The first thing Cass heard that morning was the sound of his own body striking the floor.

It was not a particularly dignified sound.

Nor was it the sort of sound one expected from a young man who could lift considerably more than twice his own weight, run faster than most competitive athletes, and endure physical punishment that would send an ordinary person directly to a medical centre.

Nevertheless, he struck the training surface with an impressive thud, slid another two metres across the polished floor, and came to rest beneath the enormous panoramic windows of Arkademy's eastern combat complex.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Max began laughing.

Cass rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

“I hate mornings.”

“You said that yesterday,” Max reminded him.

“And I was right yesterday.”

Across the training hall, a woman with long black hair lowered her hands and regarded him with an expression of perfect composure.

“Again,” said Circe.

Cass closed his eyes.

“Of course.”

The woman stood barefoot at the centre of the enormous training area, dressed in black athletic trousers and a fitted training jacket. Her dark hair was gathered into a practical ponytail, and her equally dark eyes followed every movement of the young man as he struggled to his feet.

She was not particularly large. In fact, Cass was considerably taller, broader and physically stronger than she appeared to be.

That had not helped him.

It never did.

Circe was one of Arkademy's most respected instructors, a woman whose mastery of combat seemed to extend across every martial discipline the institution offered. Her students had seen her demonstrate karate, boxing, judo, kickboxing, wrestling and countless variations of defensive techniques.

She had an explanation for everything.

The position of the feet. The distribution of weight. The importance of breathing. The relationship between anticipation and reaction.

Unfortunately, understanding her explanations did not make defeating her any easier.

“You rely on strength,” she told Cass.

“It's a very good strength.”

“It is. And you keep offering it to your opponent.”

Cass frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that when I want you to push, you push. When I want you to resist, you resist. When I want you to attack, you attack. You are allowing me to make your decisions.”

Max leaned towards Tom.

“I think she's insulting his intelligence.”

Tom, who had been studying Circe's movements since the beginning of the exercise, shook his head.

“No. She's explaining why he lost.”

“That sounds worse.”

Cass pointed towards them.

“You two are next.”

“Oh, we're terrified,” Max replied.

Near the opposite wall, three young women watched the exchange with varying degrees of amusement.

Kira stood beside a training bench, adjusting the fastening around her wrist. Her long brown curls fell over the shoulders of a white athletic jacket, and her expression carried the familiar mixture of concern and amusement that appeared whenever one of her companions did something unnecessarily reckless.

Kala, whose abundant copper-coloured curls seemed almost luminous beneath the morning lights, was studying the movement records displayed above the training surface.

Vega stood a little apart, arms folded, her long black hair falling over a dark sports jacket. A pair of large headphones rested around her neck.

She had been watching Circe's feet.

Not her hands.

Not her shoulders.

Her feet.

“Cass,” she said, “she told you what she was going to do before she did it.”

Cass turned.

“When?”

“Every time you shifted your weight forwards.”

“You could have mentioned that earlier.”

“I wanted to see whether you'd notice.”

Max burst out laughing again.

Cass raised both hands.

“Wonderful. Sixteen years of friendship and this is what I get.”

“Seventeen,” Tom corrected.

“That's even worse.”

A soft voice interrupted them.

“Perhaps we should begin with something slightly less ambitious than defeating Circe.”

Everyone turned.

A second woman had entered the training hall.

Her long violet hair was gathered into a high ponytail, though several loose strands framed a face of striking elegance. Her eyes were the same unusual shade of violet, a characteristic that had fascinated the students when they were small and had long since become an entirely familiar part of their lives.

She wore a light training jacket over dark athletic clothing, with comfortable shoes rather than the elaborate footwear she sometimes favoured outside the gymnasium.

Her name was Pandora.

And to the six young people standing before her, she was one of the most important people in the world.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Debatable,” Cass replied.

Pandora smiled.

“I understand Circe has been teaching you humility.”

“Violently.”

“Effectively,” Circe corrected.

Pandora crossed the room, glanced at Cass's bruised shoulder and examined the colour displayed on his training monitor.

“Nothing serious?”

“My dignity.”

“That will recover.”

“Eventually,” Max added.

Pandora rested a hand briefly on Cass's shoulder.

“Then perhaps today we should see whether the six of you have learned something more useful than how to fall.”

She turned towards the others.

“Everyone onto the training floor.”

Vega removed her headphones.

Tom straightened.

Kira exchanged a glance with Kala.

Max stopped smiling.

They all knew that tone.

Pandora rarely raised her voice, and she almost never threatened punishment.

She simply had a remarkable ability to make a training exercise sound interesting.

And whenever she said that something was going to be interesting, it generally meant they were about to have a very difficult morning.

Beyond the windows, the first sunlight was touching the towers of Arkadia.

The year was 2128.

The Earth had survived the end of the world.

And six extraordinary young people were beginning another ordinary day in the safest city humanity had ever built.

Or so they believed.

01

The City That Should Not Have Existed

Arkadia stood upon the ocean like a promise that humanity had made to itself.

From above, the city resembled an enormous constellation of artificial islands, connected by sweeping bridges, elevated transport corridors, underwater tunnels and vast platforms covered in gardens.

Its residential towers were white, silver and pale gold. Their elegant structures rose towards the sky, reflecting sunlight across enormous stretches of water. Glass façades revealed hanging gardens, communal terraces and entire indoor forests.

Autonomous transport vehicles travelled silently between districts. Drones carried medical supplies, agricultural products and industrial components. At the outer edges of the archipelago, colossal sea barriers protected the city from storms, while carefully managed energy fields, solar installations and tidal generators fed its extensive electrical network.

Arkadia was beautiful.

It was also expensive.

More expensive than almost any other place on Earth.

Every illuminated tower, every artificial garden, every temperature-controlled residence and every automated system required energy.

And energy had become the most important resource of the modern world.

To understand why, one had to look eighty-three years into the past.

In 2045, the nations of Earth had fought what later generations would call the Definitive World War.

It had not received that name while the fighting was taking place.

At first, the conflict had been described using familiar political language: territorial disputes, military interventions, strategic operations, national security emergencies.

Governments had insisted their actions were defensive. Military coalitions had promised limited engagements. Political leaders had assured their populations that the situation remained under control.

Then the alliances collapsed.

Communication networks were attacked. Energy infrastructure became a primary military target. Autonomous weapons operated across territories whose borders were changing faster than maps could be updated.

Artificial intelligence, which had once been celebrated for its ability to improve medicine, education, science and industrial production, was increasingly employed to predict enemy movements, identify strategic vulnerabilities and coordinate attacks on an unprecedented scale.

The war became global.

And the world that had existed before it ceased to function.

Cities that had required centuries to construct disappeared in days.

Historic centres, universities, hospitals, industrial estates, airports, railway networks and entire residential districts were reduced to immense fields of wreckage.

Great capitals became landscapes of fractured concrete and twisted steel. Underground transport networks flooded. Electrical grids failed. Water treatment plants stopped working. Communications between continents became unreliable, then sporadic, and in some regions disappeared entirely.

The number of dead rose beyond the ability of collapsing governments to count accurately.

Millions fled regions that could no longer support human life.

Others remained among the ruins, living in improvised settlements and attempting to preserve whatever knowledge, machinery and agricultural resources had survived.

When the fighting finally ended, representatives of the surviving nations gathered to sign an unprecedented international peace agreement.

The treaty established prohibitions against the formation of global offensive military coalitions, imposed strict controls upon weapons capable of planetary devastation and created new institutions intended to prevent another worldwide conflict.

It was a declaration that humanity would never again allow its differences to destroy civilisation.

The conflict became known as the Definitive World War because the treaty proclaimed it the last war of its kind.

Whether future generations would honour that promise remained an unanswered question.

But the survivors had more immediate concerns.

They needed food.

They needed shelter.

They needed clean water.

And they needed to rebuild a world that scarcely resembled the one their ancestors had known.

For the next eight decades, enormous portions of humanity devoted themselves to clearing the ruins of the past.

The old cities could not simply be repaired.

Their foundations were damaged. Their underground networks were broken. Their electrical infrastructure was obsolete or destroyed. Countless buildings were structurally unstable, and immense territories required environmental recovery before large populations could safely return.

The reconstruction became an undertaking of almost unimaginable scale.

Entire generations grew up working among the remains of cities they had never seen intact.

The children of those who survived the war became engineers, construction workers, technicians, agricultural specialists, transport planners and medical professionals.

The children of those engineers became the architects of the new civilisation.

And gradually, from the wreckage of the old world, new cities began to rise.

They were not copies of London, Paris, Tokyo, New York or the great capitals that had existed before the destruction.

There were no ancient streets to preserve.

No centuries-old districts around which modern transport systems had to be squeezed.

No historic buildings preventing planners from reorganising enormous urban territories.

Humanity built again, this time with the freedom—and the terrible necessity—to design entire cities from the ground up.

Roads, residential districts, hospitals, industrial zones and transport corridors were planned as parts of unified systems.

Artificial intelligence assisted with the distribution of resources, the construction of infrastructure, medical diagnostics, environmental monitoring and industrial management.

Robotic machinery replaced many of the dangerous tasks that had cost countless lives during the first decades of recovery.

By 2128, the rebuilt civilisation had surpassed the technology available before the war in several important areas.

Yet the progress was far smaller than one might have expected from more than eighty years of history.

Humanity had spent much of that time recovering what it had already possessed.

The resulting civilisation resembled a future that might once have been imagined only a decade or two beyond the early twenty-first century.

But the price of rebuilding had created another crisis.

The new world required extraordinary quantities of energy.

Every automated industrial complex, every advanced artificial intelligence system, every climate-controlled city, every transport network and every laboratory added to a demand that grew more quickly than many regions could satisfy.

Energy shortages destabilised entire economies.

Some cities imposed strict consumption limits. Others suffered recurring blackouts, transport failures and water supply interruptions.

The wealthiest communities purchased access to stable energy networks while poorer districts lived beneath the constant threat of system collapse.

As the differences widened, the promise of the Definitive Peace began to show its limitations.

Humanity had prohibited world wars.

It had not eliminated corruption, inequality, exploitation or the struggle for resources.

And it had certainly not eliminated fear.

Some rebuilt cities became magnificent centres of science and culture.

Others descended into dangerous environments dominated by overcrowding, criminal organisations, private security forces and competing commercial interests.

The buildings were new.

The problems were painfully old.

Against this increasingly unstable background, Supra emerged as one of the most influential institutions of the reconstructed world.

Originally associated with the coordination of reconstruction resources and strategic infrastructure, Supra had gradually developed into a powerful international organisation whose influence extended into research, energy policy, urban development, security and scientific education.

Its supporters considered it essential to the continued survival of modern civilisation.

Its critics believed that Supra had accumulated more authority than any institution should possess.

Both sides understood one undeniable fact.

Without organisations capable of coordinating enormous technological and industrial systems, many of Earth's rebuilt cities would fail.

And among the projects supported by Supra, none was more ambitious than Arkadia.

An artificial archipelago.

A city designed not merely to survive the future, but to shape it.

A place where scientists, educators, engineers, physicians and carefully selected families could live under conditions unavailable to most of the planet.

A place where humanity hoped to discover answers to problems that threatened the entire world.

At the heart of that project stood a man named Antonio Rey.

02

The High Warden and the Six

Antonio Rey had never believed that civilisation could survive on good intentions alone.

He was a tall man with silver hair, an immaculate sense of dress and a face that rarely revealed more than he intended. He held the title of High Warden of Arkadia, an office that combined civic authority with responsibility for the security and stability of the archipelago.

His official residence occupied the upper floors of Axis Tower, a dark and imposing structure that rose above the central administrative district.

From its panoramic windows, Rey could observe much of the city.

To the east lay the great residential islands.

To the south, the harbour and industrial platforms.

To the north, the research facilities and medical complexes.

And beyond the central gardens stood Arkademy, one of the largest and most prestigious educational institutions in the reconstructed world.

Rey considered Arkademy among his greatest achievements.

Not because its students consistently outperformed those of other institutions.

Not because its laboratories were equipped with technologies that universities elsewhere could scarcely afford.

But because he believed that the future of Arkadia depended upon the people who would one day inherit it.

That morning, however, his attention was not directed towards the academy's general student population.

He was looking at six young people.

Their images hovered above the surface of his desk.

Tom.

Cass.

Max.

Kira.

Kala.

Vega.

Each face was accompanied by a complicated series of medical records, educational evaluations, neurological assessments and physical performance measurements.

A seventh image appeared beside them.

The image of Doctor Fernan Claes.

Rey touched the communication control.

“Has Doctor Claes arrived?”

“He is waiting outside, High Warden.”

“Send him in.”

The doors opened a moment later.

Fernan Claes entered carrying a slim electronic folder beneath one arm. He was a man of distinguished intelligence and gentle manner, with brown hair, spectacles and the slightly distracted appearance of someone whose mind was frequently occupied by matters more interesting than his surroundings.

He wore a light camel-coloured coat over a blue-green shirt.

Unlike many senior figures in Arkadia, Fernan seemed almost indifferent to the ceremonial importance of his meetings with the High Warden.

“Good morning, Antonio.”

“Doctor Claes.”

“You called rather early.”

“Your students begin their training at five.”

“Some of them believe that is a form of cruelty.”

“Are they progressing?”

Fernan glanced at the six floating portraits.

“Academically, exceptionally. Physically, beyond most of our established projections. Socially—”

He stopped.

Rey raised an eyebrow.

“Socially?”

“They are seventeen years old.”

“That is not a diagnosis.”

“No,” Fernan replied. “It is an explanation.”

Rey allowed the faintest hint of a smile.

Fernan moved closer to the desk.

“These six have spent almost their entire lives under observation. Every academic success becomes a report. Every physical achievement becomes a measurement. Every disagreement is interpreted as evidence of some neurological or behavioural tendency.”

“And you disagree with the assessments?”

“I disagree with the assumption that exceptional children cease to be children simply because they are exceptional.”

Rey folded his hands.

“You have never questioned the importance of the research.”

“Of course not. I designed much of the educational framework myself. But I did not design it to produce six machines capable of performing tasks more efficiently than other machines.”

“Then what did you design it to produce?”

Fernan considered the question.

“People.”

Rey looked at him for a long moment.

“Rather an expensive ambition.”

“The most expensive ambitions are often the only ones worth pursuing.”

The High Warden turned towards the windows.

Below them, thousands of students were beginning another day at Arkademy.

Most belonged to the new generations of reconstructed humanity. Many were descended from families selected for their scientific achievements, technical expertise or contributions to Arkadia's development.

Some had received carefully regulated genetic enhancements before birth.

These children belonged to a category commonly known as the Altus.

The Altus represented one of the most controversial achievements of modern biological science.

Their inherited modifications could improve muscular development, cognitive performance, resistance to certain diseases and other measurable characteristics. The degree and nature of those improvements varied, but Altus students frequently demonstrated abilities superior to those of unmodified Sapiens.

To their families, they represented the triumph of human engineering.

To certain political groups, they represented a new social elite.

To their critics, they represented a dangerous future in which biological advantages could become privileges available only to the wealthy.

Arkadia attempted to educate Altus and ordinary Sapiens together. They attended the same institutions, used the same sports facilities and participated in the same cultural activities.

The system was not perfect.

Children noticed differences.

Parents encouraged comparisons.

And some families were considerably more interested in superiority than coexistence.

But the six young people displayed upon Rey's desk presented a different problem entirely.

They had not been genetically enhanced through any process known to Arkadia's scientists.

No authorised medical facility possessed records of their creation.

No recognised laboratory could identify the techniques responsible for their extraordinary characteristics.

And no complete explanation existed for their origins.

They had entered Arkadia's care while still very young, without reliable parental histories or the ordinary documentation that might have explained their earliest lives.

At first, scientists had assumed that they were examples of an exceptionally advanced enhancement programme conducted outside international regulation.

But the years passed, their abilities developed, and their biological records continued to resist conventional explanation.

Their characteristics did not correspond neatly to any known enhancement procedure.

Their growth remained extraordinary.

Their neurological and physical development continued to exceed predictions.

Eventually, a small group of researchers had introduced a provisional scientific classification.

EvoSapiens.

It was not a public designation.

Nor was it an explanation of what they were.

It was simply the name given to a question that nobody had yet managed to answer.

Only six individuals had ever been assigned that classification.

Six.

No confirmed population.

No known predecessors.

No established method of reproduction.

No evidence that any other EvoSapiens existed anywhere on Earth.

For the majority of Arkadia's inhabitants, the six were regarded as unusually gifted young people, sometimes mistaken for exceptionally advanced Altus.

The precise nature of their biology remained restricted information.

And Fernan intended to keep it that way.

“They're doing well,” he said.

Rey turned.

“Define well.”

“They're happy more often than they're unhappy. They have interests that aren't connected to their performance evaluations. They argue, laugh, make terrible jokes, fall in love with songs, become frustrated with mathematics and occasionally behave like complete idiots.”

“Remarkable.”

“I consider it progress.”

“And the medical reports?”

“Still inconclusive.”

“After all these years?”

“After all these years.”

Rey studied the portraits again.

“Do you think they understand how unusual they are?”

“They understand they're different.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

“No,” Fernan replied quietly. “I don't believe they understand the extent of it. And I see no reason to burden them with questions we cannot answer ourselves.”

The High Warden dismissed the medical displays.

“Very well. Tell me about your programme.”

Fernan's expression changed immediately.

Now they were discussing something he genuinely loved.

“The Arkaders Program is progressing exceptionally well.”

03

Arkademy

At the centre of Arkadia's educational district stood a complex so extensive that visitors frequently mistook it for a small city.

Arkademy occupied several interconnected buildings, each dedicated to particular areas of learning and development.

There were scientific laboratories, engineering workshops, medical training facilities, libraries, music studios, theatres, sports centres, indoor gardens and enormous spaces designed for collaborative projects.

Students moved between buildings along elevated walkways overlooking artificial lakes and carefully landscaped courtyards.

Classrooms were adaptable. Walls could become interactive displays, laboratories could be reorganised according to the needs of an experiment, and simulation chambers could reproduce environments ranging from ancient forests to the interiors of spacecraft.

But Arkademy's greatest achievement was not its architecture or technology.

It was the educational philosophy that governed the institution.

Fernan Claes had developed the Arkaders Program around three principles.

Cerebro. Fuerza. Concordia.

The names remained in Spanish, preserved from an early formulation of the programme and adopted as part of Arkademy's official educational identity.

Cerebro represented the development of intelligence, understanding and creativity.

Students learned mathematics, natural sciences, history, philosophy, engineering, programming, artificial intelligence and the arts. They were encouraged to ask questions, challenge assumptions and understand the relationship between knowledge and responsibility.

Fuerza represented the development of physical ability, discipline and practical action.

It included athletics, combat sports, coordination, health, endurance, movement, precision and the control necessary to use physical capabilities responsibly.

Concordia represented the ability to live and work with others.

Students learned cooperation, empathy, communication, conflict resolution, leadership and the importance of trust.

The three disciplines were not intended to operate independently.

A physically powerful student who lacked judgement could be dangerous.

An extraordinarily intelligent student who could not cooperate with others might achieve very little.

And a compassionate person who lacked the knowledge or ability to act might be unable to help those who needed them.

Fernan wanted students who understood that their abilities gained meaning through the ways in which they used them.

His educational methods were unconventional.

Rather than simply providing information and demanding that students memorise it, he designed practical challenges.

Students built machines, organised scientific experiments, developed software, created works of art, planned simulations and participated in collaborative competitions.

The purpose was not merely to produce correct answers.

It was to teach students how to ask better questions.

Within Arkademy, no group received more specialised attention than the six young people residing in District 199.

The House in District 199

District 199 occupied a beautiful residential island connected to the main academy by a series of pedestrian bridges and a suspended transport corridor.

The district contained educational residences, landscaped gardens, recreational facilities and several buildings reserved for advanced students and research staff.

Among them stood a spacious residential complex overlooking the eastern water gardens.

This was where the six lived.

Their accommodation was comfortable without being extravagant. Each had a private bedroom, a study area and space for personal belongings, while the central floors contained a shared kitchen, lounges, training rooms and, most importantly, a music studio.

The building was supervised by a small group of caregivers and educators.

Pandora and Circe had been involved in the young people's upbringing for so long that their presence had become an essential part of daily life.

Fernan was there almost as frequently.

The three of them had watched the children grow into adolescents, endured their arguments, celebrated their achievements and helped them through disappointments that no examination result could adequately describe.

Pandora remembered their birthdays.

Circe remembered their injuries.

Fernan remembered almost every question they had ever asked him.

And all three had learned that loving six extraordinarily gifted young people required a remarkable tolerance for chaos.

Tom had once dismantled a kitchen appliance because he disliked the inefficiency of its internal heating mechanism.

Cass had broken two reinforced training benches before understanding that furniture was not designed to withstand unrestricted force.

Max had modified the residence's announcement system so that every morning briefing began with his favourite song.

Kira had organised a student protest against an unnecessarily restrictive recreation policy.

Kala had negotiated its resolution before the authorities could issue disciplinary notices.

And Vega had discovered that the building's acoustic insulation could be improved considerably by making enough noise to demonstrate its deficiencies.

None of these episodes had appeared in Supra's official reports with quite the same degree of humour.

To the authorities, the six were subjects of extraordinary scientific interest.

To Fernan, Pandora and Circe, they were simply the children they had helped raise.

And the relationship between them had become something much deeper than the institutional arrangement that brought them together.

The six had no known biological parents.

They did, however, have a family.

It was an unusual family, held together by affection, education, shared meals, occasional disciplinary lectures and an almost constant exchange of insults that nobody outside the group seemed capable of understanding.

Above all, they had each other.

Their greatest shared passion was music.

Tom played the piano with the same careful attention that he applied to mathematics.

Cass had discovered the drums and found immense satisfaction in an instrument that rewarded both power and restraint.

Max played guitar and sang, frequently insisting that his artistic genius remained insufficiently appreciated.

Kira played violin and possessed a clear, expressive singing voice.

Kala was fascinated by synthesisers, composition and the architecture of musical arrangements.

And Vega played bass, combining a remarkably precise sense of rhythm with an independent musical imagination.

Years earlier, during a small student performance, they had struggled to find a name for their group.

Someone had suggested that music was what brought them together, regardless of their different personalities.

They were an entourage gathered around something they all loved.

The name had remained.

The Entourage.

Among their classmates, it was the name of a remarkably talented musical group.

Among their teachers, it had become the informal name for six inseparable students whose collective behaviour was generally more interesting than any of them cared to admit.

Nobody imagined how far that name might one day travel.

04

The Lesson of Six

Back in the eastern combat complex, Pandora walked slowly around the training floor.

The six students stood before her in a loose semicircle.

Circe remained near the control console, studying the measurements collected during Cass's earlier encounter.

“Today,” Pandora began, “we're going to explore a very simple question.”

Max raised a hand.

“Is it why Cass keeps losing?”

“No.”

“Shame.”

“The question is this: what makes six people stronger than one?”

Cass folded his arms.

“Six times the strength?”

“An excellent answer,” Pandora said, “if we were discussing the transportation of furniture.”

Kira smiled.

“Cooperation.”

“Certainly. But what does cooperation require?”

“Communication,” Kala suggested.

“Trust,” said Tom.

“Knowing what the others are going to do,” Vega added.

“And snacks,” Max said.

Pandora looked at him.

“Do you find it impossible to remain serious?”

“I find it unnecessary to remain serious continuously.”

“Then perhaps you'll discover why seriousness occasionally has its advantages.”

She activated the training console.

The enormous floor beneath them changed colour.

Transparent barriers rose from concealed compartments, dividing the space into several interconnected sections. Mechanical platforms emerged from the ground, while overhead projectors created walls, passageways and obstacles.

Within seconds, the training hall had become an artificial urban environment.

There were narrow streets, elevated walkways, damaged structures and several simulated civilians scattered throughout the complex.

A large timer appeared above them.

TWELVE MINUTES.

Cass looked around.

“A rescue simulation?”

“Partly.”

“What are we rescuing?” Kira asked.

“Six civilians,” Pandora replied. “Each is located in a different section of the environment. Your objective is to reach them and guide them to the extraction zone before the time expires.”

Tom studied the layout.

“What's the difficulty?”

Pandora smiled.

“I'm delighted you asked.”

Circe touched the control panel.

Three combat droids emerged from hidden compartments.

Brontes.

Vex.

Null.

Max stared.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Cass laughed.

“Now we're talking.”

The machines advanced towards their assigned positions.

Brontes was a massive heavyweight unit, covered in dark composite armour. Vex was smaller, silver and extraordinarily fast. Null was a smooth black android equipped with adaptive combat intelligence.

The three had become familiar opponents during Arkademy's advanced training sessions.

They had also become responsible for an impressive number of bruises.

“Your opponents are authorised to obstruct your progress,” Circe explained. “Their strikes are restricted to training-safe thresholds, and your own equipment will limit your maximum force.”

Each student wore a lightweight vest connected to the simulation's safety systems.

The equipment prevented them from using more strength than the exercise permitted. The protection was necessary because the six sometimes had considerable difficulty remembering that their own physical limits differed from those of ordinary people.

“Can we disable the droids?” Vega asked.

“Yes.”

“Can we destroy them?” Cass added.

“No,” Circe said.

“Worth asking.”

Pandora continued.

“You will receive no direct instructions once the simulation begins. You may use whatever techniques you have learned, provided you remain within the safety protocols.”

Tom was already examining the positions of the simulated civilians.

Two were located at ground level.

One stood behind a collapsed pedestrian bridge.

Another appeared injured beside a transport vehicle.

The last two were separated by a narrow elevated passage.

“The fastest route is through the centre,” he said.

“Which is where Brontes is standing,” Kira observed.

“And Null can see all three main corridors,” Kala added.

Max glanced towards the androids.

“Do you think they ever get bored?”

Circe activated the countdown.

“Ten seconds.”

“Positions,” Tom said immediately.

The six moved.

They had spent years developing their ability to understand one another with minimal explanation.

Cass took the central approach.

Vega moved towards the eastern corridor.

Kira and Kala prepared to assist the simulated civilians.

Max studied the mechanical barriers.

Tom remained behind them, observing the entire environment.

Pandora watched silently.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The siren sounded.

And the exercise began.

Brontes moved first.

Cass met the enormous machine near the central intersection, ducking beneath a heavy mechanical arm before delivering a controlled strike against its shoulder.

The impact barely moved the android.

Brontes responded with a sweeping counterattack.

Cass avoided the blow, shifted his weight and attempted to draw the machine away from the main corridor.

On the opposite side, Vega accelerated towards a staircase.

Vex intercepted her.

The silver android moved with mechanical precision, its limbs shifting through combinations of attacks faster than an ordinary human could comfortably follow.

Vega blocked the first strike.

Avoided the second.

Then stepped inside the third and drove a controlled kick towards the machine's midsection.

Vex recoiled.

“Too easy,” she muttered.

The machine immediately adjusted its stance.

“Never say that,” Max called from across the simulation.

Null was already approaching him.

Unlike the other units, Null changed its movements according to the behaviour of its opponent.

It watched.

Learned.

Adapted.

Max raised both hands.

“Good morning, terrifying machine.”

Null tilted its head.

Max tilted his own.

Null copied him.

“Still doing that, I see.”

He feinted left.

Null did not react.

He moved right.

The android moved with him.

From the control room, Circe watched their exchange without expression.

“Max is wasting time,” she said.

Pandora shook her head slightly.

“He's testing the response pattern.”

“He's talking to it.”

“He often does both.”

Meanwhile, Kira reached the first simulated civilian.

The holographic figure represented an injured technician whose leg had become trapped beneath a fallen support beam.

Kira assessed the injury and activated the rescue controls.

“Tom, I need lifting assistance.”

“Cass is occupied.”

“I noticed.”

Kala approached from the opposite side.

“Use the emergency jack. It's behind the vehicle.”

Kira found the equipment and inserted it beneath the fallen beam.

The hydraulic system resisted.

A warning appeared.

INSUFFICIENT PRESSURE.

Kala examined the display.

“The power source is damaged.”

“Can you repair it?”

“Give me thirty seconds.”

“We don't have thirty seconds.”

“Then give me twenty.”

Kala knelt beside the device and opened its diagnostic interface.

Her fingers moved rapidly across the controls.

She had always possessed an exceptional ability to understand technical systems, particularly when the problem involved several interacting components.

Where other students saw complicated machinery, Kala saw relationships.

Power.

Movement.

Resistance.

Cause and effect.

The hydraulic jack awakened.

“Try now.”

Kira activated it.

The beam rose.

Together they freed the simulated technician.

CIVILIAN ONE RESCUED.

A small chime sounded.

Pandora nodded.

“Good.”

Circe glanced towards the timer.

“Eleven minutes remaining.”

“Plenty of time,” Pandora replied.

The next twenty seconds proved her optimism questionable.

Brontes changed direction unexpectedly and drove Cass backwards towards a barrier.

Vex abandoned Vega and accelerated towards Kira.

Null shifted its attention from Max to Tom.

The three machines were sharing information.

Tom understood immediately.

“They're coordinating.”

“Wonderful!” Max shouted. “I was worried they might be stupid.”

Null attacked Tom with a rapid combination of simulated punches.

Tom avoided the first two but accepted a controlled impact against his training vest.

A warning flashed across his chest.

DAMAGE REGISTERED.

He retreated, studying the android's movements.

The machine was not merely reacting to him.

It was selecting attacks based upon patterns collected from all six students.

Their individual strengths were being used to predict their collective behaviour.

That was a problem.

“Vega!” Tom called. “Change corridors.”

“Busy!”

“Now!”

Vega abandoned her pursuit of Vex.

The android adjusted its trajectory.

At the same instant, Max moved across the central intersection and placed himself directly in front of Brontes.

Cass stared at him.

“Are you insane?”

“Frequently!”

Brontes turned towards the smaller target.

Cass saw the opening.

He moved behind the machine, caught the moment its weight shifted and drove a powerful controlled strike against its exposed joint.

The android staggered.

Max laughed.

“Excellent teamwork!”

Brontes immediately turned and sent him sliding across the floor.

“Less excellent!” he shouted.

Kira and Kala reached the second civilian.

The timer continued.

NINE MINUTES.

From the observation room, Fernan Claes appeared beside Pandora and Circe.

He had arrived directly from Axis Tower and was still wearing his camel-coloured coat.

“How are they doing?”

Circe folded her arms.

“Too much enthusiasm. Insufficient planning.”

Pandora smiled.

“They're beginning to improvise.”

Fernan studied the live performance reports.

“Did you increase the difficulty?”

“A little,” Pandora admitted.

Fernan glanced towards the three combat droids.

“A little?”

“Not as much as Circe wanted.”

Circe looked mildly offended.

“I wanted them to learn.”

“So do I,” Fernan replied. “Preferably while remaining in one piece.”

Pandora laughed.

On the training floor, the six were discovering that the rescue mission required something more difficult than defeating machines.

It required them to abandon the belief that every problem should be solved by the person most capable of solving it individually.

Cass could overpower most obstacles.

Tom could analyse complex situations.

Kala could understand technological systems.

Vega could respond to changing circumstances with extraordinary speed.

Kira could organise people and keep them focused under pressure.

Max could improvise solutions that nobody else would have considered.

But none of those abilities was sufficient on its own.

The droids anticipated their specialities.

The environment punished predictable behaviour.

And every second spent competing for individual success was a second lost to the rescue.

Tom finally raised his voice.

“Stop trying to win your own fights!”

Cass ducked beneath Brontes's arm.

“What do you suggest?”

“We win the mission!”

He pointed towards the central transport platform.

“Kira, coordinate the civilians. Kala, override the barriers. Vega, draw Vex towards the eastern passage. Max, keep Null occupied.”

Cass glanced towards him.

“And me?”

Tom smiled.

“Be yourself.”

Cass grinned.

“That I can do.”

He turned towards Brontes.

“Come on, you enormous mechanical refrigerator.”

Brontes charged.

And this time, the six began to move as one.

The first breakthrough came from Kala.

She had been studying the control architecture of the simulation while helping Kira evacuate the injured civilians.

The droids were intelligent, but their communication depended upon a shared prediction network. Each machine could function independently, yet their greatest advantage came from exchanging information about the students' movements.

Kala had noticed something else.

Whenever the three units adjusted to a sudden change in formation, their responses briefly lost synchronisation.

The delay was almost imperceptible.

But it existed.

“Tom,” she called, “I think I can disrupt their coordination.”

“How?”

“By giving them too many contradictory movements to predict.”

Max looked towards her.

“Finally. A scientific explanation for my personality.”

“Everyone change opponents,” Kala continued. “Constantly. Don't let them establish stable patterns.”

Tom understood.

“Cass, bring Brontes towards the central platform. Vega, switch with Max. Kira, take the upper corridor.”

Kira glanced towards the remaining civilians.

“What about the extraction?”

“I'll handle it.”

“Alone?”

“Trust me.”

That was enough.

The six changed positions.

Vega accelerated towards Null, forcing the adaptive android to abandon the movements it had learned from Max.

Max intercepted Vex with an exaggerated feint, then suddenly retreated beneath the elevated walkway.

Cass drew Brontes through the central intersection, narrowly avoiding a mechanical strike that would have flattened an ordinary opponent.

Kira moved along the upper corridor, directing the simulated civilians towards the extraction platform.

Kala deactivated two barriers and redirected the remaining droids into intersecting routes.

Tom waited until the machines began to adjust.

Then he gave the instruction.

“Switch again!”

The students moved.

Six bodies.

Six sets of movements.

Six different strategies.

But one purpose.

Brontes attempted to intercept Cass and found Vega directly in its path.

Vex changed direction to pursue Max, only to encounter Kira crossing the elevated passage.

Null turned towards Tom, who immediately withdrew and allowed Kala to trigger a moving partition between them.

For the first time, the three machines failed to respond with perfect coordination.

Their movements became fractionally less precise.

Their predictive systems struggled to reconcile the constantly changing information.

And the six students exploited the opening.

Vega struck the release mechanism on Vex's shoulder.

Max activated an emergency barrier directly behind it.

The machine collided with the obstacle and entered a temporary shutdown.

VEX DISABLED.

Cass drove Brontes backwards towards the central platform, where Tom activated a magnetic restraint built into the simulation floor.

The enormous android attempted to recover.

Too late.

Its legs locked.

BRONTES IMMOBILISED.

Null remained active.

It had already begun adapting to the new strategy.

But the six no longer intended to fight it.

While the android attempted to predict their next movements, Kira guided the final civilian towards the extraction zone.

Kala opened the last passage.

Max distracted Null with a sequence of absurdly exaggerated movements.

And Tom activated the extraction system.

The final civilian crossed the boundary.

MISSION COMPLETE.

The timer stopped.

00:47 REMAINING.

For a moment, the six simply stood there, breathing heavily.

Then Cass threw both arms into the air.

“Yes!”

Max bent over, laughing.

“Forty-seven seconds! That is what I call a comfortable victory.”

Vega shook her head.

“We nearly failed.”

“But we didn't.”

Kira looked towards Kala.

“That barrier override saved us.”

“And your coordination saved the civilians,” Kala replied.

Tom watched the three disabled machines.

“They were stronger when they worked together.”

Cass smiled.

“So were we.”

From the observation platform, Pandora began applauding.

Circe did not.

She waited until the applause had ended, then walked onto the training floor.

“An acceptable result.”

Cass looked offended.

“Acceptable?”

“You required eleven minutes and thirteen seconds to complete a rescue mission that could theoretically have been accomplished in seven.”

“We were fighting three combat droids!”

“And talking far too much.”

Max raised a hand.

“I feel personally attacked.”

“You should.”

Pandora joined them.

“Circe is correct about the time. But she is overlooking something important.”

The six turned towards her.

“You began the exercise believing that your individual abilities would determine the result. When that failed, you changed your approach.”

Tom nodded.

“We stopped treating the mission as six separate problems.”

“Exactly.”

Pandora looked around the group.

“Cerebro helped you understand the situation. Fuerza allowed you to act. Concordia enabled you to become something more effective than six talented individuals.”

She smiled.

“And you did it without requiring anyone to explain the solution.”

Cass raised an eyebrow.

“So we passed?”

Pandora glanced at Circe.

Circe considered the question.

“Barely.”

Max placed a hand over his heart.

“Such generosity.”

Pandora laughed.

“Perhaps we can improve their confidence with something simpler.”

Circe looked at her.

“What did you have in mind?”

Pandora removed her jacket and placed it on a nearby bench.

“A short demonstration.”

All six students became suddenly attentive.

Cass narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, no.”

Pandora stepped onto the central tatami.

“Six against two.”

Silence.

Then Max turned towards Tom.

“Did she say six against two?”

“Yes.”

“As in all of us against both of them?”

“Yes.”

Max looked back towards Pandora.

“May I remind everyone that I am still recovering from my emotional injuries?”

Circe removed the fastening from her ponytail, gathered her black hair again and secured it more tightly.

“Three minutes,” she said.

Pandora smiled.

“Your objective is simply to touch either one of us on the shoulder.”

Cass grinned.

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

Vega stepped forwards immediately.

“Fine.”

Tom, however, was studying Pandora.

She stood comfortably at the centre of the tatami, her shoulders relaxed, hands resting loosely at her sides.

There was no visible tension in her body.

Circe stood beside her with the same effortless composure.

Neither wore protective equipment.

Neither seemed concerned about facing six exceptionally powerful students.

Tom had witnessed countless demonstrations by both women over the years.

He knew better than to mistake their calmness for vulnerability.

“Something wrong?” Pandora asked him.

“No.”

“Then begin.”

Vega attacked first.

She crossed the distance with astonishing speed, delivered a controlled straight punch and immediately shifted towards Pandora's exposed shoulder.

Pandora moved a single step.

Vega's hand passed through empty space.

Cass entered from the opposite direction.

Circe intercepted him with a simple movement of her forearm, redirected his momentum and guided him past her.

Cass stumbled.

Max moved to exploit the opening.

Circe turned.

Max stopped.

Their eyes met.

He reconsidered his decision.

“Actually—”

Circe touched two fingers against his forehead.

“Out.”

Pandora laughed.

“You're allowed to continue, Max.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

Kira and Kala approached together.

Kira created movement on Pandora's left while Kala attempted to reach her from behind.

Pandora rotated between them with extraordinary precision.

She caught Kira's wrist, released it immediately and shifted her weight just enough to make Kala abandon her approach.

Tom saw the pattern.

Pandora was not simply avoiding their movements.

She was controlling the spaces into which they could move.

Every time one student approached, she positioned herself so that another student had to interrupt their own attack.

Circe was doing the same thing on the opposite side of the tatami.

“Stop following them,” Tom called. “Control the space.”

Pandora smiled.

“Good observation.”

The six adjusted.

Vega and Cass approached Circe simultaneously.

Kira moved towards Pandora.

Max circled behind them.

Kala watched the distance between the two instructors.

Tom waited for an opportunity.

For several seconds, the training hall became a blur of movement.

Shoes whispered across the tatami.

Controlled punches and kicks passed within centimetres of their targets.

Bodies turned, ducked, advanced and retreated.

Circe redirected Vega's arm and forced Cass to change his angle. Pandora avoided a coordinated attempt by Kira and Kala, then stepped between them before either could recover.

Max lunged towards Pandora's shoulder.

She moved aside.

He continued forwards.

Directly into Cass.

The two collided and fell.

Vega shouted something unrepeatable.

Kira burst out laughing.

Circe glanced towards the timer.

“Two minutes.”

Tom exhaled.

They were being defeated.

Not through superior strength.

Not through aggressive attacks.

Through timing, positioning and an almost unbelievable understanding of movement.

He looked towards his companions.

Then he smiled.

“Music.”

Cass pushed himself upright.

“What?”

“Think about the music.”

Max understood first.

A grin spread across his face.

“Oh, I like this.”

Pandora watched them curiously.

Tom began tapping a rhythm against his leg.

Four measured beats.

Cass joined him, striking his hands together.

Kala picked up the pattern.

Kira nodded.

Vega shifted her stance.

They began moving to the same rhythm.

Not attacking simultaneously.

Not simply rushing forwards.

Moving through a sequence of changes that each understood before the others completed them.

Pandora watched the formation develop.

For the first time that morning, her smile became genuinely delighted.

“Very clever.”

Vega attacked.

Pandora moved.

Cass changed direction.

Circe intercepted him.

Kira stepped towards the space that Circe had abandoned.

Kala shifted to support her.

And Tom advanced towards Pandora.

For a fraction of a second, the six moved with beautiful coordination.

Tom's fingertips approached her shoulder.

Almost.

Pandora turned.

His hand missed by the narrowest possible margin.

But instead of retreating, she reached out and gently touched his chest.

“Finished.”

The timer sounded.

TIME EXPIRED.

The six stopped.

Nobody spoke.

Then Pandora began laughing.

“That,” she said, “was much better.”

Cass stared at her.

“We still lost.”

“Yes.”

“We didn't even touch you.”

“No.”

Max raised one finger.

“But you said it was better.”

“Much better.”

Circe crossed her arms.

“Your first attempts were based upon individual attacks. Your final attempt was based upon shared timing.”

Kira brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“Music.”

Pandora nodded.

“Music.”

Tom considered the exercise.

“We were closer.”

“Considerably.”

Vega looked towards Circe.

“How long before we can beat you?”

Circe's expression remained perfectly serious.

“Practice.”

“How much?”

“More.”

Max sighed.

“I knew she was going to say that.”

Pandora rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Come along. You've earned breakfast.”

Cass looked relieved.

“Finally. A lesson I understand.”

05

The Children of the New Elite

The dining terraces of Arkademy overlooked the central gardens.

Students gathered around tables beneath enormous glass canopies, discussing examinations, sporting competitions, research projects and the latest developments in artificial intelligence.

The academy served thousands of young people from different backgrounds.

Some were ordinary Sapiens whose families had been selected for their contributions to Arkadia.

Others belonged to the Altus, the genetically enhanced members of the emerging human elite.

The students attended the same classes, participated in the same sports and shared most of the academy's facilities.

But the differences between them had never completely disappeared.

The Altus were often conscious of their advantages.

Some believed those advantages made them natural leaders.

Others found the expectations imposed upon them exhausting.

For many, being genetically enhanced was simply part of their identity, no more extraordinary than belonging to a particular family or speaking a particular language.

But a small number considered their biological improvements evidence of inherent superiority.

Jason Veyne belonged to that group.

He was tall, athletic and strikingly handsome, with carefully styled blond hair and the confident posture of someone accustomed to being admired.

His family occupied an influential position within District 200, one of Arkadia's most privileged residential areas.

Jason had received an exceptional education, advanced physical training and the benefits of a genetic enhancement programme that placed him among the most capable Altus of his generation.

He was intelligent.

He was disciplined.

And he was extremely competitive.

Unfortunately, he also possessed a remarkable ability to transform almost any situation into a personal contest.

As The Entourage entered the dining terrace, Jason was standing beside several classmates.

He noticed them immediately.

“An early morning workout?” he asked.

Cass carried a tray piled with food.

“Something like that.”

Jason looked at the faint bruise along his jaw.

“Looks as though someone enjoyed it more than you did.”

Cass smiled.

“You should come along next time.”

“I prefer serious competition.”

Vega stopped walking.

“Then you'd definitely enjoy it.”

Jason looked at her.

“Was that supposed to be an insult?”

“An invitation.”

One of Jason's companions laughed.

Jason ignored him.

His attention shifted towards Tom.

“I hear you're entering the strategic sports trials next month.”

“Possibly.”

“Possibly?”

“I haven't decided.”

“Some of us don't need weeks to prepare.”

Tom considered the remark.

“Congratulations.”

Max coughed into his hand.

Kira intervened before the conversation could deteriorate.

“Good morning, Jason.”

He looked towards her.

“Kira.”

“Are you competing in the athletics events as well?”

“Of course.”

“Then perhaps we should organise a mixed training session. The instructors have been discussing joint teams.”

Jason frowned.

“Mixed?”

“Altus and other students.”

“Why?”

Kala answered.

“Because cooperation is part of the academy's training.”

Jason glanced towards the six.

“We're not all interested in social experiments.”

“No,” Kala replied calmly. “Some of us are interested in learning.”

For a moment, Jason seemed ready to respond.

Then he smiled without warmth.

“Good luck with that.”

He turned away.

Cass waited until they were out of hearing.

“One day I'm going to punch him.”

“You've been saying that for three years,” Tom replied.

“And I've shown remarkable restraint.”

Kira placed her tray on the table.

“Jason isn't the only Altus in Arkademy.”

“We know,” Vega said.

“And plenty of them are perfectly decent.”

“We know that too.”

“Then perhaps we could try not treating every conversation with him like the beginning of a war.”

Max sat down.

“Technically, he usually starts it.”

Kala smiled.

“And we usually help.”

The six settled around their usual table.

Their relationship with the Altus had always been complicated.

The genetically enhanced students understood the advantages they had been given. Their families often reminded them that they represented the achievement of generations of scientific research.

But The Entourage had never been part of that same social structure.

The six knew they were unusual.

Their physical abilities, intellectual development and medical evaluations made that impossible to ignore.

Yet they had no knowledge of the specific biological processes that might explain their existence.

They did not possess the family histories of the Altus.

They had no parents who could describe the medical decisions made before their births.

And despite years of scientific examination, nobody had offered them a satisfactory explanation.

Fernan had always encouraged them to define themselves through their choices rather than their biological characteristics.

Pandora and Circe had taught them much the same lesson.

What mattered was not simply what they could do.

It was what they chose to become.

06

The Intelligence Laboratory

At ten that morning, the six entered Fernan Claes's principal learning studio.

The room occupied an entire level of Arkademy's western science building. Its walls could transform into displays, and the enormous central table was equipped with modelling surfaces, programmable interfaces and interactive projections.

Workstations surrounded a large collaborative area.

Several robotic manufacturing units occupied an adjoining laboratory, while a series of transparent cabinets displayed models, mechanical components and small figures produced by previous students.

Fernan stood beside the central table, examining a three-dimensional representation of an electrical distribution network.

“Good morning,” he said without looking up.

“Good morning, Fernan,” Kira replied.

Max leaned towards Cass.

“He's doing the thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Talking to us without looking at us.”

Fernan raised a finger.

“I can hear you, Max.”

“See? Incredible.”

Fernan smiled and activated the main display.

The projection expanded into an enormous model of a city.

Not Arkadia.

A continental settlement located several thousand kilometres away.

Its streets were arranged in precise geometric patterns. Residential towers surrounded industrial platforms, and several large power stations stood at the outskirts.

At first glance, it appeared prosperous.

Then Fernan changed the display.

Large portions of the city turned red.

ENERGY DEFICIT: 31%.

“Who can tell me what's wrong with this city?” he asked.

“Not enough electricity,” Cass replied.

“Correct, but incomplete.”

Kala studied the network.

“The industrial sector is consuming most of the available power.”

Tom examined the population data.

“The residential demand increases sharply during the evening.”

Vega pointed towards the transport infrastructure.

“And the public transport network is operating at reduced capacity.”

Fernan nodded.

“Exactly. This city has enough technology to provide its inhabitants with a comfortable life. But it does not possess enough energy to operate that technology continuously.”

Kira looked towards the residential districts.

“What happens to the hospitals during the shortages?”

“Emergency reserves are prioritised. But those reserves are not unlimited.”

“And the water treatment systems?”

“Also prioritised.”

Max folded his arms.

“So the city has built more infrastructure than it can afford to power.”

“An excellent summary.”

Fernan enlarged the projection.

“Your challenge is to design an artificial intelligence system that improves the distribution of available energy. You cannot build a new power station. You cannot increase production. And you cannot simply disconnect entire districts whenever demand becomes inconvenient.”

Cass raised a hand.

“Can we disconnect Jason's house?”

“No.”

“Just asking.”

The six gathered around the projection.

Fernan had spent years teaching them how to use artificial intelligence as an instrument for investigation, design and creative problem-solving.

Their systems were powerful, but not miraculous.

An intelligent model could identify patterns in enormous quantities of information, simulate possible outcomes, generate technical suggestions and assist with the construction of complex software.

It could also misunderstand instructions, produce convincing errors and recommend solutions that appeared mathematically efficient while proving disastrous for the people affected.

Fernan insisted that every student understand the difference.

“Before you ask an artificial intelligence to solve a problem,” he said, “you must understand what problem you are asking it to solve.”

Tom nodded.

“And define the constraints.”

“Precisely.”

Kala opened the energy distribution model.

“What about creating an adaptive demand forecast?”

“A reasonable beginning.”

Vega examined the transport system.

“We could shift some industrial processes into low-consumption periods.”

Kira pointed towards several residential districts.

“But we need to consider the effect on people working at night.”

“Excellent,” Fernan replied.

“That's Concordia,” Max said.

“Yes.”

“And the modelling is Cerebro.”

“Yes.”

Cass looked towards the manufacturing laboratory.

“So when do we get to do something involving Fuerza?”

Fernan smiled.

“When you build the physical components for your demonstration.”

Cass nodded approvingly.

“Now we're talking.”

Over the following hour, the six developed a collaborative model.

Tom created the logical structure of the energy distribution system.

Kala worked on the technical architecture and the relationship between industrial consumption and residential demand.

Vega explored alternative operating schedules and identified areas in which the city could reduce unnecessary energy expenditure.

Kira studied the effects upon hospitals, schools, transport workers and households.

Max developed an interactive interface that allowed the simulated population to make decisions and observe their consequences.

Cass worked with the manufacturing equipment, preparing a physical model of the city and assembling its modular electrical infrastructure.

The project required more than programming.

It required research, imagination, communication, technical judgement and practical skill.

After several attempts, their model reduced the projected energy deficit considerably.

Fernan examined the results.

“Impressive.”

Max smiled.

“Obviously.”

“Unfortunately, you've created a serious problem.”

The smile disappeared.

“What?”

Fernan touched the model.

Several residential districts turned orange.

“Your system has reduced overall consumption, but you've imposed significant restrictions upon communities that already have limited access to electricity.”

Kira looked towards the affected districts.

“Those are the poorest areas.”

“Yes.”

“But their consumption was already low.”

“Correct.”

Kala frowned.

“The model selected them because their industrial influence was limited.”

“Precisely.”

Tom studied the output.

“It optimised the numerical target without adequately considering the social consequences.”

Fernan nodded.

“That is the difficulty.”

He looked at each student.

“An artificial intelligence can be extremely good at achieving the objective you give it. But if your objective is incomplete, the results may be unacceptable.”

Vega crossed her arms.

“So we need to improve the instructions.”

“And the evaluation criteria,” Kala added.

“And the data,” said Tom.

Kira looked towards Fernan.

“And decide what we consider fair.”

Fernan smiled.

“Now you're beginning to understand.”

For the next forty minutes, they redesigned the model.

They introduced minimum service guarantees, protected critical infrastructure and created a system that distributed temporary restrictions more equitably.

The final simulation did not produce the greatest possible numerical reduction in energy demand.

But it produced a better result for the people who lived in the city.

Fernan examined the data.

“Excellent work.”

Cass looked at the clock.

“Does that mean we're finished?”

“Not entirely.”

He activated another display.

A collection of miniature figures appeared above the table.

Fantasy warriors.

Explorers.

Mechanical creatures.

Armoured soldiers.

Strange animals.

Small representations of imaginary cities and landscapes.

Max's expression changed immediately.

“Oh, this I like.”

Fernan smiled.

“I thought you might.”

07

The Worlds They Created

One of Arkademy's most popular educational activities involved tabletop role-playing games.

The concept was ancient by the standards of the reconstructed world.

Long before the Definitive World War, groups of people had gathered around tables to imagine fictional adventures, create characters, explore imaginary places and determine the consequences of their decisions through rules and chance.

The games had survived the destruction of civilisation through preserved books, archived digital materials and the oral traditions of communities that continued playing them during the darkest years of reconstruction.

At Arkademy, the tradition had evolved.

Students could create detailed digital environments, develop complex characters with artificial intelligence, manufacture their own miniature figures and combine physical tabletop gameplay with interactive simulations.

But the essential idea remained beautifully simple.

A group of people gathered together.

Someone described a world.

The players imagined themselves within it.

And together they discovered what happened next.

Pandora had introduced the six to their first tabletop adventure when they were small.

They had immediately loved it.

Tom had become fascinated by the underlying rules.

Cass had wanted to play the strongest character available.

Max had attempted to negotiate with every monster.

Kira had insisted on protecting innocent people.

Kala had developed increasingly elaborate strategies for solving problems.

And Vega had discovered that even the most carefully planned adventure could be transformed by one unexpected decision.

Over the years, their games had grown more sophisticated.

They designed their own worlds, created characters, wrote adventures and built extensive collections of miniatures.

Some of those miniatures were printed from digital models.

Others were painted by hand.

A few represented characters from stories Pandora had told them, although the young people had often changed the details considerably.

They enjoyed taking an idea and turning it into something tangible.

A creature imagined during a conversation might become a digital illustration.

That illustration might become a three-dimensional model.

The model might be printed, painted and placed upon a tabletop battlefield.

Then the creature would become part of an adventure that six people experienced together.

Fernan considered the activity one of the most valuable educational tools available.

It combined imagination, mathematics, technology, communication, creativity and collaboration.

It also taught something that ordinary examinations rarely measured.

The ability to make decisions without knowing what would happen next.

That afternoon, the six gathered around a large gaming table in one of Arkademy's creative studios.

Pandora and Circe had joined them.

Fernan placed a small collection of unpainted figures in the centre.

“Your next project,” he announced, “will combine artificial intelligence, three-dimensional design, physical manufacturing and collaborative storytelling.”

Max looked delighted.

“Finally, an examination worth taking.”

“You will create a new adventure from the beginning.”

Cass picked up an enormous miniature warrior.

“Can I use this?”

“You may design something similar.”

“Excellent.”

Kala examined the model.

“The proportions are terrible.”

Cass looked offended.

“He's a barbarian.”

“He has arms longer than his legs.”

“He lifts.”

Vega laughed.

Kira selected a small figure representing an armoured woman carrying a shield.

“I like this one.”

Tom studied the terrain components.

“We should establish the rules before designing the characters.”

Max shook his head.

“Absolutely not. First we make something spectacular. Then we worry about whether it makes sense.”

Pandora smiled.

“Perhaps you should consider doing both.”

Circe examined one of the miniature warriors.

“Does this character know how to use that sword?”

Cass shrugged.

“He looks like he does.”

“That was not my question.”

“It's a game.”

“Exactly,” Circe replied. “And games can teach poor habits as easily as good ones.”

She placed the figure on the table.

“If your character is a warrior, you should understand how that warrior moves. If your character is responsible for protecting others, you should understand what protection requires.”

Vega leaned forwards.

“So you're suggesting we use the martial arts training in our role-playing games?”

“Why not?”

Pandora looked towards Fernan.

“And perhaps the reverse is equally valuable.”

Fernan nodded thoughtfully.

“Using fictional situations to develop practical decision-making.”

“Exactly.”

Pandora gathered several miniature figures and arranged them around a small model of a ruined village.

“Imagine that your characters arrive here.”

The six looked towards the table.

“The village has been attacked,” she continued. “Its defenders are exhausted. The inhabitants are frightened. And somewhere beyond the surrounding hills, an enemy force is approaching.”

Cass smiled.

“We fight them.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

Pandora tilted her head.

“What if the enemy is much stronger than you?”

“Then we fight intelligently,” Tom said.

“And if the village cannot survive the battle?”

Kira considered the question.

“Evacuate the civilians.”

“Where?”

Kala examined the terrain.

“There's a mountain passage to the east.”

Pandora placed another figure beside the passage.

“The route is guarded.”

Vega smiled.

“Then we create a distraction.”

“And if the guards are innocent people who have been ordered to prevent anyone from crossing?”

Vega paused.

Max leaned back in his chair.

“I negotiate.”

Circe raised an eyebrow.

“With what?”

“My extraordinary charm.”

“Your character has a charisma score of six,” Tom reminded him.

Max stared.

“You remembered that?”

“Of course.”

“That's deeply offensive.”

Everyone laughed.

Pandora waited until they settled.

“Now you begin to understand why we use these games.”

She looked around the table.

“Not because imaginary worlds are more important than the real one, but because they allow us to explore choices without exposing real people to the consequences.”

Fernan nodded.

“An excellent way to develop judgement.”

“And empathy,” Kira added.

“And teamwork,” said Kala.

“And tactical thinking,” Vega continued.

Cass examined the warrior in his hand.

“And occasionally hitting monsters with enormous swords.”

Pandora laughed.

“Yes, Cass. Occasionally that too.”

The session continued throughout the afternoon.

The six worked on the foundations of their new adventure, experimenting with different character designs and discussing how to create a fictional world that felt believable.

They used artificial intelligence to research architecture, develop geographical maps and explore the practical consequences of different environments.

They constructed preliminary three-dimensional models, examined printing requirements and planned how to produce their first collection of miniatures.

But Pandora insisted upon something that Fernan found particularly interesting.

Before anyone designed a powerful character, they had to decide what that character believed in.

Not what weapons they possessed.

Not how much damage they could inflict.

Not how many extraordinary abilities they had.

What they believed in.

Because, as Pandora explained, a character's decisions should emerge from something deeper than the desire to win.

By the end of the session, the six had produced the foundations of an ambitious new adventure.

And without realising it, they had spent several hours practising many of the same abilities they had used during their training that morning.

08

The Woman with Violet Eyes

That evening, Arkadia was bathed in the warm colours of sunset.

The city's towers reflected orange and gold across the ocean. Transport lights began appearing along the elevated bridges, and the artificial gardens glowed beneath their carefully regulated illumination.

In District 199, the six had gathered inside their music studio.

Cass sat behind his drums.

Tom adjusted the settings on his keyboard.

Kala worked at a synthesiser.

Kira stood beside her violin, checking its tuning.

Vega leaned against an amplifier with her bass.

Max held his guitar and examined a sheet of unfinished lyrics.

They had spent the better part of an hour attempting to perfect a new arrangement.

It was not going particularly well.

“No,” Vega said.

Max looked up.

“No what?”

“No to whatever that was.”

“That was artistic expression.”

“That was a mistake.”

Cass tapped a short rhythm.

“I liked it.”

“You also like punching training droids,” Kala replied.

“Both are excellent activities.”

Kira smiled.

“Can we try the bridge again?”

Tom nodded.

“From the second measure.”

They began.

The first notes emerged carefully, then gradually developed into a melody.

Tom's keyboard established the harmonic structure.

Cass introduced a restrained rhythmic pattern.

Kala's synthesiser added texture.

Vega's bass gave the music depth and momentum.

Kira's violin rose above the arrangement.

And Max began singing.

For several minutes, nobody argued.

Nobody competed.

Nobody discussed examinations, medical reports, training scores or the differences between EvoSapiens and Altus.

They simply played.

When the final note disappeared, the room remained silent.

Then Cass smiled.

“That,” he said, “was excellent.”

Vega considered the arrangement.

“Better.”

“Better?” Max protested.

“Much better.”

Kira laughed.

From the doorway came a familiar voice.

“I rather liked it.”

Pandora stood watching them.

She had changed from her training clothes into an elegant white jacket and dark trousers. Her violet hair was gathered into a long braid over one shoulder.

Beside her stood Circe, dressed in a simple black outfit, carrying a small tray of drinks.

“You missed dinner,” Circe announced.

Cass stared at the tray.

“Is that food?”

“No.”

“Tragic.”

Pandora entered the room.

“Fernan asked me to remind you that tomorrow's schedule begins at eight.”

Max lowered his guitar.

“Eight? Luxury.”

“Don't become too comfortable.”

Circe placed the drinks on a table.

“The athletic trials begin next week. I expect all six of you to be ready.”

Vega smiled.

“We will be.”

“I hope so.”

Pandora sat on the edge of a sofa.

“Before you disappear into your rooms, I thought I might tell you a story.”

That immediately attracted their attention.

Pandora's stories had become a tradition.

When they were younger, she had told them tales of distant lands, ancient heroes, forgotten kingdoms and extraordinary civilisations.

As they grew older, the stories had become more complicated.

Some were historical.

Others were philosophical.

And some seemed to belong to a kind of mythology so vast and intricate that even Tom struggled to determine whether Pandora was inventing them or drawing upon obscure ancient sources.

Max placed his guitar aside.

“What kind of story?”

Pandora considered the question.

“A very old one.”

Cass smiled.

“With battles?”

“Possibly.”

“Monsters?”

“Perhaps.”

“Ancient warriors?”

“Almost certainly.”

Vega rolled her eyes.

“You're encouraging him.”

Pandora laughed.

“I know.”

Kira sat beside her.

“Where does it take place?”

Pandora looked towards the enormous windows.

Beyond them, the stars were beginning to appear.

“Far away.”

“How far?” Tom asked.

“Farther than any human expedition has travelled.”

Tom raised an eyebrow.

“That narrows it down considerably.”

Kala sat on the floor beside the sofa.

“Is it another legend?”

Pandora nodded.

“A legend concerning an ancient order of extraordinary beings.”

Max leaned forwards.

“What kind of beings?”

“According to the stories, they belonged to a civilisation whose knowledge surpassed anything humanity has ever achieved.”

Tom smiled faintly.

“There are many fictional civilisations like that.”

“Indeed.”

“Did they have spaceships?” Cass asked.

“Some stories suggest they could travel between distant worlds.”

“Magic?”

Pandora considered the word.

“Perhaps what appeared to be magic was simply a form of knowledge beyond the understanding of those who witnessed it.”

Fernan, who had entered quietly behind them, smiled.

“An excellent scientific answer.”

Pandora looked towards him.

“Good evening, Doctor Claes.”

“Please continue. I enjoy your legends.”

He settled into a chair.

Circe stood near the window, listening.

Pandora returned her attention to the six.

“The stories describe warriors, scholars and explorers who travelled through regions of existence that ordinary civilisations scarcely understood. They were said to possess extraordinary abilities, yet their greatest responsibility was not conquest.”

“What was it?” Kira asked.

“Protection.”

The young woman considered the answer.

“Protection of whom?”

“Of those who could not protect themselves.”

Vega folded her arms.

“And they were all good?”

Pandora smiled.

“Would that make a very interesting story?”

“No.”

“Then perhaps not.”

Tom leaned forwards.

“What were they called?”

Pandora regarded him for a moment.

“In some versions of the legend, they were known as the Kwasars.”

The word settled into the quiet room.

Kwasars.

Max repeated it.

“Sounds like the name of a legendary warrior.”

“Perhaps that's why it survived in the stories.”

Cass grinned.

“I want to play one.”

“Of course you do,” Kala said.

“What?”

“We haven't even heard what they were.”

“They sound powerful.”

Pandora laughed.

“There are many kinds of strength, Cass.”

“I know. Cerebro, Fuerza, Concordia.”

“An excellent beginning.”

Tom was studying her.

“Where did you learn about them?”

“From old stories.”

“Which ones?”

“A variety of sources.”

“Are they historical?”

“Some people believed they were.”

“Do you?”

Pandora looked at him.

“I believe that stories can contain truths even when their details are impossible to verify.”

Fernan nodded.

“A sensible distinction.”

Vega was not satisfied.

“Come on, Pandora. You can't tell us about legendary warriors from somewhere beyond the known stars and then refuse to say whether they existed.”

Pandora smiled.

“Why not?”

“Because that's cruel.”

“Perhaps a little.”

Kira laughed.

“Tell us more.”

Pandora looked around the room.

The six were watching her with the same curiosity they had possessed when they were children.

Tom wanted to understand.

Cass wanted adventure.

Max wanted excitement.

Kira wanted to know what those legendary beings had protected.

Kala wanted to understand the civilisation that might have produced them.

And Vega wanted to know whether anyone had ever been brave enough to challenge them.

Pandora settled comfortably into the sofa.

“Very well.”

She looked towards the stars.

“Long before the oldest surviving records of Earth's civilisation, according to the legend, there existed a warrior who believed that strength alone was enough to change the destiny of a world.”

Cass smiled.

“I like him already.”

“You might change your mind.”

“What happened?”

Pandora paused.

“He discovered that the most difficult battles are not always fought against enemies.”

Vega leaned forwards.

“What does that mean?”

Pandora looked at her.

“It means that even the greatest warriors must eventually confront the consequences of their own decisions.”

The room became quiet.

Outside, Arkadia continued its evening routines.

Transport vehicles crossed the bridges.

Artificial lights illuminated the gardens.

Far beyond the archipelago, across an enormous and troubled planet, millions of human beings struggled to maintain the civilisation their ancestors had spent decades rebuilding.

Yet within the music studio of District 199, six teenagers were absorbed in a story about beings they believed had never existed.

Pandora began to speak.

And for the next hour, the problems of Earth seemed very far away.

09

The Price of Tomorrow

Much later, when the six had retired to their rooms, Fernan remained in the music studio.

Pandora was collecting several forgotten cups from the table.

Circe stood beside the window, looking towards the distant administrative towers.

Fernan smiled.

“They adore your stories.”

Pandora glanced towards him.

“They have excellent imaginations.”

“They also have excellent memories. Tom will probably arrive tomorrow with a list of scientific objections.”

“I look forward to it.”

Fernan laughed.

Then his expression became more thoughtful.

“Antonio wants another review of their medical records.”

Pandora looked towards him.

“Why?”

“Supra is concerned about the continued development of their abilities.”

“Have there been problems?”

“No. Quite the opposite.”

He sat down.

“Their neurological measurements continue to exceed our projections. Their physical development remains exceptional, and their capacity for complex learning is almost impossible to compare with that of other students.”

Circe turned away from the window.

“Is that a reason for concern?”

“Not to me.”

“But to Supra?”

Fernan sighed.

“Supra wants explanations. The High Warden wants certainty. And the scientists want answers that I simply cannot provide.”

Pandora placed the cups on the table.

“What do you intend to do?”

“My job.”

“And what is that?”

Fernan looked towards the empty instruments.

“Teach them. Protect them. Help them become good people.”

Pandora smiled.

“Then we agree.”

Circe folded her arms.

“And the medical review?”

“I'll authorise the routine examinations. Nothing intrusive. Nothing unnecessary.”

Fernan stood.

“They're seventeen. They deserve to enjoy the remainder of their childhood without feeling that their lives belong to a laboratory.”

Pandora nodded.

“Of course.”

Fernan collected his folder.

“Thank you, both of you.”

“For what?” Circe asked.

“For everything you do for them.”

He looked from one woman to the other.

“I don't think I could have managed this without you.”

Pandora's expression softened.

“You've done more for those children than you realise, Fernan.”

He smiled.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

The doors closed behind him.

For several moments, the music studio remained silent.

Then Circe walked towards the instruments and examined the unfinished musical arrangement still displayed above Tom's keyboard.

“They're getting better,” she said.

Pandora smiled.

“At music?”

“At everything.”

“They've worked very hard.”

“So have you.”

Pandora looked towards the window.

Below them, the lights of Arkadia reflected across the ocean.

It was a beautiful sight.

The city was quiet.

Its inhabitants slept beneath the protection of systems that demanded constant energy, careful maintenance and extraordinary resources.

Beyond its borders, the rest of Earth faced challenges that no single city could solve.

Pandora thought of the six young people sleeping in their rooms.

Of their laughter.

Their arguments.

Their relentless curiosity.

And the way they always found their way back to one another, no matter how fiercely they competed.

“They're wonderful children,” she said.

Circe nodded.

“They are.”

“And they'll need to learn much more.”

“They will.”

Pandora smiled faintly.

“Then we'd better continue teaching them.”

High above the archipelago, in the silent upper chambers of Axis Tower, Antonio Rey was still awake.

The High Warden stood before a panoramic window, watching the lights of Arkadia.

On his desk lay a confidential report from Supra.

Its contents concerned the deteriorating energy situation across several continental regions, increasing civil unrest and new requests for assistance from cities whose infrastructure was approaching failure.

There were also recommendations regarding Arkadia's long-term security.

Rey read the report carefully.

Then he opened another document.

Six portraits appeared.

Tom.

Cass.

Max.

Kira.

Kala.

Vega.

The medical conclusions remained frustratingly incomplete.

Their abilities were extraordinary.

Their origins were uncertain.

Their biological characteristics could not be explained by any recognised enhancement programme.

For years, Rey had regarded them as one of Arkadia's most important scientific mysteries.

But as the situation beyond the archipelago became increasingly unstable, he had begun to consider another possibility.

Perhaps the six were more than an unexplained scientific achievement.

Perhaps they represented an opportunity for a civilisation that was running out of solutions.

He closed the document.

Beyond the windows, Arkadia shone like a jewel upon the dark ocean.

Beautiful.

Protected.

Extraordinarily advanced.

And surrounded by a world whose future was becoming increasingly uncertain.

Humanity had survived the Definitive World War.

It had rebuilt its cities, recovered its sciences and created a civilisation that would have astonished the generations who lived before the destruction.

Yet even after eighty-three years, the struggle for survival was far from over.

For all its technological achievements, humanity remained vulnerable to its own ambitions.

The world needed energy.

It needed stability.

It needed knowledge.

And, perhaps more than anything, it needed a generation capable of accomplishing what previous generations had failed to achieve.

Rey looked once more towards the distant lights of District 199.

Somewhere within those buildings, six extraordinary young people were sleeping after another day of lessons, competitions, arguments, laughter and music.

They knew nothing of the reports gathering upon the High Warden's desk.

Nothing of the expectations that powerful institutions were beginning to place upon them.

And almost nothing about the unanswered questions surrounding their own existence.

For now, they were simply students.

Six friends who loved music, enjoyed games, challenged their teachers and dreamed of discovering what the future might hold.

They called themselves The Entourage.

And their story had only just begun.

End of Chapter One