The polar night had arrived.
Snow and wind slammed against the windbreak walls.
A deep rumble came from far beneath the ground.
The sky was black.
The earth was black as well.
Searchlights swept through the snowstorm.
Yet they still could not illuminate the distance.
This was the Northveil Directorate.
The far northern frontier.
Ice fields and frozen soil covered most of the land.
Winter occupied most of the year.
The polar night and blizzards were the most common sights here.
To outsiders, this place was hardly suitable for habitation.
But to the people of the Northveil Directorate, this was home.
It was also the land where their ancestors had lived for generations.
Deep underground.
The thermal energy core continued operating.
Massive energy facilities were enclosed by thick steel structures.
Heat was transported through pipelines to every part of the city.
Heating.
Lighting.
Water supply.
Every life-support system depended on it.
The deep rumble traveled throughout the city along the pipeline network.
Like the heartbeat of something that would never stop.
The elderly often said:
If one day they could no longer hear the thermal energy core running, there would be no need to think about tomorrow.
Because there would be no tomorrow.
The residential areas gradually awakened.
Rail transport vehicles moved slowly through underground tunnels.
Workers headed toward their workplaces.
Students went to their classrooms.
Medical personnel began their shifts.
Everyone followed a fixed schedule.
There was little unnecessary romance here.
The environment did not allow for waste.
Steam rose inside the cafeteria.
People quietly lined up.
They collected their breakfast.
Concentrated thermal-energy soup.
Fermented bread.
Freeze-dried meat.
High in calories.
High in fat.
Enough to keep the body functioning in the cold.
No one discussed the taste.
Food came first as a means of survival.
Everything else came after.
In the corner.
Several children waited for their lessons to begin.
The teacher placed several pieces of ore on the table.
"Identify it."
The children immediately examined them.
"Blue Iron Ore."
"Uses."
"Cold-resistant structural material."
"Danger."
"Inhaled dust can damage the lungs."
The teacher nodded.
Then moved on to the next piece.
"Gray Sulfur Stone."
"Combustion-support mineral."
"Danger."
"Releases toxic gas in high-temperature environments."
The lesson continued.
Education here was different from the outside world.
Minerals.
Pollution.
Frostbite.
Energy.
These subjects were taught long before literature and art.
Because they were directly connected to death.
Those who did not understand them.
Would have difficulty surviving on the ice fields for long.
The experience left behind by their ancestors had accumulated over generations.
Eventually, it became common knowledge here.
Recognize danger.
Prepare in advance.
Do not gamble on luck.
Never underestimate the environment.
These rules accompanied every child as they grew.
The medical district was also beginning to grow busy.
Workers who had just returned from field operations were undergoing examinations.
A nurse placed an instrument against a worker's wrist.
The data was uploaded automatically.
Body temperature.
Radiation levels.
Physical condition.
Everything was recorded.
"Normal."
The worker nodded and left.
A young man beside him looked confused.
"Even people without injuries have to be examined?"
The nurse continued organizing the records.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because by the time you examine someone after discovering an abnormality, it is usually already too late."
The young man fell silent.
People here checked their body temperature every day.
They checked their equipment.
They checked their communication devices.
Not because it was required.
But because it had become a habit.
A habit born from survival.
At the Administration Center.
Dozens of screens operated simultaneously.
Environmental temperature.
Radiation fluctuations.
Energy reserves.
Mining area conditions.
Data from every region was constantly updated.
The staff processed the information quietly.
Few people here ever raised their voices.
Facts were always more important than emotions.
The person in charge reviewed the reports received that day.
Three external contracts.
Underground pollution spreading from a neighboring country's mining district.
Ability residue leaking from an abandoned coastal port.
Abnormal activity at an old research facility.
To the outside world, these might have been disasters.
To the Northveil Directorate, they were work.
They were also an important source of national income.
The population here was small.
The land was barren.
The climate was harsh.
Relying solely on domestic resources was not enough to support development.
So many years ago.
They began accepting pollution-control contracts.
They handled the problems others were unwilling to handle.
In exchange for resources.
Food.
Energy.
Their ancestors had lived in extreme cold for generations.
They understood the properties of minerals.
They knew how various toxins reacted.
They mastered pollution containment and treatment technologies.
These experiences continued to accumulate.
Eventually, they became the foundation on which the nation survived.
The communications officer finished organizing the documents.
Then raised his head.
"The eastern region is requesting a higher treatment level."
The person in charge took the report.
He scanned its contents.
The pollution index had exceeded the estimate.
And it was still rising.
"Notify the treatment team."
The order was issued.
The information was transmitted immediately.
Afternoon.
A tracked transport vehicle left the city.
The massive gates slowly closed.
Snow and wind rushed toward them.
Inside the vehicle.
The treatment team was checking its equipment.
Detection instruments.
Sampling equipment.
Containment markers.
Portable energy modules.
Every item was confirmed.
A young team member was visibly nervous.
It was his first large-scale mission.
An older man beside him was calibrating an instrument.
His movements were practiced.
As though he had repeated them countless times.
"Senior."
"Hmm."
"What if the pollution gets out of control?"
The old man did not look up.
"Contain it first."
"What if containment fails?"
"Analyze it."
"What if the analysis fails?"
"Keep analyzing."
The young man froze.
The old man finally looked at him.
"Procedure can save lives."
"Luck can't."
The vehicle fell silent again.
This was the principle passed down by their ancestors.
Do not gamble.
Do not guess.
Do not act impulsively.
Contain it first.
Then observe.
Finally, deal with it.
Many people had proven the value of this method with their lives.
So they continued to follow it.
Several hours later.
The transport vehicle reached the target area.
An abandoned observation station stood on the ice field.
Most of it was buried beneath the snow.
The treatment team immediately began its work.
Establish the perimeter.
Deploy monitoring equipment.
Collect air samples.
Inspect the underground structures.
Every procedure proceeded in an orderly manner.
Half an hour later.
The technician frowned.
"The readings are abnormal."
The team leader walked over.
The pollution index was slowly increasing.
The rate was not fast.
But it was steady.
They ran the test again.
The result was identical.
The pollution source was still active.
A Level-One containment zone was immediately established.
The restricted perimeter was deployed.
The treatment team began conventional remediation.
Adsorbents were deployed.
The frozen soil was sealed.
The pollution was redirected.
Everything was carried out according to standard procedures.
Several hours later.
The data came back.
The pollution had not decreased.
Instead, it had increased by three percent.
The team leader frowned.
A second round of treatment began immediately.
More equipment was transported to the site.
The treatment area was expanded.
The technicians continued recording data.
Yet the result remained unchanged.
The pollution continued to rise.
As if some kind of source was still operating deep underground.
Reports continued arriving at the Administration Center.
Technicians retrieved historical records.
Industrial pollution.
Mineral contamination.
Nuclear residue.
Ability-related accidents.
They compared them one by one.
Then eliminated them one by one.
Eventually, they reached the same conclusion.
The pollution source was still active.
And it was located deep underground.
Conventional treatment methods could not reach it.
The conference room fell silent.
The red zone slowly expanded across the projection.
If it continued to spread.
The nearby mining districts would be affected.
They were one of the nation's major sources of income.
The person in charge remained silent for a moment.
"Connect me to the Executive Office."
The connection was established.
The screen lit up.
A silver-haired woman with short hair appeared on the screen.
Stacks of documents were spread across the desk.
Her expression was calm.
The Chief Executive of the Northveil Directorate.
Oksana Volkov.
"Situation."
She spoke directly.
The person in charge began his report.
Pollution level.
Rate of spread.
Treatment records.
Failed results.
Every piece of information was concise and accurate.
Several minutes later.
The report was complete.
The room fell silent again.
Everyone knew what they were about to discuss.
A technician opened another file.
"Continued spread is expected to affect the eastern mining district."
"Estimated resource loss will exceed twelve percent of the annual reserves."
"The success rate of conventional treatment is below five percent."
Oksana remained silent.
Her eyes fell on the final document.
File number.
Kelvin, Irina.
Age.
Sixteen.
Ability User.
No one in the room spoke.
They all knew what this file represented.
After a long silence.
Oksana put down the document.
"Approve the Special Treatment Level."
"Contact Kelvin."
The communications officer immediately carried out the order.
The message was sent.
The meeting ended.
The snowstorm continued sweeping across the ice fields.
The thermal energy core continued to operate.
And at the other end of the city.
A sixteen-year-old girl.
Was about to receive a new mission notification.