In Between Realms

Seyfe let out an exaggerated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. His mind was still spinning from everything that had happened, from the endless tests, the manipulations, and now this final decision. He never imagined himself in this position, never wanted to be part of the system that had already broken him down so many times.

"Tsk, you're giving me a headache," he muttered, leaning back slightly, his eyes narrowing at Aki. "Fine. I'll be a Veiler. But once I'm done with whatever you people want from me, I better be living my own life. Got it?"

Aki's expression remained unreadable, though something flickered in her eyes—was it relief? Or just resignation? It was hard to tell.

"You'll have your freedom," she said quietly, though there was something in her tone that suggested the road ahead would not be as simple as he thought. "But only if you can handle what's coming. Becoming a Veiler isn't just a job—it's a whole new life. And you can't go back after that."

Seyfe didn't answer immediately, his mind already wandering to the chaos that would follow. But for now, it was the only choice he had, the only way to survive in this twisted world. His gaze hardened as he stood up, determination settling in.

"I'll handle it," he said, his voice resolute. "But when I get out of here, I'm living for myself. And I won't be anyone's weapon."

A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the sterile room, the sound unnaturally loud against the whitewashed walls. Seyfe's eyes snapped toward the source, and Aki barely turned her head. From the shadows, emerging with the same surreal stillness that Aki often carried, came her superior—draped in a sleek, polished uniform, adorned not with rank insignia but with veiled symbology only high-ranking Veilers would recognize.

Her presence was unnerving, like a storm disguised in human form. The air itself seemed to grow heavier around her.

"Bravo," she said with a sly smirk. "Such conviction. Such noble rebellion. I have to admit, Seyfe, I rather enjoy your spirit. It's so... untamed."

She stopped just a few steps away, hands clasped behind her back now, examining him like one would a strange new weapon pulled from a forgotten vault.

"You may not realize it yet, but that little tantrum of yours back in Phase Two? It was the most promising result we've seen in years. Most don't survive grafting, let alone adapt. And you? You broke your own bones just to regain control."

Seyfe scowled, saying nothing.

"But don't worry," she continued, voice like silk dipped in arsenic, "We won't keep you caged forever. You've made your choice—and in doing so, you've entered a game far larger than yourself. Aki will be your handler for now. Your survival... well, it benefits all of us."

She gave one final clap, slower this time. "Welcome to the fold, Veiler Seyfe."

Then, just as silently as she arrived, she turned and began to walk away—her footsteps echoing faintly like the fading hum of a war drum.

Aki remained still, her expression unreadable behind the glass-like sheen of her mask.

Seyfe's jaw clenched. He muttered under his breath, "Fold, huh? We'll see who folds first."

The halls of the Government Facility finally began to feel less like a prison and more like a cold, suffocating memory as Seyfe stepped into the open air for the first time in days. The sun—or what passed for it behind the smog-heavy clouds—greeted him with a dull warmth. He didn't feel free, but he wasn't strapped to a stasis chamber anymore, and that was enough for now.

After relentless interviews, invasive psychological evaluations, and what felt like a parade of suits and specialists all asking the same questions in different tones, Seyfe had been deemed stable enough to be transferred.

The catch?

Debt.

Apparently, Aki had paid the necessary fees, licensing, and core integration clearance required to fast-track his entrance into the Veiler Academy. A high-risk investment, they'd called it.

"Congratulations," one of the clinical officers had said flatly, handing him the digitized contract. "You're now in debt to your handler. Any refusal or abandonment of duty will be seen as breach of contract. Good luck."

Now, as he stepped onto the transport leading to the Academy—a large black rail-sled humming with arc-tech engines—Seyfe looked down at the encoded tablet with his Veiler ID.

Seyfe Hero, Cadet-Class (Provisional)Status: Under SupervisionHandler: Aki VaressDebt: 473,200 credits

He scoffed under his breath.

Of course she paid. She always had a reason behind her moves.

Aki stood just beside the ramp of the transport, arms crossed, mask off for once, revealing that same neutral face that somehow conveyed more judgment than any words ever could.

"You'll be in Unit 9. They're rough, but they're functional," she said coolly. "Don't make me regret this."

Seyfe raised an eyebrow. "So, what? I follow orders, study magic, swing a blade, and pretend I'm not a ticking time bomb?"

Aki leaned slightly forward. "You pretend all you want, Seyfe. Just don't forget—every second you survive in there is another second the government doesn't put a bullet in your head."

"Charming."

"You'll get used to it."

He didn't respond. Instead, he turned and walked up the ramp, the doors hissing closed behind him with a finality that felt like stepping into another cage. Only this time, it had walls of stone and steel—and maybe, just maybe, a way out.

The rail-sled hissed to a halt, locking into the magnetized platform just outside the towering compound of the Veiler Academy. Stark, monolithic walls of alloyed stone and shimmering arc-filament fencing surrounded the place like a fortress, and in many ways, that's exactly what it was.

As Seyfe stepped out, the first thing handed to him was a sleek, black band—something between a high-end watch and a combat tool. The handler at the station clipped it around his wrist with mechanical indifference.

"That's your Cellik-band," the handler explained. "It's what we Veilers use instead of standard tech. Works as your communicator, map, task log, ID, and more. The actual Cellik unit, your main device, will be handed to you during your orientation. Treat it like your lifeline—it connects you to mission dispatch, team feeds, and emergency overrides."

Seyfe looked at the band as it pulsed faintly with light, synchronizing to his vitals and Veiler ID.

"This thing track my heartbeat too?" he asked, half-sarcastic.

"Yes," the handler said without a pause. "Along with blood toxicity, core instability, psionic stress levels, and location. You're very monitored now."

"Wonderful," Seyfe muttered.

Aki had vanished somewhere the moment he stepped off the transport—true to form, leaving him to fend for himself while still pulling the strings from the background.

The handler gestured toward the main gate. "Once you're inside, follow the blue trail on your Cellik-band's display. It'll lead you to Orientation Block C."

As Seyfe started walking, the band vibrated slightly and projected a thin, transparent screen above his wrist—highlighting a blinking blue path that curved into the heart of the compound.

"Great," he mumbled, "government leash with GPS."

But he followed it anyway. Because if this place was going to trap him, he might as well learn the layout.

As Seyfe followed the illuminated trail toward Block C, his eyes darted across the sprawling courtyard and winding halls of the Veiler Academy. The architecture was brutalist in design—functional, unforgiving, and covered in surveillance nodes. But what caught his attention weren't the walls or the turrets quietly humming above the walkways—it was the people.

He wasn't alone.

Dozens—no, maybe hundreds—of other youths filtered through the grounds, each bearing the same freshly-issued Cellik-band, all following similar paths like programmed drones. Some looked confused. Others looked like they belonged—military postures, stern eyes, walking like they had something to prove. But many were like him… ordinary, rough around the edges, clearly thrown into this world without much of a choice.

A small group passed by him, whispering anxiously. One girl, no older than fifteen, clutched her band like it was a shackle. Another boy had bruises visible beneath his academy-issued tunic—old ones, like he'd been "recruited" the hard way.

Seyfe muttered under his breath, "So this is what conscription looks like now."

It became clear quickly: the government wasn't just picking warriors—they were collecting survivors. People from the dead cities. The outskirts. Slumline youth. Kids who wouldn't be missed if they disappeared into this machine. Kids who, like him, had nowhere else to go.

And yet, Seyfe saw more than fear in their eyes. There was hunger. Bitterness. The same fire he carried.

He arrived at Block C, where a wide metallic arch stood before a chamber pulsing with a faint hum of mana-conductive energy. A bureaucratic-looking figure—dressed not in armor but a long synthetic robe—stood waiting with a datapad.

"Welcome, recruits," the figure said with all the enthusiasm of a rusted gate. "You've been handpicked from various sectors as part of Directive 47: Sub-Youth Reforging. You're here not because you're ready, but because you've survived. The Veiler Academy will determine if that survival was luck… or if it can be forged into purpose."

Seyfe stared ahead, fists clenched.

Forged into purpose, he thought bitterly.No. You're not going to forge me.I'll forge myself.

And I'll use your own system to do it.