The office lights were low—dimmed by intention, not design.
Chief Warden Harrex Vale leaned back in his chair, fingertips tapping against the glass surface of his desk. A projection hovered between him and the woman standing on the opposite side—data panels, mission briefings, sealed logs.
The word 'Shatterveil' pulsed faintly at the top.
"Ivara," he said, not looking up at first. "You really think this place is tied to their awakening?"
Ivara Dren stood tall, arms behind her back, her tone calm. "I don't think. I know."
Vale's gaze rose slowly. One brow lifted. "That confident?"
"I ran checks on them," she said. "Kev, Dane, and Mira—all war orphans. Multiple transfers. Early signs of Force instability in their scans, but no awakenings. Until Shatterveil."
Vale nodded once. "Those three, sure. Circumstance, maybe proximity. But the other two…"
"Elisa Neris and Raith," Ivara said evenly. "Backgrounds don't add up."
That got his attention. His fingers stilled.
"I pulled Elisa's file. She was adopted by the Neris family, the Outer Region's Great Family. Good standing. No blood ties."
Vale's brows furrowed slightly. "The Neris… Weren't they the family rising toward Middle Region recognition?"
"They were," Ivara said. "Had the merit, the rank track, even the political support. But they died. All of them. Some lunatic massacred the whole family."
"Tragic," Vale muttered. "I remember the report. A shame."
"Elisa was the only survivor. Sent to the Outer Wards afterward."
"She wasn't with them long," Ivara added. "And biologically, she isn't a Neris. So we can't credit her awakening to anything they passed down."
Vale leaned back again, the chair creaking faintly.
"That leaves Raith."
Ivara nodded.
Vale exhaled. "And we know nothing about him."
"No lineage, no surviving guardians, no recorded origin," Ivara said. "He's just… there. Like someone erased the rest."
The room went quiet for a beat.
Then Vale said, "And both of them… are High Anomalies."
Ivara met his gaze. "We both know what that means."
Vale didn't speak immediately. His fingers tapped again, slower now.
High Anomaly.
It wasn't just a ranking term. It was a classification reserved for those whose awakenings disrupted systems—whose power didn't just exceed expectations but bent the rules around them.
Tuners who could grow at unpredictable rates and who could reach past the ceiling.
They were also the Tuners who couldn't be explained by bloodline, aptitude, or training.
Potential threats. Or rarest assets.
"They're beyond S-rank," Vale muttered. "Given enough time…"
"They'll leave the rest behind," Ivara finished.
Vale fell quiet again. But in just a matter of a few seconds, he leaned forward and let out a light chuckle.
"Well. Lucky I ordered the officers to stay quiet about this," he said. "Didn't want news getting to the other camps or anyone higher up."
His eyes met hers again, wry amusement behind the sharpness. "But now that I think about it… that was a foolish precaution, wasn't it?"
Ivara's lip curved slightly.
"Who'd be stupid enough to challenge you?"
Vale laughed. Just once. Then he returned to the projection, dragging a few files aside.
"Alright," he said. "You've got your mission. Shatterveil's yours. Just don't get yourself killed out there."
Ivara turned for the door, already halfway to the exit, when she answered, "I don't plan to."
And she was gone.
***
Raith sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the back of his right hand.
The Cadet quarters—just a plain rectangular dorm fitted with four beds and steel lockers—were quiet tonight.
Only three of them used it.
Raith. Kev. Dane.
The others had quietly chosen different dorms. Not that anyone said it out loud, but nobody wanted to sleep with the S-grades.
Raith didn't blame them.
Most of the Cadets in Camp 70 weren't from the Outer Wards. They had families—some from the Great Families. They weren't used to hunger, to punishment, to being invisible for most of their lives.
And frankly, neither Raith, Kev, nor Dane was interested in trying to fit in with them.
It was easier this way.
The lights above hummed faintly. A breeze filtered in through the old wall vent. Kev was already snoring on his bed, one arm dangling over the edge.
Dane lay on his back across from him, staring at the ceiling with the kind of focus only Dane could muster this late.
Raith didn't speak. His eyes stayed on his hand.
The Mark was still there, etched clean into the skin like a brand, glowing faintly in the dim dorm. He activated it just because he wanted to see the color of the glow.
It was not a white glow but gold.
Every Tuner knew the basics. When a Force awakened, a Mark appeared on the back of the right hand. Most glowed white—unless they were Elemental Forces, which carried the color of their element.
Super Strength wasn't Elemental. It wasn't even close.
It should've glowed white. But it didn't.
Raith turned his hand slightly, watching the gold shimmer shift in the low light.
He'd ignored it up until now—too busy with everything that suddenly came into his life.
But now that he looked at it again… it was obvious. It always had been.
'Why is mine different?'
He didn't have an answer. Maybe no one did.
His body was changing. The Force was adjusting him from the inside out. But this glow-this golden light—felt like something else entirely. Like a message he hadn't learned how to read yet.
A soft sigh escaped him.
He leaned back onto the bunk and let his eyes close.
Just for a second.
When he opened them again, he wasn't in his dorm anymore.
He stood in a vast, empty space. No walls. No ceiling. Just endless dark above and below—like someone had scraped the world clean of color and shape.
A horizon-less dimension.
But he was grounded. Somehow.
The floor beneath him shimmered like polished glass, black and weightless. Every step echoed—yet there was no sound.
Raith turned slowly.
He wasn't scared. Not yet. But he was alert. His Force stirred faintly inside him, like it recognized this place even if he didn't.
In the distance, golden lights floated in slow spirals, like ash glowing in reverse. Raith took a step toward them, but before he could move farther, something stirred.
A silhouette.
No features. Just a figure—tall, still, and distant—standing at the far edge of the glowing path.
It wasn't moving.
But Raith could feel its presence. He couldn't help but squint his eyes. He was trying his best to make out the shape.
'Better be human,' he prayed inwardly.
Then, the golden light pulsed. Just once, but it was too bright.
The golden lights pulsed once, brighter. Raith covered his eyes. Then the silhouette raised its hand.
Raith's Mark flared. The golden light wasn't just glowing now—it was burning.
The glow turned hotter. Not just light anymore—heat.
Raith winced and dropped to one knee, gripping his wrist tightly.
It burned. Like something underneath the skin was pushing its way out.
Then, through the quiet, he heard it.
A voice.
Not in the air. Not in his ears but in his mind.
Low. Calm. And somehow familiar.
"You've come."
Raith looked up, breathing hard. "Who… are you?"