The sun hung high over the training grounds of Unit 47-C, casting long beams of light across the military installation nestled deep within Terra's eastern quadrant. Dray Ballack stood in perfect formation, his uniform pressed, boots polished, and expression focused. Today marked the end of the second training cycle—a milestone every recruit looked forward to with a strange mix of anxiety and pride.
Sergeant Kelna's voice, ever sharp and authoritative, rang through the field.
"Front line, step forward!"
Dray's boots thudded in sync with two dozen others as they stepped up. Their numbers had thinned slightly. A few had dropped out, a few had transferred. But those who remained were sharper, leaner, more aware. Battle-readiness had started to seep into their bones. The sluggish had been left behind; only those willing to push forward were still standing.
Kelna paced in front of the row of recruits, her arms behind her back.
"You've made it through phase two," she said. "You've learned to hold a weapon, keep formation, and march like soldiers. But you're not warriors. Not yet. You are tools—raw material in need of sharpening. Phase three will break you down even further. If you think this was the hard part, you're not ready."
Dray didn't flinch. He'd already endured sleepless nights, 30-kilometer forced marches, shock baton conditioning drills, and a nutrition regime that barely kept his energy reserves stable. And still, he rose every morning before the horn.
Kelna's eyes met his for a brief moment. "Ballack. Step forward."
He did.
She held up a training log. "Top score in obstacle endurance. Highest reaction speed in melee drills. One of only four recruits to finish the simulated ambush scenario without failure."
There was no applause. No congratulations. This wasn't a celebration.
"Which is why you're being reassigned."
A murmur rippled through the ranks.
Dray's brow furrowed, but he kept still.
"You're joining a cross-sector training exchange. A week from now, you'll be deployed to Fort Echelon in Sector 8 for advanced tactical conditioning. Dismissed."
That night, Dray sat alone near the outer fence of the camp, watching the terraformed skyline flicker with distant lights. He sipped water from his ration bottle, replaying Kelna's words. Fort Echelon. Sector 8. It was a promotion, in its own way—only the most promising recruits were ever sent there. It also meant separation from Tyro and Kessa, who had become his closest allies.
He heard footsteps crunching gravel.
"You could at least pretend you're excited," said Tyro, sitting next to him.
"Wasn't expecting it," Dray said.
"Yeah, well. We weren't expecting you to stab that shock drone in the eye during drills either. You've been making waves, man. It was bound to happen."
Dray gave a small, tired grin. "Maybe."
Kessa appeared next, her arms folded. She didn't speak, but her nod was all the confirmation he needed—she respected the move, even if it meant their unit was splitting.
"Sector 8, huh?" she finally said. "Better not come back soft."
Three days later, Dray packed his belongings into a standard-issue military duffel. The dormitory felt oddly hollow. Tyro had left a parting note on his bunk—"Don't die before I see you again."—scrawled in messy handwriting.
The transport shuttle landed outside the compound gates with a low hum, kicking up dust. A senior officer checked Dray's credentials and waved him aboard. The interior was dim, lined with metal benches and safety bars.
He strapped in, staring out the window as Unit 47-C faded into the distance.
System Notification:
—Minor EXP gained: +8 (Training Cycle Completion)
—Quest Update: Main Quest [Rise of the Bloodline] – Progress Logged
System Interface:
Name: Dray Ballack
Bloodline: Locked (Awakening Trigger Detected)
Race: Human (???)
Level: 6
Class: None
Strength: 7
Agility: 7
Endurance: 3
Vitality: 5
Skills:
• Night Adaptation (Passive)
• Blood Sense (Passive – Incomplete)
• Blood Echo (Tier I)
Inventory:
• Rusted Circuit Knife
• Obsidian Data Chip
• Unknown Crystal (Bound)
System Shop: [Access Granted – Insufficient Permissions for Purchase]
Next Level: 228 EXP
Status: Stable
The flight lasted under two hours, but the terrain shift was dramatic. Sector 8 was harsher—colder winds, steel-gray buildings, and stricter security protocols. Fort Echelon itself was a dome-like fortress encased in fortified alloy, surrounded by automated turrets and surveillance towers.
The shuttle docked, and Dray stepped out, greeted by the frigid air and a new voice.
"Recruit Ballack, welcome to Fort Echelon. I'm Lieutenant Drahm. You're two minutes late."
Dray blinked. "Our shuttle arrived on time."
"Exactly. So, you should've been waiting at the door."
That set the tone.
Dray was immediately immersed in simulations far more complex than anything in Unit 47-C. Enemy AI behavior. Multi-tiered combat zones. Environmental hazards.
Unlike the previous camp, Fort Echelon didn't train recruits to survive. It trained them to conquer.
And the instructors didn't yell. They observed. They evaluated. And when you failed, you were removed.
Dray adapted slowly, but surely. He learned to manipulate terrain during combat. He developed sharper reflexes. His accuracy improved.
He wasn't the top here—not yet—but he wasn't at the bottom either. And every night, the system gave him reminders of his progression.
System Notification:
—Minor EXP gained: +6 (Tactical Maneuver Simulation)
—Minor EXP gained: +5 (Close-Quarters Combat Test)
Dray sat alone most nights, reflecting on what he'd learned, measuring the distance between who he was and who he needed to become. His thoughts drifted sometimes to the crimson throne from his visions. To a voice that had whispered once in sleep.
The army was shaping him.
But something deeper had begun long before.
And it wasn't finished yet.