Standing tall on the elevated platform, Colonel Aniela Eden surveyed the gathered group with clinical focus, her white coat fluttering slightly in the air-conditioned chamber. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice cut cleanly through the restless murmurs.
"Alright," she began, eyes flicking from face to face, "let's discuss how we will proceed. Those of you who have received a full set of doses will be assigned to the Knights Department of the academy. Those with three or four doses will be placed in either the Medic or Mechanic Departments, depending on your neural compatibility and adaptability scores."
She paused, folding her arms behind her back. "Any questions?"
A thin boy near the front, no older than fifteen and still rubbing his arm where the injections had left bruises, raised his hand hesitantly. "Ma'am... is it possible for someone who didn't receive a full set to complete it later?"
Aniela gave a brief nod, her eyes narrowing. "Technically, yes. For the next week, additional doses may be administered. However, I strongly advise against it. Successes in post-series completion are rare—more miracles than repeatable science. The body adapts differently when the sequence is broken."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
A girl with cropped hair and a steady voice—sharp eyes brimming with curiosity—lifted her hand. "Why are only the full set recipients allowed into the Knights Department?"
Aniela turned slightly, pointing toward the six teenagers still holding their squat positions behind her. "The serum doesn't just heal. It modifies—prepares your genome to accept mutagens. Each dose primes your system for the next stage. By the fifth dose, your cellular energy output exceeds the baseline required to operate powered armor without collapse. Anything less and the Knight classification becomes a liability."
She motioned toward the six. "See them? We've been standing here for several minutes. They're still squatting, steady as stone. Most of you would be trembling—or unconscious—by now."
From the back of the group, Anastasia raised her hand. "What's the academy like?"
Aniela's expression softened slightly, as if anticipating the question. "All five major knight academies serve as sub-quarters of their respective legions. First-years are cadets. From year two onward, you're enlisted—real soldiers. Your primary job will be patrolling and defending Earth's surface from low-tier void beasts. That's no simulation."
Several children shifted uncomfortably.
"You'll be placed in squads of seven. If your squad survives your first year intact, you'll remain together. You'll live, eat, train, and bleed together. Each squad has specialized roles: squad leaders, medics, mechanics, and combat support. Most classes are shared, but leadership and technical courses diverge early. Practical classes, however..." She trailed off for emphasis. "They are not mere drills. You'll be fighting—real Styx, under real conditions. Support squads are often the first in, last out."
Silence blanketed the room.
Then the heavy door at the back slid open with a mechanical hiss.
A tall man entered—seven feet of muscle, medals, and presence. His broad shoulders carried a red cape etched with a black dragon head. Braided blond hair fell like golden ropes down his back. His eyes, glacial and sharp, swept across the room, pausing only when they landed on the squatting six.
Aniela straightened immediately and offered a crisp salute. "Brigadier General Beckett. An honor, sir."
"At ease, Colonel Eden," the general replied, his voice gravelly and deep.
She turned to the group. "Everyone, this is General Beckett—principal of Mustaleem Dragon Knights Academy."
Gasps followed. Even the most stoic students straightened instinctively.
Gilbert's breath caught in his throat. That man... he wasn't just a Grand Knight—he was a legend.
Beckett eyed the squatting group. "These six—what's their deal?"
Aniela smirked faintly. "Troublemakers, sir. Still being punished."
"Huh." Beckett stepped forward slightly, crossing his arms. "Then why aren't they squatting?"
The six immediately snapped back into squat position, wobbling slightly from surprise.
"Good. As for the rest of you—your group is the last cohort from tier II and III cities. All tier I candidates are already en route."
Colonel Eden clapped her hands, her tone suddenly sharper. "Single file, now! Move!"
The group stumbled into formation and began exiting the chamber.
Outside: The Drake Crawler
Sunlight bathed the open field outside in a golden glow. The children blinked at the sudden brightness—then froze.
Parked across the clearing was a behemoth of a vehicle: the Drake Crawler. It towered like a building on treads, a multi-deck mobile fortress humming with restrained power. Its armored hull bore the weathered scars of past battles, while freshly painted insignia—one depicting Earth cradled by three pairs of feathered wings (the P.F.E. logo), and the other a black dragon's silhouette—stood out boldly against the steel.
Gilbert stared, jaw slack. Even the tier II city children—used to transport crafts—gaped in stunned awe.
A soldier clad in silver-blue power armor stomped toward them. "Stop gawking! Get on board—we've got a schedule!"
They scrambled into motion.
Inside, they were each handed slim, curved wrist devices—halo watches—that snapped around their arms with a faint buzz. The corridor opened into a large common area already filled with dozens of children from across Europe. The doors sealed behind them, and with a low hum, the vehicle began to move.
In the center of the room, raised on a small platform, stood General Beckett and several other figures: Aniela, a wiry man in pilot armor, a stern woman with mechanical gauntlets, a pale medic with a floating datapad, and finally, the familiar Doctor Wolmer.
Beckett stepped forward.
"From this moment on, you will be referred to by your identification numbers. Your ID is synced to your halo watch. It tracks movement, health, and squad status. Get used to it."
He gestured behind him.
"These are your department heads. Colonel Aniela Eden—medics. Colonel Albrook—mechanics. Colonel Z'yna—Knight track. Captain Clade—practical instructor. Doctor Wolmer—serum specialist."
He checked his own device. "We arrive at Mustaleem in thirty minutes. During that time, you are to locate your temporary squads. You've been assigned based on compatibility profiles."
He paused. "Any questions?"
A sea of hands shot up.
"Good. No questions. Dismissed."
The instructors exited the room, leaving only a few armored guards by the walls.
Squad 9
Noise exploded through the space as children began moving toward their squad markers.
Gilbert looked at his watch:
Welcome: Gilbert Kruger
Squire ID: 141
Assignment: Squad 9
A holographic mini-map appeared above the screen—his green dot flanked by three nearby blue ones: Ana, Kean, and Adam. The remaining three blue dots began to approach.
William Munro arrived first—tall, refined, dressed like the son of a senator. Beside him was Wolfgang Keep, lean and sharp-eyed with an arrogant smirk, and a girl of Asian descent with graceful poise.
Gilbert sighed, muttering, "This should be good."
"Well, then," Wolfgang sneered, eyeing them, "I guess we're temporarily part of the peasant squad."
"Now, now, Wolfgang," William said with a polished smile, "Let's make an effort to get along."
He extended a hand. "William Munro. This is Wolfgang Keep, and Chen Mei."
Gilbert shook it. "Gilbert Kruger. That's Anastasia, Adam, and Kean Kruger."
Ana shot him a confused look. Kean blinked. Gilbert just smiled, as if daring them to correct him.
Chen Mei tilted her head. "Kruger? Are you triplets?"
Ana answered coolly, "No. We're from the same orphanage. They gave us the same surname."
Wolfgang scoffed. "Figures. Explains the lack of etiquette."
Kean stepped forward. "Say that again after Gilbert plants his boot in your chest."
Wolfgang stepped toward him, but Adam quickly intervened. "Enough! We've got less than thirty minutes to pick a squad leader—or we get penalized."
They stared at each other. Tension hung like a knife.
Adam raised a coin. "Gilbert. William. Pick."
Gilbert smirked. "Tails."
Mei caught the flip. Tails.
Gilbert turned to the rest, mock-bowing with a grin. "Welcome to Squad 9, everyone."