The air inside the interstellar shuttle cabin was thick with a cloying mix of synthetic fabric fumes and the faint tang of unfiltered recycled oxygen—hardly surprising, given that a space designed for no more than fifteen passengers now crammed nearly thirty children. Though the youngsters were smaller than adults, their huddled forms left barely enough room to breathe, turning the cabin into a sweltering, cramped tube.
Kael Voss pressed his scrawny, dark-skinned frame into the farthest corner of the cabin, his sharp eyes darting silently over the other candidates. He'd learned long ago that observing was safer than speaking, especially among strangers who might carry hidden agendas—or enhanced genes that made them quicker to lash out.
The children bound for the selection fell into three distinct groups, their backgrounds as clear as the difference between polished alloy and rusted scrap.
The first group centered on a broad-shouldered boy in a sleek, iridescent synthetic uniform—far finer than anything Kael had ever seen. This was Jaxen Solaris, thirteen years old and the oldest in the cabin. By the Seven Luminaries' rules, he was already over the age limit of twelve, but his cousin was a core operative in the Conglomerate's upper echelons, a connection that had erased any bureaucratic hurdles. Jaxen's family owned a prestigious gene-enhancement dojo on Nova Prime, their wealth evident in the subtle glow of his augmented pupils and the faint metallic sheen of his knuckles—signs of early gene modification. He'd trained in basic combat protocols since childhood; while his skills were crude by professional standards, they were more than enough to overpower someone like Kael, who'd only relied on brute strength from years of scavenging.
Naturally, Jaxen had become the de facto leader of the group. His family's influence and his physical advantages drew a crowd of eager followers, who vied to curry favor with him.
The second group consisted of these followers—children from colony worlds or mid-tier space stations. Their families ran trade outposts, worked as technicians, or practiced skilled crafts, and they'd inherited their parents' knack for reading social cues and chasing opportunity. They clustered around Jaxen, showering him with titles like "Master Jaxen" and "Lord Solaris," their voices bright with calculated enthusiasm. Jaxen soaked up the attention, his posture rigid with pride—as if leadership was his birthright.
The third group was Kael's: children from remote, resource-poor settlements like his own. There were only five or six of them, their clothes threadbare, their gene sequences unmodified, and their expressions a mix of awe and timidity. They huddled quietly on the edges of the cabin, watching the others laugh and boast, too intimidated to speak. Kael recognized the look in their eyes—fear of the unknown, and a desperate hope that the selection might lift them out of poverty.
The shuttle departed Green Ox Spaceport, hurtling westward through the planet's thin atmosphere before jumping to sublight speed. Along the way, it made stops at three more frontier outposts, picking up additional candidates, until finally—five days later, as the twin suns dipped below the horizon in a blaze of violet and gold—the craft touched down at the base of Aurora Peak.
This was the Seven Luminaries' main selection facility, and as the children filed out of the shuttle, they froze in wonder. The peak lived up to its name: its slopes were bathed in a perpetual aurora, cast by the planet's magnetic field interacting with the Conglomerate's energy generators. Legend held that the mountain had formed around the fossilized core of an ancient interstellar behemoth, a creature whose bones now infused the rock with faint energy signatures—energy the Seven Luminaries harnessed for their gene experiments. Once known as Behemoth's Rest, it had been renamed Aurora Peak after the Conglomerate claimed it, and access was restricted to authorized personnel only.
Aurora Peak was the second-largest mountain range in the Mirror Sector's frontier region, surpassed only by the Black Spire Range. Its dozen-odd peaks were sharp and forbidding, each occupied by a different division of the Seven Luminaries—from gene labs to combat training grounds. The central peak, Crimson Dawn Spire, was the most imposing: a jagged pillar of black rock that rose kilometers into the sky, accessible only by a single narrow staircase. The Conglomerate had lined this path with thirteen layers of defenses—energy barriers, drone outposts, and gene-enhanced guards—making it nearly impenetrable.
Kael followed the crowd up the staircase, his eyes wide as he took in the sleek, angular structures built into the mountain's side. The air hummed with energy, and he could feel a faint tingle on his skin—likely from the residual radiation of the Conglomerate's equipment. Just as they rounded a bend, the line came to a halt, and a booming voice echoed down the steps.
"Enforcer Wang! You're two days late—what kept you?"
Kael peered around the other children to see a burly man with a shaved head and a crimson uniform emblazoned with the Seven Luminaries' crest. His muscles bulged beneath his clothes, a clear sign of advanced gene augmentation. This was Chief Overseer Rook, the head of the selection committee.
Enforcer Wang, who'd been gruff and authoritarian during the journey, immediately softened his stance. He bowed slightly, a look of deference replacing his usual scowl. "Chief Overseer, we encountered a radiation storm en route—had to detour through the asteroid belt. Thank you for waiting."
"This is the seventeenth group, yes?" Rook asked, his eyes scanning the line of children with a critical gaze.
"Yes, Chief Overseer—this is the seventeenth batch," Enforcer Wang confirmed.
"Send them to the Guest Quarters. Let them rest—selection begins at first light tomorrow. Any candidates who fail are to be escorted off the peak immediately—no loitering, no trouble." Rook's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.
"Understood, Chief Overseer."
As they continued up the stairs, the children struggled to contain their excitement, but none dared speak above a whisper. They all knew this place would determine their futures: pass the selection, and they'd gain access to gene optimization, unlimited rations, and a chance at interstellar status. Fail, and they'd return to lives of scarcity—if they returned at all.
Enforcer Wang led the way, greeting several passing staff with nods and grins. It was clear he was well-connected within the facility; most of the workers—all dressed in matching cyan synthetic uniforms—saluted him as they passed. Some carried quantum blades at their hips, others wore energy shield gauntlets, and a few had subtle cybernetic enhancements: glowing eye implants, mechanical fingers, or augmented lungs that hummed softly as they breathed. Kael watched them with fascination—these were the people he aspired to be: strong, respected, and free from the constraints of his old life.
The children were housed on a smaller satellite peak, in a cluster of prefabricated cabins with reinforced walls. Kael collapsed onto his narrow cot, exhaustion washing over him, but sleep didn't come easily. His mind raced with thoughts of the selection—of gene tests, energy trials, and the chance to save his family. Eventually, he drifted off into a vivid dream: he was wearing a sleek gene-optimized battle suit, his hands wrapped around a glowing quantum blade, and he stood over the son of the settlement's gene-augmented bully—the same boy who'd tormented him for years. In the dream, Kael's strikes were fast and precise, his enhanced strength overwhelming his opponent. When he woke the next morning, his fists were clenched, and a faint smile lingered on his lips.
At dawn, Enforcer Wang roused the children—no breakfast, no further explanations. He herded them down the mountain to a wide platform covered in energy bamboo, its stalks glowing with a soft blue light (a variant of the Conglomerate's energy-conducting flora, designed to amplify gene signatures). Waiting there were Chief Overseer Rook and three other officials, each wearing the same crimson uniform, their expressions impassive as they surveyed the nervous candidates.
The selection was about to begin—and Kael Voss knew there would be no second chances.