The dream was a perfect, painful lie.
Leo was back on the farm. The evening sun was warm on his skin, and the air smelled of fresh earth and his mother's cooking. His father, Thomas Vance, was showing him how to mend a fence post, his strong hands guiding Leo's.
"See, Leo? It's all about a solid foundation," his father said, his voice a warm, solid presence. "The land provides, son. You just have to listen to it."
His mother was humming from the kitchen window. His little sister, Mara, laughed as she chased a firefly across the yard. It was peace. It was home. It was everything he was fighting for.
BANG!
"ON YOUR FEET, MAGGOTS! WELCOME TO THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR SHORT, MISERABLE LIVES!"
The dream shattered like glass. Leo's eyes snapped open to the grim reality of Bay 4. The pre-dawn gloom was thick, the air cold and stinking of sweat and disinfectant. A Corporal was marching down the aisle, smacking a baton against the metal bedframes.
It wasn't a dream. It's real. I'm really here.
A cold tear traced a path from the corner of his eye into his hair. He wiped it away quickly, the ghost of his mother's kiss still lingering on his forehead.
"Rise and shine, farm boy," a grumble came from the next bunk. Rourke Miller was already sitting up, his massive frame making the bed creak in protest. He ran a hand through his unruly black hair and scowled. "Sounds like our beloved Sergeant is already in a charming mood."
The next hour was a chaotic, miserable scramble. They were given ten minutes to dress, use the latrine, and fall in on the parade ground. Leo fumbled with the stiff, unfamiliar buttons of his coarse grey uniform. The wool was scratchy and felt like a betrayal against his skin.
This isn't my clothing. This is a costume for a condemned man.
Outside, the air was bitingly cold. Sergeant Kaelen Voss stood before them, a statue of pure disdain as they shivered in a ragged formation. He wasn't a large man, but he seemed to fill the space. His head was shaved, his nose looked like it had been broken more than once, and a thin, white scar ran from his temple to his jaw. His eyes, the color of chipped flint, scanned them, and every boy they touched seemed to shrink.
"From this moment," Voss began, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that demanded absolute attention, "your soft, civilian lives are over. You are no longer sons, or brothers, or farmers. You are property of the King's army. Your only purpose is to listen, to obey, and to die when and where you are told. Is that clear?"
"YES, SERGEANT!" the formation shouted, the sound uneven and fearful.
"Pathetic," Voss sneered. "We'll start simple. A little five-mile jog to wake you up. Follow the marked path through the 'Slough.' If you fall behind, you will be recycled. And trust me, you do not want to be recycled. MOVE OUT!"
The run was torture. It wasn't the distance; Leo was used to long days in the fields. It was the pace—a brutal, unrelenting sprint—and the terrain. The "Slough" was a purpose-built nightmare of knee-deep, freezing mud and tangled barbed-wire. Their heavy boots made sick, sucking sounds with every step.
Leo, his farmer's stamina kicking in, found a grim rhythm. Just like plowing the south field after a spring rain. One foot after the other. Don't fight the mud, work with it.
He fell in beside Rourke, who was powering through with sheer brute force, his face a mask of fury. "I hate this… I hate all of this…" Rourke puffed, spraying mud.
"Save your breath," Leo grunted between clenched teeth. "Just run."
Behind them, a yelp of pain. Finn, the slender, bespectacled boy from the capital, had tripped on a loose stone and gone down hard, skinning his knees on the gravel. Lysander, the volunteer who stood unnaturally straight, immediately stopped to help him up.
"Leave him, Croft!" a Corporal riding on the back of a jeep yelled. "He either gets up or he's out!"
"Just go!" Finn whimpered, clutching his bloody knee.
Lysander ignored the Corporal, hauling Finn to his feet. "We're in the same squad, aren't we? We don't leave men behind. That's the whole point!" He slung Finn's arm over his shoulder, and the two of them stumbled forward, falling to the back of the pack.
Leo watched them, a strange feeling stirring in his chest. He actually meant that. He really believes in this 'squad' thing. He wasn't just saying it.
After the run—which left half the recruits vomiting in the dirt—they were given a bland, lukewarm breakfast of porridge. They stood, not sat, at long wooden tables in a mess hall that echoed with the clatter of tin bowls.
Leo found himself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Rourke, Finn, and Lysander. Finn was wincing as he tried to put weight on his leg.
"Let me see," Leo said quietly. He took a clean-ish rag from his pocket, dampened it with his canteen, and started carefully wiping the gravel from Finn's wound. It was an automatic action, something he'd done for his sister Mara a dozen times.
"Thanks, Leo," Finn said, surprised. "I... I'm not really built for all this."
"None of us are," Rourke laughed, shoveling porridge into his mouth. "Well, except maybe Leo. And Lysander here seems to think he's in a patriotic play."
Lysander straightened up, his pride stung. "It is about duty, Miller. We're here to protect our kingdom, our families. There's honor in that."
"Honor?" Rourke scoffed. "I saw plenty of 'honorable' men back in the docks missing limbs and begging for scraps. I'm here because they told me to be. Same as you, farm boy, right?"
Leo finished cleaning Finn's knee. "I'm here for my family," he said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "That's all."
Before Rourke could retort, the whistles blew again.
The rest of the day was a relentless grind of physical training. Push-ups, sit-ups, climbing ropes until their hands were raw and blistered. Sergeant Voss was everywhere, his voice a constant, brutal weapon.
"LOWER, VANCE! YOUR CHEST SHOULD TOUCH THE MUD! ARE YOU TOO GOOD FOR THE DIRT?!"
"MILLER! YOU SWING THAT SACK LIKE A GIRL! PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT!"
"ALBRIGHT! IF YOU DROP THAT RIFLE ONE MORE TIME, I'LL PERSONALLY NAIL IT TO YOUR HANDS!"
Leo endured. The farm work had given him a hidden reservoir of strength the city boys lacked. He wasn't the fastest or the most agile, but he was relentless. He didn't stop. While others quit, he pushed through the burn in his muscles, driven by the image of Mara's face.
Just survive. Do what you have to do to get back to them.
It was during a session of marching drills that a low hum filled the air. From a nearby, more secure compound, a figure clad in gleaming, crystal-laced armor leaped onto a rooftop in a single, impossible bound. The Aegis Bearer stood there for a moment, the morning sun glinting off the suit, before jumping down out of sight.
The entire squad froze, staring.
"EYES FRONT!" Voss roared, snapping them out of their awe. "That will never be you. You are grunts. Mud-foots. But tomorrow, by royal decree, you get to touch the crystal that makes them gods, and it will rightly reject you. It's a formality. A reminder of your place. Now, MOVE!"
That evening, utterly broken and covered in mud, the four of them—Leo, Rourke, Finn, and Lysander—collapsed on their bunks in Bay 4. The air was ripe with the smell of sweat and damp earth.
"I think... every bone in my body is broken," Finn moaned, lying perfectly still.
"Ah, you'll get used to it," Rourke said, though he was massaging his own sore shoulders. "So, tomorrow we get to play with the shiny rock. Anyone think they're special?"
"Syncing is a gift," Lysander said, a hint of yearning in his voice. "A chance to serve the kingdom on a higher level."
"Or a chance to get sent to the worst fighting," Rourke countered. "I, for one, am happy to be a lowly Null. Less attention."
"What about you, Leo?" Finn asked, turning his head on the thin pillow.
Leo was staring at his hands, calloused and dirty. A gift? A curse? I don't want any of it. I just want to go home.
"I just want to get through this,"he murmured aloud. "I don't want any special attention."
But as he lay there, the words of his dream-father echoed in his mind.
"The land provides, son. You just have to listen to it."
He was listening. And in the heart of this metal and concrete camp, he felt a strange, quiet pull from the earth beneath the foundations. It was a whisper, a promise, and it terrified him more than Sergeant Voss ever could.
.