Adam had achieved Initiate rank two months into the convoy journey.

The Mental Dampening core's integration had been surprisingly straightforward—the defensive ability slotting into his existing framework with Enhanced Cognition providing the processing speed to manage its activation efficiently.

It's more subtle than I expected, Adam had explained during one of their conversations.

Mental Dampening doesn't just block intrusion attempts. It creates cognitive static that makes my thoughts harder to read, my intentions harder to predict, my mental processes harder to influence.

"Sounds defensive," Duncan had observed.

"Everything's both defensive and offensive if you're creative enough," Adam had replied, his tactical mind already working through applications. "Mental Dampening reduces others' ability to read me, which means I can operate with less risk of mental specialists identifying my plans. But it also—" He paused, considering how much to reveal. "—it creates framework for understanding mental architecture. For recognizing how consciousness organizes itself. How defenses work."

"Which helps you break those defenses," Bright had guessed quietly.

"Eventually, maybe," Adam had admitted. "Right now, I'm just learning the fundamentals. Understanding how minds protect themselves helps with my intelligence work—helps me recognize when someone's hiding information, when they're mentally compartmentalizing, when their cognitive defenses are up versus when they're vulnerable."

"That's still manipulation," Mara had pointed out.

"That's intelligence gathering," Adam had corrected. "Reading people. Understanding their psychology. That's been my role since before I had any mental cores. The Mental Dampening just makes me better at it. Harder to detect. More protected against retaliation."

"So you're planning your build progression," Bright had observed. "You didn't just collect the core randomly."

"Exactly," Adam had confirmed. "There is a core I have in mind. It would be anendgame ability for me. The capstone that makes everything else synergize. But I need to understand mental manipulation fundamentals first. Need to practice with what I have. Need to develop skill and discipline before I add the capability that could corrupt me if misused."

It was remarkably mature for someone their age.

The conversation had been months ago. Since then, Adam had continued developing—practicing with Mental Dampening and Enhanced Cognition, refining his intelligence-gathering techniques, learning subtlety that separated crude information extraction from sophisticated analysis.

His congratulations when speaking with his "friends" about advancement had been genuine. Had carried pride and excitement that transcended his usual calculation.

"Initiate rank before even reaching Academy," Duncan had said, genuine pride in his voice. "That's exceptional progression."

"It's desperation, plain and simple," Adam replied. "Right now, I'm still one of the weakest. And the Academy will sort us—separate investments from write-offs. Having Initiate rank before arrival tilts the scale in my favor. It proves I'm progressing faster than baseline. That I'm an asset, not a resource sink."

-----

Bolt moved through the convoy with barely contained anxiety, his position as an independent academy candidate adding layers of complexity to his already stressful situation.

No official sponsor, he reminded himself. No noble house backing. No institutional support beyond basic Academy acceptance.

Independent candidates were rare—soldiers who'd demonstrated exceptional capability without noble connections, who'd earned selection through pure merit rather than political maneuvering. They were respected for their achievement but also vulnerable, lacking the protective networks that noble-sponsored candidates enjoyed.

Everyone thinks I'm just a talented orphan who fought my way here, Bolt thought. No one knows about Vaelith. About the arrangement. About the real reason I have resources that independent candidates shouldn't have access to.

The shadow sponsorship was dangerous precisely because it was hidden. If discovered, it would destroy his credibility, mark him as a spy rather than a legitimate candidate, make him a target for every faction that opposed Crownhold interests.

But it's also leverage, Bolt recognized. It's access to resources. It's advancement opportunities that pure independence would never provide.

Keep watch on the candidates. Report on their development. Identify potential threats and opportunities.

Simple instructions from his hidden sponsor. Simple obligations in exchange for resources that had enabled his advancement beyond what independent candidates typically achieved.

Vaelith Crownhold wants intelligence, Bolt understood. Wants some eyes inside the Academy. Wants to know which candidates show promise. Which ones might become problems. Which ones could be cultivated or eliminated.

The arrangement had started small—just information trading, casual observations passed along in exchange for modest assistance. But it had grown. Had evolved into formal intelligence gathering operation disguised as independent candidate's natural social networking.

I wanted advancement, Bolt reflected bitterly. Wanted to escape obscurity. Wanted access to opportunities that independence denies. So I traded autonomy for resources. Traded integrity for capability.

But the alternative was remaining powerless. Was watching noble-sponsored candidates advance while he struggled with limited support. Was accepting that merit alone wasn't enough in a system designed to favor political connections.

Everyone compromises eventually*l, Bolt told himself. Everyone serves someone's agenda. I'm just honest about it—at least with myself. At least acknowledging reality that others pretend doesn't exist.

He observed the candidates carefully, cataloging their interactions, noting who demonstrated leadership versus who followed, who showed tactical brilliance versus who relied on raw power.

The convoy continued toward Sparkshire, and Bolt continued his observations, maintaining his cover as some talented independent while gathering intelligence for his shadow sponsor who'd purchased his loyalty through resources.

Everyone's complicit in something, Bolt justified. Everyone serves someone's agenda. At least I'm getting compensated for it. At least I'm improving rather than stagnating.

At least I'm honest about corruption—with myself if not with others.

He filed mental notes, prepared reports, transformed living, breathing candidates into data points for political maneuvering that happened in shadows rather than open combat.

This is what ambition costs, Bolt recognized. This is what advancement demands when you lack legitimate backing. You find illegitimate backing. You trade integrity for capability. You become exactly what you need to become to survive.

And you tell yourself it's worth it.

Even when you're not entirely sure that's true.

The Academy awaited. The real sorting was beginning. And Bolt would report everything, betray everyone, serve his shadow sponsor's interests while pretending to be an independent candidate pursuing legitimate power.

This is survival, he told himself.

This is what Central demands.

And he'd pay the price. Just like everyone else who wanted to rise above their circumstances.

Just like everyone else who discovered that power always costs something.

The question was whether the cost was worth what it purchased.

Bolt wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

-----

Hundreds of kilometers away, Adept Goba coordinated Crawler elimination operation while part of his mind wandered to the candidates he'd encountered at Vester.

Wonder how they're doing, he thought, his Electric Hand dispatching Crawlers with casual efficiency.

The Academy had ways of reducing candidate populations before formal training even began. Convenient deaths during transport. Mysterious illnesses that forced medical disqualification. Conflicts that escalated beyond control and resulted in casualties that were technically accidental.

Sorting starts early, Goba knew. Starts before they even see campus. Some candidates arrive at the Academy. Others just… disappear along the way.

He'd witnessed it during his own candidacy. Had watched promising students vanish from convoy rosters with explanations that were technically plausible but fundamentally suspicious.

Politics and power, Goba thought. Noble houses eliminating competitors. Factions preventing rivals' candidates from reaching the training. Pre-emptive culling disguised as natural attrition.

The candidates from Vester had seemed resilient. Had survived Clear Light's Eve catastrophe. Had demonstrated capability under pressure that most candidates never faced.

But capability isn't armor against a well timed assassination, Goba recognized.

He hoped they'd made it.

But hope doesn't determine survival, Goba thought. Capability and luck and political positioning determine survival. And even then, it's uncertain.

His mission required attention. The Immediate threats in front of him demanded focus.

But part of him wondered.

Wondered which candidates would reach Academy intact. Which ones would survive their first year. Which ones would eventually become bigger versus which ones would break under pressure or get eliminated through institutional selection.

They'll learn truths, Goba thought. Will discover what the Republic actually is versus what the outpost propaganda claims.

Some will adapt. Will become pragmatic operators who serve power structures while maintaining enough principle to stay functional.

Others will break. Will either collapse into cynicism or rebel in ways that get them killed.

And a few—just a few—might somehow maintain integrity while gaining power.

But that's rare. So rare I can count examples on one hand.

He dispatched another Crawler, his Engine rumbling, his combat cores operating with efficiency that came from decades of refinement.

Good luck, candidates, Goba thought without voicing it. You'll need it more than you realize.

-----

The convoy finally reached a processing center—a massive courtyard where hundreds of candidates gathered, forming a chaotic mass of youth from across Republic territory.

Outpost recruits like Bright's group. Noble scions arriving in private transports. Transfer students from preliminary training facilities. Special selections recruited through military channels.

Everyone here survived initial filters, Bright recognized, his spatial foresight cataloging threats automatically. Everyone demonstrated enough capability to warrant Academy investment. But most won't graduate. Most will fail or die or get filtered out through institutional selection pressure.

Question is—which category do I fall into?

His face remained blank. Unreactive. Giving nothing away to observers who were definitely evaluating, definitely cataloging, definitely sorting candidates into preliminary classifications before the formal training even began.

Duncan stood beside him, massive bulk providing physical reassurance even as his expression showed carefully maintained composure. Mara positioned herself just behind as her and bessia conversed. Adam existed at periphery, his Enhanced Cognition already analyzing the crowd dynamics, identifying power structures, and mapping social networks.

And Silas—Silas had vanished into the crowd despite standing right there.

We made it, Bright thought.

But arriving isn't success. Arriving is just the beginning. Just an entrance to the real sorting that determines who becomes part of the strong

The courtyard's architecture continued the contradiction—opulent decoration surrounding brutal functionality. Beautiful sculptures depicting historical experts in moments of glory, positioned to both inspire and intimidate. Lamp posts arranged to eliminate shadows while creating dramatic lighting that made the space feel like stage rather than processing center.

The Academy's staff began processing candidates, organizing them into preliminary cohorts, assigning quarters, providing orientation schedules.

The sorting had begun.

The transformation was starting.

And Bright stood at its center, maintaining a blank expression, preparing for battles that had nothing to do with cores or Crawlers or physical combat.

This is Central, he thought. This is power. This is what we survived Vester to reach.

Now we survive this. Or we don't.

But either way, we're committed.

Either way, there's no going back to what we were.

The gates closed behind them.

Sparkshire Academy claimed another generation.

And the real test—the one that separated survivors from casualties, humans from monsters—was just beginning.

Welcome to the Academy.

Welcome to Central.

Welcome to discovering what you're actually made of.

The answer might destroy you.

But at least you'd know.

At least you'd have tried.

At least you'd have reached this far.

Whether that was an achievement or a tragedy remained to be determined.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.