A gentle touch awakened me, pulling me from the semi-darkness of an unexpectedly deep sleep. The initial sight was blurry, as if my mind was still shrouded in the shadows of sudden rest. I opened my eyes slowly, trying to focus on the world around me.
I realized that I had slept more than I thought, as the train was now stationary. The reflection on the glass showed a drowsy Aidan, eyes half-open, and hair slightly tousled. I shook my head slightly to shake off the drowsiness, realizing that I had reached my destination. Fatigue was palpable, but the sight before me captured my attention.
As I got up and followed the flow of people towards the exit, I found myself facing the majestic New Eden Artillery School. It stood imposingly before me, a colossal structure that seemed to touch the sky itself. The walls of glass and metal reflected the grandeur of the elitized education offered there. For a few minutes, I stood still, staring at the institution that would be my new home, my place of learning, and possibly the means to solve the financial problems looming over me.
Slowly, the reality of the situation hit me as other eager students, ready to start the day, gently pushed me towards the train exit. I turned to gaze at the school for a few more seconds, absorbing the magnitude of the moment. Then, with a deep sigh, I continued walking. The journey was just beginning, and I, Aidan, faced a new chapter, carrying not only the responsibility of my approval but also the complexity of a life that demanded more than I imagined.
I walked towards the entrance gate of the New Eden Artillery School, each step increasing the anxiety and excitement. As I approached the guard, I took out my identification, displaying it to the man in charge of the entrance. The metal plate revealed my name: Aidan Winters, 16 years old, Battle Assistant.
The guard, a middle-aged man with a firm posture and impeccable uniform, raised his eyebrows when he looked at my identification. His eyes quickly scanned the information before meeting mine. A friendly smile lit up his face, contrasting with the severity of his earlier expression.
"Ah, Aidan Winters, right?" he greeted with a nod, examining the identification once again. "Welcome to New Eden Artillery School. We're glad to have you here."
Reciprocity of the smile emerged on my face as I thanked him for the welcome. "Thank you. I'm looking forward to getting started."
The guard continued with unexpected kindness, pointing in the right direction. "The staff wing is to the left. You can find the reception there. Good luck on your first day, young Winters."
I thanked him again and headed towards the staff wing, with the guard's smile echoing in my thoughts.
Upon entering the lobby, the grand hall unfolded before me, an impressive sight. Uniformed students, polished with academic formality, filled the space with their hurried steps. They were young individuals full of enthusiasm, ready to face the challenges of the Artillery School. However, I stood out in the crowd of immaculate uniforms, wearing clothes that completely clashed.
My clothes weren't the result of an academic fashion show, but rather stitched by myself. They were simple, practical, and, above all, cheap. A worn-out shirt, faded jeans, and a pair of worn boots constituted my improvised armor against the uniformed formalism around me. As I walked, I could feel fleeting glances, some judgmental, others curious.
Observing my reflection in one of the large windows in the hall, I couldn't help but smile ironically. I was the antithesis of affluent students, a self-made creation amid the uniform sea of the academy. The unassuming clothes reflected my reality: a staff member struggling against adversities to ensure his mother's treatment.
I walked through the bustling hall, attentive to the looks I received until I reached the grand reception. Before me, I saw an approximately 70-year-old gentleman, sitting patiently in the waiting area.
I settled next to the gentleman, nodding my head in a silent greeting as I noticed we were alone in the room. My eyes wandered through the serene atmosphere until the gentleman's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
"Good morning, sir. We're here for the staff presentation, right?" I asked, turning my gaze to the older man.
He smiled and responded with a raspy laugh, "Good morning, yes, seems to be the right place. Let's hope there are no confusions this time."
The conversation flowed naturally, and the curious gentleman inquired about my presence, suggesting that I should be among the students. I explained my situation, the lack of resources to attend classes, and the need to have secured a job at the school. He listened attentively, and his expression reflected understanding.
"I understand, my young man. Sometimes, circumstances force us into tough choices," the gentleman commented with a wise look.
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As we conversed, a woman entered the room, sporting the distinctive colors of the academy. Her immaculate uniform and carefully arranged hair indicated that she was part of the administrative staff. Her eyes scanned the room, lingering on me for a moment and then on the gentleman beside me. She headed towards her desk, starting to activate her holocube devices.
Curious, the gentleman asked, 'And who is that young lady?'
"Probably someone from the administrative team. It looks like we're about to begin," I replied, observing the woman as she carried out her tasks.
The gentleman nodded with a smile, and both of us remained there, waiting for the presentation to begin.
I was the first to be called, getting up from my chair. I walked toward the table where the woman, seemingly indifferent, was seated. I sat in front of her, running my hand through my hair as she typed rapidly on her holocube.
"Aidan Winters, 16 years old, Combat Assistant position," her monotone voice echoed as she read the information on the screen.
"Mr. Winters, it mentions here that you have average proficiency with staffs and spears, is that correct?" she asked, now directing her gaze at me.
"Yes, that's correct. By the way, I brought my own staff," I replied, raising it so she could see.
"It also says here that you have skills in long-distance mobility, is that accurate?" again with her apathetic tone, she inquired.
"Yes, it's true. Running through mega-buildings is something I've been doing since I was little. I've learned a lot," I answered with a smile, trying to add a touch of friendliness. I really needed that job.
"It also mentions here that, during the selection process, you chose to waive your personal health insurance and transfer it to someone else. Is that correct?" The woman, this time, adopted a strange tone of voice. "Are you aware that no injuries will be covered by our institution if you get hurt? Are you sure?" she continued.
"Yes and yes. I'm sure. I want to transfer the full insurance to my mother, Nashandra Winters," I replied firmly. It was the main reason why I was there, seeking insurance to cover the costs of my mother's illness treatment.
I stood up, thanking the apathetic-voiced woman with a nod and began to walk down the corridor towards the end of the room. The interior was remarkably spacious, flooded with white lights and lined with futuristic walls. High-tech objects were arranged on tables, emitting soft holographic glows. It was a room that echoed modernity and efficiency.
The monotonous voice of the woman echoed in the background, guiding me to where I could pick up my uniform. "Mr. Winters, you can get your uniform at the end of this corridor. Welcome to the New Eden Artillery Academy."
As I passed, I saw the gentleman who was next to me in the waiting room nod slightly, accompanied by a smile. It seemed like a silent congratulation, and I returned the look with hope that I had lived up to expectations.
I walked down the corridor, detailing every aspect of the environment. The walls seemed to pulsate with a gentle luminosity, and the automatic doors slid smoothly at my touch. Upon reaching the staff area, I encountered about four people. They had interrupted a conversation, redirecting their attention to me.
The first, a medium-sized woman with graying hair and augmented reality glasses that blinked occasionally. The second, a tall and elegant woman with short hair and a serious expression. The third, a casually dressed young man, wearing clothes that contrasted with the formal setting. Finally, the fourth person was a middle-aged individual with a keen gaze and an authoritative posture.
They watched me with curiosity, pausing their conversation. As I approached to get my uniform, I felt evaluative gazes upon me, as if they were measuring my presence in this new environment.
The casually dressed woman stood out from the group, walking toward me with a challenging expression. "Isn't he a bit young? How is he going to serve as a punching bag for the blues?" she said, examining me from head to toe. Her attitude seemed to be that of someone who enjoyed provoking.
"How old are you, newbie?" she asked, fixing her gaze on me.
"I'm 16," I replied, feeling a bit uncomfortable in this unusual situation.
"Leave the kid alone," intervened the elegant woman, her firm voice indicating that she would not tolerate provocation. She nodded toward my locker.
"You better get ready. The blues will have training in 20 minutes," she added, returning to her own locker to prepare.
I silently thanked the intervention of the elegant woman and headed towards my locker, passing through the curious glances of the others. My name was now illuminated in amber light above the door: Aidan Winters. The door opened, revealing my red uniform.
The uniform consisted of a fitted jacket with black details and the Academy emblem embroidered on the chest. The pants matched the standard, offering mobility with the right touch of military style. The boots were sturdy, ready to face any terrain.
As I put on the uniform, I felt a mix of nervousness and excitement. Those clothes represented more than just training attire; they were the gateway to a new chapter in my life at the New Eden Artillery Academy.
I stepped out of the locker, still adjusting the uniform on my body. As I glanced at the wall, I noticed a staff, and my curiosity led me to it. Upon touching it, the staff responded in some way, causing my heart to race momentarily. The laughter from others in the background indicated that I wasn't the only one surprised. "This staff used to belong to the old rookie; now it's yours, from rookie to rookie," said the casually dressed woman, provoking laughter around.
Observing the others, I noticed that each had a unique presence in their uniforms.
The casually dressed woman wore a uniform with some misaligned details, but it seemed to fit perfectly with her personality. Short hair and augmented reality glasses completed her irreverent look.
The elegant woman displayed an impeccable uniform, every detail aligned with precision. Her short hair highlighted her refined posture, and the serious expression conveyed authority.
The medium-sized man sported a uniform with some signs of wear, indicating previous experience. His graying hair added a touch of wisdom to his countenance.
The casually dressed young man had a more casual uniform, demonstrating a laid-back approach to formality. His tousled hair reflected his easygoing attitude.
The staff area revealed itself as a spacious room, with lockers arranged in an organized pattern. Each had its own designated space, marked by the occupant's name. The set of lockers formed a sort of ring around the room, providing a clear view from all sides.
The locker next to mine, on the right, belonged to the casually dressed woman. Her name, Valentina Cruz, was highlighted at the entrance. The organized disorder within her space reflected her laid-back personality. There was a shelf with some personal items, including the staff that I now held.
In the locker in front, there was the medium-sized man, Albert Hayes. His space was more sober, with some books and a holographic screen displaying tactical information. His experience was evident in how he organized his tools.
To the left, the locker belonged to the elegant woman, Gabriela Stirling. Her name was elegantly engraved at the entrance. The environment was immaculate, with everything meticulously organized. A holographic screen showed strategic data from the academy.
Finally, the locker to my left belonged to the casually dressed young man, Ethan Ryder. His space was the most casual, with some sports equipment and a clipboard with tactical strategy sketches.