As Kalen watched and read about the world that had been hidden from him by Grandpa Max, something inside him shifted. The entire narrative of his life his understanding of safety, purpose, and truth was unraveling. He couldn't help but ask: Why did grandpa keep this from us? Why did he shield all the children at the orphanage from the reality of the world outside? The question echoed in his mind, bitter and heavy.
The more he read, the more he watched the brutality, the blood, the screams the harder it became to breathe. His body trembled, his hands clenched involuntarily as the images replayed in his mind. Warriors torn apart. Cities drowned in chaos. Screams that refused to fade. He wanted to stop. To calm down. To silence the echoes. But he couldn't. Not yet. If he didn't organize his thoughts, if he couldn't hold himself together, he feared he would break. Go insane. And yet, somewhere beneath the fear… a spark of resolve began to flicker.
As Kalen struggled to calm himself, his mind retreated into memory one buried deep, from when he was just four years old. It was a late, silent night at the orphanage. He couldn't sleep, so he wandered the halls alone, clutching a worn toy in his small hands. The moonlight spilled through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor.
That's when he saw him.
A man injured, appeared in the doorway. His arm was wrapped in torn cloth, soaked with blood. His face was scarred, twisted in pain, eyes wild and unfocused. In the dim light, he looked less like a person. The air grew heavy, suffocating. Kalen froze, unable to move, his breath caught in his throat.
Then he screamed.
The sound echoed through the orphanage, sharp and terrified. Within moments, Grandpa Max appeared, scooping him up in strong, trembling arms. He didn't scold. He didn't ask questions. He simply held Kalen close, whispering softly, guiding his thoughts away from fear.
"Remember the good things, little kal," Max had said. "The warm sun, the sunny day, your brothers and sisters, the people who love and care for you, remember whenever you are scared think about people and happy things, and you will feel less scared."
Even now, years later, Kalen could feel the warmth of that embrace. It was the first time he'd felt truly safe. And in this moment of unraveling, that memory became his anchor.
As the memory faded, Kalen found himself drifting through the fragments of his past the laughter of younger children, the quiet wisdom of the older ones, the gentle scolding from caretakers, and the steady presence of Grandpa Max. Each face, each moment, stitched together a sense of belonging that had once anchored him. The bloodshed he'd witnessed in the archives still echoed in his mind, but the warmth of those memories helped him steady his breath. His body, once tense and trembling, began to relax.
He turned his attention to the room around him. A simple table stood near the wall, beside a small bookshelf filled with manuals and blank data chips. The bathroom was compact, with a clean water facility humming quietly in the corner. He walked slowly, touching surfaces, grounding himself in the present. Eventually, he returned to the bed and lay down. The mattress was firm, but something about it felt... familiar like the one he had back at the orphanage. That sense of familiarity wrapped around him like a blanket, easing the weight in his chest.
After about fifteen minutes, he glanced at the watch on his wrist. The screen glowed softly:
2 March 2045, 6:00 PM.
A faint hunger stirred in his stomach. He hadn't eaten since the test, and the emotional storm had left him drained. With a quiet sigh, he decided he'd head to the dining hall soon.
As Kalen shifted from lying down to sitting upright on the bed, his mind began to organize the whirlwind of thoughts. What he had learned. What he had witnessed. How he had viewed the world until now, and how that view had shattered. But in the silence, clarity began to form. He realize that the horrors he saw weren't just distant stories. They could happen to him. He will definitely face the same horrors, the question is do i want to fight shaking in fear, where my team, my people fight and die, while i hide behind people ... Or should I fight like everything is on the line?... to survive, to fight, I must be ready.
A firm thought settled in his mind: One day, I will fight too.
He remembered the training Grandpa Max had introduced back at the orphanage. From a young age, Max had taught a select few exercises from the old world practices rooted in discipline and balance. Among them was a unique set called yoga, originating from a country once known as India. They practiced it in the early mornings, slow movements paired with deep breathing. In the evenings, they did short breathing exercises to calm the mind.
As they grew older, Max added more rigorous routines, daily runs, push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and the horse stance. What began as a few minutes of effort slowly evolved into hours of training, shaping their bodies and minds from childhood onward.
Kalen stood and began his evening exercises, each movement grounding him, each breath steadying his resolve. When he finished, he stepped into the bathroom, letting the cool water wash away the sweat and tension. Fresh and focused, he dressed quietly and stepped out of the bunker, heading toward the dining hall.
As Kalen walked toward the hall, the space buzzed with activity. Candidates who had completed their tests were scattered throughout some seated and eating, others arriving for the first time, their eyes wide with curiosity or fatigue. The hall itself was larger than he remembered, its high ceiling lined with soft lights and reinforced panels. He hadn't paid attention during his first visit, but now he took in the details the layout, the flow of people, the quiet presence of soldiers stationed at key points.
Conversations drifted through the air like static. Some candidates spoke in hushed tones about awakeners battling in the wild sectors, their voices tinged with awe and fear. Others discussed rare materials fragments, cores, and relics harvested from mutated zones. A group near the wall, dressed in finer uniforms and bearing insignias of high-ranking families, debated the outcome of a recent clash between masters elite fighters whose abilities shaped the course of battles.
Kalen moved past them, keeping to himself, until he reached the dining counter. A sleek device displayed a variety of meal options: fried rice, fresh salads, grilled meats, milk, water, and customizable orders. He selected the balanced lunch set-nutrient-rich and designed for recovery and waited as the system processed his choice.
With his tray in hand, he scanned the room and found a quiet, empty table near the far corner. He sat down, the hum of conversation continuing around him, and began to eat slowly, letting the warmth of the food settle his nerves.
Then, a voice rang out loud and clear, cutting through the ambient noise.
"You think you're ready for the wild sector just because you passed the first test? Don't make me laugh!"
Heads turned. Kalen paused mid-bite, eyes lifting toward the source of the voice. Something was about to unfold.