Timeline: Cycle 3, Month 3
Location: Arcanum Base, Resonant Dome
I. The Announcement
The Dome was humming. Not metaphorically—literally. The walls pulsed with residual Frame energy, a low vibration that crawled through the bones. The air carried that pre-storm weight, thick and electric, humming with expectation. Hundreds of cadets stood in formation beneath flickering holographic banners, each insignia shimmering like ghosts of future legacies.
Everyone wanted to see their name appear in blue light. Everyone feared it wouldn't.
Dean Pineda stood perfectly still. He didn't fidget, didn't blink. His posture was pure discipline, but his fingers kept brushing the edge of his sleeve patch—a quiet habit, an unconscious tether. Vanguard. It wasn't official yet, but something in him already knew. The word felt like it had chosen him long before he ever stood here.
Bootsteps echoed from the far end of the hall. The murmurs died.
Commander Varros emerged from the shadows, flanked by two officers. His expression was carved from steel, but his eyes—sharp, luminescent under the Dome's lights—burned with the quiet fire of someone who had seen what waited beyond the Rift and lived to return.
He stopped at the center platform. The silence that followed felt ceremonial, though there was no ceremony here. Only judgment.
"Today," Varros said, voice cutting through the air like a blade, "you are no longer trainees. You are to be assigned to operational divisions—frontline, support, or command. Your resonance levels, combat instincts, and synchronization scores have been reviewed. What happens next will define your role in the Rift Defense Alliance."
No applause. No cheers. Just the truth—bare, cold, and final.
Above them, the holographic grid rearranged. Names flickered, data streams converged into columns of blue light. Hope and dread reflected on every face.
Then, in the center of it all, one name burned brighter than the rest:
Division Alpha — Team Vanguard
Commander: Dean Pineda
Dean didn't move, but his heart gave a single, heavy beat that echoed louder than the Dome's hum. Around him, whispers rose—low and electric.
Across the hall, Jasmine Pineda caught his eye. Her sly grin said everything.
"So, the strategist finally gets his own squad," she teased.
Dean allowed himself the faintest smile. "Guess I'll have to live up to it now."
Mateo Reyes, standing near the data terminals, gave a single approving nod. Celene Yusay, calm as ever, simply closed her eyes as if listening to the resonance itself.
Everyone in that hall knew what Vanguard meant. It wasn't a normal division. It was elite—small, experimental, and forged from the ashes of the Simulation Wars. You didn't earn your way in; you survived your way in. Rumor had it Varros commanded the unit directly, sending them where no standard squad could endure.
For a fleeting moment, Dean's thoughts drifted back to his last simulation—the false horizon collapsing, feedback ripping through Helion Vanguard's circuits until everything went white. He'd thought that was the end. Maybe this was why he survived.
The holo-grid listed his assigned teammates. Four names. Four survivors.
Each of them changed by the Rift.
II. Formation of Vanguard
Location: Resonant Hangar, Arcanum Base
Time: 1900 Hours
The hangar felt cavernous that night—hollow, echoing. Usually it was chaos: technicians shouting, Frames roaring, servos clanging. But tonight it was different. Only a steady hum filled the space, deep and rhythmic, like a sleeping giant waiting for a command.
Dean stood before the lineup—four pilots under his new command. He'd read their dossiers, memorized their combat footage. But standing here, he realized paper never captured reality.
Mateo Reyes—the tactician. Lean, focused, eyes scanning the room like a machine reading code. His Frame, Aegis Frame, stood behind him, its polished silver plating gleaming faintly. Mateo's mind worked like a circuit: cold precision and unrelenting logic.
Jasmine Pineda—the pilot of Tempest Wing. Her right arm gleamed faintly, neural-link prosthetics flickering with soft light as she flexed her fingers. She'd rebuilt herself after the Simulation Wars—literally. That familiar mischievous spark was back, but the fire behind it was sharper now.
Celene Yusay—the Resonator. Quiet, centered, as if hearing music no one else could. When she moved, even the air seemed to ripple. Her harmonic synchronization allowed her to amplify the team's M.A.N.A. flow, making the impossible possible.
And Dean himself—Helion Vanguard, the heavy-assault Frame that nearly melted its core three times during training. Its dense armor loomed behind him like a gray monolith, orange resonance vents glowing softly.
He faced them with a calm that didn't quite reach his pulse. "Vanguard," he began, voice steady, "we're not here to be perfect. We're here to adapt. To move when others freeze. To see what others can't. We're the bridge between command and chaos."
Jasmine tilted her head, half-grinning. "Sounds poetic for a guy who nearly fried a reactor last week."
Dean shot her a mock glare. "Hey, that was one time."
"Twice," Mateo corrected dryly.
Celene covered a quiet laugh. "Let's hope third time's the charm, Commander."
Dean sighed, but his smirk betrayed pride. "Fine. Then let's make it real."
They exchanged glances—some doubtful, some eager. Then one by one, the activation codes began.
Frames stirred.
Light bloomed.
Engines roared awake like sleeping titans.
Metal unfolded, reactors surged, neural circuits aligned. The hangar erupted into a storm of resonance—energy rippling through the air like thunder made visible.
And then, it happened.
Without intention, five resonance signatures aligned at once.
The hangar blazed alive—lines of light weaving beneath their feet into an intricate lattice, pulsing like a constellation reborn.
Up on the observation deck, Commander Varros stood motionless, arms crossed. The light reflected in his eyes like dawn breaking through armor.
"They're resonating already," he said softly. "The first step toward something greater."
His aide hesitated. "Sir, their levels are past safe thresholds. Should we—"
"No," Varros cut him off, a faint smile ghosting across his face. "Let it happen."
III. The First Mission Brief
Location: Briefing Chamber, Arcanum Base
Time: 2300 Hours
Night had fallen over Arcanum Base. Through the Dome's translucent panels, the fractured skyline of New Earth glimmered faintly—cities surviving under flickering M.A.N.A. grids, their broken outlines glowing in the storm-lit dark.
Inside, the briefing room was silent except for the hum of the holotable. Maps, Rift readings, and energy scans rippled across its surface in shimmering blue arcs.
A low tone resonated through the chamber as new data blinked to life:
MISSION PRIORITY: CODE AMBER
First Deployment — Vanguard Unit
Rift Entity Classification: Unstable / Unknown Signature
Coordinates: Southern Wastelands Perimeter
Estimated Rift Surge: 3.2 Terra Units
Command Oversight: Varros, C.
Dean leaned forward, jaw tight. The Rift pattern pulsed erratically—unstable, volatile. "They're sending us into an unknown-class Rift?"
Mateo adjusted the holomap filter. "No pattern stability, no harmonic lock. We'll be blind inside the surge."
"Which means it's a test," Jasmine said, cracking a smile. "Good. Tests mean they still don't know what we can do."
Celene's eyes stayed on the data stream. "The Rift's harmonics are uneven. I can stabilize the entry field, but not for long. We'll need constant resonance feedback."
Dean nodded. "Then we'll do it the only way we know—together."
Mateo glanced at him. "That's not strategy. That's risk."
"Sometimes they're the same thing."
A pause. Then Jasmine smirked. "Fine. But if I get plasma burns again, you're buying me dinner after."
Dean chuckled. "Deal."
Before anyone could reply, red warning lights pulsed across the room. The intercom crackled alive.
"Vanguard Unit—prepare for launch."
Varros' voice carried through the comms—calm, unshaken.
Outside, the hangar shook as Frames rose from their maintenance bays, massive silhouettes cutting through the mist. Energy storms rolled across the southern skyline.
Dean stood at the forefront, helmet under his arm. The others lined up beside him—four luminous figures facing the storm.
He looked over them once, steady. "This isn't just another assignment," he said. "This is where we prove what we are."
Jasmine's laughter echoed through the channel. "About time."
Celene's soft voice followed. "Let's make it count."
Mateo's reply was simple. "Aegis ready."
Helion Vanguard's engines flared, bathing the hangar in molten orange. Tempest Wing shimmered indigo and silver, its wings folding open like blades of light. Aegis Frame ignited in pure white resonance, while Celene's harmonics pulsed between them—binding all four in a shared rhythm.
"Vanguard," Dean commanded, stepping into the cockpit. "Move out."
The launch platform rumbled. The world tilted.
Then—ascension.
The storm opened before them, violet lightning tearing across the clouds. Gold light from the rising sun split the horizon, painting the ruins of Earth below.
It wasn't just another mission.
It was the beginning of something bigger.
Vanguard wasn't a title anymore.
It was a promise.