The Call to Arms - The Lost Bloodline System

Five months had passed since Dray Ballack began his training at Fort Echelon Depot. The grueling routines, brutal exercises, and relentless combat simulations had shaped him from a recruit into a warrior. His body was leaner, his reflexes sharper, and his mindset forged through discipline.

System Notification:

—EXP Gained: +200 (Advanced Training Milestone Achieved)

—Level Up!

System Interface:

Name: Dray Ballack

Bloodline: Locked (Awakening Trigger Detected)

Race: Human (???)

Level: 7

Class: None

Strength: 8

Agility: 9

Endurance: 4

Vitality: 6

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: 300 EXP

Status: Stable

It was dawn, and the red skies over Fort Echelon bathed the depot in crimson hues. The day had started like any other—with drills and inspection routines. But as the early hours passed, a shift in the air signaled change. The morning was interrupted by the sound of alert sirens.

Lieutenant Drahm's voice rang across the depot speakers, firm and cold. "All recruits. Assembly in ten minutes. Full formation. Training ground."

The recruits scrambled out of the barracks. Dray fell into line with the others as instructors emerged in rows, their stern faces unreadable.

When all had gathered, Lieutenant Drahm stood before them with a data tablet in hand. A few other instructors, armed and suited, stood at his flanks. There was no humor, no routine. Only intensity.

He began to call names.

"Reid Vonn. Halston Kren. Marela Jin. Dray Ballack."

Dray's chest tightened slightly as his name echoed across the training ground. More names followed—dozens of them. In the end, it was almost half of the current recruits standing in a separate column.

Lieutenant Drahm lowered his data pad. "The rest of you are dismissed. Return to your training. The called personnel—follow me."

No explanation. No room for questions. Dray joined the others as they were marched out of the training field and toward the massive drill hall nestled deep within the depot's inner compound.

Inside, they stood silently as a large screen on the far wall flickered to life. A middle-aged man in an instructor's uniform stepped forward. His name tag read: Instructor Corm Vekar. His stern face bore the scars of old battles, and his mechanical arm glinted under the ceiling lights.

"You've been summoned because a war has broken out," he said without preamble. "A hostile force from the low-level star planet Zarnok-5 has invaded Earth's outer defense zones. This isn't just another border skirmish—this is a full-scale assault."

Gasps rippled through the recruits.

"Invasion casualties are rising. Earth Command has ordered immediate deployment of special operations and high-potential recruits to reinforce local resistance forces. You are being drafted."

Murmurs erupted, uncertainty cracking the discipline of the crowd.

Lieutenant Drahm stepped forward, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

"Silence."

The room fell still again.

"Some of you may not return," Drahm said bluntly. "War doesn't care if you're ready. War doesn't wait for your permission. War either buries you... or makes you stronger."

A cold silence followed. Dray's fists clenched. The thought of returning to Earth—to defend the same world that had abandoned him—lit a quiet fire within him. But there was no room for resentment now. The battlefield offered only two paths: forward or dead.

He took a steady breath. He had trained for this. This was why he endured the hell of Fort Echelon.

As some of the recruits whispered anxiously, Dray kept his posture firm. He was ready.

The chosen recruits were issued reinforced body armor, high-density helmets, and multi-environment combat suits. The armor bore the insignia of Earth Command, flanked by the special deployment crest—a crimson fang, the mark of frontline elites.

They were each handed combat kits, utility belts, and specialized rations. Then came the weapons. Dray was issued a Model-X Plasma Rifle, a thermal bayonet, and an auto-adaptive energy shield.

Instructors supervised as they boarded a row of heavily-armored military transports. Lieutenant Drahm and three other high-ranking instructors climbed aboard with them.

As the transport rumbled to life and lifted from the depot, the recruits stared out through the narrow windows. The night swallowed them as the vehicle slipped into sky lanes, veering east toward Earth's central warfront.

They arrived under the shroud of darkness.

The military transport descended into Camp Valor, a fortified outpost on the outer plains of Earth's northern hemisphere. Floodlights illuminated the steel perimeter, and gun turrets rotated mechanically as the convoy approached.

The doors slid open.

A tall, rugged officer stood waiting. He wore a long coat draped over his armored frame, with rank sigils of a field lieutenant glowing dimly.

"I'm Lieutenant Joran Vekk," he introduced, motioning for them to follow. "You're not recruits anymore. As of now, you're battlefield assets. Move."

Dray followed the others through the winding camp. Rows of tents, satellite dishes, and weapon lockers lined the path. Distant sounds of warfare echoed from beyond the hills.

"Sleeping quarters are to your left. You'll be briefed at 0600. Until then, rest. Tomorrow, you become soldiers."

Dray entered one of the designated bunks and laid his gear down. The metallic cot creaked beneath him as he sat.

He didn't speak. He didn't need to.

He stared at the ceiling, knowing that war waited for him in the morning.