[System Notification: STAMINA – 0.15%]
> "Vital functions declining. Fatigue state critical."
Sage blinked as the cold, unforgiving glow of the overhead lights blurred his vision. His muscles trembled. Every breath felt heavier than the last.
Still, he moved.
One elbow at a time, one foot dragging behind the other, he pushed himself out of the asphalt hallway where they'd left him.
And strangely, he was glad for that.
His sweat soaked through his uniform, dripping onto the polished tiles like he had just walked through rain. In his palm, a school schedule—now creased—was somehow pressed into his hand after the ceremony.
He finally lifted it to look.
Zeta Slayers: 10 Points.
His eyes widened.
> "Ten points? How the hell am I supposed to buy a full kilogram of meat every day with that?"
His body screamed for protein. For anything. The only thing keeping him upright was the flickering system window reminding him that 0.10% stamina wouldn't last much longer.
He glanced down the dorm hallway. Room numbers blurred past — 103... 109... 114... finally:
Room 117.
He stumbled forward and reached for the doorknob. The plaque outside the room had two names. He barely registered his own before scanning for the second.
His vision was blurry, but one word hit him hard:
> Kol – Alpha Tier
His heart dropped.
> "Alpha? …Please let 'Alpha' be a clerical mistake."
He pushed the door open.
The first thing he saw wasn't a bed, a desk, or even his new roommate. It was a stack of meat on a small heating stone near the window, its aroma practically slapping him in the face.
> "Meat."
The second thing he saw was the person sitting cross-legged beside the pile — broad-shouldered, brown eyes slightly golden, with an eagle insignia glowing on his chest.
Kol turned his head slightly and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm Kol Carlyle."
> "You the Pactless?" he asked casually, barely looking up.
Sage tried to answer.
Instead, he stared past Kol, past the Alpha badge, past the judgment. He could only mutter one word, like a man possessed:
> "Meat…"
---
[System Log – Recording initiated...]
> "New environment recognized. Dormitory Sector 117.
Host mental condition: weakened.
Physical condition: unstable.
Stamina falling below viable threshold.
Cognitive link: partially engaged."
Then everything went dark.
Not empty. Not quiet. Just full of memories.
Of That day.
The SONA entrance exams.
Everything had gone wrong from the start.
He was late to orientation because one of the guards had sent him in the wrong direction. When he arrived at the testing center, his name wasn't on the list.
> "That's not my problem," the instructor said coldly, shoving a folded map into his hand. "Go to the overflow station. Sector 7."
---
Sector 7 wasn't like the other sections of the Metro Research Institute (MRI). It was deeper, colder, quieter — and felt more restricted. Half the lights flickered. Most of the cameras were off.
He didn't realize he'd wandered near the Research Ring until it was too late.
And then came the voices behind him.
> "What's a Zeta doing down here?"
"Maybe he's trying to steal a Ring."
"Let's help him get one... the hard way."
Hands grabbed him. Someone kicked his knee from behind, making him stumble.
> "Wait! I—"
A door opened — one he hadn't seen — and they shoved him in.
It slammed shut, stealing every trace of light along with it.
---
He had to leave. This place felt restricted enough. And this was a research institute. God knows what they were researching. Monsters... plagues...
He looked around. No sound. No windows. Just cold concrete and a hum deeper below, like machinery buried in the earth.
He banged on the door.
No answer.
A faint red light blinked near the far wall.
> There's got to be an emergency exit or something...
He followed it — limping, breathing hard — until he saw the floor give way to something else: a glowing spiral inscribed into the metal.
---
The metal collapsed inward like a trapdoor, dropping him into a small cylindrical chamber lined with arcane seals and cables — a vault.
He landed hard on his side, the wind knocked out of him.
Before he could scream, something lit up around him — walls of light forming a perfect circle. Lines spiraled outward like a spinning clock.
At the center: a containment capsule.
Inside floated a crystalline sphere with purple threads coiling inside it — like a god's nervous system sealed in glass.
A mechanical voice echoed through the room — one he now knew too well:
> "System POWER-UP COMPLETE. Host required.
HOST FOUND. INITIATING SYNC..."
---
> NAME: SAGE ERLANGER
SEX: MALE
CURRENT LEVEL: 1
AFFINITIES: NONE
POTENTIAL: 87%
DEFAULT: WEAKNESS: --
PURPOSE: FIND THE ELIXIR
His body seized. It felt like a thousand lightning bolts tearing through every nerve.
And then—
---
> "Hey you! What are you doing here?
This sector is prohibited for unauthorized personnel!"
A middle-aged man in a white lab coat appeared, voice sharp and urgent.
"Now get back to your test!"
"Elixir..." Sage mumbled, dazed — still reeling from the system's words — before running off.
The man's eyes widened as Sage disappeared.
> "Oh no…"
He stepped into the lab, fingers flying across a nearby console. Surveillance footage played back the moment Sage had been trapped inside.
After a long pause, he picked up the phone and punched in a bunch of numbers.
> "Hello?
I think we might have a problem."