The recruits gathered in the training hall, their conversations hushed as they waited for Sergeant Rodrick to address them. The tension in the air was palpable; everyone knew the rite of passage was approaching, and the weight of what it meant hung heavily over them. Andy stood among the group, Jorin, and Tobin at his side, their usual banter subdued.

  The sharp sound of boots against the polished floor silenced the room as Rodrick entered, his imposing figure drawing all eyes. He stopped in front of the assembled recruits, his hands clasped behind his back, his piercing gaze sweeping over them like a predator assessing prey.

  “Listen up,” Rodrick barked, his voice cutting through the silence. “You’re all standing here as Scrubs. That’s the lowest rank in the Vanguard—a rank that means nothing except that you’ve shown up and you’re breathing. But showing up is the simple part. What comes next will determine whether you have what it takes to move forward.”

  He began pacing slowly, his boots echoing with each deliberate step. “The Vanguard operates on a ranking system. It’s not just a measure of your progress—it’s the foundation of who we are. Every rank you achieve, every trial you pass, every mission you complete—it’s all about earning your place in this force.”

  Rodrick turned and tapped the board behind him, where he had etched a series of symbols in chalk. He pointed to the first.

  “The first rank is Scrub—that’s you. It’s where everyone starts. Your job is to learn, train, and survive long enough to take your first real step forward.”

  He moved his hand to the second symbol. “The next rank is Initiate. To earn this, you’ll need to complete the rite of passage. That’s the trial you’re all preparing for right now. It’s not a game, and it’s not a formality. This trial pushes you to your limits. If you succeed, you become an Initiate—a recruit who’s proven they have potential.”

  Rodrick’s tone hardened as he glanced over at the recruits. “But not everyone makes it. If you fail the rite of passage, your time as a scrub ends. That doesn’t mean you’re useless. It means your path lies elsewhere. The Vanguard is more than just soldiers. Engineers, medics, builders, scientists—we need them all. If you’re reassigned, it’s because you have a value in another role. But if you’re here hoping to fight on the front lines, you’d better be ready to prove you belong.”

  He shifted to the next symbol. “After Initiate comes Squire. To reach this rank, you’ll need to pass the second rite of passage. It’s tougher, more dangerous, and far less forgiving. As a Squire, you’ll shadow full-fledged Knights, accompanying them on missions into the Catacombs and the Wastelands. You’ll be exposed to the real challenges of this world, and trust me—this is where the Vanguard shows you what it’s really made of.”

  Rodrick pointed to the last symbol, his voice dropping slightly. “And then there’s the rank of Knight—the highest class of Vanguard soldiers. Knights are the backbone of our forces, the ones who carry the burden of keeping the Ring City safe. To earn this rank, you’ll need to serve as a squire for a full year. That means conducting missions, surviving in hostile environments, and proving you have what it takes to lead.”

  The room was silent, the recruits hanging on Rodrick’s every word. His gaze swept over them again, his expression hard as stone.

  “This path isn’t for everyone. Most of you won’t make it to Knight. Some of you won’t even make it past Scrub. But those who do… you’ll stand among the best. You’ll be the shield that protects the city and the sword that strikes down its enemies.”

  Rodrick stepped forward, his eyes locking onto the front row of recruits. “Your rite of passage is coming. Some of you will rise to the challenge. Some of you will falter. What you do in the days ahead will decide your future in the Vanguard.”

  He straightened, his voice booming. “So ask yourselves—are you ready to earn your place? Or will you let the weight of this path crush you?”

  The recruits stood frozen, their silence a mixture of fear and determination. Rodrick’s words felt like a gauntlet thrown at their feet, daring them to step forward.

  Rodrick then took a deep breath and continued. “Now, we split into teams. Each of you will be placed into a squad with a designated leader and instructor. Andy, you will lead a group with Tobin and Jorin. I will be your instructor. The rest of you will be assigned to different groups under other instructors.”

  As murmurs spread through the crowd, assistants stepped forward, distributing small wristband locators to each recruit. Rodrick held up the device. “These will track your location and monitor your vitals. If you are injured or unresponsive, we will know. But do not take this as an excuse to slack off. You are still expected to push yourselves beyond your limits.”

  He fixed his gaze on Andy. “Your squad will be tested just like the rest. Leadership is not a privilege—it is a responsibility. You will be accountable to your team. Train them well, keep them strong, and push them to be better.”

  Andy nodded, feeling the weight of his new role settle onto his shoulders. The other recruits looked on, some relieved, some envious, all aware that their genuine test was just beginning.

  “Dismissed!” Rodrick barked, turning sharply and striding toward the exit. The recruits dispersed, their conversations low and hurried as they absorbed what they had just heard.

  Andy lingered for a moment, his chest tight. The path to Knight was long and grueling, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was meant to walk it. He glanced at Jorin and Tobin, their faces mirroring his mix of determination and unease.

  “You ready for this?” Tobin asked, his voice quieter than usual.

  “Not even a little,” Jorin muttered, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “But I’m not backing down.”

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  Andy nodded, his resolve hardening. “We’ll make it. Together.”

  Preparations filled the rest of the day. They packed their gear, checked their weapons, and got their personal equipment ready. Andy packed his usual equipment: Echochron device, energy pistol, dust, and his new drone. In the evening, when the last of the recruits finished their meals and the barracks fell silent, Andy lay in his bunk. His thoughts drifted to the Catacombs again, to the winding passageways and to the strange hum that always seemed to echo through the halls. It wasn’t the place you could be careless in, but it wasn’t something that scared him, either.

  Tomorrow, the actual test would begin.

  Would he be able to survive the next step of his initiation, or would the Catacombs claim another victim? Andy didn’t know the answer yet, but he was ready to find out.

  The Vanguard wasn’t just a job—it was a mission, a life. And, for better or worse, Andy had committed to it. Whatever lay in those depths, he would face it head-on.

  After all, there were no second chances in the Catacombs.

  As Andy lay on his bunk, Andy noticed subtle but undeniable changes in his body. The constant physical strain—running, lifting, doing push-ups and pull-ups, and the grueling obstacle courses—was taking its toll, but not in the way he expected. Before, he had been lean, wiry even, built more for agility than for strength. But now, with the steady diet of nutritious, high-protein meals and the increased physical demands, his body was filling out.

  The muscles in his arms, once slender, were thickening, and his chest was gradually expanding. His legs, which had always been strong from his years of work in the shop, were growing more defined, with new muscle fibers emerging from weeks of relentless training. His core was harder, more sculpted. Even his posture was changing, no longer the awkward, slightly slouched stance of someone who had spent more time tinkering with drones than lifting weights.

  As he moved through the exercises, Andy could feel the difference. When he pushed himself to run faster or lift heavier, the effort was easier now. The weight of his body felt less like a hindrance and more like a tool—he was feeling like a soldier. He wasn’t just training his body; he was building it, shaping it into something that could survive the brutal world he had signed up for.

  He noticed the way others looked at him more and more. There was a new respect in their eyes, and not just from the trainers. Even the more experienced recruits seemed to note his growth, though most of them still kept their distance, especially with the looming test in the Catacombs just around the corner. They were still figuring out if Andy was the right material or just another kid trying to prove himself.

  Andy could feel the changes in his body. He could see it too—his reflection in the metal surfaces, the slight bulge of his biceps, the sharpness of his jawline becoming more pronounced as the food, sleep and training combined to give him a new power.

  Gone was the lean, gangly kid from weeks ago. In his place was a more solid, muscular version of himself—one that sweat, pain and relentless training had forged. And, with the approaching trip into the Catacombs, Andy realized just how important this transformation was. It wasn’t just about strength—it was about survival.

  Tomorrow, he would face his first proper test. But for the first time, Andy felt like he was ready.

  The air in the training hall was thick with anticipation as Andy, Jorin, Tobin, Sergeant Rodrick and the other recruits stood in formation. They wore their basic-issue armor; their bodies were stiff, and their minds focused on the task ahead—entering the catacombs beneath the city to confront the unknown dangers lurking there. The walls of the hall loomed high above them, cold and unyielding, but the soldiers stood tall, unified in their purpose.

  At the head of the formation stood a priest of light, his figure both imposing and serene. His robes, pure white, contrasted starkly against the dark, battle-worn uniforms of the surrounding soldiers. The light from an overhead lantern bathed him in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows across the stone floor. His face was solemn, and his eyes held an ancient wisdom, as though he had seen centuries of war and suffering.

  With a graceful, deliberate motion, the priest raised his hands high, palms open, toward the vaulted ceiling. The soft rustling of his robes seemed to echo through the room as he spoke, his voice carrying through the hall with a calm yet undeniable power.

  “May the One True God light your path,” he chanted, each word crisp and resonant. His voice was not loud, but it filled the entire space, as though the very walls absorbed the weight of his prayer. “And send His Holy Light through you, to burn the enemy of the Beacon. For you are the blade and the judgment.”

  The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, enveloping the recruits in a sense of duty, a sense of destiny. Andy felt his heart beat a little faster as he took in the prayer’s significance. This was more than just a ritual; it was a command. The priest wasn’t merely asking for protection. He was calling on something much greater—something that, for a moment, seemed to transcend the realm of the living.

  The soldiers around Andy were still, their helmeted heads bowed in unison. The clink of metal on metal was the only sound as their helmets lowered in respectful reverence. But their gazes remained unwavering, staring forward with a burning determination. It wasn’t fear that kept their heads down; it was reverence. It was faith.

  Andy, too, lowered his head, feeling the weight of the moment settle deep in his chest. The catacombs waited for them—dark, twisted, full of the horrors that had been growing beneath the city for years. But now, with the priest’s words ringing in his ears, he didn’t feel alone. He felt like part of something larger than himself, something sacred.

  Behind him, he could hear Jorin shift uneasily, the younger recruit clearly unsettled by the gravity of the prayer. Tobin, ever the skeptic, didn’t seem as affected by the ritual. But even he stood still, his posture rigid, as if trying to at least respect the ceremony. Sergeant Rodrick was motionless, his face unreadable as he stood at attention. His demeanor was one of quiet respect, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

  The priest’s voice rose again, this time more fervently, as though summoning a greater force.

  “Through His Light, we are made strong,” the priest continued, his hands lowering, his fingers tracing a symbol in the air, “and by His will, we shall strike down the darkness. Go forth, soldiers of the Beacon. Carry His Light with you, for He is with you in every step, in every swing of your blade. You are His will made manifest.”

  The recruits tensed, the words igniting something deep within them. Andy’s fingers tightened around his weapon, the weight of the prayer settling in his gut like a burning flame. This is real, he thought.

  The priest lowered his hands, his voice softening as the last words of the prayer echoed through the hall.

  “Go now, in peace and in strength. May the Light guide you, and may you return victorious, or not at all, for you are the instrument of His will. Go forth. Remember Humanity First.”

  At those words, the recruits stood up straighter, feeling the charge of the prayer course through their veins. The priest took a step back, bowing his head in silent reverence, and then walked away, disappearing into the shadows as the recruits stood in formation, ready for what lay ahead.

  Sergeant Rodrick stepped forward, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip.

  “Remember this moment, recruits,” he said, his tone low but firm. “This was your first battle player and I hope that today, it’s not your last.”

  And as the squad moved toward the exit, ready to face whatever awaited them in the catacombs, Andy found himself not just walking forward—but moving with purpose.