After completing the test, Kalen followed the male soldier through a maze of corridors, their footsteps echoing softly against the metallic floor. Eventually, they arrived at the residential wing reserved for candidates. Kalen's first impression was unsettling—rows of small, metallic bunkers lined the walls, but not a single person was in sight. The place reminded him of the ghost towns from old stories, silent and sterile. The walls were plain, the lighting soft, and the air carried a faint scent of recycled ventilation and cold metal.
At the front desk, the soldier completed Kalen's registration and handed him a slim access card. Then he pointed toward a nearby hall.
"If you need to inquire about anything—daily routines, dining, or test schedules—that's your spot," he said, gesturing toward a line forming near a counter. "You'll find guidance there."
With his task complete, the soldier gave a curt nod and left, disappearing into the corridors beyond. Kalen turned toward the hall, now filled with life. Candidates sat in small groups, some dining quietly, others chatting in hushed tones. Uniformed soldiers stood at intervals, monitoring the space with silent vigilance.
Near the far wall, a counter had formed a line of eight to ten candidates. Behind it stood a woman in a sharp black military uniform, calmly explaining procedures to each person. Kalen waited patiently, observing the rhythm of the place. When his turn came, the woman scanned his ID and began outlining the basics—living arrangements, dining schedules, and how to navigate the facility. She marked his assigned bunker on a digital map synced to his device.
"Do you have any other questions?" she asked, her tone polite but efficient.
Kalen hesitated, then asked, "Is there a place where I can read articles about the past?"
The woman blinked, surprised by the question. A faint smile touched her lips.
"Most don't ask that. But yes—inside your resting unit, there's a device with access to non-confidential archives. You'll find plenty of material about the old world there."
Grateful, Kalen nodded and turned away. He wasn't hungry, nor in the mood to socialize. He made his way toward his assigned bunker, eager to be alone. Memories stirred as he walked—of evenings at the orphanage, when he'd finish his chores and seek out Grandpa Max. The old man would sit by the window, telling tales of his adventures beyond the orphanage walls, stories of the old world that Kalen had never seen. They weren't allowed to leave without permission, but through Max's words, Kalen had traveled far.
As Kalen stepped into his assigned bunker, the door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss. The room was compact but functional—bed, console, storage unit, and a small screen embedded into the wall. He didn't bother exploring. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, letting the silence settle around him.
As he scroll through the virtual data on the screen and reading the events of the past, he start to remember the stories that grandpa max that he share with him and other children from the orphanage, for him grandpa max is the one of the legends that survive the old era and spend a tremendous amount of his lifespan for the survival of the man-kind, and completed various mission from fighting to saving to killing, although he talk less about killing as we were just childrens.
Kalen remembered one of Grandpa Max's darker stories—one that lingered in his mind more than most. It was about the time when mutation and strange phenomena began to appear on Earth, seemingly out of nowhere. The world had already been brought to its knees—half of it reduced to ash and silence after the great war. For a brief moment, everything halted. No more bombs. No more speeches. Just silence.
Humanity was in total shambles.
Max had described how the very traits that once made humans proud—their intellect, their ability to communicate, their complex societies—became the seeds of their downfall. Believing themselves to be the apex species, they claimed dominion over the Earth. But when unity was needed most, when calm minds could have steered the course of history, a few in power chose personal gain over collective survival. They fractured the world, not just politically, but spiritually. In their arrogance, they didn't just destroy unity—they destroyed themselves.
What followed was chaos.
The social order collapsed. People who once upheld law and reason began acting like criminals, driven by desperation and fear. Relationships, empathy, and rational thought became rare—almost extinct. The world was no longer a society. It was a battlefield of instincts and survival.
And just when humanity began to crawl back toward stability, the second calamity struck.
Mutations. Phenomena. Forces that defied science. Max had said it was as if the Earth itself had changed its rules—rewriting reality in response to humanity's failure. Creatures evolved overnight. Landscapes shifted. Some people awakened strange abilities… others were consumed by them.
"It wasn't just the end of the old world," Max had whispered once. "It was the beginning of something we were never meant to touch."
Kalen had never forgotten those words.
As Kalen sat in his bunker, the soft glow of the embedded screen illuminated his face. He scrolled through a vast archive of articles and videos—content that had been restricted at the orphanage, now freely accessible. Each headline pulled him deeper into the forgotten truths of the old world.
Many articles focused on the ruins—once-thriving cities now reduced to ghost towns. Places of beauty and innovation had become breeding grounds for mutations, their streets overtaken by twisted creatures and human abominations. These zones, now called "wild sectors," were no longer places of civilization but hunting grounds for the new generation. Brave scavengers ventured into them to gather rare materials, uncover lost technologies, and test their strength against the horrors that lurked within.
Kalen watched footage of these expeditions—young warriors wielding swords, spears, and other physical weapons, their blades glowing faintly with strange energy. Guns, once the pinnacle of human warfare, had proven ineffective against the mutations. Only weapons infused with resonance—energy awakened from within—could pierce the unnatural defenses of these creatures.
The videos were raw and intense. Battles in shattered cities, duels against beasts that defied biology, and moments of eerie silence before chaos erupted. Kalen's heart raced as he imagined himself in those places, facing the unknown with nothing but a blade and his will.
This was the world beyond the orphanage walls. A world shaped by ruin, reborn through struggle and now, he was part of it.
As Kalen scrolled through the archives, he found himself drawn to the forbidden—articles and videos that had been strictly off-limits at the orphanage. Back there, access to such content was restricted under the guise of "mental stability" and "age protection." The caretakers claimed it was to shield young minds from trauma, but Kalen had always suspected there was more to it. Now, with no filters in place, the truth unfolded before him in raw, unflinching detail. He watched footage of mutated beasts tearing through squads of armed fighters, their screams echoing through shattered ruins. Blood sprayed across broken land. Limbs twisted unnaturally. Faces contorted in agony. Warriors wielded glowing swords and spears, their bodies marked with scars and burns—proof that even the awakened were not invincible. Kalen's breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled slightly, the weight of reality pressing down on him. He can no longer view the world with the naive fantasy of the past, he need to change how he view the world to survive, to protect what he loves, as he steel his mind and resolve for the the world he is about to stepped into. And as the screen flickered with another brutal scene, a single thought echoed in his mind, cold and sharp: What if I'm not ready?