The transport carriers descended in disciplined formation, their shadows sliding across a landscape that felt carved rather than built.
Null Spire Military Academy rose ahead of them—vast, angular, and merciless. Towering black spires pierced the sky like blades driven into the earth, each one wrapped in faintly visible suppression fields that bent light and sound. Reinforced platforms hovered at different heights, locked into place by humming energy anchors. Even before stepping inside, the air itself felt heavier, tighter—like the academy was already testing them.
Vaibhav felt it immediately. The pressure wasn't hostile. It was absolute.
Hundreds of new candidates were guided off the carriers in organized lines. No welcoming banners. No speeches. Just motion, direction, and silence.
Shin glanced around once. "Yeah," he muttered. "Looks like I might get lost in this place."
Alicia didn't respond. Her eyes were already moving—tracking angles, distances, the way the platforms overlapped. The academy wasn't just intimidating. It was designed to control.
They were herded onto a colossal open plaza beneath the central spire. The ground was layered with reinforcement grids, inscriptions barely visible beneath polished stone. The moment the last candidate stepped into position, the ambient noise vanished.
An instructor appeared at the front.
"Null Spire does not train the weak," he said flatly, his voice carrying without amplification. "Null Spire Tests are mandatory. Failure means immediate dismissal."
He paused.
"Candidates will be divided by level."
Holographic markers flared to life, splitting the formation cleanly in two.
"Ignis Ascension candidates first. Venarae Resonance candidates after."
Numbers appeared above the platforms.
"147 Ignis Ascension."
A brief stir rippled through the group.
"68 Venarae Resonance."
This time, no one reacted.
The difference was obvious even without numbers. The Ignis Ascension candidates stood tense—shoulders tight, breathing shallow, eyes darting. The Venarae candidates were calmer, postures loose but alert, like predators resting before movement.
The instructor turned slightly.
"Ignis Ascension candidates," he said. "Physical qualification begins now."
They were guided onto a massive circular platform suspended above the plaza. The surface shimmered faintly as the last of them stepped into place.
"Test One," the instructor announced. "Gravity endurance."
The field activated.
It wasn't sudden.
It pressed.
A low hum vibrated through bone and muscle as gravity intensified in measured stages. At first, candidates adjusted—feet widening, cores tightening. Then the pressure climbed again.
And again.
Knees began to tremble.
One candidate dropped to a knee, teeth clenched, veins bulging at his temples. Another staggered two steps before collapsing flat onto the platform, unconscious before he hit the ground.
A sharp crack echoed.
Someone screamed as a leg buckled at the wrong angle.
Med teams moved instantly, precise and emotionless. Failed candidates were lifted, dragged, removed without hesitation.
The gravity continued to rise.
Sweat poured. Breathing turned ragged. Some tried to move, forcing steps forward as instructed, only to fall mid-stride. Others locked their bodies in place, shaking violently until they simply couldn't anymore.
From the observation zone, the trio watched in silence.
Vaibhav's jaw tightened slightly.
Alicia's eyes narrowed—not in sympathy, but calculation.
Shin tilted his head. "…They're done."
The gravity field disengaged without warning.
Those still standing didn't celebrate. Most of them barely noticed. They just stood there, chests heaving, muscles locked in place as if afraid that relaxing would make them collapse next.
Med teams moved in again, lifting the unconscious, stabilizing fractures, escorting the failed off the platform. No one looked back.
"Test Two," the instructor said immediately. "Strength and speed."
No rest was given.
Weighted constructs rose from the platform—block-like masses etched with suppression runes. Each one radiated pressure that made lifting them feel heavier than their size suggested. At the same time, reinforced tracks unfolded along the platform's edge.
"Lift," the instructor ordered. "Then sprint. Then strike."
Candidates moved.
Some rushed the weights with raw force, muscles swelling as they tried to overpower the suppression. A few succeeded—barely—only to stumble the moment they turned toward the track, legs already spent.
Others underestimated the gravity and overextended. One candidate managed to lift his construct, then tore muscle trying to accelerate. He collapsed mid-sprint, skidding across the stone.
Those who reached the final stage faced power-measuring pillars. The moment their strikes landed, readings flared.
Unstable output spiked wildly—then cut off.
"Fail."
A candidate's name flashed red and vanished.
Again and again, poor control ended attempts instantly. Power without balance didn't matter here.
From the sidelines, Alicia watched closely. "They don't care how strong you are," she said quietly. "Only how well you hold it."
Vaibhav nodded, eyes fixed on the pillars. He noted the timing, the margins, the way instructors reacted to recovery speed more than peak force.
Shin clicked his tongue. "Most of them built power first. Foundations came later."
Test Two ended with far fewer candidates standing.
They were allowed exactly thirty seconds.
Then—
"Test Three," the instructor announced. "Technique execution."
One by one, the remaining Ignis Ascension candidates were called forward.
"Demonstrate one combat technique."
No target suggestions. No restrictions.
Some unleashed brilliant displays—shockwaves, spinning blades of energy that carved the air. The platform lit up with color and sound.
The instructors' expressions did not change.
Readings scrolled rapidly.
Stability.
Efficiency.
Control.
A candidate's technique flared brilliantly—then wavered, energy oscillating unevenly.
"Fail."
Another executed a devastating strike, but his breathing broke immediately afterward, recovery time spiking.
"Fail."
Only those whose techniques remained compact, repeatable, and precise earned a quiet nod.
By the end, the platform felt emptier.
Of the 147, a large number were gone.
Those who passed stood in place, visibly shaken—arms trembling, faces pale, sweat dripping freely onto the stone.
No one congratulated them.
From their position, the trio remained untouched by the process.
"They filtered out impulse," Alicia said. "Not weakness."
Vaibhav exhaled slowly. "And left only those who can survive repetition."
Shin smiled faintly. "Null Spire doesn't want heroes. It wants weapons."
The instructor turned away from the Ignis Ascension platform.
"Venarae Resonance candidates," he said. "Step forward."
The air shifted again.
The Venarae Resonance candidates stepped forward.
Unlike the earlier group, there was no tension in their movements. No nervous glances. They entered the separate testing zone with measured confidence, fully aware that this stage wasn't about survival, it was about judgment.
The instructor didn't elaborate.
"Show us how you fight."
The gravity field activated instantly.
The pressure was far heavier than before, dense enough to bend posture and compress breath. Several Venarae candidates adjusted quickly, but a few still faltered—boots sliding, balance breaking as their footwork failed to compensate.
Those were removed without comment.
The trio stepped in as well.
For Vaibhav, the gravity felt present, but manageable. His breathing stayed even as he moved forward, adjusting his stride naturally.
Alicia shifted her stance slightly, weight redistributing with precision. She didn't fight the pressure; she flowed through it, turning each step into a controlled anchor.
Shin walked as if the field barely existed, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly as he tested the resistance with casual steps.
"Test One," the instructor said. "Movement."
Candidates were ordered to move—dash, pivot, change direction.
Vaibhav accelerated smoothly, stopping and turning without a hint of instability. His footwork was clean, efficient, optimized.
Alicia moved less—but better. She anticipated the changes, already positioned before markers shifted, her timing precise enough to make the test feel slow.
Shin… didn't follow the pattern at all.
He reacted instinctively, changing direction the moment the pressure shifted, movements sharp but effortless. The evaluators' eyes followed him longer than intended.
Gravity disengaged.
"Test Two," the instructor continued. "Combat power."
Reinforced combat dummies rose from the ground.
Vaibhav struck first.
One clean blow—compressed, controlled. The readings flared, then stabilized immediately.
Alicia followed.
She didn't hit hard. She hit right. The impact registered with perfect efficiency, output steady, recovery instantaneous.
Shin stepped up last.
He tapped the dummy.
The readings spiked—then settled into a smooth, flat line that made one evaluator pause and look twice.
"…Interesting," someone murmured.
"Test Three," the instructor said. "Battle IQ."
Controlled combat units activated, adapting instantly to each fighter.
Vaibhav engaged directly—but intelligently. He pressured, retreated, repositioned, then ended the fight cleanly once an opening appeared.
Alicia never allowed the unit to dictate pace. She controlled distance, forced errors, and neutralized it with minimal movement.
Shin ended his fight the fastest.
Not because he was aggressive—but because he read the unit's pattern almost immediately. One feint. One step. One decisive strike.
The construct powered down.
Silence followed.
The trio stepped back into line.
But several instructors were no longer writing routine notes.
They were watching.
Shin ended his fight the fastest.
Not because he was aggressive—but because he read the unit's pattern almost immediately. One feint. One step. One decisive strike.
The combat unit froze mid-motion.
Its core dimmed, systems shutting down cleanly.
For half a second, the testing zone was silent.
Then the instructor made a small gesture.
"Enough."
The remaining combat units powered down across the field. Candidates who were still engaged halted where they stood, some breathing heavily, others visibly frustrated at being cut off before finishing.
The trio stepped back into formation.
The instructors exchanged brief looks—nothing dramatic, just confirmation. Data streams scrolled across their interfaces, lines of evaluation locking into place.
"All remaining candidates," the lead instructor said, voice level, "line up."
The survivors obeyed.
The difference was stark now. The Ignis Ascension group was thin, their posture subdued, exhaustion still clinging to them. The Venarae Resonance group was smaller too, but steadier—eyes forward, composure intact.
The trio stood among them, uninjured. Unmarked.
Results began to appear.
Names lit up in white—accepted.
Names flashed red—dismissed.
No commentary accompanied the decisions. Candidates whose names turned red were escorted away immediately, their futures at Null Spire ending without ceremony.
When the last name was spoken, the instructor stepped forward once more.
"You have passed the initial evaluation," he said. "From this moment onward, you are Disciples of Null Spire Military Academy."
A pause.
"There are no guarantees here. Advancement depends entirely on results."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"Death is not an exception."
The words settled heavily over the group.
Shin glanced sideways at Vaibhav. "Friendly place."
Vaibhav didn't respond, eyes forward.
Alicia's fingers flexed once, then stilled.
The instructor turned away. "You will be assigned quarters and schedules. Orientation ends here."
As the formation began to break apart, the cold presence of Null Spire pressed in again—unchanged, unmoved by who had survived.
Above them, the towering spires loomed silently.
The academy had accepted them.
Now, it would see what they were worth.