As Gilbert waited alongside the other children, he looked around, observing the decor of the place. The walls were adorned mostly with portraits and displays of warriors in power armor—ranging from the first-generation knights in medieval-looking armor, all steel plates and crests, to the newest fourth-generation models. These latest suits were bulkier and more imposing, their sleek, futuristic designs breaking away entirely from the chivalric roots of earlier generations.
Time ticked by until finally, someone from Gilbert's group was called: William Munro—the boy who had asked the question earlier. He climbed into the pod. Liquid rose quickly to his neck, and needles extended from the pod walls, piercing into his body. The first dose was administered. Gilbert could see the serum take effect almost instantly—William's veins and nerves lit up under his skin, standing out starkly like glowing tattoos. He clenched down hard on the piece of rubber given to him.
Each dose came in quick succession. With every one, William's face twisted further in pain. By the final injection, he looked like he might pass out, but he endured it all. When it ended, he emerged looking no different, though his breathing was heavy. He was quickly ushered into a different room.
Seeing someone survive the full dose gave the group a spark of hope. But that optimism was crushed when the second boy collapsed and died during his second injection. Reality struck again—this wasn't a game. Misjudging their tolerance meant death.
Throughout it all, Colonel Aniela Eden stood calmly, reading data from her tablet, completely unbothered by the boy's death. When no one else moved toward the pod, she finally looked up.
"Did you all think this was some kind of field trip?" she asked coldly. "Humanity doesn't need what you are now. We need those who are more—evolved. Warriors or scientists. Those who can push us forward. So stop thinking of today as a rite of passage. Think of it as a culling. Fate favors the worthy. Now, next."
Silence hung heavy in the room.
The culling continued. Roughly one in every seven children withstood all five injections. Most only made it through one or two. A few braved more—including Anastasia, who stopped at four.
Finally, Gilbert's name was called. He stepped into the pod. As with the others, liquid filled the chamber up to his neck. He accepted the rubber bite piece. Then came the needles—sharp and invasive—especially the seven that stabbed along his spine up to his neck.
The serum entered his bloodstream. Gilbert braced for agony—but none came. He clenched harder, waiting for pain that never arrived.
Aniela's eyes flicked from her tablet to the boy in the pod. For the first time that day, a small smile touched her lips.
"Young Kruger, it seems you're already immune," she said. "Would you like to receive Serum 2.0?"
Gilbert hesitated. Kruger? That wasn't his name. His last name was Nune. He wanted to correct her, but when he saw her growing impatient, he simply nodded.
With his signal, she turned to a nearby scientist who had silently appeared. From a secured case, she retrieved five sleek black vials—each streaked with silver lines that pulsed like veins.
The pod hissed open briefly. The old vials were replaced. Then, one by one, the new serum was administered.
Still, Gilbert felt no pain. Instead, he felt silence. Not calm silence, but a void—an endless, oppressive stillness. No heartbeat. No breath. Nothing.
It felt like punishment—like being locked in a prison for a sin he didn't know he'd committed. Or perhaps it was the price paid by spies and eavesdroppers—those who had heard what they shouldn't, now condemned to hear nothing at all. Even the deaf could feel their heartbeats. He couldn't.
After what felt like eternity, sensation returned. He gasped for air. Then, without warning, the second injection came.
This time, it was fire. Pure, liquid fire in his veins.
He writhed against the restraints, vision flashing white. His body screamed silently.
Unknown to him, Serum 2.0 had no half-measures. It was all or nothing. Though he was immune to the first variant, the second was designed for total mutation—and survival meant enduring every drop.
Standing outside, Aniela observed him closely.
"This one is quite the talent," she murmured to the scientist. "Not only is he immune, but his veins have already begun forming the circuit for a Marine Knight."
She paused. "Though I've never seen this configuration before. I wonder what kind of tech we could develop from it."
"Aniela, did you hear what I asked?" the scientist interrupted.
She blinked. "Sorry. Could you repeat it?"
"Which circuit is he leaning toward?"
"Dragon or Asura," she said calmly.
"Oh, another close-combatant. Figures. I was hoping someone from these rat nests might show real potential for once. But the poor are always poor—even in evolution."
Aniela's eyes narrowed.
"I think your help is no longer needed, Doctor Wolmer," she said. Her voice was ice. She didn't want him recognizing Gilbert's uniqueness—especially not Wolmer, the infamous "Doctor of Madness."
"Yeah, yeah. Enjoy babysitting your hicks. Waste of my time anyway," he muttered, walking off.
While they argued, the final injections were administered. Gilbert remained conscious, though barely. His pupils were dilated, sweat clung to his body, and he looked as though he'd walked through fire.
Adam and Kean watched him with wide eyes. Aniela gestured, and Gilbert was escorted to the next chamber.
Inside, he saw William and two other well-dressed kids seated at the front. They glanced over as he entered. A few dozen others filled the room. Anastasia sat alone near the side.
As Gilbert took in the space, others took notice of him—especially William's group, who sneered at his appearance.
"Oi, why do you look like roadkill after something that was basically a walk in the park?" asked a blond boy beside William.
"Isn't it obvious?" said the buzz-cut on the other side. "He barely made it through. Probably stopped at three—maybe four."
They snickered.
Gilbert ignored them and sat beside Anastasia. She gave him a once-over, concern in her eyes.
Before he could speak, the blond stood and pointed.
"Hey, hick. Don't ignore your betters. Show some respect."
Gilbert looked at him with a smirk.
"How about I show respect to your mother—for putting up with the disappointment that is you for the last twelve years."
Silence. Then laughter erupted across the room—except from William's group. The blond flushed deep red.
He stormed toward Gilbert, knocking over chairs.
Gilbert stood. The blond got in his face.
"What did you say, mongrel?"
Gilbert's voice dropped.
"Ask the bitch who raised you. I don't speak dog."
Before anyone could move, Gilbert struck—one punch to the gut, followed by a knee to the face. The blond crumpled.
As he tried to rise, Gilbert stepped on his chest, pinning him down.
William and the buzz-cut lunged forward—just as Kean and Adam walked in. Seeing the chaos, they stepped in beside Gilbert, forming an impromptu wall.
Tension rippled through the room.
Then Colonel Aniela entered.
She didn't speak. She just gestured to the guard behind her.
Suddenly, the air grew cold. The children froze.
A primal fear gripped them. Their vision blurred—some saw a dark cavern, others a coiled reptilian shadow watching from the dark, breathing, waiting. One wrong move and they would be devoured.
Then the sensation vanished.
"Alright. The six of you—on stage. Squat position. Now," Aniela ordered, emotionless.
No one argued. The buzz-cut helped the blond up. All six walked forward, their minds haunted by what they had just felt.
Aniela climbed onto the stage.
"Out of a little more than one hundred, twenty-three of you remain," she announced. "Welcome to Mustelaam Dragon Knight Academy."
Her smile was all protocol. Her eyes, something else entirely.