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The Gate
Starting

Starting

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks dragged into months. The grueling routine of endless runs, sleep deprivation, and brutal training continued without pause. Some recruits succumbed to the pressure, going insane and taking their own lives. Others survived, but barely. The suffering was constant, turning everyone into shadows of who they once were.

In the training field, the sergeant stared at the group as if observing a failed experiment, her eyes void of compassion.

"I must say, a 20% casualty rate for this pitiful group should be considered a success," her voice cut through the air like a blade. "You've gone from insects to something between a pet and a human. Congratulations. That said, as we begin this new year, you will have classes and grades. Even warriors can't afford to be idiots. Do you hear me?"

In the overcrowded barracks, the recruits resembled zombies more than people. Many could barely stand, and some had mastered the subtle art of sleeping while standing. Tyrin, fighting exhaustion, was among them.

He had lost count of how many times he had fainted from exhaustion only to be awakened by screams. He had also missed his 16th birthday, as well as his sister's 12th. The longing for home weighed heavily on his chest, but the training left no room for memories or regrets. The only thing that mattered was survival. They trained in the morning, in the afternoon, and often through the night. Madness and sanity blurred, and even Tyrin questioned his own stability.

"I have to stay awake. I can't get hit. I need strength."

Now covered in terrifying scars, Tyrin barely recognized himself. His body was lean but defined, with firm muscles that hadn't existed before. He was a distorted version of the boy who had arrived there, and like everyone in the room, he was a perfect embodiment of what the training did: it broke them, rebuilding them by force. Some emerged stronger; others, irreparably damaged.

The sergeant's voice resounded again:

"Today, you will sleep until the evening. Consider this your gift. Additionally, you will have a dinner worthy of Astras in training. But don't be fooled: tomorrow begins the course on professions and survival. There, you'll learn things just as difficult as what you've endured this year."

As soon as the sergeant finished, the recruits collapsed where they stood. Tyrin was no exception. Sleep overtook him immediately, and for the first time in almost a year, he dreamed. It was a simple dream, but full of meaning: an intimate and warm moment, just him and his sister talking as they used to before all the madness.

The sound of the siren startled Tyrin awake. He looked around and saw the others moving with the same urgency. The sound was like a command implanted in their minds. After a year of psychological torture, the siren had become synonymous with action.

"Shit, I overslept," Damian grumbled, adjusting his wrinkled clothes. "Man, I just wanted a decent shower. Ty, did you dream? Holy crap, I finally dreamed!"

"Yes, Damian, but I don't want to talk about it. We need to hurry. You know what happens to the last one."

"Of course. Let's go. Today I'll see my sister—that damn woman."

"I heard she's the best in her dormitory."

"Of course she is. She has my blood!" Damian said with a nervous laugh.

Tyrin just smiled. He knew Damian had unconditional admiration for Cassandra. Cassandra herself had asked Tyrin to look after her brother, and he did so whenever he could. Many of his scars came from protecting Damian in disastrous situations.

"Do you think we'll eat something decent today?" Damian asked, rubbing his stomach. "That scary woman said it'd be worthy of an Astra."

"On my planet, we were used to eating poorly," Tyrin replied bluntly. "Good food only means we'll pay for it later, with sweat and blood."

"Man, Ty, talking like that ruins my appetite."

When they arrived at the dining hall, they were stunned. It was a large and elegant space, with long tables full of children eating what looked delicious. Even Damian, coming from a more privileged background, was impressed. At the back of the hall, five imposing thrones seated massive figures, nearly three meters tall each. Their gazes swept over the hall, evaluating each recruit.

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"Solaria, when does the last batch arrive?" asked the man at the center.

"Lord Orion, they just arrived."

"I can't believe you took the liberty of waiting for this trash," grumbled Baku, a figure with a severe expression. "The best group arrived nearly forty minutes ago. This is a waste of time."

"Baku, you forget that even the weakest can become the strongest. If I recall correctly, you weren't part of the Essentials, and yet you stood out. Be patient."

"Lord, your decisions are always wise, far beyond the reach of this fanatic," Vander, seated nearby, mocked.

"Vander, I think you'd better stay quiet."

"Tyrin, brother! Come sit here!" a voice called from the back of the hall. It was Cassandra, waving with a genuine smile. She now looked more mature, with a polished demeanor and upright posture, but her voice still carried the familiar joy of reuniting with loved ones.

The two approached, and Cassandra immediately gave Damian a tight hug, holding him by the shoulders afterward.

"Thanks for taking care of my little brother, Ty," she said, looking at Tyrin with a smile.

"Hey! I'm right here, okay?!" Damian protested, trying to sound offended. "I admit he helped me... a lot. But I still have my value!"

"Of course you do, Damian," Cassandra rolled her eyes with a light laugh, a relief amid the constant tension. "Come on, sit down. I have something important to tell you."

They settled at one of the tables in the back of the hall. Despite the festive atmosphere, Cassandra maintained a serious tone. She leaned forward slightly, as if to ensure no one else could hear.

"Listen, tomorrow we'll be taken to the Foundation," she began, her voice low but firm. "That's where everything changes. The Foundation is where theory and practice meet. There, we'll have to specialize in an area. We need to stand out, or we'll be discarded."

"Discarded how?" Damian asked, furrowing his brow.

"Literally," Cassandra replied darkly. "If you're not useful, they'll get rid of you. Either they send you back to the Baron as a failure, or they put you in suicide missions to clean the program's reputation."

Tyrin remained silent, absorbing the information. Cassandra continued.

"I managed to get the curriculum for the possible classes. It's extensive, but each discipline is an opportunity. We have to choose up to three where we can stand out," she said, pulling a small projection device from her pocket, activating a holographic list. The bluish light illuminated Tyrin's face as he read.

The options ranged from advanced strategy, war engineering, and tactical sciences to scout, pilot, and specialized close combat. Each discipline seemed more daunting than the last.

"I suggest we focus on something physical, like combat or scouting," Cassandra suggested. "These areas are less competitive. They don't promise an easy future, but the chances of passing are higher."

"Of course, sister. I'll go wherever you go. I have to protect you," Damian responded with a confident smile.

"And you, Tyrin? What do you think?" Cassandra asked, her gaze fixed on him.

Tyrin pondered for a moment, remembering the words of his trainer on his home planet. He always said Tyrin had quick reflexes and sharp intuition, qualities perfect for being a pilot. Despite the challenge, Tyrin felt he had to try.

"I want to focus on becoming a pilot," he finally said with a tone of determination.

Cassandra's eyes darkened. She took a deep breath before responding.

"Pilot? You know that's the most competitive area, don't you? All the elites from Alpha and Beta planets will be in that class. It's the favorite of nobles and the children of the most powerful families. And you're going to compete with them."

"I know," Tyrin replied. "But my trainer said I could do it. I have a plan."

"A plan..." Cassandra repeated, skeptical. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if struggling against the urge to argue. "Alright. But choose two more areas. That's the maximum we can take, Tyrin. Don't limit yourself. If something goes wrong, you'll need alternatives."

"Understood," Tyrin nodded. "I'll also enroll in the scout program, to stick with you."

"Great," Cassandra finally smiled. "If we're together, our chances are better."

"That's right!" Damian interjected, trying to lighten the mood. "The three of us together? Nothing can stop us!"

"Shut up, brother," Cassandra retorted with a laugh, though there was warmth in her voice.

Even in that moment, amidst the pressure and uncertainty, Cassandra felt her heart warm. For an instant, everything seemed simpler, more bearable. But the feeling was interrupted by something she remembered.

"Oh, speaking of which, Tyrin... Did you get your egg?"

Tyrin blinked, confused. It had been nearly a year since he'd seen the egg he received at the beginning of his journey.

"No... It's been more than a year since I last saw it. What about you? How are your companions?"

"Same here," Cassandra replied, looking down. "I feel through the bond that my companion is okay and being taken care of, but I have no idea what they've done with her."

Damian crossed his arms, looking thoughtful.

Cassandra sighed, resting her chin on her hand.

"Whatever it is, I just hope they aren't hurt. Because if they are..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but Tyrin saw the fierce determination in her eyes. He knew Cassandra would do whatever it took to protect her companion—just as he would, when he finally had his egg back.

As they continued talking, the future seemed like an endless mountain to climb. The Foundation promised to be relentless, but Tyrin knew that every decision, every effort, was a wager on his own survival—and on his sister's.

He looked at the siblings sitting beside him and made a silent promise to himself:

"I'll make this work. For me, for them, and for everything I still hope to achieve."