"What do you two want to do?" Celeste asked after things had finally calmed down.
Because humanity was at war, people didn't have unlimited choices for their future. In fact, the war had narrowed most paths down to only a few viable options.
"We want to join the army," Sylvia replied without hesitation.
Celeste immediately shook her head.
"Nope."
Her refusal was firm and absolute. Seeing the expressions on their faces, she let out a small breath before explaining.
"First off, you two are far too young. The current situation isn't like before, where we could afford to train soldiers gradually on the battlefield."
Her gaze hardened slightly as she continued.
"Ever since we lost the last large-scale battle, our resources have taken a serious hit. We can't support a large number of soldiers anymore, so we've had to streamline our forces."
There was no room for inefficiency now. Every soldier had to count.
"But…" Celeste paused, looking at the two of them more carefully.
It didn't take long for her to realize the truth. There was no way these two would ever be able to live normal lives behind the front lines. That path had already been closed off to them.
"…in order to make up for the lack of high-level combat power," she continued, "we decided to create a different kind of force."
Her tone shifted, becoming more deliberate.
"A group of individually powerful soldiers—ones who can surpass the previous generation. To achieve that, we've established an academy specifically for raising child soldiers."
The words themselves carried weight.
Using children in warfare was, by any standard, morally questionable. But morality had long since begun to blur under the pressure of survival. When it came to modifying and enhancing humans, starting young produced better results.
And more importantly, it was safer. The process could be carried out gradually over time.
"If you two want," Celeste said, "I can send you there."
She paused for a moment, making sure her next words were clear.
"But understand this—once you complete your training, you won't be allowed to leave. You'll be required to spend the rest of your lives fighting for humanity."
Her eyes locked onto theirs.
"No quitting. No backing out. You'll keep fighting until either the war ends… or you do."
She had deliberately made it sound harsher, more frightening than necessary. If there was even the slightest hesitation in them, she wanted to draw it out now.
But neither of them flinched.
Their expressions didn't change.
"We couldn't want anything more."
…
"How was it?" Jeremiah asked a few hours later as Celeste stepped into the room.
"I'm going to become their guardian," she replied.
There was no hesitation in her voice.
In order to prevent just anyone from entering the program, every participant needed a recommendation from someone already within the system. More importantly, they needed genuine resolve—the willingness to walk that path from the bottom of their hearts.
"They said they want to join the Hero program."
Jeremiah frowned slightly.
"And you're seriously signing them up?"
Celeste didn't look at him immediately.
"Worst case scenario," she said calmly, "I have enough authority to pull them out safely."
That alone spoke volumes about her position.
Celeste Lucifer—the world's leading bio-engineer, unrivaled in anything related to human modification and enhancement.
"And I have you," she added, finally turning her gaze toward him.
Jeremiah Claude. When it came to weapons, machinery, and all forms of military technology, he stood at the very top. There was no one who could rival him in that field.
Together, they oversaw nearly every scientific aspect of the military.
Power, influence, authority—they had it all.
Jeremiah let out a long sigh.
"Haa… I can never keep up with you."
But despite his words, Celeste knew the truth. He had already agreed.
He always did.
"So," he asked, "when do we return?"
Celeste glanced out the window. The sky had already darkened—it was night.
"Tomorrow," she said. "We should at least give them a proper chance to rest."
There was a brief pause before she added quietly,
"The program starts in two months."
Until then, she intended to give them time.
Time to reconsider.
Time to change their minds.
…
It was too soft.
That was the first thing Ethan noticed as he lay on the bed provided for him.
The sensation felt foreign.
He had grown used to sleeping on the bare ground. Hard, cold, and unyielding—that had been his normal for so long that anything else felt unnatural.
Ever since his evolution, even temperature no longer bothered him much. Heat, cold—it barely registered.
But this…
This was different.
This place was too comfortable.
'It's too peaceful.'
His senses, which were always alert—always scanning for the slightest hint of danger—felt disoriented. It was as if they no longer knew what to do in the absence of threats.
"Sylvia," he called out.
They had requested to stay in the same room, and she was lying nearby.
"Yeah."
"Can you sleep?"
"Nope."
"Neither can I."
A brief silence followed.
"Are we safe?" he asked.
"For now."
"We wouldn't get eaten in the middle of the night, right?"
"Probably not."
"…I see."
Sylvia could tell he still hadn't fully accepted it.
But then again, neither had she.
It all felt unreal.
Like a fragile illusion that could shatter at any moment.
They might wake up and find themselves right back in danger.
Or worse…
That this was nothing more than a hallucination at the edge of death.
But deep down, she knew.
This wasn't a dream.
She could hear him.
Not his exact thoughts, but something close—his emotions, faint yet clear. They leaked through, brushing against her awareness.
Familiar… yet different.
"Ethan," she called softly.
"Hmm?"
"We made it."
For a moment, there was no response.
Then Ethan felt something strange.
His vision blurred.
Warmth ran down his face.
It took him a few seconds to understand what was happening.
Tears.
The tears he had never shed before.
Until now.
Seeing him break down, Sylvia smiled faintly and turned her face away.
She still had an image to maintain.
She couldn't let him see her like this.
In the quiet of the night, the room was filled with silent cries.
No words.
Just the release of everything they had endured.
And deep within their hearts, they made a single vow.
'This will be the last time I shed tears of grief.'