The curtains rose and fell in a gentle rhythm, like a heart breathing beneath fabric, each wave carried playfully by the winter breeze pouring in from outside. It was an autumn breeze and everywhere was chilly.

Right in the room where the curtains draped over a ceiling-to-floor window was Simma, sprawled under his bed sheets.

It was not the restless sleep he was used to, haunted by fragments of memories and nightmares. No, this was the kind of smooth, delicious sleep that clung to him like honey on the tongue. In fact, he doubted that anyone's dreams could compete with the luxury of his own.

Buzz-buzz-buzz....

came his phone as his alarm rang.Slowly, he opened his eyes. As he spun around in his bed, stretching, he got up and checked his schedule, which said that the newly recruited Azrens were called upon in the great hall.

"Aw," he murmured. Clearly, he wanted to go back to that so smooth sleep. He held his temple.

His phone's alarm rattled him out of bliss. Slowly, very slowly, he opened his eyes, spinning around in bed like a cat resisting the morning. With a groan, he stretched until his joints popped, then sat up and checked the glowing words on his schedule.

"The newly recruited Azrens are called upon in the great hall."

"Aww…" he muttered aloud, as though the world had played a cruel joke. He wanted nothing more than to dive back into that silky dreamland.

His head throbbed lightly. He had been up far too late last night after the official party, they had somehow managed to party even more in their sleeping wings. Simma, in particular, had overindulged in drinks and food until his stomach staged a rebellion. Now, here he was, dulled and groggy, suffering the punishment of too much enjoyment.

"Who said fun doesn't get you tired?" he grumbled to himself. "Anyone who thinks that should come take a look at me right now."

Dragging himself upright, he shuffled to freshen up.

As the cold water struck his face, Simma remembered something, he needed to see Zolomon. After this meeting, I'll hunt him down, he decided, patting his face dry.

After he freshened up, he slid into an orange kimono with sharp white threaded colours around it, the color so light it seemed to glow, to show how free he felt now. He just wanted something simple worn around his body... no stress.

He stepped out of his room and locked it behind him and, calmly then gently, he started walking towards the great hall.

"Now that's a great cloth you're wearing there," came a voice behind him.

Simma turned, half-expecting a prank, and saw the last person he wanted to see. It was the boy who had spoken to him before the initiation party in the hall.

"You," Simma snapped, turning away immediately. He continued walking, but the boy caught up with ease.

"Yeah, me," the boy replied with a grin that was way too gracious for Simma's mood. "Alright... my name's Droro. Droro Tinn."

Droro. Droro Tinn."

Simma sneaked a look at him. The boy's face was plastered with pride, almost as if saying his own name was the most glorious thing that had ever happened to humanity.

"Well, I'm Simma," Simma said flatly. "Alright, Droro, where are you headed?"

Droro chuckled as if the answer were obvious. "Where are any of us headed?"

Simma exhaled through his nose. True enough, they'd all been summoned to the hall. It wasn't like Droro was special for being there. Meanwhile many more people were headed there, some behind them, some in front.

They took a left turn, and Simma's irritation got the better of him.

"Let me ask," he said. "What exactly do you want? Because it feels like you're just snooping into my business."

The boy tilted his head in mock understanding, making a little hand gesture like, I get it, I get it.

"Well, I can see why you'd think that. But nah… I just wanted to compete with you. You know, I kinda got jealous when you stole all the fame."

Simma barked a laugh. "Didn't you say earlier you wanted to be friends?"

Now they were only a few steps from the wide-open great hall. Inside, all the Azrens were already seated in ranks. Normally, the hall's doors were never left open, but maybe now that the Azrens have been separated from the failed recruit, they left the door open.

Simma had thought this gathering was just for them, but clearly it wasn't, every rank was represented, Well, except from the alphas who seemed to be missing, their table was dry and sits empty. The long tables were already covered in food, gleaming silver plates piled high.

Maybe, he thought, they were meant to have breakfast before the meeting began.

As the two of them walked in through the door, Droro answered at last:

"Well, I'm a real pain in the ass," he admitted with a smirk. "I just want to be a challenge, you know? Beast summoning, fighting skills, Bow shootings, whatever it is."

They both strode over and sat together. Trust me, Simma didn't want to sit beside him. He would pay anything just for the guy to leave his side. But his words were too tempting that he couldn't leave unreplied.

"If you want all the fame, maybe you can take it. I'm not interested," he answered, dragging a plate of bacon toward himself. To keep it company, he also slid over a plate of scrambled eggs, fluffy and steaming, because bacon alone felt incomplete.

Droro gave him a sly grin. "Well, unless you're scared."

...

After the meal, the older Fluxborns and Azrens trickled out one by one until only the recruits remained. The moment the last chair scraped back, the silver plates on the tables vanished with a sharp shimmer, leaving the surfaces polished and gleaming, as though they had been freshly made.

The hall now hummed with low murmurs from the new recruits. Simma and Droro's bickering hadn't stopped, it was like being trapped with an annoying echo, and Simma began to wonder if Droro had been lying when he said he wanted to be friends.

The noise dwindled when Naya entered. Every step she took seemed to breathe white light onto the floor, like the ground itself wanted to worship her.

She walked to the center, her presence silencing the hall before her voice even bloomed."You all look… ravishing," she said with a sly smile. A wave of shallow laughter swept through the hall.

"I know you've been wondering why we called you back here," she continued, "but trust me, there is no rest. Not even after the tournament. Not until we're sure the city is safe."

An echo of murmur followed her words, all their faces frowning.

Her eyes scanned the recruits, lingering on their faces of mock complaint. She smirked."You should have known what you were signing up for."

Then her voice dropped, becoming serious, her tone sliding into something almost intimate as her gaze caressed the room.

"You were called here so we can tell you what we are facing, and how we've devised the means to face it."

From the pocket of her leather-black dress, which hugged her figure tightly (especially across the chest), she pulled a small remote, and clicked on it.

The raised panel in front of the Sentinels' table gave a sudden mechanical hum. From the ground, came a circular cylindrical object, made of glass and looking thick. The object came sliding up from the ground, with a low hissing sound until it rose to about three feet.

Then, on its surface, flat and circular as well, it shone with a bright focused ray. The circular medium where the light came from was spinning as a voice blossomed.

"Welcome."

It was a woman's voice; calm, subtle, and undeniably technological.

Naya looked up slightly. "Lexy, bring up the upper view of the Citadel."

A crisp cling answered her, followed by the AI's voice:

"Bringing up the horizon from above view, thirty feet high."

From the cylinder's surface, a blue screen projected upward. The image shimmered into clarity; an eagle-eye view of the Citadel, thirty feet above, pure and stable, the edges of the projection stretching to show parts of the great city that hugged its walls.

Gasps filled the hall. The recruits leaned forward, wide-eyed. Even Simma, who usually hid his awe, stared at it like a child seeing fireworks for the first time.

"Raise it higher, Lexy," Naya commanded.

"Sure," replied the voice.

The projection zoomed out. The Citadel grew smaller, while more of the sprawling city unfolded; rooftops, zinc sheets gleaming in sunlight, and cars zipping past in the air like insects caught in a breeze.

But the image wasn't as sharp now. A smoky blue veil shimmered over the projection, like a film of mist lying between them and the city.

Naya tapped on the screen, highlighting the layer.

"This," she said clearly, "is the lowest layer of forcefield protecting the great city. Above this layer are what we call the Veil of Rank.... the V.O.R."

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.