The promise of the Sync Test hung over Bay 4 like a coming storm. The air was thick with a nervous energy that even bone-deep exhaustion couldn't suppress. For some, it was a day of potential salvation, a chance to escape the grim fate of the infantry. For others, like Leo, it was just another trial to be endured.
Just a formality, he told himself, pulling on his stiff uniform in the pre-dawn gloom. Touch the rock, get rejected, go back to training. Nothing changes. But the memory of the Aegis Bearer—a figure of impossible power and grace—was seared into his mind. A small, treacherous part of him, the part that still dreamed of being something more than a body for the front lines, wondered.
Rourke seemed to sense the mood. "Look at you all," he grunted, lacing his boots with unnecessary force. "Practicing your heroic poses in the mirror. Forget it. We're mud-foots. We're the anvil the pretty hammers get to swing. Embrace it."
Lysander, for once, didn't argue. He was unusually quiet, his focus turned inward. He polished his already pristine boots with a intensity that bordered on prayer.
Finn fidgeted, his glasses constantly slipping down his nose. "What if it... I don't know... hurts? What if you sync and it... breaks you?"
"Then you get a nice pension and a wheeled chair," Rourke replied with a dark chuckle. "Better than a trench, I'd say."
They were marched not to the training fields, but to a sterile, white tent that hummed with a low, pervasive energy. It was a different kind of cold from the morning air; this was an electric chill that raised the hairs on Leo's arms. In the center of the tent stood a pedestal, and on it rested the source of the hum: a raw Aetherium crystal.
It was larger than he'd imagined, about the size of a man's torso, and it pulsed with a soft, internal light, veins of blue and green energy swimming in its depths. It was beautiful, and it felt alive.
A bored-looking technician stood by a console, not even looking at the recruits. "Form a line. Place your dominant hand on the crystal for a count of three. If you sync, the crystal will flare and you will be escorted to the Elite wing. If you don't, move along. Do not linger."
One by one, the recruits stepped forward. Most placed a hand on the crystal, held their breath, and walked away with slumped shoulders or looks of relief. Leo watched them, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs.
Then it was Lysander's turn. He strode forward with purpose, his chin held high. He placed his palm flat on the crystal with reverence.
For a moment, nothing happened. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face.
Then, the crystal flickered. A weak, sputtering light, like a damp match trying to catch. It was a faint, orange glow, nothing like the brilliant blue they all imagined.
The technician glanced at his scanner. "Low-level resonance. Not enough for a combat suit, but noted for potential support-track training. Next."
Lysander's shoulders slumped, but he held his composure, walking back to the line with a mixed look of pride and profound disappointment. He had proven he wasn't a Null, but he had also been found wanting.
Rourke was next. He swaggered up, slapped his hand onto the crystal with a grin. "C'mon, beautiful, light up for me!"
Nothing. Not a flicker.
Rourke just laughed, a loud, genuine sound in the tense silence. "Told you! Null and proud!" He winked at Leo as he passed.
Finn was a bundle of nerves. He approached the crystal as if it were a live serpent, giving it the most timid, fleeting touch with his fingertips. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. He scurried back to the line as if he'd just escaped a firing squad, a visible wave of relief washing over him.
Then, it was Leo's turn.
His mouth was dry. He could feel the eyes of his squad on his back. He walked forward, the hum of the crystal growing louder in his ears, resonating in his teeth.
Just touch it and walk away. Nothing will happen. You're a farmer. A Null. Just get it over with.
He reached out, his calloused, dirt-stained hand hovering over the polished, glowing surface. He took a final, shaky breath and pressed his palm flat against it.
It was warm.
Not the heat of a fire, but a deep, resonant, living warmth. It was the warmth of the sun-baked soil of his farm at the end of a long day. It was the warmth of life itself.
And then, he heard it. Not a sound, but a feeling. A whisper, deep and ancient, that traveled up his arm and settled in his soul.
...son of the soil...
The crystal's bright glow didn't flare. Instead, it dimmed. The light seemed to seep out of the crystal and into his hand, a warm, steady flow that filled him with a sense of profound, unshakable stability. For three glorious seconds, he didn't feel like a scared boy in a ill-fitting uniform. He felt rooted. He felt like the earth itself.
The technician stared at his scanner, his brow furrowed in confusion. "That's... an anomalous reading. Fluctuating energy signature. No stable sync pattern detected." He looked up at Leo, his eyes dismissing him. "It's a rejection. You're a Null. Next!"
The connection severed. The warmth vanished, replaced by the familiar cold of the tent. The whisper was gone. He felt a loss so profound it was a physical ache in his chest. He had been offered a glimpse of something, only to have it ripped away.
He pulled his hand back, numb, and walked back to the line.
Rourke clapped him on the back. "See? Nothing to worry about. Welcome to the club, farm boy."
But Leo couldn't speak. He looked at his hand, the hand that had just conducted a silent symphony with a rock. The technician was wrong. Sergeant Voss was wrong.
The crystal hadn't rejected him.
It had recognized him.
And as he stood there, the echo of that single, silent word—soil—lingered in his mind, a secret he now carried alone. He was a Null to their machines. But he was something else to the earth. And that was a truth more terrifying, and more powerful, than he could possibly imagine.