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The sun was a pale yellow eye in a dusty sky. It watched over the Vance family farm, a patch of land that was slowly dying. Leo Vance, eighteen years old, drove his shovel into the hard earth. Thud. The sound was as empty as he felt.
Each thrust of the shovel was a battle. The ground was tough and dry. It didn't want to give life. But Leo had no choice. He had to keep trying.
His world was small. It was this field, the worn-down farmhouse, and the people inside it. His mother, Elara, was sick. Her cough was a constant, sad sound from the house. His little sister, Mara, was only ten, but her eyes were already too old and serious. And his father… his father was a memory. A man taken by the same war that now shadowed their lives.
Leo was strong from work, but he walked with a slump, like he wanted to disappear. His eyes, brown like the dirt, always held a flicker of fear.
He was harvesting the Ignis Wheat. This was no normal crop. The wheat had a faint, greenish glow. It was a special plant, grown only for the military. Its energy powered their war machines. The government forced farmers to grow it, and then took almost all of it away.
As Leo worked, the glow of the wheat began to pulse. It grew brighter, then dimmer, like a sick heartbeat.
Leo froze. His own heart beat faster. This always happened when military vehicles came near. The Aetherium in the wheat reacted to their engines.
Maybe it's just a supply truck, he thought, a desperate hope. They're just coming for the wheat. They can't want anything else. There's nothing left to take.
Then he heard it. Not the rumble of a heavy truck. This was a lower, smoother sound. A purr.
He slowly stood up straight, his hand shading his eyes. Down the long, dirt road, a car was coming. It was a sleek, slate-grey military sedan. It moved with a purpose that felt like a threat.
No. No, not this.
This wasn't a vehicle for carrying supplies. This was a vehicle for carrying orders. Bad orders.
The car didn't slow down for any other farm. It came straight for his gate. The dust it kicked up seemed to choke the light from the day. It rolled to a perfect, silent stop.
The driver's door opened. A soldier stepped out. His uniform was crisp and grey, without a single wrinkle. He looked at the farm, but his eyes didn't see the struggle or the love. They saw only a location on a map. Then they found Leo.
"Leo Vance?"
The man's voice was flat. It held no feeling. Leo's mouth went dry. He couldn't speak. He could only nod, his grip on the shovel handle turning his knuckles white.
The soldier pulled a single, off-white envelope from his jacket. "By order of King Theron IV and the War Council, you are hereby conscripted into the Royal Defense Force. Your country thanks you for your service."
Leo felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. Service. That was the word they had used for his father. His father had "served." He had never come home.
"They… the wheat," Leo stammered, his voice shaking. "The harvest… who will do it? My mother is sick…"
"Your duty is now with a rifle, not a plow," the soldier said, his voice cutting through Leo's words like a knife. He held out the envelope. "You will report to the Oakhaven Mustering Station by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. You will be tested for Aegis Synergy. Failure to report is punishable by death."
Death. The word hung in the air. The punishment for not going to your death was death itself. The world seemed to spin.
The soldier didn't wait for a reply. He placed the envelope in Leo's dirty, trembling hand. He turned, got back in the car, and drove away. The dust settled behind him, and the silence that returned was heavy and terrible.
Leo looked down at the envelope. It was so light. How could it feel so heavy?
A soft cough came from the house. Then a small, scared voice.
"Leo?"
Mara stood on the porch. Her brave face was gone. Now she just looked like a frightened little girl. She held her rag doll, Pip, tightly against her chest.
Leo looked from her scared face to the envelope in his hand. He looked at the glowing wheat field—the field that was his life, his future, his prison. A powerful fear washed over him. It was a cold, sick feeling. He wanted to run. He wanted to throw the envelope into the river and hide.
But he couldn't. He saw his father's face in his mind. He heard his mother's cough. He saw Mara's tears.
His fingers shook as he opened the envelope. The paper inside was crisp. The words were final. It was real.
He let the shovel fall from his hand. It clattered on the hard ground. The sound marked an ending.
He was Leo Vance. A farmer. A son. A brother.
And now, he was a soldier.
He was not a hero. He was not brave. He was a scared boy.
And he was going to war.
---
Two Days Later - The Oakhaven Mustering Station
The mustering station was a chaos of noise and fear. Hundreds of young men, some barely older than boys, stood in wobbly lines. Their voices were a nervous buzz. Leo stood among them, feeling completely lost. He clutched a small bag with a change of clothes and the broken pocket watch that had been his father's.
A man on a loudspeaker barked orders. "Form a line! Alphabetical by surname! Move it!"
Leo found his place in the 'V' line. The boy in front of him was huge, with broad shoulders and a loud laugh. He was joking with the people around him, but Leo could see the tension in his eyes.
"Name?" a bored clerk asked when it was Leo's turn.
"L-Leo Vance."
The clerk checked a list. "Vance, Leo. Conscripted. Farm district 7-B." He shoved a bundle of rough, grey cloth into Leo's arms. "Your uniform. Find a bunk in Bay 4. You ship out to Camp Aethel at dawn."
Leo took the uniform. The fabric was scratchy and stiff. It felt like a prison suit.
He found Bay 4. It was a giant room filled with rows of narrow beds. The air smelled of sweat and disinfectant. He found an empty bunk and sat down, his head in his hands.
"Tough break, farm boy."
Leo looked up. It was the big, loud kid from the line.
"The name's Rourke," the boy said, dropping his own bag on the bunk next to Leo's. "Looks like we're neighbors." He had a friendly, reckless grin. "Don't look so scared. How bad can it be?"
Before Leo could answer, a sharp voice cut through the noise. "On your feet, maggots!"
A man who looked like he was carved from stone walked into the bay. He was a Drill Instructor, his face set in a permanent scowl. His eyes scanned the room, and every boy he looked at seemed to shrink.
"I am Master Sergeant Kaelen Voss," he said, his voice low but piercing every corner of the room. "For the next ten weeks, I am your god. Your only purpose is to listen, obey, and not die. You are not soldiers. You are soft, useless lumps of clay. And I am here to mold you into something the King's army won't be ashamed of."
He started walking down the rows, looking each boy up and down.
"You," he said, stopping in front of a skinny, nervous-looking boy with glasses. "What's your name?"
"F-Finnick Albright, sir."
"Speak up!"
"Finnick Albright, sir!" the boy squeaked.
"What did you do, Finnick Albright?"
"I was a clerk, sir. In logistics."
Voss sneered. "A paper-pusher. Wonderful." He moved on, his eyes landing on a boy who stood tall, his chin held high. "And you?"
"Lysander Croft, sir! I volunteered!"
Voss's expression didn't change. "A volunteer. You think that makes you better? Your death will be just as messy as his." He jerked a thumb at a terrified-looking boy nearby.
Finally, his gaze fell on Leo and Rourke.
"You two. The giant and the farm boy. A problem already, sticking together?"
Rourke opened his mouth, but Voss cut him off.
"Shut your mouth! I don't want to hear a word from any of you until I ask for it!" He turned his glare directly to Leo. "You. Vance, is it? I can smell the dirt on you. You think you're strong because you can lift a bale of hay? The war doesn't care about your hay. The war will eat you alive and spit out the bones."
Leo felt his face grow hot. He looked down at the floor, his heart pounding.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Voss roared.
Leo forced his head up, meeting the Sergeant's cold eyes. The fear was a live thing, twisting in his gut.
Voss leaned in close, his voice a harsh whisper. "I see it in your eyes, boy. The fear. You want to run. Let me give you your first and only piece of friendly advice. Don't. The only thing waiting for you out there is a firing squad. In here, with me, you at least have a chance. A small one."
He straightened up and addressed the entire bay.
"Get some sleep. If you can. Tomorrow, your old lives end. Tomorrow, you belong to me."
With that, he turned and marched out. The room was utterly silent for a moment, then erupted into a nervous murmur.
Rourke let out a low whistle. "Well, he seems nice."
Leo didn't answer. He just sat back on his bunk, the scratchy uniform in his lap. Sergeant Voss was right. He was terrified. He thought of Mara and his mother. He thought of the quiet fields.
He was trapped.
The journey to Camp Aethel was a blur of noise and fear. They were packed into a dark, rumbling transport truck. No windows. Just the smell of diesel and scared boys. Leo sat with his back against the metal wall, his knees pulled to his chest. Rourke tried to start a card game, but most were too nervous to play.
After what felt like forever, the truck ground to a halt. The back doors swung open, letting in a blast of blinding sunlight.
"OUT! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!" Sergeants were screaming already.
The recruits tumbled out into a vast, dusty compound surrounded by fences and watchtowers. In the distance, they could hear the pop-pop-pop of gunfire and the dull thud of explosions. Training sounds, but they sounded real enough.
This was Camp Aethel. This was where they would be broken down and rebuilt as soldiers.
Their first day was a whirlwind of pain and confusion. They were issued heavy boots and a standard-issue rifle, heavier than it looked. They were shaved, vaccinated, and assigned to a permanent squad. By some fate, Leo, Rourke, Finnick, and Lysander were all placed in the same one—Squad 7, under the direct supervision of Sergeant Voss and their fireteam leader, a quiet, weary corporal named Gareth.
That evening, exhausted and sore, they were assembled on the parade ground. Sergeant Voss stood before them.
"Tomorrow, you begin real training," he said, his voice carrying across the quiet square. "But first, there is one more thing. The Sync Test."
A murmur went through the recruits. This was the thing they all whispered about. The test to see if you were special. If you could become an Elite.
"Not that any of you gutter-scum will pass," Voss added, crushing the hope before it could grow. "But the King's law requires it. You will file past the Aetherium crystal. You will place your hand upon it. Nothing will happen. Then you will return to your miserable lives as grunts. Understood?"
"Yes, Sergeant!" the crowd shouted.
The next morning, they lined up again. In the center of a special tent stood a pedestal. On it was a large, raw Aetherium crystal. It pulsed with a soft, internal light. One by one, the recruits stepped forward, placed a hand on the crystal, and waited.
Most of the time, nothing happened. The boy would walk away, looking relieved or disappointed.
Then it was Lysander's turn. He placed his hand on the crystal with confidence. It flickered, a weak, sputtering light. A technician nodded. "Low-level resonance. Not enough for a suit, but noted. Next."
Lysander looked both proud and a little disappointed.
Rourke went next. He slapped his hand on the crystal. It didn't even flicker. He just grinned and walked off. "Never liked shiny rocks anyway."
Finnick was so nervous he could barely touch it. Nothing happened. He scurried away, looking relieved.
Then it was Leo's turn.
His heart was hammering. He didn't want to be an Elite. He didn't want any of this. But a small, secret part of him wondered... what if?
He stepped forward. The crystal glowed, waiting. He took a deep breath and placed his palm flat against its surface.
It was warm.
For a split second, he felt something. Not a surge of power, but a deep, grounding hum. It felt like… the earth. Like the deep, quiet strength of his farm. It felt familiar.
The crystal's glow didn't flare brightly. Instead, it dimmed slightly, and the light seemed to seep into his hand, a warm, steady flow.
The technician stared at his scanner, frowning. "That's… unusual. Fluctuating energy reading. No stable sync pattern." He looked at Leo. "It's a rejection. You're a Null. Next!"
Leo pulled his hand back. The warmth faded. He felt a strange sense of loss, as if he'd almost grasped something important, only to have it taken away.
He was a Null. One of the vast majority who couldn't bond with the powerful suits. He was destined to be a common soldier, a body for the front lines.
He walked back to the line. Rourke clapped him on the back. "Don't worry about it, farm boy. Welcome to the club."
Leo looked at his hand. For a moment, it had felt like home. Now, it just felt like his hand again.
He was Leo Vance. A farmer. A soldier. A Null.
And his training was about to begin.