A rectangular expanse of grass—a field that would forever be remembered as the beginning before the end. Students poured out of their dorms as the ground trembled beneath thousands of footsteps. Today was the ultimate trial: a test of teamwork, independence, and trust all rolled into one. As the student body assembled on the field, waiting to finally hear the announcement for the Wasteland expedition and how they would be divided into trios, duos, solos, or teams of four, the sky suddenly tore open.
The air parted violently as a figure descended with blistering speed. Bola appeared, and with a mere click of his fingers, a flashing ray—as blinding as staring directly into the sun—manifested beside him. Before the students could even react, a wave of telepathic data flooded their brains, introducing a woman whose very existence embodied absolute truth: Miss Ali.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. For a fleeting second, it felt less like a descent into hell and more like an actual thrill. But it didn't last. With a single clap of Bola's hands, a massive shockwave rippled through the assembly, silencing them instantly as he began to speak.
"Today marks the midpoint of your first year," Bola's voice echoed across the field. "You have all been here for six months. I know time felt fast, but yes—six months. Of course, there was no way of tracking it, because time was withheld the moment you stepped into Emox. This academy was constructed entirely outside the concept of time itself. Now, let us talk about the Wasteland. Eimar!"
Eimar stepped up to the podium in front of Bola.
"The Wastelands are no joke," Eimar announced, her voice cutting like glass. "Today, you choose your path: team up or go solo. It is entirely up to you. The truth is, there is no traditional test. The only test here is your choice and your understanding of your own limits. Before you stand three gates, each representing a path: blue for solo, red for duo, and the uncolored gate for trios. We have officially scrapped teams of four. Understand this—the Wasteland is filled with beasts of varying ranks, categorized by intelligence. Even the flora, the food, and the remnants of people out there are designed to kill you. Your goal is whatever you choose it to be. From this moment on, you will finally learn the truth of Emox: anyone who attempts to simply walk off this field and escape will instantly die. Everything you thought you knew is a lie. There are no second-year, third-year, or fourth-year blocks—they are all out in the Wasteland. No one has ever walked into it and returned the same, and very few have returned at all. The reason there are only three teachers, and why you have seen no others, is because there are no others left. We are placing our final hope in you to conquer the unknown. If you choose not to face it, you may walk off the field the exact way you came—"
Before Eimar could even finish, twenty panicked students bolted back toward the academy boundaries. Right in front of the horrified crowd, an invisible, hyper-dense force pulverized them into nothingness in a fraction of a second.
Eimar smiled faintly. "Well, I didn't say you could leave alive."
Some students stood unfazed; others barely cared, welcoming the thought of suicide. But among the crowd, Iyi, Precious, Zion, Vincent, Elizabeth, and Michael had already made their calculations. They all shared a singular, unyielding intention: to enter the Wasteland entirely alone.
Michael raised his hand. Eimar nodded.
"Okay, you killed twenty, dropping our population from 150 down to 110. Good for you," Michael's voice cut through the heavy air, flat and devoid of fear. "We all understand you don't plan to teach us anything practical, because the Wasteland is purely about self-discovery. So can you just let us go now?"
In the background, Bola smiled. "He is right. We do not plan to hold your hand through this journey, because we can't. We only survived the Wastelands ourselves through absolute individual will, not teamwork. A word is enough for the wise. NOW, EMOXIANS—WALK INTO YOUR CHOICE."
At the command, the students segregated, flowing toward the solo, duo, and trio gates. Michael, Vincent, and Zion locked eyes for a fraction of a second as they each stepped past the threshold of the solo gate. They knew their ideals would violently clash, and that the next time they crossed paths, it would mean death. There were no rules left in the Wasteland.
All was waste.
And as Michael's body passed through the boundary, his eyes were finally greeted by...