Six centuries have passed since the world underwent its radical transformation.
The truths of the past have faded into legend.
What was once recorded in the chronicles of the ancients is now little more than obscure folklore, lacking evidence or credibility.
Sometimes, I even wonder why we still call them "records" at all.
Just imagine it…
A world without genetic enhancement. Without supernatural abilities. No digital interfaces embedded under the skin, no neural implants.
More than that — a world of vast green lands, where life grew naturally. No climate engineering, no human interference, no biological control systems.
What a ridiculous myth!
Even I can't imagine such a thing.
The idea itself is like trying to picture a color that doesn't exist.
For someone like me — genetically enhanced — enrolling in the Aurixia Global Institutewas never a choice.
It was a duty. No — more than that — a mandate.
I am, to be precise, one of the modern sacrifices.
Those who are offered — willingly or not — to keep the catastrophe sealed on the other side of the wall.
We, the genetically enhanced, are the last line of defense. The most vital shield against the hordes still pouring through the open rifts.
Creatures that some historians — the obsessive ones still digging into a dead past — insist are not invaders, but accidental guests.
Beings pushed into our world by chance… or rather, by the reckless curiosity of a scientist once hailed as a genius.
He tried to open a gate to another world — just to see if it was possible.
And it was.
From that rift emerged entities with no names and no intent… only destruction.
Imagine that: one single human folly — a failed experiment by a man obsessed with studying non-human species — cost us our very existence.
Nations leveled. Cities erased.
And the majority of humankind… reduced to ash in mere days.
But, as with every legend, there is always a savior.
And, in a cruel twist of fate…
The savior came from the bloodline of the destroyer.
His grandchild, or perhaps a descendant even further down the line.
By studying the intruding beings, this descendant discovered that their bodies contained a unique energy — one never before detected in any living creature on Earth.
An energy that could be extracted… transformed… and most importantly, through precise engineering, harnessed to enhance the human body itself.
And so was born what we now call Solera — the serum of life, the essence of power, and the fuel of survival.
A name said to be a fusion of the two scientists' names: "Sol," the destructive grandfather… and "Era," the redemptive heir.
Thus, according to the official narrative:
The grandson repaired what the grandfather broke.
Do I believe this tale?
Barely.
But it's been told, recorded, and carved into the very foundation of the era we now live in.
A myth? Perhaps.
But however absurd it may seem — it's the only truth my generation has ever known.
It is said that in the early days, the serum was injected into volunteers without any screening, no genetic matching, and not a single guarantee.
Just an injection… then they waited.
If your body accepted it? Congratulations — you earned a chance to protect what you love.
If not?
Then your fate ranged from total paralysis, to mental collapse, to a gruesome death — your body might deteriorate slowly from within, or disintegrate all at once in ways the mind cannot fathom.
That was the beginning of the Black Era.
The days of experimentation.
Thousands of lives buried under the banner of "trial," if the stories are true.
And yet, as with every catastrophe… it wasn't the end, but the beginning of a new phase — a new era of rebirth and progress.
All those blessed by the serum — granted power, glory, fame, and wealth…
They were cursed just the same.
Because no matter their status, they were always required to stand on the front lines — facing everything terrifying, unknown, and lethal.
They were named Animus — a word that, according to old legends, meant not just "strength," but "rising from the ruins."
It's said the term first emerged at a time when humanity had nothing left to lose…
Except the last remnants of its humanity.
Each Animus possessed distinct powers and skills, shaped by the nature of the invading creature from which their serum was derived: its structure, temperament, energy, transformation pattern — even its method of death.
Thus, the serum itself varied: in genetic enhancement, in danger, in depth of effect… even in market value.
Because once "the serum" became vital, the human capitalist machine — in all its hunger — took over.
And salvation became a product.
A thriving marketplace.
Every drop of serum, every particle of Solera, became something to be sold, bought, appraised, and categorized.
But none of that matters right now.
What truly matters... is that I, in an act of unjustified genius — with not a single rational excuse to speak of — managed to offend the greatest genetically enhanced human of his generation.
Kairon Edemar.
A name spoken with reverence in every hall of the institute.
The man who recorded the highest absorption score in history.
The only candidate ever admitted into the Aurixia Institute without a single test or trial.
A living legend, and the strongest contender for the position of Supreme Commander of the Border Forces within the next decade.
And proudly...
I insulted him. Publicly. With full awareness.
In other words: I placed my already death-riddled career future in the palm of a potential enemy.
And it didn't stop there.
Because — again, with full awareness — I went on to offend the noblest, most esteemed woman of this era… in front of everyone.
As if something about her provoked the absolute worst in me.
I don't remember the words — only the feeling: an overwhelming urge to destroy the perfect image.
Was it stupidity?
Recklessness?
A subconscious desire to ruin my own future with my own hands?
I don't know.
All I know now… is that I have placed my head — willingly — on the execution block.
And perhaps no one will even need to send me to the border for my body to die there.
It's enough that the news has already spread — and spread it has, thanks to the ever-zealous press — unnecessarily, and with all possible exaggeration.
"Haaa…"
I sighed deeply, trying to grasp the scale of the disaster.
From this point on, I'll spend three years at the Aurixia Global Institute —
That unavoidable place for anyone selected among the elite Animus.
Three years of forced coexistence with open hostility, in a combat-focused, dangerous environment with no safety lines...
"The Years of Training Before the Slaughter," as the veterans call them.
And after that?
If I'm lucky enough to graduate alive…
I'll be shipped straight to the border.
And given the average lifespan of those stationed there?
Let's just say… dreaming of retirement is like wishing for immortality.
How many nightmarish scenarios can I imagine?
Plenty — trust me.
"Ugh!"
I wanted to scream, to tear the air apart…
But something inside me choked my throat shut.
I needed to think.
First things first: I need a survival strategy inside the institute.
From now on, my goal is simple, direct — and maybe impossible: Get out of that place in one piece, cross to the border with my dignity… and my life.
What a goal.
What ambition.
And let's be real… I can't run from what I did.
I did it in full possession of my mental faculties — according to the therapists, who, for a moment, I had an overwhelming urge to strangle one by one.
"Calm down, calm down…"
I whispered to myself.
The damage is done.
And regret changes nothing.
What I need now… is to do whatever it takes — legal, gray, or outright forbidden —
To gain some form of protection, an ally, power — anything.
Simple, right?
Yeah… "very simple."
But not easy in the slightest.
Surviving what's ahead… is like trying to survive acid rain in an open field without cover.
"Damn me!"
Just thinking about everything I'd done brought tears to my eyes.
What wasn't supposed to happen… happened — and in the worst way possible.
Honestly?
All I wanted in that exact moment… was to run away.
To run far, to a place where no one could reach me, no shame could haunt me, no enemy could chase me, and no future could loom over me like a threat.
But I'm one of the Animus — the genetically enhanced elite.
We are watched from above, protected, used… displayed as symbols of power, not as people.
And there's nowhere to hide when all eyes are on you.
Where could someone like me run, when his very existence becomes a file, a number, a potential threat — an "investment" that must be tracked?
Freedom was never one of the options I was given.
The only option… is to take control of my survival.
I knew I had to — to live.
To fight.
And I will.
Because I'm not one of those who mourn not trying.
If I have to fall… then I'll fall completely drained.
But I won't surrender.
–– Knock! Knock! Knock! ––
My thoughts were cut off by a sudden knock at the door.
I pressed my lips together in annoyance and turned slowly.
But before I could even open my mouth to ask, the door creaked open gently, and the harsh hallway light spilled into the sterile room.
There he stood… a young man about my age.
I didn't need a good look to know who he was.
That face had been with me since birth. Literally.
His short black hair flowed smoothly down his neck, shimmering like silk threads under the light.
His piercing blue eyes were like a frozen sea… reflecting nothing but coldness.
He wore a dark coat, meticulously tailored over a sleek black suit, making his figure appear taller and leaner than it really was.
The look was completed by polished leather shoes.
His presence was a blatant violation of the room's strict white palette —
Me, the room, the sheets, the walls, even the neon light.
And on his left chest, a polished insignia gleamed: a stylized sword intertwined with a vine.
My family's crest.
"Good evening, bright star of this week's scandal."
He said it with icy sarcasm.
"Oh, so the world finally ended and Your Highness woke up."
He waited for a response.
Just one word.
But I… said nothing.
I didn't.
His name was Fox Theospan.
Grandson of my grandfather's guard, son of my father's guard, and — of course — my personal guard.
We grew up together.
Trained together.
Survived childhood's chaos in the same standard-issue boots.
And while I was a genetically enhanced heir from a noble lineage, he was enhanced from a bloodline… designed for killing.
The "Butchers of Theospan," as the records called them.
A military family of terrifying brutality, their name spoken only alongside blood… and unparalleled combat prowess.
But the riddle that always haunted me wasn't their strength.
It was their loyalty.
How had a family of such power… become mere retainers to ours?
My grandfather said one of our ancestors had done them a great favor…
And that this "debt" tied our fates together, generation after generation.
Bound them… with complete loyalty.
But I never truly believed that.
Something deep inside me… never bought it.
Because nothing in their behavior ever suggested they owed anyone anything.