Ashen awoke to silence.
Not the soft kind that came with peace, but the tense stillness of unfamiliarity. A silence that pressed against his ears like mist in a place he didn't belong.
He stared at the ceiling above, eyes adjusting to the dull gray cracks that ran across the plaster like faded scars. There was no warmth in the color, no light seeping in through the lone window above. Just the cold air and the heavy realization weighing down on his chest.
This is real.
The military bed beneath him creaked as he sat up, the thin blanket slipping down to his lap. His boots sat neatly beside the cot, the same pair he was given yesterday—the same pair he had walked into this place with.
The echo of yesterday's welcome ceremony still lingered in his head. Flags waving, officers chanting oaths, the prideful tones of war-drum speeches meant to inspire the masses. But none of that felt real to him.
This morning did.
He glanced across the room. Other recruits were still sleeping or slowly stirring to life. A few were already dressed, whispering to one another in half-awake voices. The air smelled like old oil and damp stone.
He rose, dressed quickly in his uniform, and stepped outside the barracks into the crisp morning.
The military grounds were wide and strangely empty. Training fields stretched out like a battlefield waiting to be used. Stone paths cut through patches of dying grass, and the distant clang of metal hinted that not all corners of this place were at rest.
Today, they'd said, was a day of rest. A buffer before training began in full.
Ashen didn't mind the quiet. It gave him room to think.
Unit 9.
His unit.
Six of them.
Strangers—yet somehow tied to him now. Chosen by the system, fate, or whatever authority had decided to group them.
He was still trying to understand them.
Seraphine, the princess. Cold. Silent. Her presence was a pressure. She hadn't spoken much during the ceremony, but the way she looked at him… it was different. Like she knew something.
Reynar, the nobleman. His pride hung around him like armor. He didn't speak unless it was sharp, and yet there was something calculated in his silence, as if he were always measuring those around him.
Elira, the military girl. Disciplined, warm, and practical. She was the only one who smiled yesterday without forcing it. That alone made her feel more human than the others.
Kerr, the taller commoner with the loud voice. Always grinning, always moving, always trying to lighten the mood. He reminded Ashen of the boys from the outskirts who laughed too much to hide how little they had.
Lin Borra, the smaller one with bright eyes. Talkative, cheerful, and curious about everything. Her energy felt like sunlight in this dull gray place.
And then… there was him.
Ashen.
The outsider with no name worth remembering. The boy who had buried his real weapon under lies. The one carrying a secret even he didn't fully understand.
He kept walking.
The cafeteria wasn't hard to find. A long concrete building with arched doors and smoke curling from the chimneys above. The smell of warm bread and stew drifted into the cold air, making his stomach tighten with hunger.
Inside, the hall was noisy.
Not chaotic—just filled with life.
Metal tables stretched across the space, each crowded with recruits in dark gray uniforms. Trays clattered, spoons scraped, and conversations buzzed like low background static.
Ashen's eyes scanned the crowd until he spotted them.
Unit 9.
They were seated at a corner table, half-finished trays in front of them. The table was already alive with chatter, mostly thanks to Kerr and Lin, who were trying to guess how long it would take before someone in the camp snapped.
Ashen walked over.
"Hey!" Kerr waved with a mouthful of bread. "Look who's alive!"
"We saved you a seat," Lin added, patting the bench beside her.
Ashen nodded and slid into the spot without a word. A tray of food was nudged toward him—some kind of porridge, hard bread, and a boiled egg.
"Thanks," he murmured.
Elira raised a brow. "First real morning in camp. How you holding up?"
Ashen took a bite of the bread. Dry. Dense. But not worse than what he'd eaten outside. "Still getting used to it."
"You'll be fine," Lin grinned. "It's just like home. If your home was built out of stone and smelled like metal and fear."
"Very comforting," Reynar muttered, arms crossed.
"You know," Kerr said, pointing a spoon at him, "you could try smiling. Once. Maybe it'll knock you off that high horse."
"I don't ride horses," Reynar replied. "I have a functioning brain."
Kerr burst into laughter, unfazed.
Ashen watched quietly as the dynamic unfolded.
Lin and Kerr were naturally loud. Elira was the balance. Reynar picked his words with precision, aiming to provoke. And Seraphine… said nothing. She simply sat, composed, her plate untouched, her expression unreadable.
Ashen kept his eyes on his food. He didn't mind not talking. Listening told him more than speaking ever could.
"So," Elira said after a moment, "why'd you all join?"
The table quieted.
"I wanna send money back to my brothers," Kerr said first. "They're still stuck working in scrap heaps."
"I joined because I wasn't doing anything back home," Lin added. "Thought I'd get strong, see something real. Maybe even learn to fight."
"Elira's probably been training since birth," Kerr said with a smirk.
"More or less," she replied, biting her egg. "Family thing. Expected of me."
All eyes turned to Reynar.
He sighed. "I joined because the noble houses expect every heir to serve. It's tradition. And insurance."
Kerr blinked. "Insurance?"
"In case the kingdom burns again. Someone needs to know how to fight with more than their mouth."
Then they looked at Ashen.
He didn't flinch.
"Because I had nowhere else to go," he said simply.
The truth—shaped just right.
Lin looked down. Elira gave him a soft nod. Reynar's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than usual.
And Seraphine?
Still silent.
Still watching.
Their breakfast continued in quiet murmurs, bits of casual teasing and light talk breaking through the gray mood. For the first time since Ashen arrived, the air felt a little less heavy.
Until—
"Attention, all recruits."
The voice boomed across the hall, amplified by magic.
Every table stilled. Conversations died.
"The ranking evaluation for this year's recruits has now been posted outside Cafeteria Hall. Please check your standing during rest hours. That is all."
A storm erupted.
Dozens of recruits leapt up from their seats, rushing toward the exit. Some tripped, others shoved. The hunger for recognition, for status, burned in their eyes.
Ashen didn't move.
But Kerr did.
"Aw yeah! Let's go!" he shouted, dragging Lin by the wrist.
"I better not be last," she groaned, following him.
Reynar rose slowly, brushing crumbs from his sleeve. "This should be… entertaining."
Elira stood with a sigh. "Curious, at least."
Ashen finally stood and followed them out.
The sky outside was brighter now, but the crowd was darker—clusters of recruits swarming a glowing crystal board etched with names and numbers. The air buzzed with tension. Some cheered. Others looked like their dreams had cracked.
The list shimmered with magical light.
Names. Units. Weapons. Scores.
Ashen's eyes moved across the board.
Unit 9 stood out.
Right at the top:
1. Seraphine – Unit 9 – ??? – Rank 1
She hadn't even used her weapon, not really. But no one questioned it.
2. Raynar varon – Unit 9 – Moonpiercer –Rank 2
Of course.
9. Elira valen– Unit 9 – Ironwall – Rank 10
A well-earned rank.
29. Kerr - Unit 9 - Sunwill - Rank 49
Further down…
98. Lin Borra – Unit 9 – Shardsong – Rank 27
99. Ashen – Unit 9 – Unnamed – Rank 99
He stared at his name.
No weapon listed. No power recorded. Just a number. Just the place they thought he belonged.
Second last.
Good.
Let them believe it.
"Second last?" Lin whispered beside him. "That can't be right…"
Kerr blinked. "Wait, you're below her? Dude!"
Elira frowned. "Must've been an error in measurement. That, or you're hiding something."
Ashen didn't answer.
But Seraphine stepped forward.
The crowd parted as she stood before them—not with arrogance, but with cold authority.
She turned, eyes scanning every recruit present.
Then she spoke.
"This ranking doesn't matter," she said, her voice clear, quiet, and terrifyingly firm. "It's a number on a wall. It will not protect you. It will not save you. If you think this board decides who you are—then you've already failed."
Silence.
Her gaze swept past Ashen, pausing—for just a second.
Then she walked away, without waiting for applause.
Ashen looked back up at the board one last time.
Unnamed.
And yet, something inside him stirred.
A faint pulse.
Soon