Atlas, lost in a deep slumber, relives his childhood. A vivid memory surfaces: a blinding beam of light from the deceptors ship striking his home. He awakens, trapped beneath the rubble, his body immobilized. A desperate cry escapes his lips, "Dad! Dad! Where are you? Help me!" His voice grows weaker until he passes out from exhaustion.

Young Atlas stirs, his eyelids heavy. He blinks, disoriented, and finds himself in a hospital bed. A figure looms over him, a vampire, he see it healing him with magic in the dim light. Before he can react, darkness claims him once more.

When he awakens, the room is bathed in harsh, artificial light. Several government agents stand nearby. One of them, a stern-faced man, asks, "Are you Atlas?" Atlas nods weakly. The man sighs, his voice heavy with sorrow, "Your father... he's gone." A wave of grief washes over Atlas, and he breaks down, tears streaming down his face.

As he regains consciousness, the agent's voice cuts through the fog. "You'll be alright. You're going to be under government protection."

Atlas jolted awake, his heart pounding. A cold sweat clung to his skin as he glanced around his chaotic room. A somber thought crept into his mind: "How unfortunate can one person be? To lose both parents at such a young age." A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Well, I guess I'm that unlucky."

A sigh of relief washed over him as he realized he had met his weekly class quota. His attention turned to the broken door, a stark reminder of the chaos that had engulfed his life. He decided to seek refuge in a new room and headed towards the dorm master's office.

Dread filled him as he remembered Mr. Stark, the proud, often cruel vampire who oversaw the dorm. With a heavy heart, he knocked on the door. "You will be notified when you can come in," a cold voice echoed from within. Atlas resigned himself to a long wait, his mind replaying past encounters with the unforgiving dorm master. As the moment of truth arrived, he braced himself, ready to face whatever trials lay ahead.

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Atlas enters the dorm master's office and sits down. The dorm master sternly rebukes him, "I didn't tell you to sit. Do you have no manners?" Startled, Atlas quickly stands up and apologizes, stammering, "I'm sorry, sir. Please forgive me."

The dorm master, irritated, demands, "What brings you here, half-breed? Speak before you ruin my morning." Atlas, flustered and unable to form coherent sentences, stutters. Impatient, the dorm master says, "Speak, or I'll send you out of my office."

Gathering his courage, Atlas nervously explains, "My room's lock is broken, sir. I need a new room." The dorm master sighs, clearly annoyed, "That's why you're bothering me this morning? You complain too much, even though you're just a government-funded kid." He then orders Atlas to stay put while he sends someone to fix the lock when you leave for class.

Instead of attending class, Atlas simply nodded and left the dorm master's office. He decided to skip school and head into the city. Making his way to the beautiful hill, he was awestruck by the stunning panoramic view of the city. As he gazed upon the cityscape, he couldn't help but notice the scars of the past—buildings marked by the destructive force of the Deceptor attacks.

Atlas returned to his dorm in the evening only to find his lock changed. The key wouldn't budge. Frustrated, he considered confronting the dorm master, but the office was deserted. Disgruntled and locked out, Atlas resigned himself to waiting outside his own room.

Suddenly, a hulking figure materialized in the hallway. Relief washed over Atlas as he recognized Zephyr, his hulking werewolf neighbor. "Hold on," Zephyr rumbled, brandishing a key. "I saw them fixing your lock and snagged the key when they couldn't find you. Room cleaned too," he added with a hint of a grin.

Atlas entered, surprised to find his room tidy. Fury bubbled within him at Zephyr's unsolicited cleaning, but he forced it down. "Thanks," he muttered, shutting the door. With a sigh, he collapsed onto his bed, grateful for a place to rest his head, even if it was a bit... tidier than usual.

Atlas jolted awake, a sudden realization hitting him: today was the day of the mandatory mock fight. Panic set in as he checked the time, late already. Rushing through a quick bath, he grabbed his wooden sword and sprinted towards the battleground.

"Why is this class compulsory for everyone?" he muttered to himself as he arrived. There stood Mr. Griffin, a seasoned 60-year-old werewolf instructor.

"Your tardiness has inconvenienced us all," Mr. Griffin said, his voice stern. He then called upon Lucian, his talented nephew and one of his best students. "Lucian, you will fight Atlas. Armament abilities are permitted."

Lucian's ability, a formidable speed boost, multiplied his agility fourfold. Atlas, unsure of his own abilities, pleaded, "I haven't unlocked my armament ability yet, sir. I don't think I can fight." He silently wondered if he even had one.

Mr. Griffin, however, was adamant. "It doesn't matter. Perhaps facing Lucian's power will trigger your own."

The fight began. Lucian, a blur of motion, easily outmaneuvered Atlas. With each swift strike, Atlas was pushed further and further back. Eventually, he fell unconscious, defeated.

Atlas awoke in the nurse's office, his body aching from the ordeal.