"New faces. Old ghosts.She walked through the gates like a shadow pretending to be human."
The registration hall was enormous.
A marble floor gleamed beneath her boots, reflecting the high archways above. Gold trim ran along the walls, framing the emblems of the elite: swords, tomes, gear, and the emblem of Ironvale—a burning crown surrounded by stars.
Aeris adjusted the black ribbon of her uniform collar. It wasn't much different from the others around her—just enough to blend in.
Her name tag read:
Alina V. — Transfer Student
Fake, of course. But clean. Professional. Enough to fool the surface.
She moved through the line, quiet and observant.
Students murmured around her, most too distracted to notice her cold stare.But a few turned their heads—subconsciously reacting to her presence. Not fear. Just something they couldn't place.
Wrong frequency, she thought. I shouldn't resonate here… but I do.
At the front, a bored-looking attendant flipped through papers.
Admin Officer:
"Name?"
Aeris (flat):
"Alina V."
Admin Officer:
"Transfer from District 12… former military prep?"She glanced up. "You don't look the type."
Aeris smiled lightly.
"I lost the uniform."
The officer blinked, checked a box, and handed her a datapad.
Admin Officer:
"Welcome to Ironvale Fort Academy. You'll receive your housing info, schedules, and club listings on this. Your initial evaluation will be this Friday. You'll be monitored."
Aeris:
"Naturally."
She took the pad and stepped away from the counter.
As she walked deeper into the main lobby, her eyes scanned everything.
📍 High ceilings.📍 Surveillance orbs hidden in the lamps.📍 Security drones at the far corners—disguised as janitors.
This wasn't just a school.It was a fortress. A staging ground.
After completing registration, new combat-track students were directed to a sealed section of the east wing: Armory Clearance. It looked more like a customs checkpoint than a school building.
Bright white lights. Automated scanners. Instructors in black coats observing every box, every student.
Aeris waited in line, carrying a single case.
It wasn't large.Wasn't high-tech.Wasn't even new.
The battered, gunmetal-grey crate had scratches, dents, and a faded military serial number burned into the side.
In front of her, other students showed off personalized gear:
Plasma blades with AI syncing.
Modular drones with predictive motion.
Smart rifles with biometric locks.
Each one sleek. Branded. Polished.
Then came Aeris.
She placed her case on the table with a quiet thunk.
Instructor:
"Name and transfer ID?"
Aeris (calm):
"Alina V. – D12-9871."
The instructor nodded and began unlocking the crate.As the lid opened—he stopped.
Metal. Wood. Heavy mechanisms.
Inside:
A WWII-era SKS-45, modified with a forged blade beneath the barrel, its steel worn but deadly.
A compact Nagant-style revolver, the metal darkened by time and use.
A military-issued combat knife—not a modern vibroblade. Just steel and sharp edge.
A set of detonation charges, cold-war era, clearly reconfigured for modern fuses.
Instructor (blinking):
"…Are these antiques?"
A nearby student chuckled under his breath.
Another whispered, "What, she shopping at a museum?"
But Aeris didn't flinch.
Aeris (flat):
"They're maintained. Calibrated. Effective."
The instructor scanned the weapons again.
No illegal mods.No digital interference.No AI.Just pure, analog death.
He cleared his throat, unsure how to proceed.
Instructor:
"You… know this gear is outdated compared to academy standards, right?"
Aeris (calm):
"I don't plan to miss."
Silence followed.
He stamped her approval form, still stunned.
"...Approved. Unconventional gear. Signature required."
She signed.
Took her case.
And walked out—leaving students staring, half-confused, half-intimidated.
Cutaway: Surveillance Room
Viora, again watching through the cameras, narrowed her eyes.
Viora (quiet):
"Antique weapons... That's not just nostalgia.That's someone who kills with intent."