Raith exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath.
His chest hurt. His mining gear was stiff with dried blood and dust—like he'd carried the whole Field back with him.
The Field's grime didn't belong in this quiet checkpoint zone, where everything looked clean and untouched—as if the nightmare inside the Force Field had no place in the world beyond it.
Soldiers in exo-armor stood behind clear energy barriers, watching them silently. No shouting. No rushing.
Just calm, cold eyes behind tinted visors. They were truly efficient, professional, and detached.
Over here, it was a different kind of pressure.
No monsters. No smell of death in the air. But it still felt suffocating.
Off to the side, hidden until now, a small temporary base had been set up. Rows of sterile white shelters lined the space—prefabs, stacked neatly like shipping containers. Energy barriers crackled softly at the edges, pulsing in rhythm.
Medics moved between tents, checking on the Untuned survivors who had made it out earlier—somehow. None of Raith's group had even realized others had escaped.
They wondered why even someone had made it out and gone for help but none came their way?
The truth settled in fast.
The soldiers hadn't come for them because they never intended to.
The Untuned didn't get rescues.
The wounded Untuned they'd carried out? Already gone—taken by a recovery unit. Not a word of thanks. Not even a glance.
Now it was just the five of them standing there—Raith, Dane, Mira, Kev, and the Kid.
Another soldier stepped forward. Sunlight caught his visor just right, flashing in Raith's eyes.
"Form a line!" he barked. "Helmets on. Hands where we can see them!"
Everything started moving immediately. No time to think.
Raith adjusted his cracked helmet as best he could. It still sat crooked from the impact. Kev elbowed Mira by accident as they shuffled into a rough formation.
"Hands out. Palms up!" another soldier ordered.
They obeyed.
Cold scanning devices slid past, humming as they swept their palms. Raith felt the buzz of it against his skin. A faint warmth. A flash of light.
Each scanner pinged once.
Then a short confirmation tone.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Raith believed that it proved the existence of Flux inside their bodies.
They were truly awakened now.
Across the checkpoint yard, the female Enforcer, Ivara stood like a statue. Arms crossed. Visor reflecting the sharp white glare of overhead floodlamps.
She didn't say anything. Just watched.
Maybe she was thinking about the Field. Maybe she was trying to figure out if they'd just made her job harder or easier. The Shatterveil had been labeled F-grade—barely worth exploring.
But if that Field could trigger five awakenings? That changed things.
A soldier stepped back and gave a short nod. "All five confirmed. Level 1 Marks. All readings stable."
Ivara nodded.
"Load them up," she said.
She glanced at the five of them and muttered, "It's lucky the camp is holding its entry a few months late."
She then gazed at the sky, "This is truly a blessing in disguise."
Two transport trucks waited behind the line—big, ugly things meant for moving squads through the Outer Region. No seats. No padding. Just metal walls and rattling floors.
Raith had ridden in one before. Many times. It always felt the same—cold, loud, and impersonal.
They climbed in. No words.
Some of the soldiers muttered as they passed.
"Lucky bastards."
"They'll burn out in a year."
"Wasting resources."
Raith heard every word.
But he didn't flinch. Neither did Dane. Or Mira. Or Kev. And the Kid, as always, just stared straight ahead. She was quiet and unmoving.
Watching everything and saying nothing.
The truck lurched forward. They drove in silence.
Raith watched the Outer Wall of Haven Bastion come into view through a slitted window. The wall stretched up like it was built to hold up the sky.
No cracks. No scars. Pure, smooth alloy—reinforced and etched with energy conduits. A barrier that had never fallen. Not once.
It wasn't just a wall. It was a message.
Whatever lives outside this line doesn't belong inside.
They drove another thirty minutes—past checkpoint gates, floodlights, and old barricades—until the truck finally slowed.
A building loomed ahead. It was massive and reinforced by steel walls and surveillance towers. Raith could see dozens of processing bays stretched across its front.
A glowing sign buzzed faintly overhead: Outer Registration Center 4-B.
It looked like every other Bastion facility Raith had seen—cold, practical, and impossible to confuse with anything that cared.
This place wasn't built to inspire. It was built to process.
Raith stared at it and thought back—years ago when he was just a scrawny ten-year-old lined up with fifty other orphans. All of them dressed in gray, none of them smiling. It had been their first chance to awaken.
Most awakenings happened between ten to fifteen. After that, your body started to "settle," they said. Too late, and your chance passed like a train that wasn't coming back.
He still remembered the room. Bright white walls. Holo-monitors lining the sides. The Awakening Plate sat in the middle—polished black stone with a shallow groove meant for a child's right hand.
The instructions were simple.
Place your palm and wait for something to happen or... nothing.
Those who awakened lit the plate up. Their skin glowed. A Mark appeared.
The observers behind the glass would write something down and move on to the next kid.
Raith remembered everything clearly. He had stepped up, heart in his throat. He pressed his hand down. And waited.
Five seconds passed. And then ten.
Nothing. Not even a flicker or a sound.
Just a faint buzz—and then a cold voice saying, "Next."
That was it. One cold buzz, and suddenly, he wasn't a kid with potential anymore—just another Untuned.
They tested him again at twelve.
Again at fifteen.
Same result every time. No spark. No Mark. No future.
Now, years later, he was back for another test.
The truck hissed and stopped. The rear hatch dropped with a loud metallic clang.
"Out!" a soldier shouted.
They stepped onto the concrete platform in silence. Scanners lined the hallway ahead. Armed guards paced the catwalks above them.
The Enforcer from earlier stood near the gate. She pointed.
"Two lines. Men left. Women right. No talking unless spoken to."
Raith hesitated for half a second. The orders cut deeper than he expected. No matter the Marks on their hands, they weren't free yet.
Just... upgraded from dirt to dust.
He moved left with Dane and Kev. Mira and the Kid crossed right. A gate buzzed. Lights flared. Doors slid open.
"You'll be scanned, verified, and documented," Ivara said flatly. "All gear must be removed. Suits. Helmets. Everything."
Raith felt Kev stiffen beside him.
"Again?" Kev whispered. "Why?"
"Standard check," Dane murmured. "No room for fakes. No forged Marks."
"I get that." Kev's fingers twitched. "But we have to strip?"
Raith understood the hesitation. After years of being reduced to nothing, the thought of standing exposed again—like a slab of meat in a freezer—wasn't easy.
But they had no choice.
"It's just a process," Raith said. "Get through it."
There were a few others with them. Slowly, the line moved.
Inside was colder. Brighter. The walls buzzed with energy. A team of medtechs in pale coats waited—holding scanners, data tablets, and the same expressionless stares Raith had seen since he was a kid.
They stripped piece by piece. Helmet. Gloves. Suits. Nothing fancy underneath—just those thin regulation jumpsuits, the kind Untuned wore everywhere.
No padding, no armor. Just scratchy fabric and bad memories.
Then, the last piece of clothing on their bodies was taken off.
Raith hated how small he felt. He wasn't tall. His ribs still showed. Old bruises along his spine. A scar across his shoulder blade from a mining accident no one helped him with.
But he stood straight.
So did Dane. So did Kev.
Scanners hummed and beeped. The Marks on their palms were documented and enhanced on holo-screens. Force signatures. Flux readings.
Raith caught a glimpse of his own.
FORCE: SUPER STRENGTH
FLUX: 1000
LEVEL: 1
'Flux: 1000?' Raith blinked.
That couldn't be right. Most of the books he'd read said first awakenings capped out around two or three hundred.
A thousand? He didn't know what that meant—but from the way the tech hesitated, it meant something.
Eventually, they were allowed to get dressed again.
This time, their new suits came with something extra—lanyards, clipped with thin black IDs.
Raith turned his over. His name. A barcode. A Force classification.
Under status, one word blinked faintly in blue: TUNER.
He was no longer an Untuned. Not anymore.
Still, they weren't important. Not yet.
They were still at the bottom of the ladder.
But this time, at least... they were on the ladder.
And no one could take that from them.