The SUV rolled forward through the thickening mist, headlights cutting short beams into grey.
As the vehicle approached what looked like a crumbling wall of stone and steel, Nola leaned slightly forward in her seat. The rest of the group fell quiet.
The base was... disappointing.
From the outside, Comet Legion Base Seven looked more like a disused Cold War bunker than anything mythic. The stone was pitted with age, the fencing rusted and sagging. There were no banners, no glowing glyphs, no sense of power or promise.
Just rain on rusting metal and a silence that felt more dead than secretive.
Ari muttered, "This looks like a shelter for raccoons, not warriors."
Vera didn't laugh. "The best places are the ones no one thinks twice about."
The SUV didn't slow as it neared the base's main door, a broad sheet of weather-streaked steel set directly into the cliffside. No hinges. No handle. No visible mechanism at all.
"Uh," Tris said, "we're gonna hit that."
The driver didn't flinch.
And then, without a sound, the metal shimmered. The surface rippled like a pond, and the SUV passed through as if the door were made of mist. The moment they cleared the threshold, the shimmer sealed behind them, returning the wall to dull stillness.
Nola didn't speak, but her eyes flicked from face to face. Every one of them was wide-eyed, even Vera.
Inside was another world.
The tunnel they entered was made of smooth obsidian stone, faintly glowing veins of cobalt running along the floor. Biometric lights activated as they passed, illuminating the way forward. The car emerged from the tunnel into an underground hangar the size of a stadium.
And it was alive.
Hundreds of people moved with quiet urgency.
A group of scouts were just returning, soaked and muddy, handing off sealed tubes of information to officers waiting with tablets.
A cluster of black-clad agents were sparring in a far-off corner, one launched into the air, spun, and drove a heel down onto a mat with terrifying precision. Screens flickered across the stone walls showing maps, reports, and encrypted mission logs.
A long hall split the base in half, its high arched ceiling lined with what looked like starmaps or maybe just beautiful charts.
The SUV stopped.
Before the group could fully take it in, the doors unlocked with a click. They climbed out into crisp, filtered air.
And then he appeared.
He walked with an easy confidence, his coat flaring slightly as he moved, blue sparks flickering from the metal prosthetic that replaced his left arm. '
It wasn't crude, it was elegant, humming faintly with an internal power source. It glowed faintly beneath the seams like a circuit running with starlight.
The man stopped in front of them.
"I'm Vice Commander Halrix," he said. "You're late."
None of them replied. Even Tris.
Halrix's face was lean, weathered but sharp. A burn scar ran along his neck, disappearing into his collar. His right eye was natural brown. His left was a pale, artificial blue.
"Welcome to Comet Legion Base Seven," he continued. "We are not here to train you to be soldiers. You were already trained. We are not here to teach you to follow orders. You wouldn't have been selected if that was your strength."
He turned, motioning for them to follow, and they did.
"We are here," he said, "because monsters still walk in human skin. Will-bearers gone rogue. Mages who abuse the craft. Things that crawl up through the seams in reality when the world isn't paying attention. And no one wants to admit it."
They passed through a glass-walled corridor now, overlooking a massive operations center. Below them, agents sat at glowing consoles, speaking in dozens of languages, scanning energy fields and listening in on encrypted calls. A mission team disappeared through a hatch with black armor and silver weapons.
"We do what others can't afford to," Halrix said. "We erase threats before they become disasters. We neutralize corrupted will-bearers. We perform assassinations. Sabotage. Extraction. Containment. Covert warfare."
Felix swallowed audibly.
Halrix stopped at a lift. The doors opened, and they stepped inside.
"You were chosen," he said, voice quieter now, "not just because of your wills, but because your skills as well.
Powerful. Hungry. You've already felt it, haven't you? That pull in your bones when danger's near. That silence before a fight."
They said nothing, but Nola felt it, the echo of Watanabe no Tsuna stirring inside her, like a sword humming in its sheath.
The lift opened to another level, high above the floor of the base.
Here, it was quiet. Marble floors gleamed. A long row of windows looked out into what appeared to be a vertical garden, all bioluminescent moss and suspended glass walkways.
It was shockingly beautiful, almost sacred.
"This is the heart of the base," Halrix said. "Your quarters, briefing halls, tactical rooms. You'll get your orientation packets tonight. Training begins tomorrow."
He faced them now.
"There are rules," he said.
"First: no use of your will without clearance. We track all activity. Second: no leaving the compound without a handler or mission detail. Third: no challenging another initiate to a duel unless sanctioned by a personnel. Break these, and you're out. Or dead."
Vera didn't blink. Ari looked slightly impressed.
"Questions?"
Tris raised a hand, unsure. "How many... how many people are in Comet Legion?"
Halrix smirked. "Globally? About four hundred. Not counting handlers, intel staff, or dead operatives."
Tris gave a low whistle.
Felix asked, "Do you always kill rogue will-users?"
Halrix looked at him.
"No," he said. "Some are rehabilitated. Some are imprisoned. Most, though... want to burn everything. They don't want help. They want blood."
They stood in silence a moment.
Then Nola stepped forward.
"And the ones like us? The ones who've killed already?"
Halrix tilted his head slightly. "We know everything about you, Nola."
The room held its breath.
"You're not here to prove you're good. You're here to prove you can be useful."
He turned and walked away without another word, leaving them standing in the middle of what felt like a cathedral designed by a tactician.
After a moment, a woman with half her face tattooed in geometric ink approached. She handed each of them a slim, sealed folder.
"Welcome to the Legion," she said. "Rooms are assigned by will compatibility. Gear is in your lockers. You're not civilians anymore. You're assets."
She turned and left.
They stood there in silence, folders in hand.
Tris let out a breath. "Wow. That guy's intense. Like 'survived five wars and doesn't sleep anymore' intense."
Felix looked pale. "I thought I was ready. I don't know if I am."
Vera opened her folder with sharp, practiced hands. "Doesn't matter if you are. You're here."
Ari was already walking toward the residential wing.
Nola opened her own folder. Inside was a schedule, a map of the base, and a photo of her will's iconography and the image of her golden katana. There was also a note handwritten at the bottom.
You were selected. Remember why.
She closed it.
The base wasn't what she imagined. It wasn't mythic on the outside. It was grounded, practical. Brutal, even.
But inside, beneath the layers of camouflage and silence, it pulsed with life. Purpose. Threat. Beauty.
They had crossed a threshold.
They weren't students anymore. They were weapons.
And the world had no idea what they were about to become.