The scent of oil and metal lingered in the air, clinging to every breath. The dining hall had grown quieter now—laughter replaced by soft voices and half-finished plates.
Off to the side, Benny stood with his arms crossed, eyes flicking toward the recruits gathered at the long table. Beside him, Isabella cradled a steaming mug, the warmth rising into her face, casting her features in a faint fog.
"Look at 'em," Benny muttered. "You've pulled in quite the group."
Isabella took a long sip, the warmth settling into her chest before answering. "They're from Artimia."
Benny's brow lifted.
"Artimia?" he echoed. "That's damn near halfway across the Sector from here."
"Yeah, unfortunately, it was under attack when we arrived," she said softly.
"Under attack? Who could've—?"
Benny didn't need to ask who had done it. His eyes darkened. His thought finished itself. Only one person was capable of such swift, cruel devastation in Sector Five.
"Section Commander Sedgwick?"
She nodded, knuckles whitening around her mug.
"In an instant... they lost everything," Isabella whispered. Her voice trembled beneath the quiet steel she tried to carry.
Her eyes lingered on the swirling steam as if the past rose with it.
"They're still so young... Why are they even here?"
Benny exhaled through his nose. He didn't answer immediately, but his voice was gentle when he did.
"Bella, you know as well as I do this world doesn't wait for children to grow up. It teaches them with blood and loss."
Isabella's gaze dropped. "I just… I wonder if they're here for the right reasons. Revenge? That's not enough to survive. They're as good as dead if that's the only reason. Don't you think?"
"Maybe, but maybe not. I think it's enough to start walking."
Benny glanced back at the recruits. Arthur and Bryce were flicking scraps of food at each other again. Aeda and Aida were arguing over who had better table manners.
"This world... is ruthless. We don't get to choose the moment when innocence ends. But we also don't know what brought these kids here. And that's the point, Bella. Don't assume. Ask."
Benny placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Even if revenge brought them here, that doesn't mean they're all charging toward death. We're not prophets, Bella. Just people trying to survive the Wastelands like everyone else."
Isabella let out a breath, and her shoulders softened.
"You're right," she mumbled, the edge in her voice giving way to something warmer. "Thanks, Benny."
Her gaze drifted back to the table.
Laughter echoed in waves. Bryce had flicked a spoonful of food at Arthur, who retaliated with a chunk of bread to the forehead. Clarissa rolled her eyes. Aeda cheered them on. Mimi darted under the table like it was a battlefield.
For a moment, they looked less like survivors and more like what they were—kids.
Benny watched the chaos unfold with a grunt.
"Though I'll say this..." he muttered. "At first glance? They don't look like much."
Before Isabella could respond, a familiar voice cut in—calm, composed, laced with that usual edge of quiet fire.
"Let's see if you're still saying that three months from now."
Nozomu stepped into view, the low light catching on the edge of his smirk as he approached from behind.
Benny didn't flinch. He let out a low chuckle, folding his arms.
"Assuming they survive your twisted definition of training."
"Well, Benny, that's the fun part."
Before Benny could fire back, a hand went up across the room.
Curtis rose from his seat and gave a slight nod of respect. "Sorry to interrupt," he said. "But we just wanted to say thank you for the food."
Benny waved it off with a smile. "No need for all that, son. Eat while you can. You'll miss it soon enough."
Curtis then turned, his gaze shifting to Isabella.
"Bella, you said earlier that you'd explain more about the KCs. Honestly... we're all curious."
"Oh, right." Isabella tapped her finger against her lip, then flashed a smile. "I did say that, didn't I?"
She glanced toward Nozomu.
No words were exchanged—just a look.
Nozomu gave a single nod. "I was going to wait until we got back to base... but now's as good a time as any."
He stepped to the center of the room.
The soft hum of conversation died at once, like someone had cut the thread holding the moment together. Forks stilled mid-air. Eyes turned toward him.
The calm before the storm.
He didn't raise his voice—but when he spoke, it cut through the silence like a blade.
"Let me tell you what the King's Chains really are."
He took a breath, slow and steady, then let his gaze sweep across the table. Across all the faces still too young, but already worn by grief.
"The microchips in your necks… they're not for your safety. They never were."
His tone stayed level, but his eyes sharpened.
"They call them KCs—King's Chains. And every Person of the Wastelands is implanted with one from birth."
A shiver rippled through the room. Even the wind outside the window seemed to still.
"Across all Five Sectors, rumors twist and churn. Some say the chips are tracking devices. Some think they're bombs—silent until triggered. Others gossip about mind-reading tech, some ancient curse wired straight into your spine."
He paused, letting the silence steep. The weight of unspoken truth hovered like smoke.
"They're all wrong."
He lifted his hand.
And in his palm, something sparked.
Light—warm and alive—curled upward like flame. It pulsed once. Then again. A soft thrum of energy filled the space, buzzing low beneath the ribs.
The glow took shape—round and steady, like a miniature white sun blooming from his palm. It floated just above his skin, swirling with energy that looked alive.
Gasps escaped the recruits.
Theo felt his breath catch. His chest barely moved.
Nozomu spoke again, quieter now—but the truth hit harder.
"The King's Chains weren't made to track you. They were made to cut you off from this."
He nodded toward the orb.
"The Dyna System."
Even the name felt foreign. Sacred. Like something forbidden just for existing.
"This is what they don't want you to have. This is what you were born into the world without."
Curtis leaned in. "...They really did all that just to keep us weak?"
Nozomu nodded once.
"Yes."
Theo stared at the orb like it might vanish if he looked away.
His mind raced with everything he'd heard over the years—whispers from old men, warnings in the dark, his parents telling him not to ask questions about the chip in his neck.
But now?
This… this was truth.
"So we've been shut out from that kind of power our whole lives?" Dawn asked, her voice hushed like she was afraid of waking something.
"Yes," Nozomu said.
"And how do we access it?" Aeda asked. "How do we get rid of the King's Chains?"
"There's a way," Nozomu replied. His eyes flicked to her. "But it's dangerous."
Curtis stepped forward, drawn to the light like it was gravity. He lifted a hand, fingers inches from the orb.
"Can I touch it?"
Nozomu's hand snapped shut in an instant. The orb vanished with a flash.
"Not unless you want to lose the hand."
Curtis jerked back.
Nozomu pointed toward a steel chest plate propped on a nearby rack. His finger lit with a surge of Dyna.
Then—without warning—he fired.
A single beam of energy shot out, slicing clean through the metal like it was paper. The armor burst apart, the back end crumbling to shards.
Gasps rippled through the room once more.
David rose from his seat, wide-eyed. "It went clean through!"
Arthur and Bryce ran over to inspect the armored plate.
Bryce picked up a piece of the ruined metal. "Yo, this thing's wrecked. Like, beyond saving."
"That was solid iron!" Arthur said, awestruck.
Benny stormed across the floor like a freight train made of fury and grease.
His voice cracked through the air—raw, gravel-lined, and thunder-laced.
"Nozomu! Are you out of your damned mind?! That was perfectly good armor!"
The whole room went dead still.
"Do you have any idea how long it takes to forge something like that?! How many hours?! How many hands?!"
Nozomu didn't flinch. He stood exactly where he was, arms relaxed at his sides, eyes half-lidded with practiced disinterest.
"It was one piece of armor," he said calmly. "You'll make another."
Benny stopped cold.
Then—
"One piece?" His voice rose to a dangerous pitch. "Make another?"
He lunged.
His fist clamped into Nozomu's collar and yanked him clean off the ground. The Commander barely reacted—feet dangling, body swaying like a flag in the wind.
"You barge into my home. You disrespect my work, my people—and then you talk back like this is some kind of playground?! Show some damn respect!"
He shook him hard, the bones in his arm flexing like coiled wire. The recruits watched, wide-eyed, frozen in place.
Nozomu hung there like a limp coat off a peg—expression blank, voice dry enough to crack concrete.
"...Are you done?"
Benny shook him harder.
A long sigh escaped Nozomu's lips.
"Guess not."
Theo leaned toward David. "Yo… this Dyna System. You ever heard of it before?"
David didn't look up.
His hand moved fast, scribbling notes into a small notepad he kept tucked near his chest like it was sacred.
"This is the first I've heard of it," he muttered, flipping a page without blinking.
"Wait, you're seriously taking notes right now?"
"One of us has to."
Before Theo could say more, Benny finally let go of Nozomu's collar with a shove. The Commander brushed his cloak flat again and stepped forward, voice steady as he reclaimed the room.
"Back to what I was saying..."
His tone cooled, but the tension didn't fade.
"So far, we've only found one method to break the King's Chains."
He let that hang, the silence sharpening around it.
"It involves forcing a surge of Dyna through the implant."
Theo's hands twitched.
The images returned too fast—his mother's scream, his father's eyes, the burning street, the shiver of cold metal under his fingertips.
A spark of emotion snapped loose.
He stood up hard, fists slamming into the table with a thud that echoed down the steel walls.
"You can't do that!" he shouted, voice raw.
The room froze.
Everyone turned toward him.
Theo's eyes widened as the heat of his own voice hit him. He sat down just as fast, jaw tight, shoulders stiff.
"I… I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to shout. It's just—"
Nozomu raised a hand—not to silence, but to calm.
"It's fine," he said. "I understand."
He locked eyes with Theo—firm, unflinching.
"But this isn't what you saw back in Artimia."
His voice dropped, weight falling into every word.
"The King's Chains are only deadly when you tamper with them the wrong way. The Section Commanders call it 'Mind Wipe.' It's not a system flaw—it's a deterrent. A scare tactic."
He looked around, meeting each recruit's gaze one by one.
"If you try to force Dyna through the KC before your body's ready, your brain shuts down. You die."
His voice was constant, but underneath it was something colder. Sharper.
"But if you train—if you grow stronger, smarter, tougher—if you hone the Dyna inside you..."
He closed his hand slowly, the light reappeared around his fist.
"...then one day, that surge won't kill you."
He opened his palm again—empty now, the sparks fading.
"It'll set you free."
The moment hung there—quiet, hopeful, heavy.
Then—
A breeze.
Subtle. Strange.
Not from a window. Not from the doors.
It snaked through the room like a living thing. Slipped in through the cracks along the windowsill—so faint it could've been mistaken for nothing at all.
But Nozomu felt it.
Not as air, but as intention.
The draft didn't drift—it coiled. It didn't pass by—it funneled. A curl of invisible pressure slithered into Nozomu's ear like a whisper made of breath.
It carried words. Instinct. Urgency.
The kind of warning that sank into your bones before your brain could catch up.
His posture changed. Shoulders tightened. Spine straightened. His eyes lost focus—not because they couldn't see, but because they were looking far past the room.
Another pulse of wind slid in. Colder this time.
His fingers twitched once.
"Nozomu?" Isabella called softly, stepping toward him. "What's wrong?"
He didn't respond.
His eyes locked on the window—like something out there was staring back.
The next breeze came faster.
It hissed.
Then—
"Everyone—DOWN!"
His voice tore through the silence like the cracking of a whip.
And then—
The wind roared into the dining hall like a living thing, howling through the space with the rage of a storm untethered.
Shards of glass burst into the air, glittering like falling stars turned to flying blades.
Isabella moved faster than any of them. With one hand, she stomped the ground. With the other, she thrust forward.
Water spiraled from her palm in a cyclone. Moisture bleeding from then air in quick, unnatural beads before blooming into a wall mid-air.
It rose just in time.
The broken glass and gust of wind slammed into it. The sharp metallic chimes—tink tink tink—embedding in the swirling current instead of skin.
Isabella stood at its center, her voice rang over the howling of the wind.
"Don't move!"
The wind screamed around her, tearing through the room. But outside, the wind howled louder. Not natural. Not wild.
Angry.
Something was coming.
Chairs flipped. Plates shattered. Drinks spilled across the floor in frantic rivers.
The lights flickered once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
Outside the shattered window something unseen was coming straight for them.
No one knew what it was.
But they knew it didn't belong there.
They knew it had just arrived and was waiting.