Two weeks past the Crimson Moon, Leon waited by the academy’s front gate, paper in hand, a lie burning his throat.
The academy spread out over the north hills like a dream built by cash and ego. tal towers rose high, glass humd with data, fields stretched wide bigger than towns. This place turned gifted rookies into sharp tools for the Federation.
At 3 a.m., every stat Leon checked on his datapad said F-Ranks couldn’t make it, just 0.03% got through. That’s three out of ten thousand. Like winning the lottery.
You certain on this? His dad said earlier.
Leon knew one thing, staying hidden in Lower Seven wouldn’t fix a thing. To crawl out of this ss, he’d have to begin right where he stood. The academy held what nothing else could: details about creatures, Eclipse Zones, the Evernight Alliance. Stuff that explained the changes taking over him.
The test hall humd with jumpy tension. Most were D or C-Rank kids, plus so cocky B-Ranks showing off. Up ahead, Leon noticed Damian Horne standing proud, his rank pin flashing bright as if mocking the dull sky.
Leon got in line to sign up.
"Na and rank."
"Leon Vale. F-Rank."
The administrator’s fingers actually paused. She looked up, expression shifting from bored to concerned for his ntal health. "F-Rank. You understand the acceptance rate is 0.03%? Those aren’t good odds. Those are lightning strike while winning the lottery odds."
"I’m still here."
She lifted her shoulders like she couldn’t care less about how he ran his life. "Fine by . Head to Test Zone Seven. That’s where we dumped the... whatever. Hope it works out."
Ground Seven sat farthest from the main structure, covered in dust, with old machinery left behind after the last Crimson Moon hit.
Perhaps one earlier than that. Around forty people showed up every last one ranked D or F, each carrying a look sowhere between hope gone sour and giving up already.
"Welco to the Fodder Group!"
The proctor - Instructor Kovacs, thickset, scar cutting across his chin - spoke with clear disdain. ’Law says I gotta offer each person a shot. So let’s skip the delays.’.
First up: an obstacle run. Just three minutes on the clock. Only the top ten move forward. The bottom thirty? They’re out.
Leon checked out the training program. Things like climbing ropes, walking on narrow beams, scrambling up walls, plus squeezing through tight tunnels. Built for people with boosted abilities. Regular F-Rank folks? They’d struggle hard just getting halfway.
Yet Leon had changed completely.
His [Lesser Agility] tingled beneath the surface. Because of the Hound’s gut, he sorted newcors into prey, danger, or nothing at all - mostly just prey.
He pushed that thinking aside.
"First group, go!"
Leon ca in third, gave him a chance to see people ss up. Lots never even reached the midpoint. A guy ranked D, using brute force, finished in 4:12, straight disqualification.
"Next group! Move!"
Leon moved up to the edge.
"Go!"
He shot ahead then realized big mistake.
Too quick. Far too quick. He moved past barriers smooth as water. Rope climbing? Done in a flash. Beam walk, then dash. Over the wall - his fingers hit exact spots, almost like they knew the way.
[OPTIMAL PATH DETECTED]
[ENERGY EXPENDITURE: MINIMUM]
The screen froze while working. Still, Leon pushed forward, slipping into the passage. Blackness closed around him. He moved through it fine, no tripping. Deep down, the dark felt familiar, like a pull he couldn’t shake.
He shot forward, racing toward the end.
"Ti! One minute, fifty-two seconds."
Complete silence.
People looked. So folks waiting their turn. Kovacs froze. Coaches nearby turned heads. Far-off top trainees paused too.
Oh shit.
"That’s F-Rank Vale?"
"No way an F-Rank moves like that"
"Scanner must be broken"
Leon stayed calm on the outside yet panic surged deep down. Way too quick. Unnaturally smooth. The setup had shoved logic aside without warning.
Kovacs approached, datapad clutched tight. "Vale. dical tent. Core re-evaluation. Now. That’s not F-Rank performance."
"My rank hasn’t changed. I’ve been training."
"Training doesn’t get you that kind of ti"
"Then maybe your test is easier than you think." Play arrogant, not defensive. He replied.
Kovacs’s expression shifted. "You tiny...."
"Perhaps the boy has natural talent his rank doesn’t reflect."
A woman in a Federation officer’s outfit walked up like she was used to being in charge, mid-forties, gray hair pulled tight into a knot, sharp eyes scanning the scene. Rank insignia showed three stars: Commander. Not just another face, but one of those few you couldn’t afford to ignore.
"Commander Rostova," Kovacs straightened up fast.
"At ease." She stopped in front of Leon, looking at him like a bug under glass. "Leon Vale. F-Rank. Empty Shadow Core. Awakened two weeks ago during the Crimson Moon."
She’d learned every detail of his file by heart.
"Yes, ma’am."
"Yet you completed a C-Rank course in under two minutes. Interesting." Head tilt casually but calculated. "Your movent patterns aren’t self-taught. That’s trained precision. Military-grade. Assassination techniques. Where’d you learn that?"
Shit.
His dad knew military drills. He copied moves as a kid. Over ti, practice turned that into real ability.
"My father was Defense Force. Watched him train as a kid. So stuck, I guess."
"Watching and doing are different, Mr. Vale." Pause. Calculations running behind her eyes. "But stranger things happen. Proceed to the next test. I’ll be watching."
Hope plus danger in four terms.
She didn’t trust what he said, she let him talk on. Though unsure, she stayed quiet while he went ahead.
Why?
Next up was combat testing - going hand-to-hand with training bots that learn how you fight. One move in, they start shifting to counter it.
Leon’s stand-in sparked up, lights flashing bright red.
[ANALYZING COMBAT PATTERNS DETECTED]
[WEAKNESS: LEFT-SIDE BLIND SPOT]
The dummy shot forward. Leon dodged, his fra flowing smooth, almost loose. Strength wasn’t on his side - too weak to wrestle it down. So he went sharp, exact. Aid at hinges, soft spots instead.
The dummy adapted.
Leon adapted faster.
Once the match finished, sparks flew from his droid - hit hard in ten spots. The machine went full attack mode. Even then, no solid strike connected.
Kovacs squinted at the screen. "Wait, what..."
Rostova materialized again. "Mr. Vale. Ring Four, please."
Ring Four had just one guy inside, Marcus Trent - a C-Rank, thickset, his skin tinged dull gray from Hardening. He stood solid, like he was carved from stone, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"Ma’am?"
"Your final exam. Mock battle. Win, provisional admission. Lose..." She shrugged. "You tried."
Marcus smirked - cold, not warm. "F-Rank? No way."
"I don’t joke about admissions. Begin when ready."
Leon moved forward. His pulse stayed calm. Thoughts sharp, while others huddled close, tense, waiting, stiff with fear. From afar, Damian stared, half shocked, half praying Leon would crash hard.
Marcus stood like a book opened flat. His skin twitched, turning rough like rock forming under pressure.
"Nothing personal, F-Rank trash. But I’m breaking you."
Leon didn’t say a word. The setup ran its course instead. Sharp hunches sorted out each slip, each soft spot.
[ANALYZING TARGET...]
[HARDENING: DEFENSIVE SPEC]
[STAMINA: HIGH]
[AGILITY: LOW]
[TACTIC: EVADE AND EXHAUST]
The bell chid.
Marcus rushed forward, wild like a runaway engine roaring ahead without stop.
Leon grinned sharp, wide, like a predator sizing you up.
The actual challenge kicked off.
In a throne chamber beneath the endless crimson moon, an old thing kept watch.
Waited.
Then saw the successor making that initial move toward a throne built on darkness and dust.
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