Neon Eden reacted slowly to most things.
Not because it was inefficient, but because it was cautious.
A city built to survive inter-world war did not panic at isolated anomalies. It observed. It recorded. It waited for patterns to repeat before it acknowledged threat or value. Most irregularities vanished on their own—burned out, corrected, erased by the weight of the system.
Aira did not vanish.
That alone made her dangerous.
She walked through the upper residential corridors as if nothing had changed, boots quiet against polished alloy floors, coat resting lightly on her shoulders. The city around her pulsed with controlled urgency—recruitment banners cycling endlessly, transport lanes busier than they had been days ago, patrol drones hovering lower than regulation suggested.
Preparation had moved from theory to practice.
The war was no longer distant.
Eight years sounded generous on paper. In reality, it was nothing.
People trained harder now. Slept less. Watched each other more closely.
Aira felt the shift even without looking.
Eyes lingered longer.
Systems scanned deeper.
People who had ignored her days ago now hesitated before speaking when she passed.
She did not acknowledge any of it.
Her body still carried the echo of Subsector 14—the dull ache in her shoulder where corrupted metal had torn flesh, already sealed by the system but not yet forgotten. Pain grounded her. Reminded her that she was still capable of being damaged.
That mattered.
She reached the residential access lift and paused.
Moonlight filtered down through a fractured skylayer above, pale and clean against the artificial glow of Neon Eden. It caught in her hair instantly, turning the long silver strands into something almost unreal. Light scattered softly along her back, glimmering with every breath she took.
Someone nearby stopped walking.
Then another.
Aira did not look at them.
She had learned something important in Subsector 14.
Power drew attention.
Control decided what attention meant.
The lift doors slid open.
She stepped inside.
The doors closed.
Only when the compartment began its silent descent did she allow herself to exhale fully.
"Status."
The familiar interface unfolded before her eyes, calm and precise, just as it always did—like Sung Jin-Woo's system once had, stripped of theatrics, presenting reality as it was.
Name: Aira
Rank: One
Level: Eight / One Hundred
Race: Swordbound Origin
Evolution Count: One
Rank Advancement Condition: Two evolutions required
System Integrity: Stable
Anomaly Suppression: Active (Minor)
She studied the numbers.
Eight.
Closer.
She could feel it now—not impatience, but pressure. The cap loomed ahead of her like a wall she had been designed to hit at full speed. Level Ten would be the limit until the next evolution. Until she chose what she would become next.
She dismissed the interface.
Not yet.
The lift opened onto her residential floor.
Her quarters were small by design—assigned to unranked recruits without sponsorship. Clean. Functional. Forgettable. A place the city expected her to outgrow or die in.
She locked the door behind her and leaned briefly against it.
Silence settled.
For the first time since entering the Open Sector, her mind slowed.
Images surfaced unbidden—steel cutting corrupted frames, sparks scattering through the air, the precise moment when hesitation would have meant death. Not fear.
Assessment.
She pushed away from the door and moved to the narrow window that overlooked the city's lower layers.
Neon Eden stretched endlessly, a lattice of light and motion and quiet violence. Somewhere beyond the visible layers lay another world—an enemy that had already chosen war.
They would not care how beautiful she was.
They would not care how young she looked.
They would only care whether she could kill them before they killed her.
A soft chime broke the silence.
Incoming transmission.
She frowned.
Unscheduled.
The interface bloomed again, this time overlaying a secure communication channel marked with restricted clearance.
She accepted.
The image that formed was not a face, but a symbol—Neon Eden's military seal, rotating slowly.
Then a voice spoke.
Calm. Controlled. Human.
"Aira," it said. "This is Strategic Oversight."
She did not respond immediately.
"I'm listening," she said at last.
"We've been observing your recent activities," the voice continued. "Your participation in Hall Nine. Your engagement in Subsector 14."
A pause.
"You were not expected to survive that contract."
Aira tilted her head slightly.
"I did."
"Yes," the voice agreed. "You did."
Silence stretched.
"Why am I being contacted?" she asked.
"Because patterns have emerged," the voice replied. "And because you are approaching a threshold."
Her fingers curled slowly.
"Level Ten," she said.
"Yes."
Another pause.
"You understand what evolution represents in Neon Eden."
"I do."
"Choice," the voice said. "Commitment. Loss."
Aira's reflection stared back at her faintly in the darkened window—silver hair, calm eyes, a body that looked eighteen and carried far more weight than that number implied.
"I didn't ask for this body," she said quietly. "I won't waste what it can become."
The voice was silent for a moment longer this time.
"Good," it said finally. "Then you will report tomorrow to Sector Meridian."
Her brow furrowed slightly.
"Meridian is not a training sector."
"No," the voice agreed. "It is a recruitment nexus."
That mattered.
Meridian was where Neon Eden assembled people it intended to use. Where independent trajectories intersected with strategic necessity. Where soldiers were named, categorized, and sometimes erased.
"Why me?" Aira asked.
"Because you are not aligned," the voice said. "And that makes you valuable."
The channel closed.
The room fell silent again.
Aira did not move for a long time.
Meridian.
If Hall Nine was where steel was tested, Meridian was where steel was claimed.
She turned away from the window and sat on the edge of her bed.
Her shoulder still ached faintly.
Good.
Pain reminded her that she was still early in this path. That her beauty, her evolution, her system meant nothing if she misstepped now.
She lay back and closed her eyes.
Sleep came slowly.
When it did, it carried no dreams—only fragments of motion and pressure and choice.
—
Sector Meridian did not resemble the rest of Neon Eden.
It was quieter.
Not abandoned—contained.
Wide halls curved gently instead of cutting sharply. Light was softer here, deliberately diffused to prevent glare and shadow alike. Everything about the sector suggested observation without intrusion.
Aira arrived early.
She wore simple clothing—dark, unadorned, functional. Her silver moon hair flowed freely down her back, unbound, catching the soft lighting and reflecting it in subtle waves. Even here, even among people who had seen far stranger things, it drew attention.
Meridian was busy.
Groups gathered in controlled clusters—warriors, gunners, archers, pilots, sword-bearers. Some wore insignia. Some wore scars. All of them had been chosen.
Ranks hovered openly.
Rank Three.
Rank Four.
A few Rank Six.
Aira stood apart.
Rank One.
And yet no one dismissed her outright.
They watched.
A woman approached her after several minutes—tall, composed, eyes sharp with experience.
Rank Eight.
"Name?" she asked.
"Aira."
The woman nodded once. "I'm Commander Veyra. You were flagged."
"For what?" Aira asked.
"For refusing to settle," Veyra replied. "For growing faster than projected. For surviving without permission."
Aira did not react.
Veyra studied her openly now—not leering, not judging. Assessing.
"You look young," she said.
"I'm not," Aira replied.
A corner of Veyra's mouth lifted.
"Good answer."
She gestured toward the central platform.
"Meridian does not train," Veyra continued. "It observes how people choose. You're nearing evolution. That means you'll be watched more closely than most."
"I assumed as much."
"You should also know this," Veyra said quietly. "Once you evolve again, you'll no longer be invisible."
Aira met her gaze steadily.
"I don't intend to be."
Veyra nodded.
"Then stay alive until Level Ten."
Aira turned toward the platform.
As she walked, she felt it again—that subtle pressure beneath her skin. The sense that her system was coiling inward, preparing for expansion. Her sword responded faintly, humming once before falling silent.
She did not draw it.
Not yet.
Meridian's central display activated overhead, projecting combat scenarios, war maps, casualty estimates. The future, rendered clean and bloodless by data.
Aira watched without blinking.
She would reach Level Ten soon.
Then she would choose again.
And when she did, Neon Eden would no longer be able to pretend she was just another recruit passing through its systems.
She would be named.
And names, in war, mattered far more than beauty ever could.