[APARTMENT – EVENING, A DAY BEFORE THE EASTERN BORDER CLASH]
The apartment hums with quiet tension, beds pushed aside to make room in the main hall. Twenty-three survivors, gather in a loose circle around the flickering fire. Faces gaunt from the frozen world's trials, but eyes sharp, mutations hidden under cloaks and illusions for now. The air smells of stew and sweat, the basement sealed tight below them.
Monaki stands at the center, flanked by Yuka and Taru. His scales peek faintly at his collar, black veins threading like whispers of power. The iron ring on his finger gleams dully. He's changed since the Institute colder, more commanding.
The group falls silent as he raises a hand.
MONAKI
Listen up. We can't hide any longer. Vexis's deal... it's a chain yes, but it's also a key. We're fighting a war. Not for the people of this world but for us. To protect this group, to find the forty who went south. To carve a place in this world where we don't have to hide our scales or veins. And to find a way back home.
Murmurs ripple. A teacher the bandaged, one shifts uneasily.
TEACHER
War? We're not soldiers, Monaki. We're survivors.
MONAKI
Exactly. And survivors adapt. We'll be the tip of the spear against Elyria's Heroes' Guild. Yuka, Taru, and I lead. But if things go south... we might need all of you. Your mutations, your powers they're not curses here. They're weapons.
A younger student, the girl with frost-burn scars on her hands, speaks up, voice steady despite her age.
STUDENT GIRL
What if we can't fight?
MONAKI
(smiling faintly, cold)
We test that now. First: mana. In this world, it's everything. More than blood, more than breath.
He pulls a fist-sized crystal from his cloak glowing faintly blue, facets catching the firelight like frozen stars. The mana crystal, pilfered from the Institute's stores during his "prodigy" days.
MONAKI
Touch it. Speak the words: Vera Forza. It measures your core—the raw power inside. Most Institute kids top out at Class B or C. Let's see what the rift gave us.
They line up. One by one.
First: one of thier teachers. Old, but unbowed. He places wrinkled fingers on the crystal.
TEACHER 1
Vera Forza.
The crystal pulses white-hot. Runes flash: Class A. Rank 2.
Gasps. The Teacher stares, wide-eyed.
TEACHER 1
I... I feel it. Like fire in my veins.
Next: the bandaged teacher. Vera Forza. Class A. Rank 4.
Student after student follows. A boy with subtle claw-marks on his arms: Class S. Rank 1. Whispers erupt between YUKA and TARU S-Class? Beyond even the Institute's elites.
The frost-scar girl: Class A. Rank 3. She grins, scars glowing faintly as if awakening.
Most surpass the Institute brats ranks, classes purer. The rift's gift was brutal, but bountiful. Only a few dip to B or C, but even they outshine the "rich bastards" Monaki mocked.
Last: a quiet student with black-veined eyes like Taru's. "Vera Forza."
The crystal cracks slightly overloaded.
Class SS. Unmeasurable.
MONAKI
(nodding) This is amazing.
The group buzzes, a mix of fear and thrill. Mutations stir scales shifting, veins pulsing, bone dislocating as if the measurements wake something dormant.
MONAKI
Next: strength. Taru will spar you. No holding back. Show us what your bodies can do.
Taru steps forward, twin swords sheathed but ready. Her black veins throb, faint wing-scars rippling like shadows. She grins feral, inviting.
TARU
Come on. One at a time. Hit me like you mean it.
The Teacher hesitates, but lunges faster than his age suggests. Taru dodges effortlessly, counters with a palm strike that sends him skidding, but not breaking. He rises, laughing, adrenaline surging.
Teacher
That... felt good.
Students follow. The claw-mark boy slashes with elongated nails mutations erupting mid-spar. Taru parries, twists, teaches with every move: "Use your weight. Feel the shift let the scales harden your skin."
A girl with frost-scars summons ice mid-punch freezing Taru's blade momentarily. Taru breaks free, nods approval. "Good. Channel it. Don't fight the cold—become it."
Sparks fly literal and figurative. One student phases through Taru's strike like smoke, reappearing behind her. Another grows vines from his palms, wrapping her legs until she slices free with a claw-extended hand.
The room echoes with grunts, clashes, encouragement. Teachers join, rediscovering youth in the rift's changes. Bruises form, but heal fast mutations accelerating recovery. Taru sweats, but her eyes gleam: "You're monsters. Own it."
By the end, the group stands taller bonded, battle-ready. Exhaustion mixes with empowerment.
MONAKI
Good. Now weapons. Yuka's turn.
Yuka steps up, bow in hand, quiver at her hip. Her twisted arm still wrong, but stronger—doesn't hinder her draw.
YUKA
Not all power is raw. Some is precise. Deadly from afar. We'll test your affinities, swords, bows, staves, whatever calls to you.
She scatters scavenged weapons: guild blades, enchanted daggers, a few bows from Marla's stash. "Pick one. Feel it. Then spar lightly aim at targets."
The frost-scar girl grabs a staff ice crystals form along its length as she swings. Yuka corrects her grip: "Balance. Breathe. Let the mutation flow into the wood make it an extension."
A boy with phasing ability takes a dagger mid-throw, reappears with it embedded in a makeshift target. Yuka nods: "Smart. Use your gift to close gaps. Strike unseen."
Teachers experiment: their class teacher wind with a spear, buffeting dummies. Yuka teaches "Weapons aren't tools they're partners. Listen to them."
One student black veined eyes wields dual blades like Taru, but infuses them with shadow, making strikes invisible. Yuka spars him briefly, arrows whistling: "Predictable. Mix it feint high, strike low. Let the shadows lie for you."
As night deepens, the group glistens with sweat, weapons humming with newfound synergy.
MONAKI
In this world, power sleeps until you wake it. Incantations words that shape reality. But the key: Vera Forza. Say it first. It unlocks your core. Then weave the spell.
He demonstrates, hand outstretched. "Vera Forza." His aura flares visible, crackling. "Freeze the air bind the water turn breath to ice."
A chill sweeps the room. Frost patterns the windows.