The battlefield never slept.
Not truly.
It smoldered in silence long after the last scream faded, its dead left to rot where they fell machines twisted around flesh, and broken weapons jutting from the earth like rusted bones. It was there, in the shadows of victory no one claimed, that the lowest crawled.
The Ashers.
Children like Akira.
He was ten the first time he stepped over a corpse. Not out of fear but duty. They gave him a sack, a dull knife, and a number burned into his skin. Unit 43, Asher Detail. Collection Duty. Orders were simple: scavenge everything, avoid the still-breathing, and never ask questions.
He obeyed. What else could he do?
His village had been erased mother, sister, brother… all gone in one night of fire and steel. No warning. No mercy. Only the emblem of a foreign army left behind, carved into the scorched earth like a signature.
When he begged to join the war, they laughed. He was too small. Too soft. Too nothing.
So they threw him into the ruins instead. Not to fight just to clean up after the ones who did.
For a year, Akira moved through death.
He learned how to tell the freshly killed from the faking. How to pry out energy cores from beneath collarbones. How to ignore the smell of burning hair. How to sleep with one eye open.
And then came the day when one of them moved.
The soldier looked dead until his hand twitched. Until his fingers clenched around a pulse-blade, aiming to carve Akira's throat open and steal his supplies.
But Akira didn't run.
He moved first.
By the time the soldier bled out, the boy stood over him shaking, but alive. Not from luck. From instinct.
It didn't take long for the recruiters to hear.
That same night, a black-cloaked official came with a drone. They scanned the body. Scanned Akira. Didn't speak a word until the report pinged green.
"Not fit for the front. But maybe… maybe you'll make something in the furnace."
They gave him a new number. A train ticket. A file stamped with red ink:
Candidate accepted. Iron Sigil Academy. Low-tier division. Provisional rank: Unbound.
The ride to the academy was long. Cold. Forgettable.
But Akira never forgot why he was on it.
He hadn't been chosen because he was strong. He wasn't. Not yet.
He was chosen because when death came crawling, he didn't flinch.
He crushed it with his bare hands.