Epigraph
"Your body is clay. The Ascendancy is the sculptor. Break. Mend. Endure. Obey."
-Candidate Training Manual, Section 1.
The transport groaned as it descended into the bowels of the Citadel, armoured treads grinding along rails cut into the rock.
Inside, fifty recruits sat crammed shoulder to shoulder. Gray fatigues clung to their bodies, sweat already darkening the fabric despite the chill air blowing from the vents. The silence was paused only by the engine's low growl and the occasional nervous cough.
Aiden sat near the rear, spine straight, hands folded between his knees. He could feel the tension radiating off the others, the stifled panic clinging like smoke.
Across from him, Kieran slouched like he was riding a bus to a fairground, not into the abyss. His head lolled back against the wall, lips pursed in an off-key whistle.
"Cheer up." Kieran said, breaking the silence with that cocky grin of his. "You look like you're heading to your own funeral."
Aiden habe him a flat look. "Most of us are."
"See, optimism, that's the spirit."
"Shut it!" Muttered a boy with a buzzed hair cut two seats down. His knuckles were white around the strap of his duffel.
Kieran leaned forward, chin propped in his hand. "Don't mind me. Some of us cope with jokes"
"Shut it, clown," the boy said. "Nobody wants to hear your jokes."
Kieran raised his brows innocently. "Just cover your ears then."
That earned a nervous laugh from a scrawny recruit at the front-quickly silenced when the tall boy shoved him. "Laugh again and I'll make sure you won't even make it past implantation."
The air turned brittle.
Then a girl's voice cut through the tension: sharp, steady. "Ignore him. His just as afraid as the rest of us."
Heads turned. The speakers was tall, with cropped black hair, a straight posture even in the cramped seats. She didn't look away from the buzz cut boy, eyes hard, until he finally scoffed and looked aside.
Something about her confidence prickled Aiden. Not arrogance just... Conviction.
The guard at the front banged the butt of his rifle against the wall. The sound cracked like a gunshot.
Silence slammed down.
The convoy slowed, the stopped.
The heavy rear door screeched open, spilling white light into the carrier.
"Out! Formation!" A voice barked.
The recruits stumbled into a cavernous hangar. The ceiling arched so high the shadows seemed bottomless, broken only by harsh floodlights. Rows of soldiers in black armor lined the walls, rifles ready. At the far end, a raised platform waited with four figures in long coats.
The recruits formed a ragged line. Boots scuffed the floor. Nervous whispers died under the weight of silence.
"Stand straight," Aiden muttered to Kieran.
Kieran puffed his chest out like a parody of a parade soldier. Aiden elbowed him before an instructor saw.
One of the figures stepped forward. A tall woman, silver-lined coat. Her voice cut like steel.
"Welcome, Candidates. I am Commandant Veyra. You stand at the gates of the Ascendancy's crucible. Some of you will walk through and emerge reforged. Most of you will not."
Her gaze swept over them, sharp as a blade.
"You were chosen not because you are special. You were chosen because you are expendable. We will break you, strip you, rebuild you. If your flesh cannot endure, it will rot. If your mind cannot bend, it will snap. This is not cruelty. This is necessity."
Her words pressed heavy against them.
"Those who succeed will hold back the tide. You will be weapons, saints, monsters. Humanity will hate you and worship you in the same breath. If you fail-"
She snapped her fingers.
A hologram flared: a deformed figure writhing in restraints, skin warped into scales, eyes glowing faintly. It's mouth opened in a silent scream.
"-you become this. A Rifborn. An abomination. And we will put you down."
Someone gagged. Another trembled so hard their their teeth chattered.
Betrag stepped back. A scarred instructor strode forward, voice booming. "Strip."
Confusion rippled.
"You heard me," he snarled. "Uniforms off. Now!"
Boots clattered. Buttons fumbled. Soon, fifty recruits stood half naked under the floodlights, skin pale in the cold.
"Your body is clay," the man barked. "If it cannot endure the mold, it is worthless. Run."
A gate ground opened, revealing a tunnel sloping into darkness.
A soldier fires into the air. The recruits bolted.
The tunnel reeked of metal and blood.
Boots thundered, breaths ragged. Fear drove them
harder than command.
Aiden kept pace, lungs burning but steady. Kieran puffed besides him, face red.
"Why-why is it always running?" He gasped. "Every test- it always involves running."
"Because, we need to at least keep in shape in case a Twister gives chase." Aiden muttered.
Behind them, someone tripped. Screamed. Then was trampled underfoot. The crunched of bones echoed. No one slowed down.
The tunnel opened into a cavern split by a yawning chasm. A narrow bridge of grating spannend the gap, floodlights bathing the drop into blackness.
A soldier at the edge fired skyward. "Single file! Move!"
Panic bottlenecked them. One boy shoved another aside, nearly sending him over the edge. A girl followed, jaw set.
Aiden reached the edge-and froze.
The hum.
It vibrated in his teeth, deep and low, like a chord struck across unseen strings.
The Choir.
His stomach clenched. The sound pressed against his skull-not words, but rhythm, as if the abyss breathed.
"Aiden!" Kieran shoved him. "Move!"
The soldier's rifle swung toward him. Aiden forced forced his foot onto the grating. Crossed. The song faded as he stepped off.
The run continued.
Walls slick with oil to climb. Crawl tunnels suffocatingly narrow. Ladders rising into blinding light, soldiers above spitting curses.
One girl slipped from a wall, her leg snapped with a crack. Soldiers dragged her off. Another boy froze in the crawl, sobbing, until boots shoved him forward.
Kieran nearly fell from a ladder, hanging by one hand until Aiden hauled him up. "I hate this place already." He panted.
By the end, fewer than forty recruits stumbled into the final chamber.
The chamber was circular, lined with holo-screens displaying biometrics, doctors in sterile robes waited with carts of instruments.
Veyra stood at the center, arms behind her back.
"Good. Some of you survived. Now we begin."
Doctors descended. Cold metal pressed to skin. Scanners hummed. Needles drew blood.
Aiden sat rigid as a device pressed to his sternum. It glowed faintly blue. Once. Twice. Then dimmed.
The doctor frowned, scanned something, and moved on.
Kieran hissed as his blood filled three vials. "Could at least given me some bread first," he muttered.
A few tired laughs slipped out. Even Veyra's shadow didn't stop it.
"Tonight, you rest," Veyra said, voice slicing through. "Tomorrow, implantation begins. Pray your flesh holds."
The word hit like a hammer: implantation.
Rumors whispered. Alien metal sewn into bone. Veins filled with burning ichor. Minds cracked open.
Aiden clenched fists until his nails dug deep. He remembered the chasm's hum. Remembered the Riftborn hologram.
Would that be him?
"Candidates!"
The doctors withdrew. From the far side, a figure strode in: armoured but unmasked. Short dark hair. Eyes like razors.
"This is instructor Kael," Veyra said. "She will oversee conditioning, if you survived implantation, you answer to her."
Kael's gaze swept through the recruits. For a moment it lingered on Aiden, sharp, narrowing, before moving on.
His skin prickled.
That night, they were herded into barracks: steel bunks, disinfectant stench, guards at every door.
Some recruits prayed to gods who no longer answered. Others swore vengeance. A bully threatened his bunkmate into silence. The zealot girl whispered, "pain is proof of devotion."
Kieran collapsed onto his bunk, snoring within minutes.
Aiden lay awake, chest aching where the scanner had glowed.
Then-
The hum.
Soft at first, threading through steel and stone.
Not just sound. Vibration. Resonance.
It almost sounded like voices now. Layered, distant. Singing in a tongue he couldn't grasp.
His breath caught. He turned.
The other recruits slept, restless but unaware. None stirred.
Only him.
The Choir sang.
And in the layered whispers, he almost thought he heard his name.