The office was quiet in a way that made the whole conversation feel heavier than it already was.
The instructor sat behind a plain metal desk with a stack of files on one side, a tablet in front of her, and that same unreadable expression she had worn during the tests. I sat across from her with my hands half-curled at my sides, still feeling like there had to be some mistake here, like if I just explained myself correctly one more time she would finally realize I belonged where I said I belonged.
Instead, she looked at me for a long moment and said, "We can't let you join the close combat division, or the rescue division."
For a second I just stared at her.
It felt like the words didn't land at first. They hovered in the air, refusing to become real.
Then my stomach dropped.
"No," I said immediately, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. "No, I can still fight. I can still do both. Even if it kills me."
She didn't flinch. "That's exactly the problem."
I took a step forward before I could stop myself. "That's ridiculous. You can't just—"
"I can," she said.
Her voice was calm, but not cold, which almost made it worse.
She leaned back slightly and folded her hands on the desk. "It might seem difficult, but this is to protect you."
I stared at her, as if she had just told me the sky was on fire.
"Protect me?" I repeated. "Are you even allowed to do that?"
"I am."
I swallowed hard, my jaw tightening. "Please, this is ridiculous. Do you think I'm just going to walk out there and kill myself?"
"Can you calm down for one moment before you say anything else?" she asked.
The frustration in my chest burned hotter. "Our spiritual testing was designed to not take many threads at all, and even now as we speak, your nose is still bleeding."
I raised a hand to my face without even thinking and felt the dampness of the tissue there. The sight of it made my stomach twist harder.
The instructor's tone softened only slightly. "You need to understand something. I am not your enemy here."
I laughed once, bitter and helpless.
"I know," she said.
That answer stole the air out of me for a second.
I looked down and clenched my fists. "Ma'am… I need to be worth at least something to the institute."
"Then you can be something else."
"That won't cut it."
Her eyes stayed on mine. "Lower your voice."
I exhaled through my nose and forced the pressure down. "...I'm sorry."
"I know," she said. "And I need you to hear me clearly. I've never seen a spirit as faulty as yours, but I still know what I'm looking at. A division that demands all your spiritual energy will get someone like you killed."
"I've learned to fight in the military," I said quickly. "Isn't that enough?"
Her expression changed, but only slightly. "Gabriel, in a world where these things do not die easily to spiritless combat, your fists and your sword are not enough to guarantee the lives of civilians, or even your own, against demons."
My chest tightened. I hated hearing it because some part of me already knew it was true.
But hearing it said out loud was different.
It made the failure feel official.
"You have a strong will," she continued, "and I am not denying that. But I am denying your placement."
My mouth went dry.
All at once I was thinking about every hour I had spent training my body, every instinct I had built around close combat, every rescue drill, every time I had imagined myself becoming useful in the exact way I had once failed to be useful before. It all felt like it was being pushed off a cliff in one sentence.
"I can still help people," I said more quietly.
"Yes."
"I can still fight."
"Yes."
"Then why won't you let me?"
"Words have weight," she said, "but that does not mean they cannot be lies, even if your soul believes they are right."
That hit me harder than if she had just insulted me.
I looked away, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Being told no was bad enough. Being told my strongest effort was still not enough to make me safe enough for the roles I wanted most felt like somebody had taken the shape of my life and bent it until it no longer fit in my hands.
The Instructor let the silence sit there a moment before speaking again.
"That does not mean you cannot fight at all."
I looked back at her.
Her gaze was steady. "If you allow this institution to shape you into something entirely new, something that doesn't fit any usual mold, something built through advancements rather than tradition, then yes. We can work with you."
I frowned. "Advancements?"
"Technology. Equipment. Tactical systems. Field support tools. Specialized training."
I crossed my arms, still wary. "You want to turn me into a lab project?"
She didn't react to that. "I want to give you a chance."
I stared at her for a second.
Then I asked, "Why would you bother?"
"Because you can be useful," she said.
I almost smiled at that. Almost.
"Don't look insulted," she added. "I mean that in the most respectful way possible."
I let out a slow breath, feeling the fight in me dull into something quieter and more exhausting. "If I do this," I said, "what happens to the spiritual classes?"
She nodded once. "You will still attend the fundamentals. But do not expect to gain much from them. Your reservoir is too tight for that track."
I lowered my head. That part hurt more than I wanted to admit. It felt like hearing the doors close on a future I had already started building in my head.
She went on, "You may still train melee. Everyone here needs it. But do not expect spiritless human force to carry you in a real engagement. Demons are resistant to it. They outmatch it. They will overpower it if that is all you have."
I stayed quiet.
My combat abilities. My rescue training. The parts of me that felt most meaningful. They were being put into a box labeled not enough.
It made me sick.
She watched my face and, for the first time since I had walked in, her expression softened in a way that looked almost like sympathy.
"Gabriel," she said, "I am not asking you to give up on fighting. I am asking you to survive long enough to become worth more than a body that can swing a blade."
I swallowed.
She waited.
I wanted to argue again. I wanted to say she was wrong, that I could do it, that I had to. But each time I tried to push forward, the same question kept knocking me back.
If I insisted on my way, and she was right, how long before I became another corpse that had believed too hard in its own promise?
I hated that question.
I hated that I didn't have a clean answer for it.
"So what exactly are you offering?" I asked at last.
The instructor folded her hands again. "A different path."
"That's not an answer."
"It is the only honest one I have right now."
I stared at her. "What does that mean?"
"It means," she said carefully, "that if you agree, you will be trained in a separate room, under a separate program, with equipment and methods that do not rely on your spiritual energy as your primary tool. Physical optimization, Technology testing, integration, Advanced support. Melee retention where necessary."
"Where necessary," I repeated.
"Yes."
"And the rest of the time?"
"You will be learning what the others are."
I frowned. "Which is?"
"The things that let a man keep moving without his spirit."
I didn't answer right away.
she seemed content to let the silence do the work for her. After a moment, I finally asked, "What if I say no?"
"Then I tell the academy you are rejected from close combat and rescue, and you remain on the traditional tracks you can safely survive."
"That doesn't sound very nice."
"To you, it isn't."
"Then why would I say no?"
She gave me a look that suggested she thought I was asking questions I already knew the answer to. "People sometimes prefer familiar ruin over unfamiliar change."
I hated how true that sounded.
I looked away again, my hands tightening into fists by my sides. My whole life had been about getting myself into a place where I could be useful. Now the institute was telling me I could still be useful, just not in the way I had imagined. It felt like being handed a different door after the one I wanted had been welded shut.
And that door was ugly, and strange, and probably dangerous.
But it was still a door.
I looked back at her and asked, "What happens first?"
She reached for a slip of paper and started writing.
"Tomorrow," she said, "at eight o'clock. Report to the room on this paper."
I watched her pen move.
"The people there will train you in the practical side of your future placement. Fitness, tactical equipment, and whatever advancements they decide can be safely paired with your condition."
I nodded slowly.
When she was done, she handed me the slip.
It had a time on it. A date. A room number. A set of codes I didn't recognize. And in heavier ink than the rest, two words that made my throat tighten when I read them.
Project Spiritless.
I looked up. "What is this?"
She took a breath. "Your way forward."
"That's not what I asked."
"It is all I can answer right now."
I stared at the slip a moment longer.
Then I asked, "And you?"
"You will call me Instructor Morgana."
I glanced back up. "Not ma'am?"
"No."
I tucked the slip carefully into my pocket and stood there for a moment longer than I needed to, trying to decide whether I felt relieved or insulted. I think the truth was that I felt both.
When I finally left the office, the hall outside felt almost too bright.
I checked my phone on instinct.
4:01.
The exams were over for the day.
The rest was free time until classes started tomorrow.
I stood there in the corridor for a second with the slip in my pocket and the new weight of the day settling into my shoulders. Then I headed back to the dorm.
When I knocked, Lina opened the door.
She gave me a small, polite look and stepped aside just enough for me to come in. "Hello," she said softly.
"Thanks," I said, and walked inside.
Nadia was in the living room, leaning over the counter with a screwdriver in one hand, apparently trying to renovate one of a cabinet hinges while Elias stood nearby talking at her like he had never once in his life understood the concept of personal space.
Elias noticed me first.
"Oh," he said, turning with a grin. "Look who survived without us. Having fun out there?"
"Not really," I said.
He made a face. "That bad, huh?"
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I walked over and sat down on the nearest couch.
That was apparently enough to make Elias suspicious.
He frowned at me. "That's not like you."
I looked over. "What?"
"You don't usually sit in places like that."
Nadia glanced up from the cabinet hinge, screwdriver still in hand. "He's right, actually."
I blinked. "About what?"
Elias pointed at the couch as if he had just solved a mystery. "You sit like you're waiting for an ambush."
"That's not true."
"It is absolutely true."
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is," he said, getting more animated as he went. "You never sit where a room feels too open. You always put yourself where you can see the doorway, or the windows, or both. You pick corners if they're available. You sit where your back doesn't have to see anything, I guess."
I stared at him.
He waved a hand at the room. "If there's a couch near the balcony, you'll sit there. If there's a chair near the wall, you'll sit there. If there's a bench facing the hall, you'll sit there. If there's a place where you can see who's coming in, that's where you'll end up."
Nadia paused what she was doing and looked between us. "That is weirdly specific."
Elias spread his hands. "I know! That's what I'm saying! He's weirdly specific!"
I rubbed my forehead, then looked at Elias. "You do realize people just sit in chairs, right?"
"Not like you do."
Nadia gave me a sideways look. "He has a point."
I stared at her. "You are both insufferable."
Elias leaned closer and lowered his voice theatrically. "So. Something happen?"
I hesitated.
Not really, I thought.
Just got rejected from the thing I actually wanted to do with my life, just got reassigned into whatever strange category the academy thinks I belong in, just got told my best skills are useful in theory and inconvenient in practice.
I shrugged instead. "Not really. I'm just going to be learning a different area."
Nadia's eyes flicked up, and the corners of her mouth lifted. "That makes you sound like a spy."
I looked at her. "Who would know?"
Elias pointed at me again. "That right there! That is exactly the kind of answer a spy would give!"
Nadia laughed.
I leaned back into the couch and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
A different area of expertise sounded nicer than "replacement" or "failure" or "not enough".
But I still didn't know what the academy wanted to turn me into.
***
The next morning, at exactly 8:00, I was standing outside the room written on the slip.
The door was giant.
Steel.
Reinforced.
Mechanical.
It looked less like a classroom entrance and more like something that belonged in a vault. I stood there staring at it for a second, wondering how exactly I was supposed to get in, then I heard a voice behind me.
"Cadet Gabriel Cain?"
I turned.
A woman stood a few steps away with pale skin, brown hair tied into a scruffed half-messy bun, and blue eyes that looked like they had already spent the morning being annoyed by everyone in the building. A mole sat on her chin. She wore what looked like a specialized uniform under a lab coat she clearly wasn't wearing with much concern for appearance. It gave her the unsettling impression of somebody who was both an engineer and an officer but would probably hate being called either.
I bowed immediately. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am."
She glanced up from her tablet long enough to say, "Yeah."
That was it.
Just "yeah."
Then she typed something into the tablet without looking at me, and the door in front of us opened with a heavy mechanical sigh.
She walked past me without slowing down. "Come in."
I stepped into the room and immediately stopped.
It was full of technology.
Not just equipment.
A whole ecosystem of it.
Screens lined the walls; metallic worktables stood under bright white lights; drones hung from charging frames overhead. Sections of the room were divided off by clear safety glass. Wires, tools, prototypes, weapon racks, armor components, monitors, and sealed cases filled nearly every visible surface.
This place felt nothing like the academy I had spent the previous day walking through.
It felt like the future had been built in secret and then shoved into a warehouse.
I looked back at the woman. "What should I call you?"
She paused as if she had to think about whether the question deserved an answer.
"Saph," she said.
I nodded and quieted down, but then she suddenly stopped walking and reached into her pocket.
I thought she was getting a device.
Instead, she pulled out a collar.
My entire body went tense.
She turned back toward me and, before I could even react, placed it around my neck.
I flinched hard enough that she paused.
"Oh," she said. "Sorry. It's required."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
Then, with the faintest sense of resignation, I reached up and put it on myself.
It was a shock collar.
Of course it was.
That felt very much like the kind of thing this room would decide was normal.
Saph nodded once, then started walking again. "Follow me."
We crossed the room toward a side area separated by a glass window. Inside sat a full-body suit on a raised stand. It was black. Obsidian-black. Shiny, glossy, but deep enough to swallow light around its edges. It looked like a prototype and a weapon at the same time.
She pointed at it. "Get in."
Before I could move, a male voice snapped from across the room.
"Sapphire!"
I turned toward the sound.
A man stood several dozen yards away, wearing glasses and carrying a tablet, his hair a dark blue-black with grey eyes that looked almost silver under the room lights. His expression was sharp, a little tired, and very clearly irritated.
"The suit isn't supposed to be tested yet," he said.
Saph shrugged. "It's fine."
"And if he gets injured?"
Apparently not.
I glanced back and forth between them.
The man motioned for us to come closer, and Saph did not hesitate. So I followed.
I bowed as best I could. "My name is Gabriel Cain."
The man immediately leaned back and looked off to the side with an expression that suggested I had done something socially exhausting.
"Don't do that," he said.
I blinked. "Oh. Okay."
"Just call me Caspian."
I nodded, a little awkwardly.
Caspian tapped the tablet in his hands and looked me over once, then gestured to the room around us. "From this point forward, you're part of the Axiom ward."
Axiom ward.
Exactly as self-explanatory as instructor Morgana had promised.
Caspian continued, "Let's get your measurements taken. Height. Weight. Circumference. Limb lengths. Shoulder width. Reach. Everything."
I frowned. "Why?"
"We don't make equipment for imagination."
Saph walked past me toward the black suit and said nothing, which somehow made the whole room feel even more surgical.
A few minutes later, Caspian returned with a new outfit folded over one arm.
At first glance it looked almost identical to the one I was already wearing.
Then I noticed the differences.
There were nearly transparent vein-like lines traveling through the fabric, subtle enough to disappear until the light hit them. The academy emblem on the chest had also changed. Not a shield with a four-point star like the standard cadet uniform.
This one had a star with a sword.
Caspian held it up. "You'll be wearing this now."
I stared at it.
Then I looked at him. "So what is the point of taking all my measurements if I'm just getting a normal outfit?"
He gave me a flat look.
"We're tailoring you."
I blinked. "For this?"
"No," he said, glancing back toward the suit behind the glass. "For something that fits what you're becoming."
I didn't have an answer to that.
My hands tightened a little at my sides as I looked from the outfit to the glass chamber and back again. Something about the room made my skin feel too tight. The collar at my neck suddenly seemed very real.
I realized this place was going to decide what kind of thing I was to become.
And standing there in that room full of steel, glass, and machines, I could not stop wondering what exactly they were planning to turn me into.