Mason stirred awake, disoriented by the stillness of his dormitory room. His hand fumbled across the nightstand until his fingers brushed against the cool surface of his phone. Squinting at the screen, he muttered, "Thirteen hundred hours? I've been out for three hours…"
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, still sluggish. "Guess the first half of the day drained me more than I thought."
He thought back to the morning—the endless registration lines, the interviews, the papers stamped and signed—and then returning to the room, collapsing onto the unnervingly comfortable bed. The weight of exhaustion had pulled him under before he even realized it.
BANG! BANG! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Mason jolted upright, irritation flaring. "The hell…" He swung his legs out of bed as the pounding continued, each thud vibrating through the door. "Who the hell knocks like that?"
"COMING!" he barked, striding across the room. He yanked the door open and froze.
Standing there was Travis Mills. At 188 centimeters tall, his blonde-and-pink-streaked hair was impossible to miss. With his punk-rock aesthetic, Travis looked like he belonged more at a street concert than inside the hallowed halls of Atlas Academy.
"Dude!" Travis exclaimed, arms spread wide. "I was looking for you everywhere. You just went M.I.A. Did you know they already handed out our cadet uniforms? Admin's been looking for you, but—never fear!" He struck a dramatic pose. "Your friendly neighborhood rascal, Travis Mills, is here!" He shoved a neatly folded set of clothes into Mason's hands.
Mason looked down at the uniform. A charcoal-grey blazer, a crisp white shirt, black trousers, and low-soled shoes. Embroidered on the blazer's breast was the crest of Atlas Academy: a stylized grand castle, the name etched in gold beneath it.
"Not bad," Mason muttered, running his thumb over the gold threading.
"Oh—before I forget," Travis continued, "we're all expected at the main hall by 1800 for orientation or whatever."
Mason blinked, realization dawning. "Ah, crap. Totally forgot."
Travis leaned past him into the room, whistling at the chaos inside. "Dude… you haven't even unpacked?"
Mason raised his hands in mock surrender. "Let's just say I needed some R and R before Atlas Academy starts kicking my ass."
Travis laughed, setting the clothes down. "Fair enough. C'mon, I'll help. Clearly, you need it."
Together, they organized the room, folding clothes, stacking supplies, and stuffing wrappers into the trash. By the time they were done, they even had time to hit the commissary.
"Look at this place, man!" Travis said, loading his arms with snacks and toiletries. "We get all this for free?"
"You're getting it wrong, bro," Mason said, mimicking Travis's easygoing tone. "Nothing's ever really free. Remember what Captain Armstrong said? About how we're the future of this nation? About fighting?"
"Oh, and don't forget the part about pain and suffering," Travis added in a mock-serious voice, clutching his chest dramatically.
Mason snorted at his friend's theatrics. He knew Travis meant it honestly—he just had a habit of sugarcoating truth with humor.
That was when they noticed her.
Emily stood out the moment she entered the commissary. She wore the same charcoal-grey cadet uniform as the rest of them, but hers bore a distinction: three shining stars pinned neatly across her chest.
Mason frowned. Stars? Already?
Travis caught the look on his face and chuckled. "Confused, huh? Judging from those stars, she's an elite-rank Charismatic. Unlike us? She's a Legacy."
"Legacy?" Mason asked.
"Yeah," Travis explained. "People born from one or both Charismatic parents. They inherit their authority instead of having to awaken like the rest of us. Purebloods, man. And three stars? No joke. She's strong."
So she's a Legacy… Mason thought, intrigued.
Emily walked over, her green eyes sharp and bright. "Hey, you two. Why aren't you in uniform yet?"
Mason opened his mouth, but Travis cut in smoothly. "Well, Mason here is about as organized as a pigsty, so I had to step in and save him."
Mason gave him a flat look. "Watch it."
Travis grinned. "Tell me I'm wrong."
Emily chuckled softly at their banter.
"So, you're a Legacy?" Travis asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "That means you have an authority, right? Come on, show us!"
"Easy there, tiger," Mason muttered, trying to reel him in.
Emily's smile widened slightly. "All good things come to those who wait," she said.
Travis groaned, feigning despair. "You're no fun."
Just then, the P.A. system crackled.
"Attention students. Orientation will be held at the main Atlas Hall at 1800 hours. Attendance is compulsory. Punctuality is expected. Please comply to ensure smooth execution of events. That is all."
The line went dead.
"Well, that's my cue," Emily said, brushing her hair back. "I promised some girls I'd help with errands. Catch you later." She disappeared into the crowd.
---
By 1745, Mason stood before his mirror in full uniform. The blazer fit snugly, the shoes polished to a dull sheen. His reflection looked sharper, more disciplined—but his stomach still twisted.
"Calm down," he whispered, forcing a slow breath. "It's just orientation."
BANG! BANG! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Mason smirked. "That knock again." He swung the door open to see exactly who he expected: Travis Mills, now clad in the same uniform. Strangely enough, without his pink-and-blonde hair, Travis could almost pass for an honors student.
"Woah," Mason said. "What's with the pounding?"
"With the way you sleep, I half-expected you to be a corpse. Now move your lazy ass—it's ten minutes to orientation."
The two joined the stream of cadets flowing toward the Atlas main hall. Students crowded the walkways, buzzing with chatter and anticipation.
"So," Mason said, glancing at his friend, "you seem to know a lot about this place. What do you think will happen once we're inside?"
Travis rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm… they'll probably explain how the Academy works. Maybe break down the curriculum. Or maybe something unexpected."
"Unexpected how?"
"Depends on how they want to deal with us. I heard each batch gets trained differently—new themes, new methods. Almost like they're experimenting on us."
Mason blinked. For once, Travis wasn't joking. He carried himself with a calm seriousness Mason hadn't noticed before.
Finally, the towering silhouette of the Atlas Hall rose before them. The structure gleamed with steel and glass, armed with cutting-edge tech. Inside, the vast chamber could hold at least seven thousand cadets. Today, it was filled with the newest arrivals, a sea of grey uniforms.
Mason spotted Emily on the lower left row. "There she is. Let's sit with her."
"Sure," Travis said.
Emily looked up as they approached, her green eyes lighting. "Oh, hey! You two clean up well. Mason, you look sharp. And Travis—wow. Didn't think you had it in you."
"Thanks," Travis said, sliding into the seat beside her. Mason followed.
Emily's gaze swept the hall. "This place is incredible," she whispered.
"They say it's over fifty years old," Travis replied. "But you'd never know it."
Mason nodded. "Yeah. The tech really makes it feel… alive."
The hall buzzed with noise, cadets talking in clusters. Then—silence fell.
A group had entered, and their presence alone seemed to squeeze the air from the room. They wore the same uniform, but on them it looked sharper, regal. Authority radiated off them like a suffocating aura.
The tallest stood at 196 centimeters, long black hair flowing, violet eyes piercing. His three stars gleamed across his chest. To his side was a young man with short blue hair and pale eyes, his glasses gleaming with scholarly precision.
But Mason's gaze locked on the last figure.
A young woman with hair like fresh snow and eyes like burning crimson. Her beauty was sharp, almost unreal, carrying both serenity and danger. Four stars shimmered on her chest—the mark of a Grandmaster Charismatic. She walked like she owned the hall, every step poised, every glance commanding.
So that's why she's confident, Mason thought, unable to look away.
The trio took their seats at the very front.
Moments later, the stage filled with instructors and officials. The murmur of the crowd fell away.
It was time.
The orientation was about to begin. And whatever awaited them inside the Atlas Academy… it would change everything.