The scent of oil and iron clung to the air—heavy, metallic, alive.

By the time the laughter faded from the dining hall, only whispers and half-eaten plates remained.

Shadows stretched across steel walls like ghosts that refused to leave.

Benny stood near the edge of the room, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over the young recruits at the table.

Beside him, Isabella held a steaming mug close to her lips, its warmth painting her face in soft fog as she watched the remnants of hope pretend to act like normal kids.

Somewhere in the distance, the machinery of the Iron Fortress groaned—a tired, endless reminder that this peace was only borrowed time.

"Look at 'em," Benny muttered. "You've pulled in quite the group."

Isabella took a slow sip, letting the heat settle in her chest before she spoke.

"They're from Artimia."

Benny's brow rose.

"Artimia? That's quite a way from here."

"...It was under attack when we arrived."

"Under attack?"

Benny didn't need to ask who was behind it.

His eyes darkened, his thoughts finishing themselves.

Only one man was capable of that kind of devastation in Sector Five.

"Section Commander Sedgwick?"

She nodded, her knuckles whitening around the mug.

"In an instant… they lost everything."

Her voice trembled beneath the quiet steel she tried to carry.

Her eyes lingered on the steam, as if the past rose with it.

"They're still so young... Why are they even here?"

Benny exhaled through his nose, voice low but gentle.

"Bella, this world doesn't wait for children to grow up. It teaches them with blood and loss."

"I just…" Her words trailed off. "I wonder if they're here for the right reasons, you know? Revenge isn't enough to survive. Not out here."

"Maybe," Benny said, "but maybe it's enough to start walking."

He glanced back at the table.

Arthur and Bryce were flicking scraps of food at each other again, and Aeda and Aida were arguing about table manners.

"This world's ruthless," Benny continued. "We don't get to choose when innocence ends. But we can choose what we do after."

He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Even if revenge brought them here, that doesn't mean they're running toward death. We're not prophets, Bella. Just people trying to survive the Wastelands like everyone else."

Her shoulders softened. "You're right," she murmured, the edge in her voice fading into warmth. "Thanks, Benny."

Laughter rippled through the hall again.

Bryce launched a spoonful of food at Arthur, who retaliated with a chunk of bread to the head.

Clarissa groaned. Aeda cheered. Mimi darted under the table like it was a battlefield.

For a moment, they didn't look like survivors—just kids.

Benny grunted.

"Though I'll say this—at first glance? They don't look like much."

Before Isabella could reply, a calm, composed voice cut in from behind—quiet fire hidden beneath every word.

"Let's see if you're still able to say that in three months."

Nozomu stepped into view, the dim light catching the sharp edge of his smirk.

Benny folded his arms. "Assuming they survive your twisted idea of training."

"Well, Benny," Nozomu replied, "that's the fun part."

Before Benny could respond, a voice rose across the room.

Curtis stood, giving a slight nod of respect.

"Sorry to interrupt—but we just wanted to say thanks for the food."

Benny waved it off.

"No need for that, son. Eat while you can. You'll miss it soon enough."

Curtis nodded, then turned toward Isabella.

"Bella, earlier you said you'd explain more about the KCs. Honestly, we're all curious."

"Oh, right." Isabella tapped her lip thoughtfully, then smiled. "I did say that."

She glanced at Nozomu—no words—just a look.

He gave a single nod.

"I was going to wait until we got back to base, but now's as good a time as any."

The hum of conversation died instantly.

Forks froze midair.

Eyes turned to him.

Nozomu didn't raise his voice, but when he spoke, it sliced through the stillness like a blade.

"Let me tell you what this world really is."

He took a breath and swept his gaze across the room—across all the faces still too young, yet already weathered by grief.

"The chips in the back of your necks—were never meant to be there."

A ripple of unease passed through the room.

"They call them KCs—short for King's Chains. Every person born in the Wastelands is implanted with one from birth."

Even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath.

"Across the Five Sectors, people whisper. Some say they're trackers. Some say bombs. Others swear they're listening to your thoughts."

He paused. The silence thickened.

"They're all wrong."

He lifted his hand.

Light sparked in his palm.

It pulsed once—then again—curling upward like a living flame.

A soft hum filled the air, vibrating beneath ribs.

The glow steadied into a sphere of white light, swirling like a tiny sun floating above his skin.

Gasps echoed.

"The King's Chains don't track your movements. They don't read your minds. They were made to cut you off from this."

He nodded toward the orb.

"Dyna."

Even the name felt foreign.

Sacred. Forbidden.

"Your birthright."

Curtis frowned. "They really did all that… just to keep us from that?"

Nozomu's voice stayed level, but the light in his palm brightened. "Yes."

Theo stared at the orb.

Every whisper he'd ever heard—his parents' warnings, the way people avoided questions about the KC—clicked into place.

But this wasn't a rumor.

It was true. 

Or at least it felt like it.

"So we've been shut out from this 'Dyna' our whole lives?" Dawn asked softly.

"Yes," he said again.

Aeda leaned forward. "Then how do we remove them?"

"There's a way," Nozomu answered. "But it's dangerous."

Curtis stepped closer, hand half-extended.

"Can I touch it?"

Nozomu's hand closed instantly.

The orb vanished.

"Not unless you want to lose that hand."

Curtis jerked back.

Nozomu turned toward a nearby steel chest plate.

His finger lit with Dyna—then fired.

A searing beam of light tore through the armor like paper, leaving molten edges and silence in its wake.

Gasps erupted.

David stood. "It went clean through!"

Bryce lifted a fragment of the ruined plate.

"Yo, this thing's wrecked!"

"That was solid steel," Arthur muttered.

Benny stormed across the room like a living thunderhead.

"Are you out of your damned mind!?" His voice cracked like a whip. "Do you know how long it takes to forge one of those!?"

Nozomu didn't flinch.

"It was one piece of armor. You'll make another."

Benny stopped cold. Then lunged.

He grabbed Nozomu by the collar and lifted him clean off the ground.

"You barge into my home, disrespect it, and view it as some playground! Show some damn respect!"

Nozomu hung there, unimpressed. "…Are you done?"

Benny shook him harder.

Nozomu sighed. "Guess not."

Theo leaned toward David.

"Yo… you ever heard of this Dyna thing before?"

David was already scribbling notes.

"First I've heard of it," he muttered.

"Wait, you're seriously taking notes right now?"

"One of us has to."

Before Theo could argue, Benny dropped Nozomu with a shove.

Nozomu straightened his cloak and reclaimed the room with quiet authority.

"Back to what I was saying," he continued. "So far, we've found only one method to break the King's Chains."

Silence deepened.

"It involves forcing a surge of Dyna through the implant."

Theo's hands twitched.

His parents' faces flashed behind his eyes.

His throat closed.

He slammed his fists onto the table.

"You can't do that!"

The room froze.

Theo immediately sat back down, voice trembling.

"I-I’m sorry. I didn't mean to shout. It's just—"

Nozomu raised a calming hand. "It's fine. I understand."

He met Theo's gaze—steady, unwavering.

"But this isn't what you saw in Artimia," he said. "The King's Chains are only deadly when you force Dyna through them before your body's ready. The Section Commanders call it  'Mind Wipe.' It's not a flaw—it's a threat."

His tone darkened.

"If you rush it, your brain shuts down. You die. But if you train—if you strengthen your body, your focus, your will—then one day, that surge won't kill you."

He closed his fist.

Light swirled around it again.

"It'll set you free."

The words lingered—quiet, electric, heavy.

Theo felt the hum of it under his skin—like something he'd always had, but forgotten.

Then—

A breeze.

Subtle. Wrong.

Not from any door or window.

It coiled through the hall like a living thing—soft at first, then colder, carrying weight that made every instinct tighten.

Nozomu felt it first. Shoulders squared. Eyes sharpened.

Another pulse of air slid in, whispering across the floor.

"Nozomu?" Isabella stepped forward. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer.

His gaze locked on the window—on something unseen.

Then his voice cracked through the stillness.

"Down!"

The wind howled through shattered glass, roaring like a beast let loose.

Isabella's barrier of water shimmered, catching the spray of splintered glass before it could reach them.

The lights flickered twice, struggling against the sudden dark.

Outside, something moved—no form, no face, only intent.

The air thickened with pressure that hummed in throughout the hall.

Nozomu's eyes sharpened, jaw tightening.

Whatever it was, it wasn't wind anymore.

The storm fell silent, just long enough for every heartbeat in the room to sound like thunder.

Then the air whispered—soft, cold, deliberate.

Something was coming.

Something that had found them.

And this time, it wasn't leaving.