I woke up to metal.
Cold. Clean. Unforgiving.
The bus doors hissed open, and harsh white light flooded in, forcing my eyes shut. My head throbbed, my body heavy like it didn't fully belong to me anymore. Hands grabbed my arms, not roughly, but firmly, and guided me forward.
"Move carefully."
"Single file."
"Eyes front."
The smell hit me next. Disinfectant. Oil. Something burnt beneath it.
When my vision finally adjusted, I saw walls tall, reinforced, and lined with cables and sensors that hummed softly. Watchtowers rose above the perimeter, with soldiers stationed at every angle, weapons lowered but ready.
This wasn't a shelter.
It was a military academy.
They didn't call us refugees.
They called us assets.
Inside, we were scanned, tagged, and separated into groups. Names were recorded. Powers, if any, were logged. Those who had awakened brightly were escorted away immediately. Those who hadn't were left waiting.
And then there were people like me.
No category.
No explanation.
I stayed close to my friends as long as I could. Kazim. Aira. Ren. Their faces were pale, eyes hollow with exhaustion and fear. None of us spoke much. Words felt dangerous, like saying the wrong thing might make everything worse.
We were herded into a briefing hall.
A massive screen lit up at the front of the room.
A map of India appeared. Or what was left of it.
Red zones covered most of the country.
"Seventy percent," an officer said, his voice flat. "That's how much we've lost."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Major cities were gone. Entire regions marked as uninhabitable. The coastline fractured. Borders blurred. Then the screen changed.
Images of towering machines appeared as massive structures humming with energy, anchored deep into the ground. Fields of crackling light extended outward from them like invisible walls.
"Electromagnetic barrier generators," the officer continued. "Experimental, but functional. They disrupt rift stability."
I leaned forward.
"For now," he added, "they prevent new breaches in limited zones."
Hope flickered. Small. Fragile.
"These academies," he said, "exist to train the awakened and the able. Soldiers. Defenders. We are not winning yet, but we are no longer helpless."
That's when someone asked the question everyone had been avoiding.
"Our families?"
The officer hesitated. Just long enough. The screen shifted again. Lists appeared.
Names. Thousands of them. Marked with symbols. Most of them meant the same thing. Deceased.
The room broke. Someone screamed. Someone collapsed. Others stood frozen, staring at the screen like it might change if they stared hard enough.
I searched desperately.
One name.
Then another.
Then another.
Kazim dropped to his knees beside me.
Aira covered her mouth, shaking.
Ren turned away, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white.
Most of our parents had been among the first targets.
Cities. Government zones. Infrastructure hubs.
They never had a chance.
That night, none of us slept.
The academy lights stayed on. Guards patrolled the halls. Somewhere in the distance, machines hummed, holding back the rifts, buying time humanity wasn't sure how to use.
In the days that followed, we learned the truth.
There weren't just five academies.
There were many.
Five major ones across India.
Others scattered across the world.
We were separated.
Not by choice.
Assignments were made based on power compatibility, psychological profiles, and something they didn't explain.
I watched my friends walk away down different corridors.
One by one.
Promises were made.
"We'll find each other."
"This isn't the end."
"I'll come back for you."
I nodded.
But fear had already settled deep inside me.
Outside the academy walls, the world was changing again.
With governments weakened, new powers rose.
Influential survivors. Former leaders. Wealthy elites. They gathered followers. Built private forces. Claimed territory under the excuse of protection.
Everyone was preparing for the same thing.
Not peace.
Survival.
And as I stood alone in a place designed to turn children into soldiers, one thought refused to leave me.
If the world was being rebuilt by strength alone
Where did that leave people like me?
The academy doors closed behind us.
Training would begin soon.
And whatever we became here…
There would be no going back.