Raiden didn't wake up to the sound of heart monitors or the usual smell of antiseptic.
He woke up to a harsh cold seeping into his spine and a steady metallic hum piercing his skull. He slowly opened his eyes to find himself lying on a cold metal table inside an Energy Isolation Room. The walls weren't white; they were covered in lead plates and engraved runes flickering with a faint blue light—Livar Suppression Seals.
His hands were bound by heavy Spiritual Handcuffs. He tried to move his fingers, but he couldn't feel them; his body felt like it belonged to someone else—hollow and shattered.
"District 7... Mom... Mia..."
He whispered the names, but this time, they didn't trigger a scream or a tear. It felt as if a black hole had swallowed every emotion in his chest, leaving nothing but cold ash behind.
"Don't try to move. The seals' vibrations will tear your nerves apart if you resist".
The voice came from behind darkened glass in the corner of the room. Commander Caien wasn't standing there smoking like some cheap movie hero; he was behind a complex control panel, monitoring screens that displayed Raiden's spiritual pressure, which was fluctuating illogically.
Caien entered the room, his black scarf appearing to absorb the light around it. He stood at a safe distance, his eyes scanning the boy with a look that mixed caution with intense scientific curiosity.
"Where... where are they?" Raiden asked, his voice sounding like the rustle of dry paper.
Caien went silent for a moment, then spoke in a tone devoid of fake pity. "The site has been cleansed. What's left of them has become part of the memories of those burned walls. You're the only survivor".
Raiden closed his eyes. He waited to break down, to scream, to smash his head against the wall. But he didn't. Instead, he felt that coldness grow denser. The void their deaths left behind began to fill with something else... something metallic, sharp, and heavy.
Caien pointed toward a side table where a thick glass box sat, surrounded by intensified power cables. Inside the box, that "pulsing" black dagger lay silently, its blade secreting an ink-like substance that rose like smoke behind the glass.
"Why didn't you take it?" Raiden asked, staring at the weapon.
"Good question," Caien replied, pressing a button to partially open the glass box. "Two nurses tried to move it initially. One is now in a coma after seeing memories of her father's suicide manifest before her. The other lost her mind, screaming that the blade was trying to drink her blood. This weapon isn't just an energy manifestation... it's an 'Archive.' It rejects any touch that doesn't match its dark frequency. It seems it chose you, or rather... you shaped it from the clay of your own despair".
Caien pulled on a protective metal glove and used a mechanical arm to move the box until the dagger was close to Raiden's bound hand.
"It's a cursed weapon, Raiden. It feeds on your desires and whispers in your mind until your humanity is eaten away. That's why we put you in this isolation room; we don't know if you own the dagger, or if the dagger owns your corpse now".
Raiden looked at the dagger. In that moment, he didn't feel fear. He felt a sense of belonging. The dagger reflected his state perfectly: broken, cursed, and alone.
"I want..." Raiden began, then stopped. The conflict inside him wasn't between good and evil; it was between vanishing and staying for one thing. He felt a sudden nausea as he remembered the cold touch of his little sister's hand. His fists clenched inside the cuffs until his wrists bled.
"I want to make them feel this," Raiden whispered, his eyes gaining a strange, glassy sharpness. "Every person who let this happen... every monster, and every official who left District 7 to rot... I want to tear their silence apart".
Caien raised an eyebrow but didn't smile. "Talk like a 'Shonen' hero looking for revenge? Screaming won't bring back the dead, kid. Revenge in our world isn't a shout; it's a slow journey toward losing what's left of your soul. Are you ready to be the monster that hunts monsters?"
In total silence, Raiden reached his bound hand toward the dagger. The moment his fingers neared the blade, the cables stopped flickering, and the black smoke vanished as the weapon quietly absorbed Raiden's energy. It wasn't a scream of rage; it was a silent "allegiance" between a broken boy and his weapon.
A heavy silence filled the room, broken only when Caien unlocked the cuffs with the press of a button.
"Then get out of that bed. The Academy doesn't welcome the weak, and the 'Purge Squad' only accepts those who sold their tomorrow for power today".
Caien walked toward the door but stopped before leaving, glancing back. "By the way, Raiden... that dagger you're holding? I've never seen a weapon 'breathe' like that before. Watch your sleep; it might wake up before you do".
Caien left the door ajar. Raiden stood in the center of the cold room, the dagger in his hand glowing with a sickly purple light as the shadows around him began to dance, as if waiting for his signal to begin the next slaughter.
The Academy wasn't the "ivory tower" Raiden had imagined in his miserable childhood dreams; it was more like a giant machine of marble and light, designed to sort humans into masters and servants.
Raiden walked behind Caien in the main hallway. The contrast was painful enough to be funny: Caien in his formal black suit and stone-cutting steps, and Raiden in his torn shirt and pants that reeked of District 7—the smell of dust, burnt iron, and imminent death.
He could feel the Archive beneath the fabric of his sleeve. Its pulse wasn't bloody; it was a faint metallic vibration, like a rust-covered scorpion trying to burrow its way out.
"Don't look them in the eye, and don't stop to explain your presence," Caien said quietly without turning. "In this place, silence is your only shield until you learn how to use your blade".
Caien stopped abruptly in front of an open training arena. The floor was covered in Spiritual Quartz crystals that absorbed excess energy. In the center, a circle of students stood wearing pristine white uniforms embroidered with silver thread.
Among them, a young man stepped forward with a calm arrogance. He didn't shout or show off; his power radiated from the blue light-sabre hanging at his waist—a weapon so pure that the air around it seemed filtered of all Livar particles.
"Mr. Caien," the young man said in a resonant voice carrying a polite sneer. "I didn't know the Academy had started taking in samples from the slums for field experiments".
Caien stopped, a cold smile appearing on his face. "Leon... I thought you were busy polishing your golden sword. This boy is under my personal supervision".
Leon's blue eyes turned toward Raiden. There was no burning hatred in them; there was something worse: disgust for something that didn't deserve to exist. Leon approached until he was inches from Raiden, then inhaled slowly.
"The scent of rust..." Leon muttered, touching the hilt of his sword. "You know, kid? Spiritual energy is a mirror of the soul. Those who lack it aren't just weak; they are black holes draining the world's resources. Your presence here pollutes the purity of this hallway".
Raiden didn't respond. He felt a heat coursing through his cursed arm. The Archive was whispering in the depths of his mind with a sound like knives grinding together: « Hunger... Pride... Food... ».
"The test will begin shortly in the lower tunnels," Caien interrupted, breaking the tension. "Leon, since you're the leader of the Fourth Squad, Raiden will train with you in the first simulation round".
A mysterious glint sparked in Leon's eyes. "In the tunnels? Where the Academy's lights don't reach?" He gave a faint smile. "With pleasure. We'll take good care of 'The Zero'".
An hour later - In the depths of the lower tunnels:
The walls here were damp, and the spiritual light faded gradually the deeper they went. Leon and his followers walked in front, their sabres cutting through the dark with blue halos, while Raiden walked in the back, a total outcast.
Suddenly, Leon stopped in front of a massive iron gate leading to a deserted sector.
"Protocol says we must split the team to cover more ground," Leon said, looking at his companions who exchanged mean glances. "Raiden, you'll sweep Side Path 'C.' It's a narrow passage, perfect for someone without energy".
"But this path is behind the Restricted Zone," Raiden said in a dry voice—the first time he had spoken.
"Oh, is 'The Zero' afraid?" mocked one of Leon's lackeys.
Leon didn't wait for an answer. With a swift movement of his sword, he triggered the manual locking mechanism behind Raiden. The screech of the iron closing was a death sentence.
"Enjoy the darkness," Leon said from behind the bars, his voice fading. "If you have a 'share' of destiny like Caien claims, you'll find your way out. If not... trash is always left in the basement".
The last speck of blue light vanished as they left. A heavy silence fell, and then the sounds began... a nauseating crawling noise, and the scraping of wooden claws against the stone floor.
Raiden's arm shook violently. It wasn't fear taking over him this time; it was Rage. The rage of rust that wanted to consume all this fake purity. The Archive pulsed powerfully, and glowing letters appeared in the darkness of the room before Raiden's eyes:
[Hostile Energy Detected: Embodiment of Neglect - Rank C]
[Do you wish to open The Archive?]
Raiden smiled in the dark—a smile that didn't look human.
"Open it".