After the ceremony ended, we were dismissed like a battalion—no applause, no fanfare.
The professors remained on stage, eyes sharp, watching as the rest of us were sorted. Staff handlers moved through the crowd, calling names and issuing dorm assignments. Most cadets were grouped into shared quarters—pairs, or squads of four.
I waited until the crowd thinned.
No one called my name.
Eventually, a short officer approached, slateboard in hand.
"Cadet Kaelen. Building C. Room 019. Level one clearance. Solo housing. You've been flagged for private assignment. Your handler will contact you shortly."
He handed me a keycard and walked off without another word.
The dorms were exactly what I expected.
Concrete halls. Reinforced doors. Cold overhead lights.
Not a place built for comfort. A bunker for survivors.
Room 019 was at the end of the corridor.
The keycard clicked. The door slid open.
Clean. Cold. Efficient.
Single bed. Steel frame. Wall-mounted locker with biometric access. Fold-down desk. Compact private shower behind a faded curtain. No windows. No decorations.
Just steel, silence, and discipline.
I didn't mind.
At my last academy, I'd had a solo room too—
Not because I earned it. Because no one wanted to bunk with the unstable berserker.
This place wasn't much different. Just quieter.
More sterile. Less human.
The air was colder than I liked.
I didn't notice it at first. But it lingered.
Stenciled in red above the bed:
YOU ARE HERE TO SURVIVE, NOT DECORATE.
I dropped my bag. Sat on the edge of the bed.
Closed my eyes. Let the silence sink in.
And for the first time in days…
I felt how tired I really was.
Twenty minutes later, the door chimed once.
It opened without waiting for permission.
Professor Caldera stepped inside—calm as ever.
Same black coat. Same frost-bitten eyes. Same voice like honed steel.
She didn't waste time.
"You're under my command now."
I nodded.
"I approved your solo request. Draeven agreed. From now on, your performance is tied to my name. That means if you screw up, I take the hit."
"I won't stop you from dying. But if you do it pointlessly—
I'll make sure your corpse serves some research value."
Flashback—Second-Year Lecture: Post-Mortem Applications
It was in second year, back at the first academy.
The room had been silent as Professor Hanley—a pale man with shaking hands and eyes like wet glass—tapped the board.
"What happens if you die in the field?" he had asked.
"Some get burned. Some get buried. But the useful ones—" He tapped again. "—get dissected."
Charts flickered to life behind him: nerves under mana strain, muscle fiber under dungeon exposure, organ rupture patterns from elemental damage.
"Your body might not be strong enough to win—but it can still teach us why you lost."
"Failure with value is better than empty success."
Some students laughed nervously.
Kaelen didn't.
He remembered.
Caldera handed me a datapad.
Schedule
Vanguard Cadet Weekly Protocol
06:00 - Wake up
06:30 - Physical Training
08:00 - Combat Theory / Magic Use
12:00 - Lunch
13:00 - Practical Combat or Scenario Sims
17:00 - Free Training or Assigned Duties
19:00 - Dinner
Saturday - Real Dungeon Deployment
Sunday - Medical Clearance or Extra Duty
"Dungeon access begins this weekend. Until then—don't embarrass yourself."
She turned to leave, but paused at the door.
She looked at me for half a second longer than protocol required. Calculating, not curious.
"You're not the only one who thinks they're special. Prove you're more than noise."
Then she was gone.
And I was alone again.
Which, honestly, was just how I liked it.