Exposed
The black vehicle glided through Arachis' grand streets, its tires whispering against the pavement as it passed between towering structures of blackened steel and floating districts that thrummed with latent energy. The air itself seemed charged as they approached the lakeshore, where the massive academy complex stood—a medieval fortress reimagined in modern steel, its seventy-meter walls etched with glowing runes that pulsed rhythmically like a sleeping giant's heartbeat. The single bridge spanning the lake's dark waters appeared more like a ceremonial pathway than mere infrastructure, its blackened steel surface gleaming dully in the sunlight.
At the checkpoint, two armored guards moved with mechanical precision, their faces obscured behind mirrored visors.
"Credentials." The demand came flat, devoid of emotion.
The gray-haired driver didn't speak as he lowered his window. His gloved hand emerged, holding an identification card engraved with the Arachis insignia.
The guard paused briefly, then straightened slightly. "Proceed," he said, the word clipped and final.
The massive gates responded with a metallic groan, their ancient mechanisms protesting as they parted to reveal the path ahead. The car's tires crunched over gravel as they crossed the bridge, the lake's surface below them unnaturally still, reflecting the academy's imposing silhouette with perfect clarity. When they reached the courtyard, the vehicle came to a smooth stop.
Drake stepped out and immediately staggered as the courtyard air struck him—not just a change in atmosphere, but a physical presence that wrapped around him like invisible hands testing his resolve. It pressed against his skin, thick with something beyond mere humidity, carrying the metallic tang of ozone and something darker, more primal. Above him, the academy's arched windows glowed with golden light that seemed to originate from within the very stone itself.
"Your belongings will be delivered to your quarters." The driver's voice held no warmth, no emotion—just cold efficiency. Before Drake could respond, the car pulled away, leaving him standing alone in the shadow of the towering structure.
"Hey."
The voice came from behind him, feminine and bright against the oppressive atmosphere. Drake turned to see a woman who seemed out of place in this fortress of learning— Her crisp white blouse stood out against the dull surroundings, her plaid skirt swaying as she moved. Glasses balanced on her freckled nose as she studied him with curious eyes.
Without waiting for acknowledgment, she said, "Come along," already turning toward the main entrance.
"You're Drake Jagger."
It wasn't a question, but Drake answered anyway. "Yes, Professor...?"
"Maya Frey." Her smile transformed her face, making her appear younger than her position suggested. "But just Maya is fine. 'Professor' makes me sound like I should be collecting dust in some archive."
They passed beneath vaulted archways where sunlight filtered through intricate stonework, casting geometric patterns that shifted with their movement. Students in crisp uniforms moved through the spaces with purpose, their conversations dying abruptly as Drake and Maya passed, only to resume in hushed tones once they'd moved on.
"So," Maya began, her tone light but her eyes sharp with assessment, "which House claims you? Mid-term transfers are... unusual to say the least."
"None do."
Her reaction was immediate—a burst of laughter so sudden it made several nearby students jump. "Oh, that's rich!" She removed her glasses to wipe at her eyes, her shoulders shaking with mirth. "Principal Winston sent us a comedian. Who would have thought that stone-faced old bureaucrat actually had a sense of humor?" She whispered slyly.
Still chuckling, she led him to a set of imposing double doors. "You jest. Surely you jest," she said.
With practiced ease, she produced a card from some hidden pocket in her dress and swiped it across a nearly invisible panel.
The doors responded with a hydraulic hiss, parting to reveal the Research and Evaluation Center in all its chaotic glory.
The vast hall stretched before them, a cathedral of science and technology where white-coated figures moved with purpose between workstations. Drones of various sizes buzzed through the air like mechanical insects—some welding components with precise bursts of plasma, others transporting delicate instruments in their articulated grips.
Maya allowed Drake a moment to take in the sight before guiding him deeper into the facility. They passed through sections where students lay on examination tables, their bodies connected to machines by thick bundles of fiber-optic cables that pulsed with data. In other areas, figures demonstrated abilities within transparent containment fields while teams of scientists recorded every fluctuation.
"This way," Maya said, leading him to a smaller chamber that seemed almost sterile in comparison to the controlled chaos outside. The walls were lined with sleek, pod-like devices that resembled high-tech sarcophagi.
"This is where we evaluate your Core, rank, and affinity," she explained, gesturing to the nearest pod. "The process is completely safe. Just step inside, and the system will handle the rest."
Drake hesitated. The pod's coffin shape and strange reflections made his skin crawl.
But after a deep breath, he nodded and stepped forward.
The pod's door sealed behind him with a sound like a vacuum locking, followed by the soft hiss of pressurization. A cool mist filled the chamber, carrying with it the faint scent of antiseptic.
"Initializing scan," announced a mechanical voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
A beam of blue-white light passed over Drake's body from head to toe, then reversed direction. On the third pass, it stuttered, the smooth motion interrupted by static-like distortions. The display screens mounted outside the pod flickered wildly before resolving into three lines of stark, uncompromising text:
[RANK]: NIL
[CORE MAGNITUDE]: 0
[AFFINITY]: UNDETERMINABLE
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the ever-present hum of the facility's machinery seemed to pause in collective disbelief.
"What...?" Maya's whisper cut through the stillness, her glasses sliding down her nose as her mouth fell open.
Around them, scientists froze in place, their expressions cycling through confusion, disbelief, and dawning horror. One technician began tapping frantically at his holoscreen, his movements growing increasingly desperate as the results refused to change.
"Run it again," ordered an older man in a lab coat that marked him as senior staff. His voice held the barest tremor of unease.
The pod complied, the scanning beam passing over Drake once more with painful slowness. But the outcome remained unchanged:
NIL. ZERO. UNDETERMINABLE.
Drake watched through the glass as Maya's playful energy drained away, replaced by something far more troubling—not just surprise, but something akin to fear. Her eyes, usually so bright with intelligence and humor, now held a question she couldn't voice.
Because this wasn't simply unusual.
It was impossible.
Every Awakened human—from the most powerful elites to the weakest commoners—registered some presence, some trace of the energy that defined their existence in this new world. Even those barely stronger than baseline humanity showed at least minimal readings.
But Drake?
Nothing.
The pod's door released with a sound like a sigh, the seal breaking with a sharp click that echoed in the silent room. The air that rushed in felt heavier than before, thick with unasked questions and mounting tension.
Maya's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before she managed, "Drake..." Then she stopped, as if realizing she had no words for what had just occurred.
Around them, the scientists exchanged glances heavy with meaning. One, a gaunt man with sharp features, muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "What sorcery is this?"
Drake clenched his fists, feeling the weight of their stares like a physical pressure.