muttered:
"...fair enough, I guess."
Sophie immediately leaned in and started repacking things like she was securing a survival kit.
Daisy carefully lifted the omamori as if it were sacred.
Mom just sighed and patted Niero's shoulder.
Niero himself puts back the contents into his pocket.
"Try not to get into situations where you need any of it."
Niero looked at the pile one more time.
Then at the ship behind them.
Then at the long line, still waiting.
"No promises."
The guard didn't react.
But her expression softened just slightly.
Not approval.
Not concern.
Just recognition.
The moment they reached the boarding ramp, the atmosphere changed again—less like a checkpoint and more like a threshold.
Above them, the cargo-transport ship loomed larger than it looked from the dock. Now close enough, Niero could see the layered plating, sealed cargo doors, and the faint glow of internal floodlights through armored glass. Mechanized cranes shifted in slow arcs along the upper deck, locking final containers into place.
A horn sounded once—deep and resonant.
Not urgent yet.
Just a final warning.
Then the Mechanoid security unit stepped forward.
It was taller than the earlier one at registration, built for crowd control rather than paperwork. Its voice was calm, neutral, and absolute.
"Authorized personnel only beyond this point."
Mom didn't even finish her sentence before it responded.
"Family visitation is not permitted on active candidate transport vessels."
Alura frowned immediately.
"We're just checking his living conditions."
The Mechanoid tilted its head slightly.
"Living conditions are standardized. Transparency logs are available on ArkNet post-departure."
Sophie stepped forward, clearly frustrated.
"That's not the same as seeing it."
Daisy followed, gripping Niero's sleeve instinctively.
"He's never been on something like this before…"
The Mechanoid did not soften.
"I'm sorry, but policy remains unchanged."
A pause.
Then, more gently—almost artificially polite:
"Please step back from the boarding threshold."
Niero stood there for a moment, looking between the ramp and his family.
Behind him, the cargo corridor stretched into the ship's interior like a tunnel into a different world. Ahead of him: separation protocol, intake processing, and whatever the next three years were going to become.
Then the intercom echoed across the harbor.
"T-minus 30 minutes to departure. All candidates proceed to final boarding."
That line hit harder than it should've.
Mom walked up first.
Not arguing anymore.
Just accepting the boundary.
She stopped in front of him and adjusted his collar—small, precise motion, like she was fixing armor rather than clothing.
"Listen carefully."
Her voice lowered slightly.
"Once you're on board, you follow structure and instructions. Not instinct."
A beat.
"And don't try to solve everything alone."
Alura stepped in next, slightly less serious but still firm.
"Call us when you can. And don't get thrown off the ship on day one."
Sophie tried to smile, but it didn't fully land.
"We'll be watching your results when they come in."
Daisy hugged him again—quick this time, like she was trying not to break the rule the Mechanoid just enforced by existing.
"Come back safe."
Then she let go.
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was loaded.
Like something everyone wanted to say but didn't know how to compress into words that wouldn't crack.
The ramp vibrated faintly underfoot as the ship's systems shifted into final boarding mode.
Niero stopped for a moment at the threshold.
Then he turned back.
The dock was framed by harsh floodlights and drifting harbor mist, but even through that, he could clearly see them.
Mom.
Alura.
Sophie.
Daisy.
Four silhouettes standing together at the edge of departure, like a fixed point in his life that the ship couldn't carry away.
He walked back down two steps without hesitation.
Then he pulled them in.
Not rushed.
Not awkward.
Just a full, grounded hug that forced all of them to realize—this wasn't a "see you tomorrow" kind of moment, no matter how they dressed it up emotionally.
Mom stiffened for half a second, then returned it firmly.
Alura let out a small, surprised breath, then patted his back like she was trying to joke through it but couldn't quite manage it.
Sophie held on longer than she intended.
Daisy didn't let go until she had to.
Niero leaned back just enough to look at them and spoke quietly.
"I'll be fine."
A pause.
"I'll be safe."
He glanced at each of them in turn.
"I'll call you when I can. SmartCom, ArkNet—whatever works."
Then, a small attempt at his usual tone returned:
"Try not to miss me too much. I know it's hard."
Daisy immediately looked like she wanted to argue but couldn't find the words.
Sophie just shook her head slightly, half annoyed, half relieved he was still being himself.
Mom reached up and lightly tapped his forehead once.
"Don't get arrogant."
Alura added, quieter:
"And don't get dead."
That got a faint, reluctant laugh out of him.
Then the intercom voice cut through again:
"Final boarding complete. Doors closing."
The ramp lights shifted from white to amber.
The separation line was now literal.
Niero stepped back.
He raised a hand.
They did too.
No more speeches now—just motion.
A wave that tried to say everything words couldn't comprehend anymore.
Sophie's hand lifted first, steady and sure.
Daisy's followed, a little more hesitant but just as strong.
Alura gave a lazy salute that didn't hide her eyes.
Mom held her hand up the longest, like she was refusing to let the moment end first.
Then the ramp began to rise.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like the world itself was deciding how long to make the goodbye last.
Niero turned and walked up with the other candidates.
Step by step.
Past the threshold.
Into the ship.
=
=====
=
[ February 10th, 2088 (Monday, Morning) ] - [ BDV Iron Convoy #15 (Cargo Ship) > Harbor Sector > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
The ship gave a low, resonant shudder as its systems transitioned from docked idle to full departure thrust.
Outside the reinforced windows of the civilian section, the harbor began to drift away.
Slowly at first—almost politely—like the world was reconsidering whether it should let go.
Then distance took over.
On the dockside, the crowd erupted into motion again.
Waving arms.
Flapping handkerchiefs.
Small confetti poppers bursting into brief, colorful clouds that were instantly swallowed by the wind and salt spray.
Onboard, candidates pressed closer to the windows.
Some cheered.
Some went quiet.
Some just stared like they were trying to memorize the exact shape of the moment before it disappeared.
Niero stood near his seat, closer to the glass than most.
He raised his hand.
And there they were.
Mom.
Alura.
Sophie.
Daisy.
Even at this distance, their presence was unmistakable—not because of detail, but because of weight. The way they stood together made them feel anchored, like the harbor itself had decided to hold onto them for as long as possible.
Daisy was jumping in place, waving both arms like she could physically bridge the gap.
But her face—
Even from here, it was clear she was crying.
Sophie stayed beside her, one hand still raised, the other steadying Daisy when she swayed.
Alura waved more loosely, but didn't look away.
And Mom—
Mom held Daisy briefly again, then looked up and kept her hand raised toward the ship until the angle made it impossible to tell where her gaze was landing anymore.
Niero lifted his hand higher.
Waved back.
Not frantic.
Not exaggerated.
Just steady enough to mean "I see you. I'm still here."
The ship continued forward.
The harbor's structures began to shrink—cranes, terminals, buildings, the entire familiar grid of Sector 13-05 dissolving into compressed geometry as distance took it apart piece by piece.
Then came the first real threshold.
A faint shimmer in the air ahead of the convoy.
The Defense Gates.
At first it looked like heat distortion over the ocean.
Then it became visible as structure—layered energy barriers stretching across the horizon like invisible walls made real only by their refusal to let the world beyond behave normally.
The three cargo ships moved in formation.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Unstoppable in a bureaucratic, engineered way.
One by one, they passed through the Defense Gates.
The energy field rippled across their hulls—not violent, but absolute. A silent inspection that felt less like technology and more like a boundary confirming permission.
Then—
They were through.
MAC-01 was behind them.
Ahead: open ocean.
And beyond that, the Wall, a distant ring of fortified infrastructure that wrapped the island-world like a final, massive sentence.
As hours passed, the harbor became a memory.
The city became a silhouette.
And eventually even that dissolved into a haze.
The foggy horizon of the world outside MAC-01 swallowed everything ahead—thick, drifting, and quietly alive in a way no official brochure ever described too honestly.
=
Inside, the civilian candidate section opened into a structured but crowded interior—rows of secured seating, overhead storage, embedded safety rails, and glowing route indicators along the floor.
The air smelled sterile, recycled, and slightly metallic.
Other candidates were already settling in—some silent, some excited, some pretending they weren't nervous at all.
The intercom crackled again, cutting through the ship's ambient engine hum.
"All candidates are instructed to proceed to assigned bunk quarters. Rest period: one point five hours. Mandatory assembly follows."
"Estimated arrival at The Wall: ten hours."
That last line lingered longer than the rest.
Not shouted.
Not emphasized.
Just stated—like a fact that didn't care how anyone felt about it.
Around Niero, the corridor shifted into motion.
Candidates peeled off in groups, following color-coded indicators along the floor. Staff members moved with practiced efficiency, guiding stragglers, checking wrist IDs, redirecting those who hesitated too long at intersections.
The ship didn't feel like a passenger vessel.
It felt like a system transporting people through itself.
Niero stepped into the flow.
And immediately realized something simple:
He had no idea where he was going.
The corridor split into branching segments, each one marked with alphanumeric designations and soft pulsing lights. Candidates passed him confidently, like they'd memorized the layout already or were too proud to admit they hadn't.
He slowed slightly.
> "Okay… Block C-12… Block C-12…"
He repeated it in his head like a mantra.
That was when Vuldyr's presence sharpened—clean, precise, familiar.
> ["Ya lost, Kiddo?"]
A faint overlay appeared in his vision.
Not physical.
Not projected.
A structured mental interface, like a transparent map laid over reality itself.
< BDV Iron Convoy #015 >
The ship's internal blueprint unfolded in layers:
> Cargo spine (restricted)
> Candidate quarters (mid-deck)
> Medical and evaluation sectors (upper-mid)
> Command and anomaly containment zones (sealed)
> Engine core (non-accessible)
A blinking marker highlighted his position.
Then another pulsing dot labeled;
> BLOCK C-12 — CANDIDATE QUARTERS
Vuldyr's tone remained calm.
> ["Follow the highlighted route. Do not deviate unless necessary."]
Niero exhaled slightly.
"Yeah. I figured that part out."
But he followed anyway.
The deeper he moved into the bunk section, the more the ship changed character.
The polished, open corridors near boarding gave way to narrower hallways lined with reinforced doors. Each door had a small embedded panel, flickering with candidate IDs, occupancy status, and faint biometric locks.
Occasionally, he passed open doorways.
Inside: double bunk beds. Minimal furniture. Shared space. Everything standardized, everything efficient.
No personalization yet.
No life yet.
Just assigned temporary existence.
He passed groups of candidates unpacking, arguing over upper bunks, or silently claiming lockers before anyone else could.
Some looked confident.
Some looked exhausted already.
A few looked like they were trying very hard not to think about anything at all.
Niero kept walking.
Block numbers ticked down.
C-18.
C-17.
C-16.
Each step closer felt less like distance and more like entry into a defined role.
Finally:
C-12
He stopped.
The corridor here was quieter. Fewer voices. Less movement.
Even the ship's hum felt slightly more contained, like this section had been intentionally insulated from the rest.
He stepped inside.
The room was exactly as Vuldyr described.
Two double bunk beds, metal-framed but padded at edges. A shared table bolted to the floor. Four lockers aligned neatly along the wall. A narrow window sealed with reinforced glass showing nothing but drifting fog outside.
No personalization.
No identity.
Just allocation.
Currently, no one is occupied, alone with his own bags, thoughts, and Vuldry.
Niero moved toward an open locker and placed his bag inside.
The metal latch clicked shut.
A clean sound.
Final for now.
Vuldyr's voice softened slightly in his mind.
> ["You have time to rest before assembly."]
A pause.
> ["This vessel's environment is stable. However, psychological stress indicators among candidates are elevated."]
Niero glanced around the room.
"Yeah. I can see that."
He leaned lightly against the bunk frame for a moment, then looked toward the small sealed window again.
Outside: fog.
Endless, shifting, unreadable.
Somewhere behind that fog was the Wall.
And beyond that, everything else he was now heading toward.
He exhaled once.
Then stepped fully into the bunk space—officially settled, officially onboard, officially no longer just departing.
Niero had just settled onto the lower bunk when the room's atmosphere shifted again.
The metal frame creaked slightly under him as he adjusted his bag, then pulled out his SmartCom.
A few taps.
A draft opened.
< Family Group Chat >
He paused for a second, thumb hovering.
> "I'm fine. I got on the ship safely."
> "We're heading out for real now."
> "Also—Daisy, why were you crying like that? I could literally see you from the dock."
A faint exhale left his nose, almost a smile forming.
He was about to hit send.
Then—
A muffled argument echoed from the corridor outside.
Not loud enough to be alarming.
But loud enough to be confidently annoying.
The bunk room door slid open.
Two boys stepped in at the same time, like the universe had decided to introduce contrast on purpose.
The first was a mid-built African boy with dreadlocks, wearing a basketball jersey layered over a hoodie-and-jacket combo that looked like it had survived both street fashion and bad weather without compromise. His posture was loose, animated, and already halfway into a complaint.
The second was a petite, sharply dressed Chinese boy—expensive fabric, polished shoes, luggage that looked like it had its own logistics plan. His expression was locked somewhere between offended dignity and lifelong inconvenience.
They immediately noticed each other.
And immediately looked more annoyed.
"Bro, I already told you—don't put your bag there; that's my space."
"Your space? There is no 'your space.' The assignment chart clearly states equal allocation."
The dreadlocked boy scoffed.
"Man, I don't care what your 'assignment chart' says. You're loud already, I can tell."
The rich boy's eyebrow twitched.
"And you are… visually excessive."
That landed like a deliberate insult.
The African boy leaned slightly forward.
"Visually excessive? That's crazy coming from someone wearing a suitcase collection."
The Chinese boy pointed sharply at one of the bunks.
"And yet I will not be sleeping beneath someone who speaks like a malfunctioning street rapper."
They both stopped.
Stared at each other.
Then simultaneously realized they were not alone.
Their eyes shifted.
And landed on Niero.
For a brief second, the room went quiet enough that even the ship's distant engine hum felt louder.
The dreadlocked boy blinked first.
"Oh. There's a third one."
The Chinese boy adjusted his collar slightly.
"Unfortunate."
Niero, still holding his SmartCom mid-draft, looked between them.
Then calmly said:
"You two always like this, or is this just the welcome package?"
The African boy grinned a little despite himself.
"Nah, this is just him... I think."
He tilted his head toward the other boy.
The Chinese boy did not appreciate that interpretation.
"Wrong. This is him provoking reality through poor spatial awareness."
A beat.
Then the African boy pointed at the bunks.
"So what, we all stuck together for the whole ride?"
The Chinese boy replied immediately:
"I hope not."
Another pause.
Niero finally lowered his SmartCom slightly.
The draft was still open.
Unsent.
He glanced at it, then at them.
Then back at the bunkroom.
The ship hummed gently beneath them, continuing its long, irreversible path through ocean and fog.
And now—
It had added two very different kinds of noise.
The tension in the room eased just a fraction once roles and bunks were informally sorted out.
The Chinese boy—still visibly offended by the environment itself—had retreated to his own top bunk while using his bottom bunk to store his luggage like it was part of a private exhibition of expensive-looking cloths.
Niero sat back slightly on his assigned lower bunk, SmartCom still in hand, draft still unsent.
Then he broke the silence first.
"So… you two buddies?"
JD let out an immediate laugh.
"Hell nah."
He pointed lazily toward the other side of the room.
"I just met this rich prick like five minutes ago."
Across the room, the Chinese boy didn't even look up from unpacking.
"And I regret every second of it."
The African boy clicked his tongue.
"See? That twink-ass attitude right there."
The Chinese boy finally glanced over.
"Your voice alone is an environmental hazard."
JD ignored him completely and turned back to Niero.
The shift in tone was almost instant—like flipping from argument mode to social mode.
"Aight, forget him. The top bunk empty?"
Niero glanced up towards the empty top bunk above him, then back at the dreadlocked boy.
"It's all yours."
He nodded like that was a deal sealed in law.
"Cool."
He swung his duffle bag up onto the top bunk with practiced ease, then dropped down onto the edge of the lower bed frame for a second before fully settling in. The dreadlocked African boy had claimed the top bunk with the confidence of someone who treated vertical space as a personal lifestyle choice.
Only then did he extend a hand.
"Name's Joyce Daughtry, by the way. Sector 20. Industrial and Foundry Sector."
A grin.
"But most people call me JD."
Niero hesitated just long enough to register the energy, then reached out.
"Niero Ripley. Sector 13, Habitation & Commercial Sector."
The handshake that followed was not standard.
It was layered.
Clap. Twist. Pull. Tap.
Like it had rhythm, history, and unnecessary confidence all baked into it.
JD nodded approvingly mid-shake.
"Yeah, yeah—this is it. You got hands like you've actually been outside Sector 13 for once."
Niero blinked slightly.
"Uh… thanks?"
JD leaned back, satisfied.
"That wasn't a compliment. That's just an observation. Ya' got some strong grip, man."
From the other side of the room, the Chinese boy let out a quiet, offended exhale.
"Unrefined social thing."
JD immediately pointed without looking.
"See? That's him again."
Niero didn't respond to that.
Instead, he glanced down at his SmartCom again.
The draft was still there.
Half-written message to home.
Waiting.
But now, the room wasn't just silence and uncertainty anymore.
Niero's question landed cleanly into the middle of the room like a referee's whistle trying to impose order.
"What about you, rich kid?" Niero asked.
The Chinese boy finally looked up properly, as if deciding Niero was at least worth acknowledging.
"Lee Feilin."
A pause, just long enough to feel intentional.
"Sector 05. High-end residential and executive district."
He adjusted the sleeve of his outfit with precise irritation.
"You may refer to me as Flick."
JD immediately leaned forward like he'd been waiting his whole life for that exact opening.
"Flick?"
He repeated it slowly, tasting it.
Then grinned.
"Like… flicking people off? Or flicking deez nuts? Is that why you got that name?"
Feilin's expression flattened instantly.
"Go. Fuck. Yourself."
JD burst out laughing.
"Ayo, I don't like him even more."
Feilin shrugged and looked away.
Niero sat there for a second, watching the exchange unfold like a live argument simulation that someone forgot to label as "optional social interaction."
He slowly looked between them.
Then he exhaled through his nose.
"So… I'm bunking with two people who talk like they're already in a breakup."
JD pointed at Feilin.
"He started it."
Feilin replied instantly.
"You began the moment you entered the room."
JD leaned back on the bunk frame with utter sense of offensiveness.
Niero leaned back slightly against his bunk, staring at the ceiling for a moment.
The ship hummed steadily around them—deep, constant, unbothered by their argument about existence itself.
He glanced down at his SmartCom again.
Still unsent message.
Still waiting.
Then he muttered, more to himself than them:
"I can't believe I'm stuck here for a week."
JD overheard and smirked.
"A week? Bro, this is the calm part."
Feilin added without missing a beat:
"Unfortunately, I agree with him."
A brief silence followed.
Then JD pointed lazily toward Niero.
"But hey, you seem chill. That's already 50% of the room's sanity."
Feilin corrected immediately:
"It is closer to 33.3%."
JD frowned.
"Why do you gotta math my vibe?"
Feilin didn't even look at him.
"Because your 'vibe' is statistically horrendous."
Niero let his head tilt back again, eyes half-lidded for a moment.
Then, quietly:
"Yeah… this is going to be a long trip."
=
=====
=
[ February 10th, 2088 (Monday, Noon) ] - [ Assembly Hall > BDV Iron Convoy #15 (Cargo Ship) > Inner Oceanic Ring > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
The assembly hall felt less like a formal gathering and more like a controlled containment zone for adolescent chaos.
Rows upon rows of foldable metal chairs filled the massive room, divided down the middle between male and female candidates. Even separated, the combined noise of nearly a thousand teenagers created a constant wall of sound.
Conversations layered over each other endlessly.
Laughter.
Arguments.
SmartCom notification sounds.
Music leaking from cheap speakers.
Someone somewhere throwing paper balls with suspiciously accurate aim.
A girl's voice yelling across the hall at someone to stop cheating in an app game.
The ship's engine rumble underneath everything tied it all together like background bass.
Niero sat midway down the boys' section.
To his right, JD was leaned back casually in his chair, one wireless earbud in, head bobbing faintly to music only he could hear. Every now and then he mouthed lyrics under his breath while drumming fingers against his knee.
To Niero's left, Flick sat with impeccable posture despite the uncomfortable chair, eyes fixed on his SmartCom while typing rapidly.
Most likely talking to wealthy friends.
Or complaining about the "smell of poverty."
Possibly both.
Meanwhile, Niero himself was trapped in an endless family group chat loop.
> Mom: "Did you eat properly?"
> Daisy: "Did anyone look suspicious?"
> Sophie: "SEND PHOTO OF YOUR ROOM."
> Alura: "If a girl flirts with you, throw water at her."
Niero stared at the messages with exhausted disbelief.
> Niero: I'm literally fine.
Three dots instantly appeared from all four of them simultaneously.
He immediately regretted replying.
Around him, the assembly hall itself was utilitarian to the core.
The walls were metallic and reinforced, broken only by exposed structural beams and mounted screens currently displaying the Bloom Dominion insignia. Ceiling windows allowed pale daylight to filter through, though most of it came through muted and cold from the overcast sky outside.
No elegance.
No inspiration.
Just functionality.
A room built to gather people efficiently.
Niero reached into his pocket and pulled out his earbuds.
At this point, silence sounded like survival.
He was halfway through putting one in—
Then the atmosphere shifted.
The side doors near the front stage opened.
Several women in military uniforms entered in formation.
The noise in the room didn't stop immediately, but it dipped enough for attention to spread outward like ripples in water.
The women moved with practiced authority.
Not exaggerated.
Not theatrical.
The kind of posture that came from people accustomed to being obeyed.
Dark Dominion military coats.
Utility belts.
Sidearms.
Some carried tablets.
Others simply scanned the room with the detached awareness of handlers assessing a transport load.
One of them stepped toward the center podium.
Tall.
Sharp-eyed.
Hair tied into a strict ponytail.
The moment she reached the microphone, feedback briefly screeched.
Half the room winced.
JD pulled one earbud out.
Flick looked mildly offended by the audio quality.
Niero lowered his own earbuds slowly.
The officer glanced over the assembly hall.
One look.
And somehow the room began quieting down on instinct alone.
Not silence yet.
But close enough.
Then she spoke.
"Candidates of the Gallagher-Sandoval Military Academy transfer convoy."
Her voice carried cleanly across the hall.
Calm.
Controlled.
Dangerously patient.
"Welcome aboard the BDV Iron Convoy #15."
The hall settled further.
Even the paper ball throwing stopped.
Mostly.
The stern officer stepped slightly away from the podium once the hall had quieted enough to resemble order.
Not perfect order.
But a survivable order.
She adjusted the microphone once, then spoke flatly:
"The mandatory assembly will begin now."
With a simple gesture of her hand, she ceded the stage to another woman approaching from the side.
The contrast between them was immediate.
Where the first officer radiated hardened military composure, this newcomer looked… noticeably more human.
Young—mid twenties at most.
Square-framed glasses.
Ceremonial-style academy uniform with a skirt and fitted jacket, though worn in a slightly more relaxed manner than strict military regulation would probably prefer.
She carried a clipboard so tightly it looked like emotional support equipment.
And as she climbed the small steps to the podium—
Several papers nearly slipped loose.
A small gasp escaped her.
She caught them at the last second.
A few candidates snickered.
JD muttered under his breath:
"Damn. She's fighting for her life already."
Flick sighed softly.
"At least she recovered gracefully."
The young woman inhaled once.
Twice.
Then she straightened herself.
By the time she reached the microphone, she had managed to assemble a functional smile.
Not fake.
Just nervous.
"G-Good afternoon, everyone."
Her voice nearly cracked on the first syllable, but she pushed through it professionally.
"Welcome aboard the recruitment convoy for the Gallagher-Sandoval Military Academy."
A few scattered claps echoed awkwardly around the hall.
She smiled more naturally this time.
"My name is Ms. Nataliah Armin, and I'm one of the admissions counselors who will be assisting all of you during your transition into academy life. You can call me 'Ms. Natalie' or 'Admin Armin.' "
Her tone was warm.
Teacher-like.
Almost comforting compared to the rigid atmosphere surrounding the military staff.
Niero noticed several candidates visibly relax a little.
Even JD lowered his guard slightly.
Ms. Nataliah adjusted her glasses nervously before continuing.
"First of all, congratulations."
She looked across the crowd with genuine sincerity.
"Every single one of you passed a rigorous selection process to be here today. Whether your scores were exceptional, average, or barely met the threshold…"
A tiny smile.
"…you still earned your place on this ship."
That drew more attention.
Some candidates straightened unconsciously.
Others looked relieved hearing that.
Niero leaned back slightly in his chair, arms folded loosely.
Meanwhile Flick quietly muttered.
"Barely meeting the threshold is a terrifying concept."
JD snorted.
"You're saying that like you got perfect scores."
Flick adjusted his sleeve.
"I did."
JD blinked once.
"…Aight, fair enough."
At the podium, Ms. Nataliah continued carefully reading from her clipboard.
"For the next week, this vessel will act as temporary housing, transit, and preliminary orientation before arrival at West Port-City, California."
The mention of California stirred murmurs throughout the room.
Some are excited.
Some are anxious.
Some realized for the first time how far away they truly were going.
Ms. Nataliah pressed onward.
"There will be rules onboard. Curfews. Restricted zones. Safety procedures. Mandatory attendance during briefings and emergency drills."
Then she smiled awkwardly.
"And… hopefully no one sets anything on fire."
A few candidates laughed.
Even the strict officer nearby looked mildly tired instead of angry for exactly one second.
Niero noticed it.
Then Ms. Nataliah flipped to another page.
The nervousness returned slightly.
"Now then… before we begin orientation, there are several important matters regarding travel beyond The Wall that all candidates are required to understand..."
While Ms. Nataliah Armin continued explaining onboard regulations, emergency alarms, restricted decks, and meal schedules, Niero's attention drifted elsewhere.
Not out of boredom.
Out of instinct.
His eyes slowly scanned the assembly hall.
And beneath his normal gaze—
the faint golden shimmer of his [Golden Eye] appraisal activated.
Vuldyr assisted silently in the background, filtering data and preventing the information overload from becoming unbearable.
Strings of information quietly appeared beside individuals like translucent overlays.
Most of the candidates were exactly what he expected.
Teenagers.
Mostly sixteen.
Some nervousness.
Some are excited.
Some were already acting like they were action movie protagonists.
The majority were human.
Most girls radiated visible Mana signatures as Mana Casters, while only a smaller percentage of boys possessed Psionic Metatalents. Compared to the girls, the boys' energy signatures varied wildly depending on the individual.
But what truly caught Niero's attention were the non-human candidates scattered throughout the hall.
The Hollow refugees.
The asylum species integrated into Bloom Dominion society.
Therianthropes / Fangires—aka, [The Beastfolks]. A race of anthropomorphic animals in humanoid form, each with features and natural abilities of their respective Earth animal counterparts. Strangely, they were not natives of Earth; their species was affected by the anomalous plague that wiped out half of the human male population while the females got mana energy as well as unique superpowers.
A wolf Beastfolk girl sat near the aisle chatting with a rabbit-eared girl and a tiger-furred girl while their tails flicked independently behind them.
At the boy's section further back sat a towering bear Beastfolk candidate whose sheer size made even the reinforced folding chair look concerned for structural integrity. Yet he seems like a gentle giant with his softer yet friendly personality.
Nearby, several elven-like Kedarans sat elegantly together at the female group.
[The Kedarans] are essentially psychic space elves with long lives. They look human but are slightly taller than an average human, have "elf" ears, shimmering "freckles," a prehensile tail with a soft feather-like tip, and digitigrade-like feet that almost look like regular human legs. They have a special tune towards Psionic Metatalent but most developed Mana energy and unique Mana-based Metatalents just some of the Hollow refuge species.
Beautiful in an almost unreal way.
Their softly glowing bioluminescent freckles shimmered faintly beneath the assembly hall lighting like stars under skin. Their faces were androgynous enough that Niero genuinely could not tell at a glance whether some were male or female, even though their species is known as "sequential hermaphroditism."
Not that it mattered much in Bloom Dominion society.
Then there were [The Mechanoids].
Entirely artificial beings with fully sapient human-like AI cyberbrains housed in (mostly) humanoid synthetic bodies. Some looked almost human, while others openly displayed metallic joints or glowing synthetic eyes without concern.
Yet through [Golden Eye], Niero noticed something absent in all of them.
No Mana circulation.
No natural energy generation.
No soul-like resonance similar to humans or other biological species.
Just incredibly sophisticated artificial consciousness.
And then—
His gaze paused longer than expected.
[The Sanguinox.]
Essentially human vampires who have a symbiotic bond with a crucifix-form parasitic organism from the Hollow in their chest as a "second heart," granting them both the superhuman abilities and benefits in exchange for blood as well as the weaknesses of a traditional vampire. However, they are one of the monitored species under the Bloom Dominion yet have some leeway for some reason.
At first glance they looked human.
Maybe slightly paler.
Sharper features.
More composed body language.
But [Golden Eye] revealed the truth hidden beneath flesh.
Inside their chest cavity rested a second organ.
A dark crucifix-shaped parasitic symbiote attached near the heart like a living relic.
Their "second heart."
The source of their vampiric physiology.
Enhanced strength.
Regeneration.
Heightened senses.
Longevity.
And weaknesses disturbingly similar to ancient vampire myths.
Niero watched one female Sanguinox quietly sitting several rows ahead, her crimson eyes reflecting the assembly hall lights faintly while she listened calmly to Ms. Nataliah.
The parasitic cruciform organ pulsed softly beneath her ribcage.
Niero instinctively frowned slightly.
Vuldyr spoke quietly in his mind.
> ["Fascinating biological adaptation. Symbiotic rather than purely parasitic. The organism and host appear mutually dependent."]
Niero mentally replied:
"Still creepy."
> ["Agreed."]
Then there are a few more...
[The Chromed] — A catch-all term for humans and non-human organics who replace flesh with cybernetics. From cheap prosthetics to luxury military-grade implants, their bodies are often built and maintained by megacorporations. Some modifications include built-in weaponry, enhanced reflexes, or neural systems capable of interfacing with machines directly. However, women capable of wielding mana require specialized implants designed to withstand arcane energy; incompatible models can trigger catastrophic overloads that destroy both machine and host. In an era obsessed with augmentation, the Chromed embody both progress and dependency on technology.
[The Shellwalkers] — Those who abandoned mortality by digitizing their consciousness into an Atman, a stored mind housed within crystalline devices called Atman Cores. These cores are inserted into artificial bodies known as Somata, allowing them to replace bodies indefinitely and achieve a form of synthetic immortality. Yet their eternal existence is rarely free—most depend on corporate subscription systems that maintain memory backups and consciousness storage. To many, the Shellwalkers are proof humanity conquered death; to others, they are souls trapped inside products they no longer truly own.
[The Drexxan] — One of the Hollow's refugees within Earth. The towering reptilian giants born from a culture where survival defines worth. Their scaled hides, immense strength, and regenerative biology make them terrifying warriors capable of enduring wounds fatal to most species. Drexxan society revolves around clan loyalty, combat trials, and blood-oaths, with honor earned only through hardship and victory. Though outsiders often view them as brutal savages, the Drexxan see conflict as sacred—a necessary trial that reveals strength, loyalty, and the right to survive.
and then-
[The Xaian] — Another Hollow refugees. A six-limbed eusocial insectoid species whose civilization functions like a single living organism, specialized in bioengineering, architecture, and agriculture. Every Xaian is born into a biological caste—caretaker, laborer, warrior, diplomat, or queen—each engineered for a specific role within the hive. Besides the capability to speak 'human language,' they can communicate with clicks and hisses, as well as their chitinous bodies glow with faint bioluminescent patterns used for pheromonal communication. Their vast underground hive cities are grown organically into fractal structures of perfect efficiency. Though their synchronized behavior unsettles outsiders, the Xaian are not mindless drones; individuality exists, but always in service to the collective. United by shared instinct and purpose, they possess one of the most stable and formidable civilizations on Earth.
At the podium, Ms. Nataliah continued explaining emergency procedures regarding travel beyond The Wall.
Meanwhile Niero's gaze swept across the room again.
So many people.
So many species.
So many powers.
Some candidates were ordinary.
Some dangerous.
Some hiding things.
Just like him.
=
Niero's focus had already begun drifting away from the assembly itself.
Ms. Nataliah's voice slowly blurred into background noise alongside the ship's engines, the occasional coughs from candidates, and JD quietly humming music beside him.
Then—
CLAP!
A single sharp clap echoed from the podium loud enough to cut through the entire hall.
The sound snapped attention forward instantly.
Even JD removed an earbud.
Flick looked up from his SmartCom with visible annoyance at being interrupted.
At the podium, Ms. Nataliah stood straighter, visibly more energized.
"Everyone, please direct your attention to the stage."
She smiled brightly now, nerves briefly replaced by excitement.
"We have several special guests accompanying this voyage. Please give them a warm welcome."
Applause began spreading across the hall.
Some polite.
Some genuinely excited.
Some just clapping because everyone else was.
Then the side entrance doors opened.
Three figures entered.
The first figure immediately made Niero's eye twitch slightly.
A familiar relaxed posture.
A trench coat over a humming BDAAA-issued M.A.R.S. combat suit.
One gloved hand resting casually near a mechanized katana.
Agent Takeshi Armitage.
The same annoyingly perceptive Anti-Anomaly Agency swordsman who somehow kept reappearing in Niero's life like an unskippable side quest.
Takeshi casually waved at the crowd like he was entering a neighborhood bar instead of a military assembly.
"Anyone know where a guy can get decent booze and fried food on this ship?"
Several candidates burst into laughter instantly.
Even JD snorted.
Ms. Nataliah immediately panicked slightly.
"A-Agent Armitage, please don't encourage minors."
Takeshi raised both hands innocently.
"What? I said food too."
That earned even more chuckles.
Niero narrowed his eyes suspiciously from his seat.
"That five'o clock face bastard. Why is he here…"
Vuldyr answered mentally:
> ["Possibly security assignment."]
A pause.
> ["Or stalking you."]
> "…Not helping."
But then—
The second figure stepped onto the stage.
And the atmosphere changed completely.
A decorated Chinese woman walked calmly beside Takeshi.
Blindfolded.
Elegant sleeveless qipao adorned with intricate patterns flowing softly with each movement. Her posture radiated serene confidence, and despite the blindfold covering her eyes, she navigated the stage flawlessly.
The moment Ms. Nataliah introduced her—
The hall erupted.
"S-Rank Sororitae—Sifang, the Mistress of Elements."
Even Niero straightened slightly.
Daisy's treasured UR card.
The same Sororitae.
The same legendary woman.
Sifang smiled warmly toward the audience.
Her voice carried gently across the hall.
"Do not fear."
The lights in the room flickered faintly.
"As long as I stand upon this vessel…"
A small flame ignited above one hand.
A sphere of water spiraled above another.
Fragments of stone floated weightlessly near her shoulder.
And beside her, a miniature cyclone spun gracefully in the air.
Four elements.
Perfectly controlled simultaneously.
"...everyone is in safe hands," Sifang said with a confident yet warm smile.
The assembly hall exploded into cheers.
Girls especially looked awestruck.
Some candidates even stood halfway from their chairs clapping harder.
JD stared openly.
"Nahhh. That's sick, dude."
Even Flick looked genuinely impressed for once.
"Elemental synchronization without visible casting delay…"
Agent Takeshi crossed his arms and grinned.
"Hey, Sifang. Wanna make this interesting?"
The floating fireball intensified slightly as Sifang smiled toward him.
"No bets, Agent. You would lose anyways."
Takeshi pointed dramatically at the audience.
"See? Already talks trash professionally."
Laughter spread again.
Even the strict military staff nearby looked more relaxed now.
Meanwhile, Niero quietly reached into his pocket.
His fingers brushed against Daisy's Omamori charm.
Inside it rested Sifang's UR collectible card.
For a strange moment, reality overlapped with the childish collectable image in his mind.
The legendary Sororitae standing only meters away.
Not just a card.
Not just a symbol.
One of the living monsters of power.
And yet—
Even while everyone else focused on Sifang's elemental display…
Niero noticed something else.
The pressure.
The invisible weight radiating from her existence.
Not hostile.
Not oppressive.
But immense.
His [Golden Eye] instinctively strained trying to appraise her.
Then immediately flooded warning signals through his vision.
> [APPRAISAL LIMIT EXCEEDED]
> [TARGET THREAT LEVEL: UNKNOWN]
> [EXCESSIVE ENERGY SIGNATURE DETECTED]
Vuldyr reacted immediately.
> ["Do not continue direct appraisal. You might give yourself a migrane."]
Niero blinked once and shut the ability down before it overloaded further.
Sifang let the applause settle before gently raising one hand again.
Immediately, the room quieted.
Not because she demanded silence.
But because her presence naturally commanded it.
Then, to everyone's confusion, she motioned toward the side entrance again.
A blond Caucasian boy stepped awkwardly onto the stage carrying an absurdly oversized hiking backpack that looked heavier than common sense itself.
The boy looked around with the wide-eyed amazement yet confusion of someone accidentally teleported into the wrong event.
Messy blond hair.
Friendly face.
Broad athletic build.
And an expression so profoundly air-headed that Niero instinctively questioned how this person successfully boarded the ship without getting trapped in a vending machine.
Sifang smiled warmly.
"This is Bartholomew Correy."
The boy waved enthusiastically.
"Hi! I'm Bart!"
Sifang continued calmly:
"Or Bart, as he prefers to be called."
Bart nodded proudly.
"Because Bartholomew sounds like a wizard tax collector."
A few candidates laughed immediately.
Even Takeshi snorted beside Sifang.
The Sororitae continued with saint-like patience.
"He is not one of the special guests."
Bart looked mildly disappointed.
"Aw…"
"I found him wandering several restricted corridors alone."
That sounded less good.
"Including near the vessel's energy core."
The entire assembly hall paused.
Even the military staff looked tired in advance.
Ms. Nataliah visibly covered part of her face with her clipboard.
Sifang turned gently toward Bart.
"Would you like to explain why you were near the ship's reactor?"
Bart scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
"I got lost."
A beat.
"The signs are really complicated."
Another pause.
"And I thought the glowing hallway looked important."
Takeshi immediately burst out laughing.
"Kid almost wandered into classified machinery because the corridor looked shiny."
Ms. Nataliah looked like she was aging in real time.
Sifang, somehow still smiling, continued:
"Apparently, he was searching for Cabin Block C-12."
Niero froze slightly.
Beside him, JD slowly lowered his earbud.
Flick visibly recoiled internally.
Then Sifang asked:
"Would the occupants of Cabin C-12 please raise their hands?"
A painful silence followed.
Niero looked at JD.
JD looked at Flick.
Flick looked spiritually betrayed by destiny itself.
Reluctantly—
Three hands rose.
Sifang nodded warmly.
"Wonderful."
She gestured toward them.
"Mr. Correy, those are your roommates."
Bart's entire face lit up with devastating positivity.
"SWEET!"
Then disaster occurred.
The boy immediately ran toward the stairs—
Missed one of the steps—
And fell directly off the side of the stage.
The entire hall gasped.
Bart hit the floor with a loud THUD.
Then instantly stood back up unharmed.
"I'M OKAY!"
The hall erupted into laughter.
Even Sifang covered part of her mouth politely.
JD nearly choked laughing.
"Nahhh, this dude weird AF."
Before Niero could mentally prepare—
Bart bulldozed through the rows of chairs toward them with unstoppable golden retriever energy.
Several male candidates got physically pushed aside by sheer accidental enthusiasm.
"EXCUSE ME—SORRY—NEW FRIENDS—COMING THROUGH—"
Then he arrived.
And immediately wrapped all three of them into a crushing group hug.
Niero's soul nearly left his body from secondhand embarrassment.
JD got caught laughing mid-impact.
Flick looked like he had experienced psychic damage.
"HELLO ROOMIES!"
Bart beamed like they'd been best friends for years.
"THIS IS SO COOL!"
Niero, trapped in the hug:
"…Why are you like this?"
JD snickering.
Flick, still imprisoned in Bart's arm:
"Release me immediately."
Instead, Bart hugged tighter.
The surrounding candidates openly laughed now.
Even Takeshi pointed from the stage.
"Look at that. Friendship achieved at terminal velocity."
Niero slowly stared deadpan toward the ceiling.
One week.
He only needed to survive one week on this ship.
Already, that objective was beginning to feel statistically questionable.
=
=====
=
The remainder of the day passed in a blur of controlled orientation chaos.
After the introductions and embarrassing public adoption of Bart into Cabin C-12, the candidates were pushed through a relentless chain of onboarding activities clearly designed to prevent a thousand anxious teenagers from collectively losing their minds.
Presentation after presentation played across large projector screens.
Academy schedules.
Training expectations.
Citizenship advancement opportunities.
Combat ethics.
Survival procedures beyond The Wall.
Rules about contraband, curfews, and restricted relationships between cadets and staff.
JD nearly fell asleep during the discipline lecture.
Flick took organized notes with terrifying efficiency.
Bart somehow asked questions every single session.
Even when the answers were already on the slide.
Niero alternated between paying attention and mentally questioning how boring this presentation can get.
Then came the "icebreaker activities."
Which, in Niero's opinion, should have been classified as psychological warfare.
Candidates were grouped together to introduce themselves, discuss future goals, and perform awkward trust exercises while staff walked around pretending this was normal human behavior.
Bart excelled instantly.
Within thirty minutes he already knew the names of half the boys in their section.
JD adapted socially like water, easily chatting with the boys and some girls about music, graffiti, basketball, and even video games.
Flick looked one mild inconvenience away from suing the concept of extroversion, yet he seemed to be having fun weaponizing his effeminate charm to make some boys question their sexuality.
Meanwhile Niero mostly survived by existing near the edge of conversations while occasionally saying something sarcastic enough to make people laugh.
Then, meals followed afterward.
The ship cafeteria served functional food more than enjoyable food for both the staff and candidates.
Dense protein meals.
Artificial electrolyte drinks.
Nutrient-heavy soup.
Bread that tasted aggressively average.
Average food that is meant to fill their bellies instead of the luxury of high-end flavors.
JD ate his food, stating there are worse foods back in Sector 20 compared to what they are eating.
Bart somehow traded snacks with three different tables within ten minutes, with some gave it way to him just to get rid of him.
Flick complained the rice texture was "emotionally disappointing," somewhat demanding wagyu beef or caviar at the very least.
Niero quietly missed Maison Bella Cafe cooking with every bite. He even proudly stated he can cook better than this "slop."
=
By the time evening settled in, exhaustion had spread across the convoy.
And outside—
The BDV Iron Convoy continued its journey.
Hours passed.
The three massive cargo vessels steadily crossed the oceanic defensive rings surrounding Mega-Ark City 01.
First the Inner Ring.
Then the Middle Ring.
Finally—
The Outer Ring.
And there, looming across the darkening ocean like a continental fortress—
stood The Wall.
Even from inside the ship, the scale felt monstrous.
A colossal defensive barrier stretching endlessly across the sea horizon, layered with armored battlements, anti-ship cannons, missile arrays, radar systems, energy pylons, and towering defense stations glowing beneath the cold night sky.
The final shield of humanity.
The last line before the world beyond civilization.
Massive gates slowly opened just enough for the convoy to pass.
The ships sailed through carefully under escort lights and scanning beams.
Then behind them—
The Wall closed once more.
Sealing Mega-Ark City 01 safely away.
Many candidates watched silently from observation windows.
Some looked excited.
Some nervous.
Some realizing for the first time that they had truly left home.
Niero stood among them quietly.
Hands inside his jacket pockets.
Watching the distant lights of MAC-01 grow smaller and smaller behind.
Then ahead—
The fogline appeared.
A pale endless wall of white stretching across the ocean horizon like the edge of reality itself.
The anomalous fog.
The Hollow-tainted world beyond mankind's protected domains.
The convoy ships continued forward without hesitation.
Their reinforced hulls hummed.
Shield systems activated.
Sonar pulses echoed beneath the sea.
The fog slowly swallowed the ships whole.
And deep within that endless white abyss—
something noticed them.
Far beneath the waves.
Far beyond human sight.
A presence stirred.
Ancient.
Hungry.
Patient.
Multiple eyes opened slowly in the dark oceanic depths.
Watching the convoy.
Tracking it.
As if the moment the ships crossed beyond humanity's walls—
they had entered another creature's territory.
=
=====
=
<<<[ Ch 28, Part 01 - END ]>>>