The great city of New Atlas — a majestic concrete jungle — rose like a titan of steel and glass, its skyline blending minimalistic elegance with high technological sophistication. A beautiful contradiction, some called it. This grand city was the industrial hub tasked with producing the latest and greatest innovations that shaped the future of nations. But it was not invention alone that gave New Atlas its pulse. No, the true heartbeat of this metropolis — the City That Never Sleeps — was its people.
"Shit, I'm going to miss the bus," a young man muttered breathlessly as he sprinted down the street. "Damn it, I shouldn't have stayed up all night preparing… I really messed up this time."
The bus pulled into view, a towering vessel of gleaming chrome. Golden letters along its side read: Atlas Academy, adorned with the crest of a regal castle. Mason's eyes lit up.
"I made it," he panted, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yes… I finally made it."
He climbed aboard, immediately greeted by the quiet hum of conversation. Students of every kind filled the seats — some chatting in groups, others staring out the windows, some lost in silence. To Mason, it didn't matter what they had been before today. What mattered was what they were about to become.
A clear, mechanical voice came over the intercom:
> "Atlans, be advised. The shuttle will begin moving shortly once all students have been accounted for."
Mason scanned the bus for a seat. Most were taken, and he quickly realized eyes were on him — not with scorn, but with curiosity. Mason was hard to ignore. He was devilishly handsome, with a smooth, sun-kissed ebony complexion that seemed to drink in the morning light. His calm, steady eyes, dark as onyx, pulled people into their depths. At 191 cm, his athletic frame towered above most, his sharp jawline framed by a short fade haircut that made him look effortlessly clean and confident.
"H-hey, is this seat taken?" Mason stumbled over his words.
The reason was obvious: the young woman by the window was striking. She had bright green eyes, long hair cut into a neat bob, and skin the color of soft caramel. She regarded him briefly, then spoke in a calm, soothing voice that felt almost hypnotic.
"It's free. Sit if you'd like."
Mason smiled. "Thanks." He slid into the seat, offering his hand. "Oh, by the way, I'm Mason. Mason Christian Grey. I'm twenty-three, and… well, I'm an Atlan. I've been waiting for this moment forever."
She tilted her head slightly, lips curving with amusement.
"I'm Emily Julie King. As for my age…" She leaned back against the glass. "Well, a lady has her secrets. I'm not at liberty to share that kind of information, sorry."
Mason chuckled. "Didn't expect you to bite so soon," he teased. "So, Emily, what brings you to this side of town?"
She gestured toward the golden insignia on the bus. "Obviously, the offer we all received."
Mason nodded. "You mean the compulsory conscription — everyone between eighteen and twenty-five summoned to military service. That's what you're talking about, right?"
Before she could answer, a voice chimed in from the row behind.
"Dude, I heard we could awaken unique abilities here. That's why I'm in."
The speaker leaned forward: Travis Mills. Standing at 188 cm, with wild pink-and-blonde hair, he had the look of a loveable rascal.
"My bad, guys. Name's Travis. Couldn't help overhearing your conversation. To be honest, I just came for the power awakening part. I don't really do structure or routines."
Mason smirked. "You don't think it might be a good way to test your limits? A little structure never hurt anyone."
Travis grinned. "Me? I'm allergic to that kind of thing." He laughed loud and carefree.
"Well, people are different," Mason replied. "I can respect that." He glanced at Travis's oversized black skull shirt. "By the way, I like your shirt. Real… punkcentric."
Emily raised a brow, amused. "'Punkcentric'? That's a new one."
Travis flashed a grin. "Hey, I like standing out from the crowd."
Before the banter could continue, the intercom chimed again:
> "We are fast approaching Atlas Academy. Prepare to disembark."
The shuttle descended into the campus grounds, and the sight stole everyone's breath. Atlas Academy sprawled across the horizon, a fortress of knowledge and training. Many considered it the finest institution on the continent of Nadia — perhaps even the world. Its towers gleamed, its banners flew high, and its courtyards buzzed with promise.
As the students disembarked, awe painted their faces.
At the assembly point stood a giant of a man. Calm, poised, and stern, his presence demanded silence. He was an imposing 200 cm, his frame packed with over 120 kilograms of hard muscle. His black-and-charcoal military uniform bore four shining stars across the chest. Everyone knew what that meant. He was a Grandmaster-ranked Charismatic.
Charismatics were the pinnacle of power. Valiant guardians, living legends. Respected. Feared.
The man's booming voice shattered the silence.
"ATTENTION! I am Captain Julian Armstrong, your drill sergeant. I once led the 3rd Battalion into the Darklands and returned alive. I am a war hero, and I am here to raise the next generation of warriors who will defend this world. Let me be clear — what you are about to face is not for the faint of heart. I have seen hell. I have watched men break. I have buried comrades. This life demands everything."
The students stiffened, frozen by the weight of his words.
"Whoa… that's intense," Travis muttered to Mason.
"Yeah," Mason whispered back. "Total doom and gloom. I knew it'd be serious, but this… this is another level."
He glanced at Emily. Her green eyes were locked on Armstrong, focused and unwavering.
Before Armstrong could continue, another figure approached. A woman, elegant yet commanding, with dirty-blonde hair tied neatly, deep blue eyes, and lips curled in a playful smile. She wore the same uniform as Armstrong, though hers was adorned with five stars — the mark of a Herald-ranked Charismatic. A flowing commander's cloak draped her shoulders.
"Now, now, Captain," she said with a soft laugh. "Don't scare them off on the first day. This campaign isn't only about blood and battle. It's also about discovering the artistry of your gifts — on and off the battlefield."
"My mistake, Commander," Armstrong replied, bowing his head in deference.
The woman stepped forward, her presence magnetic.
"Good morning, young Atlans. I am Commander Melinda Atlas, and I welcome you to Atlas Academy. This is where you will uncover talents you never knew you had. We aim not only to prepare you for the terrors beyond our walls, but to help you shape the future. Here, you will grow. You will learn. And, above all, you will rise together. So enjoy yourselves, challenge yourselves, and become stronger than you ever imagined."
The crowd stirred with excitement. Mason smiled to himself. Getting stronger… He liked the sound of that.
Captain Armstrong dismissed the assembly. Students made their way to the Union Hall, where registration awaited.
Mason stepped forward, greeted by a well-groomed officer behind a desk. The man's professionalism radiated calm authority.
"Mason Christian Grey," Mason said.
The officer nodded, scanning a list. "Dormitory Echo Three." He handed Mason a card stamped with the number 17.
Mason glanced at the details:
Mason Christian Grey
Age: 23
Height: 191 cm
Weight: 85 kg
Blood Type: O+
Current Rank: N/A
Dormitory: Echo-3
Date of Birth: 25 May 2002
ID: Echo-3-017-402
"I'm officially part of Atlas Academy now," Mason murmured. He tucked the card away, a quiet determination in his chest. "That was the easy part."
His dorm was modest: a bed, a small 32-inch television, a study desk, a bathroom, and a closet. His single backpack of clothes lay by the wall — his only baggage for this new life.
"My new life starts now."
Mason dropped onto the bed. For now, the softness of the mattress was too tempting. As his eyes drifted shut, the world faded to black.