Hours passed as the convoy traversed the barren landscape. When the first light of dawn touched the horizon, the vehicles arrived at the northern borders of the District of Lunanova, the sprawling capital of the continent of Saprius.
The youth, weary and terrified, dared not resist as the soldiers fitted them with shackles and herded them into orderly lines. A rough shove jolted Nyota awake from an uneasy slumber in the back of the cargo truck.
Disoriented, he blinked at the stark, unfamiliar surroundings. The area was entirely restricted to military personnel, with vast stretches of grassland extending endlessly in all directions. There wasn't a soul in sight except for the captives and their captors.
As Nyota's gaze steadied, he noticed the imposing facility ahead. Its immense steel doors loomed at the rear, automated and large enough to swallow the convoy whole.
The structure dominated the landscape, its grim exterior measuring approximately fifty-six square meters and rising over thirty meters high. No signs of prior use marked the building; it had been meticulously prepared to imprison them and only them.
A soldier yanked Nyota from the truck, locking cold steel cuffs around his wrists before dragging him toward one of the lines of shackled youth. Nyota stumbled into place, glancing at the long rows of frightened faces around him.
His heart ached as his mind wandered back to the horrors of the previous night—flames, destruction, and his mother's tearful smile.
Ahead of them, Master Sergeant Elwin stood, flanked by two soldiers. His stance was casual yet commanding, his left hand resting behind his back as he gripped a megaphone in his right. His voice crackled as it echoed across the silent field.
"Attention, inmates!" He bellowed, pacing in front of the rows. "Welcome to the District of Lunanova! This is where you'll be—likely for the rest of your lives."
A ripple of unease passed through the children. Murmurs rose, followed by soft sobs.
Elwin chuckled, his expression smug. "I know, I know," he said mockingly. "You're scarred for life. You watched your parents die and your homes burn. Tragic. But don't worry!" He paused, savoring the tension before delivering his next words.
"Here in Lunanova, you have a bright future ahead of you. You'll live such dutiful lives that you won't even remember what you've lost."
The despair among the children reached a breaking point. Cries and wails filled the air, and Nyota clenched his fists, trembling with rage. His piercing gaze locked onto Elwin, his mind racing with visions of vengeance.
He didn't just want the man to stop talking—he wanted to destroy him.
Elwin's smirk widened as he continued. "But of course! What kind of person would I be if I didn't consider your emotional well-being? That's why you're here." He scanned the lines of children and young adults until his eyes met Nyota's, his mocking grin twisting further.
"Welcome to therapy, initiates."
Nyota's stomach churned at the man's words, his pulse pounding in his ears. The word "therapy" hung in the air like a cruel joke, the man's twisted idea of salvation. He felt his anger burn hotter, his resolve hardening.
Elwin turned his attention back to the soldiers. "Preparations are complete! We're ready to move forward with the next phase. Soldiers, bring the first couple of rows to doors eight through eleven!"
"Yes, sir!" The soldiers barked in unison.
Satisfied, Elwin handed the megaphone to one of his subordinates and disappeared into the facility's rear doors without a backward glance.
As the soldiers began dividing the rows and herding children forward, Nyota's focus didn't waver from the looming structure. Fear and anger coiled within him, his heart pounding with the weight of what might come next.
Nyota observed as the first rows of captives were thoroughly searched and ushered into the facility. Anxiety bubbled under his skin, but he maintained his composure. When it was his row's turn, soldiers flanked them, guiding the group through a set of side doors.
Inside, the facility was stark and sterile, its long corridors lined with empty prison cells that stretched into the distance. The silence was unsettling, broken only by the faint echo of their footsteps.
Nyota's eyes darted around, trying to make sense of his surroundings, but the soldiers gave no pause. They led the group deeper into the heart of the facility, eventually arriving in one of the central sectors.
Here, the environment shifted. Scientists in white lab coats moved briskly among various stations outfitted with weighing scales, centrifuges, and machines Nyota couldn't identify.
Some carried clipboards, their pens scribbling rapidly; others pushed small carts laden with white bins filled with equipment. As they neared, Nyota noticed racks of burettes and syringes neatly organized within the bins.
The process was coldly systematic. Row by row, the scientists recorded the inmates' vitals with detached precision. When it was Nyota's turn, a scientist approached him—a woman with a stiff posture and an air of indifference.
She tucked a clipboard underneath an arm and held a measuring tape in the other. Without a word, she extended the tape, measuring his height with clinical efficiency.
"Stand here, please," she instructed, motioning toward a scale.
Nyota stepped onto it, his heartbeat quickening. As he waited for the scale to calculate his weight, he noticed her deliberate avoidance of eye contact.
It was as if she wanted to distance herself from him, to deny his humanity. Could she have been heartless? Was she truly heartless, or was this cold detachment her way of reconciling her role in such inhumane treatment?
The scientist jotted down the numbers, then reached for a syringe from a nearby cart.
"Whoa, what… what are you doing?" Nyota's voice wavered as he instinctively pulled back.
"Drawing blood. Hold still." Her tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of sympathy. She grabbed his right arm, tied a band around his forearm, and inserted the syringe.
Nyota winced, watching as his blood filled the burette. The scientist removed the sample, placed it in a bin on the cart, and moved on.
Another scientist immediately retrieved the sample, placing it into a centrifuge. Nyota watched as the machine whirred to life, processing the blood. From there, the sample was transferred to a diagnostic machine.
The scientists seemed focused, their eyes narrowing as data flickered across the screen.
When the analysis concluded, one of them furrowed his brow. "Hey," he called out to the scientist working with Nyota. "Come take a look at this."
She stepped over, peering at the monitor. The screen displayed anomalies in Nyota's DNA, causing both scientists to exchange glances.
"That's… unusual," the second scientist muttered, his gaze flicking toward Nyota. "He should still be fine. Continue the examination, but proceed with caution."
"Will do," she replied, her expression unreadable as she returned to her clipboard. Finally addressing Nyota, she spoke again, her tone as clinical as before. "First and last name?"
Nyota's mind raced. "What did he mean by 'unusual'?"
Fear and frustration clawed at him. "Wait, what's going on? What did he find?" He demanded.
"I'm sorry, I'm not permitted to say. First and last name, please." Her words were a shield, deflecting any further inquiry.
Nyota seethed, his fists clenching. His thoughts churned with anger and a desperate longing for vengeance against Elwin, the man who orchestrated this nightmare.
Yet, as he surveyed the heavily guarded room, the countless soldiers stationed strategically, and the scientists working with unwavering focus, he knew resistance was futile. He couldn't risk jeopardizing his survival—not yet.
His mother's voice echoed in his mind, urging him to endure.
Reluctantly, Nyota spoke. "Nyota Atar."
The scientist didn't react, simply writing it down. "How do you spell it?"
"N-Y-O-T-A… A-T-A-R."
"Age?"
"Seventeen."
She recorded the information, glanced at him briefly, and pointed to the far side of the sector. "Go join your fellow patients from your row over there. Wait for further instruction from the guards."
Nyota hesitated but nodded. Slowly, he made his way to the designated area, his thoughts simmering with a mix of anger and dread.
The other youth who had finished before Nyota stood huddled in a corner of the open hall near an empty bench. He noticed their expressions—faces heavy with misery, eyes dulled by fear and exhaustion.
"Why aren't they sitting down?" Nyota wondered as he approached the bench.
He lowered himself onto it, only to be confronted by a nearby guard.
"Hey! Stand up! No sitting," the guard barked, grabbing Nyota roughly by the arm and yanking him to his feet. He shoved him toward the rest of the group.
"Let go!" Nyota snapped, twisting out of the guard's grasp. The effort sent him tumbling to the ground. The guard, clearly angered, raised his rifle, gripping the stock to strike Nyota.
Some of the other inmates gasped, stepping back in fear, while a few tried to plead with the guard.
"Easy, soldier. Easy!" A commanding voice called out.
Elwin was passing by with two other troops, his stride calm and deliberate. His smirk carried an air of mockery as his gaze fell on Nyota.
"That one's special," Elwin said, his tone dripping with sardonic amusement. "I've seen it myself. Best not to rough him up too much."
"Y-Yes, sir!" The guard stammered, quickly lowering his weapon.
Nyota stood, his eyes fixed on Elwin as he continued down the corridor, disappearing into another sector.
"That sadistic bastard's full of it," Nyota muttered under his breath. He turned and rejoined the others, his movements tense and deliberate.
Once Elwin was completely out of sight, Nyota leaned back against the wall, silent and brooding.
The other children cautiously gathered around him.
"Are you okay?" A few asked, their voices trembling with concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied curtly, his tone softening as he saw the genuine worry in their faces.
In that moment, he realized their regard for him. Whether older or younger, the youth looked to him with respect, seeing him not just as one of them, but as the son of their late chief. He was a symbol of hope, a leader in their shared despair.
Nyota tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, a storm brewing in his chest.
"Maybe not now," he murmured to himself, his voice firm with resolve, "But one day... One of these days, I'll get revenge. For all of us."
After the inmates' vitals were recorded, the soldiers marched them through another corridor lined with prison cells. The path eventually led to the outdoor sector of the facility.
This area was vast, spanning roughly a quarter of the building's length. Towering barbed-wire gates surrounded the perimeter, interspersed with observation towers that loomed tens of meters high.
Cameras were positioned everywhere—on the towers, along the gates, and affixed to the facility's exterior walls.
The ground was divided into thirds: two-thirds covered with grass, while the remaining third consisted of concrete, including courts for recreational sports.
This sector was clearly intended for the inmates' leisure, though the word "freedom" didn't seem to apply.
The soldiers unlocked and removed the children's handcuffs, then locked the doors leading back inside the facility. Any inmate needing to return early was required to be escorted by guards.
Once freed, the children began to congregate in small groups, quietly trying to make sense of their ordeal. Fear, confusion, and despair were etched into their faces.
Nyota found an empty bench and sat down. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly. His eyes roamed the area as his mind churned with conflicting thoughts.
He considered his options. Sure, he could try to rally the children into an uprising, but at what cost? Their abilities were either dormant or undeveloped, and the soldiers were heavily armed. Even if they somehow succeeded, where could they go?
Returning to Lunenrane was out of the question—it had been reduced to ashes. And Lunanova itself? Hostile territory, for all they knew.
The cold truth was clear: compliance was their safest bet, at least for now.
The weight of leadership pressed heavily on him. His father, Orion, had always been the one to guide and protect their people. Nyota deeply respected him and felt unworthy of stepping into his role.
"Ahhh, I've got a headache," he muttered, leaning back against the whitewashed brick wall and pressing a hand to his forehead.
As he tried to compose himself, the other youth began gathering around him. Their faces were a mix of worry and quiet hope. Among them was Llanzo, who stepped closer to Nyota with a warm smile.
"So... Chief," Llanzo said, extending a hand. "What's the plan?"
Nyota looked up, his tension easing slightly. "Oh man, am I glad to see you." He clasped Llanzo's hand, allowing him to pull him to his feet.
The oldest among the youth formed a small circle around Nyota and Llanzo, leaning in as Nyota shared his thoughts discreetly.
"I've thought about it," Nyota began, his tone measured. "And I think our best bet is to comply, at least for now."
The group exchanged uneasy glances. No one wanted to hear it, but they couldn't deny the truth.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Llanzo admitted, scratching his head and sighing. "If we resist, there's no telling what that captain might do. They've been… merciful so far, but I doubt that will last."
Nyota crossed his arms and lowered his head. Llanzo placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Don't beat yourself up," Llanzo said. "This isn't your fault or your responsibility. You're young, and there's only so much anyone can do. We're all trying to figure this out together."
The others nodded in agreement, their expressions softening.
Though Nyota still felt the heavy burden of leadership, their reassurance gave him some comfort. They didn't see him as an infallible leader, but as one of their own.
Wanting to make the most of the moment, Nyota shared what he had learned. "All I know is I have an ability I can't control, and the captain has one, too. A strong one."
"For real?" Llanzo's eyes widened with curiosity.
"Yeah," Nyota said with a dry chuckle. "It's lightning. Last night, I fought some troops. One of them almost shot me, but another stopped him, saying something about the captain and someone named Noriko wanting to deal with me.
Then, out of nowhere, I summoned lightning—completely by accident. It surrounded my body, and I was able to take them down.
"But when I tried to use it against the captain..." Nyota raised his hands, staring at them for a moment. "My powers just stopped. He announced his ability, calling it something like, 'Elemental MO,' and the next thing I knew, I was trapped in this… globe of wind."
"That's so raw!" Llanzo said, stroking his chin in thought. "MO... I wonder what that means. And Noriko—who's that?"
"Probably an enemy," Nyota replied. "But that's not all. The scientists who examined my blood said something was... unusual about it."
"What kind of unusual?"
"I don't know. I asked, but they wouldn't tell me. I even tried sneaking a look, but no luck."
Llanzo nodded thoughtfully. "Well, we should probably break this up. The guards are watching us pretty closely."
Sure enough, several guards were approaching. The youth quickly scattered, blending back into the open yard. Llanzo lingered for a moment, offering Nyota a final word before following the others.
"Remember," he said. "The best thing to do now is look after one another and protect each other."
With that, he turned and jogged off.
"Hey!" One of the guards barked. "What's going on over here?"
Most of the guards began securing the inmates, ushering them back into a semblance of order. One approached Nyota, holding a pair of handcuffs.
"It's time to go."
The soldiers quickly subdued and cuffed the children and young adults before marching them back inside. They divided the group into smaller units and escorted them to various corridors lined with cells.
Each inmate was assigned to an individual cell. When Nyota reached his, the guard opened the heavy door and gestured for him to enter. He stepped inside, turning to watch as the door clanged shut behind him, locking with a foreboding finality.
Gripping the cold metal bars, Nyota peered down the row of cells. The air was thick with unspoken despair, a collective heaviness that pressed down on everyone.
After some time standing there, he retreated to the bunk bed in his cell. Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts spinning until exhaustion overtook him.
The following weeks unfolded with crushing monotony.
The children were confined to their cells for most of the day, only leaving for meals and brief periods of outdoor recreation. Breakfast and lunch were served early in the morning and at noon, respectively—always bland and unremarkable but enough to keep them going.
After lunch, they were escorted to the outdoor sector for two hours of "free time" before being returned to their cells.
At first, Nyota tried to focus on staying strong for the others, but he couldn't ignore the troubling pattern developing around him.
Each day, more cells were left empty.
Inmates were being taken away—quietly, systematically, and without explanation.
One afternoon, Nyota decided to watch for Llanzo during their outdoor time. When Llanzo didn't show, Nyota's stomach sank.
"Maybe he went inside for something," he told himself, though the sinking feeling persisted. He kept searching for Llanzo in the days that followed, but he never saw him again.
It wasn't hard to piece together what was happening. Group by group, the inmates were being relocated. But where?
Nyota's thoughts turned to Elwin's earlier speech. The idea that the youth were being held indefinitely didn't make sense. Killing their parents, raiding their home, and imprisoning them—it all felt like preparation for something else.
The answer was chillingly clear: Elwin and his troops were preparing the youth to become soldiers for the District of Lunanova.
Nyota clenched his fists, feeling powerless. Even if he was right, there was nothing he could do to stop it.
One afternoon, while taking a restless nap in his cell, Nyota was jolted awake by a commotion.
The sharp sound of a child crying and shouting echoed down the corridor.
Nyota shot out of bed and rushed to his cell door. Pressing his face to the bars, he saw two soldiers dragging a young boy, who was struggling against their grip.
The boy broke free and stumbled to the floor, curling into a ball. Without hesitation, the soldiers brandished their electrical batons and began beating him mercilessly.
"Hey!" Nyota shouted, his voice filled with urgency. "Leave him alone!"
The soldiers paused, turning their attention to Nyota. One of them smirked and approached his cell.
"Wise guy, huh?" The soldier sneered. "You think you're brave?" He motioned toward the boy on the ground. "Maybe you'd like to trade places with him."
Nyota met his gaze with steely resolve, refusing to look away.
The soldier leaned closer, his grin turning sinister. "Listen here," he growled. "If you don't shut up, I'll make sure you get worse. You understand me?"
Nyota held his gaze, saying nothing.
The soldier's patience wore thin. He raised his baton and struck it against the bars of Nyota's cell with a deafening clang.
Though Nyota's heart pounded in his chest, he didn't flinch. He wanted to intervene, to stop the violence, but he knew it would only make things worse—for himself, the boy, and everyone else.
Swallowing his anger, Nyota stepped back into his cell, his fists trembling at his sides.
The guards barked at the boy to stand. When he was slow to comply, they shoved him into a nearby cell and slammed the door shut.
The corridor fell silent except for the boy's muffled sobs.
Nyota slumped against the wall of his cell, his mind racing. He hated the feeling of helplessness, the inability to shield the others from harm. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the sounds and escape into the emptiness of sleep.
But the troubling reality was inescapable, even in his dreams.
Early the following morning, two soldiers arrived at Nyota's cell. They opened the door and one of them called out as they grabbed him. "Wake up! Time to move."
The soldiers escorted him through the hallways to one of the facility's laboratory sectors. Upon meeting a couple of scientists, they all walked into a brightly lit laboratory room, the overhead lights almost blinding in their intensity.
The room featured a large window, allowing anyone passing through the corridor to peer inside. The guards removed Nyota's handcuffs.
"Thank you," one of the scientists said to them. "We'll take it from here."
Confused and on edge, Nyota remained alert, eyes darting between the scientists and the guards as they left the room. The door closed behind him, sealing him in with the two scientists.
Inside, the room was mostly white, the sterile, clinical atmosphere making Nyota feel increasingly uneasy. In the center of the room stood a machine that resembled a CT scan or MRI machine—large, tunnel-like, and intimidating.
"Why don't you take a seat there for me?" One of the scientists gestured to the bed-like machine.
Reluctantly, Nyota complied, sitting on the cold surface. The other scientist took a seat on a nearby rolling chair and wheeled over a small desktop, tapping a few keys.
"Name and age, please," she requested, her voice flat.
"Nyota Atar, seventeen," he replied, his voice tinged with unease.
The scientist typed his information into the desktop, likely pulling up his recorded files. After a moment, she nodded. "Okay. Now, all I need you to do is raise your arm. I'm going to put this band around it, and then we'll proceed with the procedure."
The other scientist prepared a syringe filled with a strange, murky fluid.
"Wait, what procedure?" Nyota asked, hesitating as he raised his arm before pulling it back.
"What does that do?"
"It won't hurt," the scientist reassured him, though the lack of explanation only heightened his fear.
"Just precautionary measures."
"Precaution for what?" Nyota pressed, his voice edged with anxiety.
The scientists said nothing, their silence unsettling. One of them gestured toward him again. "Hold still."
Though frightened, Nyota took a deep breath and reluctantly allowed them to tie a rubber band around his forearm. The needle pricked his skin, and within moments, a heavy drowsiness washed over him. His limbs grew heavy, his vision blurred, and his mind began to fog.
He couldn't move, couldn't resist as the scientists gently laid him down on the machine. His mind struggled to stay alert, but the sudden pull of sleep was overwhelming.
As the last of his consciousness faded, the lights inside the tunnel-like machine grew hazy and distant. A strange tingling sensation spread through his brain, the warmth creeping over him, and then everything went black.