Chapter One

  EARTH-19

  YEAR 3161

  Earth no longer resembled the blue cradle of life that had once nurtured humanity. Its skies were veiled in brass-tinted clouds, heavy with the smoke of endless engines. Floating cities clung to the atmosphere's upper layers like steel lilies, their chimneys pumping steam into the heavens. Below, the continents had been carved into grids of brass and iron, threaded with glowing rails where trains sped faster than the winds themselves. Forests had long given way to machine forests—endless towers, cables, and turbines grinding in rhythm.

  Space travel was no longer a miracle but a routine. Colossal starliners, their hulls stitched with copper plating and humming with steam-driven reactors, launched daily from orbital docks. The black void of space swarmed with traffic—merchant fleets hauling raw ore from the colonies, patrol frigates ensuring order, and daring privateers slipping through the lanes. Humanity had spread outward like sparks from a forge, yet the heart of civilization remained bound to the battered Earth below.

  But not everyone remembered Earth this way. Eight years ago, a strange event scarred history. An odd meteor shower swept across the planet's surface—unlike any phenomenon recorded before. It burned bright for hours, each streak seeding the atmosphere with something unseen.

  It was christened 'The Pulse Stream' because it appeared to pulse every minute as it shone on the Earth.

  When the smoke cleared, it wasn't the land that bore the mark of change—it was the children. No scars, no visible mutations, yet something deep inside them had shifted. Every eight-year-old alive during the storm carried the imprint. Their DNA had been rewritten, subtle strands of their genetic code bent into patterns no scientist could fully explain. The international body of scientists turned to the one organization they could always count on.

  The Order.

  There was a secretive council that governed the space stations and orbital fleets. Their influence stretched far beyond the steel corridors of the colonies—every jump between worlds, every shipment that crossed the void, every exploration into the unknown bore their seal. They were the architects of space travel, the guardians of interworld trade, and the pioneers of discovery.

  And yet, for all their reach, almost nothing was known about them. To most, The Order was less of a government and more of a shadow, shaping humanity's future from behind the curtain of the stars.

  The Order issued a single command: all children touched by the meteors were to be taken. Families were silenced, memories rewritten, records erased. To the world, those children had never existed. A program was initiated to deal with the situation: The Helix Program. All twenty-eight million eight-year-olds were whisked away to the Helix Facility.

  For eight years, they were trained as soldiers under the command of The Order. The Pulse Stream wasn't a natural occurrence; it was something much more. They decided not to take chances. If this was their chance to protect their Earth, they weren't going to waste it.

  The Helix Program was brutal; it was designed to bring out the best and worst in each of the kids.

  At age eleven, squads were introduced to the system. Four squads, officially. And they were assigned to each squad according to their rankings. Carmyss was the highest squad in the facility with twelve members. Embrin was second best with twenty-five members. Sornel was third; they had thirty-four members. Navyre was considered the bottom of the barrel; they boasted the most members, a whopping seventy-four. And Phaedral, the unofficial squad had only one member.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Out of the twenty-eight million, one hundred sixty-four remained, and today, more were to be ejected.

  The arena hummed with restless energy. Echoes of earlier battles still lingered in the air, along with the scent of scorched metal and adrenaline. Most of the exam matches were over, the top squads having taken their turns under the arena lights.

  Factions existed in the facility. It worked just like any other clique in society, with the top dogs usually together and the bottom tier struggling to hold their own. Each student stayed in their respective groups, exchanging quiet words; some paced back and forth, while others just waited. The clang of distant doors and soft murmurs from nearby squads created a sense of urgency—everyone wanted to see who survived and who didn't.

  In the observation area above the ring, a small group stood out from the rest—waiting, watching, and increasingly annoyed.

  “Where the hell is he?” Keisha Hickman muttered, her arms folded. She was donning the official uniform of the Embrin squad: black jeans, a black jacket with an orange top underneath, and orange boots.

  Levi leaned against the wall, unbothered. “He's probably still drooling on his pillow. You know how he is.” He was also a member of Embrin. “Relax, would ya?” he didn’t take his eye off his book.

  Olivia “Liv” Robertson stood quietly near the corner, arms crossed. Her eyes were on the arena floor, but her mind wasn’t. Not really. She was thinking about him—about how he always did this. Late. Careless. And yet somehow, always pulled something off. Her jaw clenched slightly.

  Jett tapped his foot impatiently. “He’s not even taking this seriously. Typical. You’d think he’d grow up a little after everything that’s happened.”

  Levi scoffed, “Cool your Carmyss temper, Jett.”

  “Yeah, Liv’s not hot-tempered. And she's Carmyss,” Mac of Embrin chipped in. He was new to the group, so it was still taking a while for him to be fully integrated. His jokes were proof of that.

  “He's just mad he gets beaten every time.” Levi flipped a page in his book.

  “I—shut up,” Jett snapped, and kicked the wall with his red boots. “I want him to show. I want him to take things seriously. He's fighting Thorne Kel.”

  “Final warning. All remaining participants report to the arena. The match begins in three minutes.”

  Keisha’s hands went to her head. “We're down to three minutes. Seriously, where is–”

  The side doors to the arena opened. They all turned, and there he was.

  Mason Ramirez stepped through, rubbing sleep from one eye. His hair was a mess, his uniform was wrinkled beyond repair, and his not-so-white boots weren't laced properly. He looked tired, and his eyes barely focused on the group as he stepped in.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Levi called out with a smirk.

  “Hey…” Mason yawned, “everyone's all here.”

  “Mason, what the hell?!” Keisha almost yelled. “I was about to drag you out of your room!”

  “Good luck with that,” Mason mumbled, scratching his head.

  Mac chuckled, and Levi let out a laugh.

  “You know who you’re fighting, right?” Jett pressed, stepping forward. “Thorne Kel. He’s been waiting for this.

  Mason paused, blinking slowly. “Thorne… right. Big guy. Scary eyes. Too serious. Got it.”

  Liv stayed quiet, just watching him—tired, disheveled, and somehow still perfectly him. She bit back a smile. Then she looked at his arms.

  “Your gloves…” she said. Keisha looked at her, then she turned to Mason.

  “Where are your gloves?”

  Mason stopped and looked at his arms. “I forgot them.”

  “Sucks.”

  “Tell me about it…” Mason looked at Levi.

  “#146. Step into the ring. Now!”

  “You forgot them?” Jett eyed him.

  “How do you intend to fight Thorne?”

  Mason shrugged, “I’ll think of something.”

  “You’ll think of something?” Keisha placed a hand on her hip. “You really don’t plan for anything, do you?”

  Mason grinned as he walked past them toward the arena stairs. “Nah. Where’s the fun in that?” He ruffled his hair and bent his head to the side, “Just sit tight and enjoy the show.”

  “As expected. He’s hopeless.” Jett frowned, but Levi grinned. “Are you sure about that?”

  As he descended, the arena lights flickered on, illuminating the center stage—where Thorne Kel already stood, his hammer in his hand.

  Mason frowned.

  Once they both got into position, the arena grew silent.