Luke stood frozen in the center of the testing room, his hand still on the cold sensor, his mind struggling to process the devastating truth. The machine before him hummed quietly, its soft glow flickering as though it too was uncertain of what had just happened. No power. No response. It was as though the very essence of who he was—what he was—didn't exist at all.
He could feel Isla beside him, her presence a soft anchor in the chaos, but even her gentle touch on his arm couldn't still the storm raging in his chest. The silence in the room was oppressive. The others—cadets who had passed the tests with flying colors—watched him, some with expressions of pity, others with contempt. He could practically feel their eyes on him, measuring him, judging him.
The woman who had orchestrated the tests, the cold official who had spoken with such finality, now turned her gaze to him. Her eyes were calculating, sharp, devoid of empathy. She gestured toward the machine, almost dismissively.
"Luke Fairweather," she announced in a detached tone, her voice echoing in the now-silent room. "Failure. No detectable abilities. No potential. You are… nothing."
The weight of her words crushed him. The finality in her voice left no room for argument. Nothing. He had been tested, measured, and found wanting. And somehow, that was worse than any failure he had ever faced. There was no room for doubt. No way to explain away the results.
But still, something in him refused to believe it. He felt it. The pull. The strange sensation that had always lurked just beneath his skin, that flickering power he couldn't quite grasp. It was real. It had to be.
Isla's hand tightened around his, a silent gesture of solidarity. He turned to look at her, his expression one of confusion and frustration.
"Isla… Why?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I felt something. I swear I did. I can't just be—nothing."
Her face was pale, a mixture of concern and determination. She had always known there was something different about him, something deeper, and she wasn't going to let this defeat him. Not without a fight.
"I know, Luke," she said softly. "I felt it too. There's something inside you, I know it. We just need to figure out what it is. We will."
The woman who had administered the test, her face as impassive as ever, looked up from the console and made a sharp gesture toward the door. "Enough of this," she said coldly. "You failed. You have no place here."
The weight of her words struck like a physical blow, but Luke's mind was already whirling, the need to understand overriding the sting of her rejection. The silence stretched longer than was comfortable, the tension in the room rising like the calm before a storm.
Luke's heart hammered in his chest, the need to prove himself surging. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. If he could just tap into whatever power he had inside him—if only he could—
But before he could try to focus, a new voice cut through the room, deep and authoritative. A man—older, more commanding than the woman—stepped into the space. He was tall, his eyes sharp as daggers. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his presence was impossible to ignore.
"Enough," the man said, his voice smooth, but with an edge of authority that made everyone pause. "I'll handle this."
The woman gave him a curt nod and stepped back, her expression still impassive. The man's gaze locked onto Luke with a level of scrutiny that felt almost invasive, as if he were looking straight through him.
"You're failing the test," the man said, his voice devoid of sympathy. "The machine has no readings for you. There's nothing. No ability. No power. You don't belong here. You'll be sent to the holding area until further processing."
His words were like a knife cutting through Luke's chest. Failure. No power. Not enough.
Luke opened his mouth to protest, to argue that something was wrong with the test, that the machine didn't understand him—but before he could speak, the man gave a small, almost imperceptible wave of his hand.
"Take him to the holding area," the man ordered.
A large soldier stepped forward, his hands firm as he gripped Luke's arm. It was the same soldier who had dragged him through the hallways before. His grip was like iron, unyielding.
Luke's breath caught as the soldier started to move, dragging him away from the platform, past the silent, watching cadets. Isla's face blurred in his peripheral vision as she called his name, but he couldn't focus on her words anymore. The room, the machines, everything felt like it was slipping further and further away.
His body fought the soldier's hold, trying to break free, but the soldier's grip tightened.
"I'm not going," Luke spat, struggling to free himself. "You can't just—"
But the soldier's grip only tightened, his voice low and harsh. "You don't have a choice."
Before Luke could protest further, he was yanked out of the room and down the hallway. The cold, fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows on the smooth walls. The hum of the machines around them seemed to grow louder, more menacing, as they moved deeper into the heart of the facility.
Luke's thoughts raced. He had no power. No ability. Nothing. Was that it? Was his entire existence just a mistake? Were they really going to discard him like this?
The soldier pushed him into a small, empty room—a stark, sterile space with no windows. The walls were featureless, cold and uninviting. There was a single cot in the corner, and a chair across from it, but that was it. The door slammed shut behind him with a mechanical clang, and Luke was alone.
His breathing came in ragged gasps, his chest tight with frustration and fear. He fell onto the cot, his hands trembling at his sides. His thoughts swirled like a storm. I don't belong here. I don't belong anywhere.
But even as the storm of doubt raged inside him, a flicker of defiance burned within. He refused to believe he was nothing. He wasn't nothing. There had to be something else—something hidden deep inside of him. And he would find it, no matter what it took.
---