To be honest Hugo didn't have a good impression of the Domains.
Even now, as he trudged along the quiet morning streets toward the outpost station, the thought made his jaw clench.
They called themselves humanity's saviors — the new pillars of civilization, protectors of the planet — but all Hugo saw were polished towers built on everyone else's broken backs.
It was true, of course, that the Domains had stopped the Invaders. They'd given Earth a fighting chance when everything fell apart decades ago. But somewhere between salvation and survival, they'd taken control of everything — and never let go.
Now, the world revolved around them.
And people like Hugo's mother… were nothing more than dust in their wake.
Everyone was measured by their power now. Not by integrity, not by effort — but by the color and grade of the energy flowing in their veins. If your resonance was strong, the world opened before you. If it wasn't… the world closed its doors and left you in the dark.
Children who hadn't yet torn their Tokens still carried that fragile shine in their eyes. Society treated them kindly — or at least pretended to — because they still had potential. But the moment you tore your Token and the system revealed your worth, everything changed.
You were either valuable… or invisible.
Hugo had seen both sides of that coin firsthand.
His mother — gentle, stubborn, endlessly hopeful — had once lived a good life. She'd told him about it in bits and pieces, usually when she thought he wasn't paying attention. Their old home had been in a clean district near the upper levels of the city, back when his father still worked for The Keep itself. He'd been a researcher, one of the brilliant minds contributing to Earth's growing knowledge of Eon. They'd had a modest apartment, warm meals, friends who visited on weekends — a small, quiet happiness.
Then his father vanished one day.
Missing in action, the report had said. A classified mission. No body, no explanation, just silence.
His mother had been twenty-one then, pregnant and terrified. But she still believed things would work out. For a while, they did. She had enough saved up to last a few years, enough goodwill from his father's colleagues to get by.
But time eroded even sympathy.
He remembered overhearing her once, late at night, whispering into a communicator with one of her old friends. The desperation in her voice was raw — a mother trying to stay strong for a child who would never know his father.
Then came the worst mistake of her life.
Someone — one of those friends — told her that tearing her own Token might give her access to The Keep's welfare system. That she could register herself officially, gain benefits, maybe even get a good job.
So she did.
The day the Token revealed her resonance rank — F — the world closed its doors on her.
It was the worst of the worst.
Even people who had cultivated for decades with this low level resonance where still mortals.
Her husband's colleagues stopped returning her messages. The welfare programs she'd been promised never came. Even the home she lived in — their home — was taken, declared property of The Keep since her husband's disappearance had left the title in bureaucratic limbo.
And so, with a child in her arms, she fell.
He could still remember the sound of her crying some nights when she thought he was asleep — muffled sobs through paper-thin walls, begging for someone, anyone, to answer her messages.
The way she'd paste on a smile in the morning, pretending it was all fine.
They'd moved down to the lower districts, where the air was heavier and the people learned early not to dream too loud. That was where Hugo grew up — among rusted pipes, flickering lamps, and people who pretended not to see each other's pain.
That was also where he learned what hope really cost.
He pushed those memories aside as he arrived at the outpost station, a modest structure at the edge of the district. It looked more like a repurposed train stop than the entrance to one of humanity's grand institutions.
The platform was packed with young people — all around his age, maybe a few older. Their voices filled the air with nervous excitement, laughter, dreams.
They were the newly awakened just like him.
Every one of them had torn their Tokens recently.
And yet, as Hugo scanned their faces, he couldn't help but feel… detached.
Most of them had no idea what they were walking into.
For every prodigy who made it into the upper ranks of a Domain, there were hundreds who were forgotten — assigned to mundane posts, grunt labor, or used as expendable soldiers. The higher your hopes, the harder your fall.
He found a corner near the edge of the platform, away from the chattering groups, and leaned against a steel column. The hum of Eon-powered engines echoed faintly beneath the floor.
When the train finally arrived, a hush fell across the platform.
It slid out of the tunnel silently, its body gleaming silver-blue under the light. The doors opened with a soft hiss, revealing an empty interior lined with blue seats and clean white panels. No conductor, no staff — just the soft hum of automated engines.
Nobody needed instructions. They'd all seen this before, in broadcast feeds and recruitment posters.
One by one, the young recruits filed in.
Hugo followed near the end of the line, stepping through the door and settling by a window. The glass was tinted, but faint reflections danced across it — faces filled with excitement, fear, and the sharp thrill of ambition.
When the last person entered, the doors closed. The train glided forward, plunging into the dark tunnel ahead.
The faint light from the city above vanished quickly, replaced by a pulsing blue glow that lined the tunnel walls.
For a while, no one spoke.
The ride was smooth, almost unnaturally so. Then, after several minutes, the speed picked up — Hugo felt a shift in gravity, a slight pull in his gut. They were descending. The hum of the train deepened as it plunged deeper into the earth.
Then there was a hiss of brakes, a deceleration. The lights flickered white. The train slowed, then stopped.
When the doors opened, the silence broke into a low murmur of awe.
They stepped out into The Keep's lower transit hub.
It was massive.
The ceiling arched high above them, a dome of pale metal crisscrossed with glowing circuits that pulsed like veins. Multiple train lines extended outward from the central platform, each leading to other tunnels.
Everywhere Hugo looked, there were people — trainees, guards, technicians — all moving with quiet, practiced efficiency.
For a brief moment, Hugo understood why so many worshiped the Domains. There was something divine about their order — cold, precise, unyielding.
"Hello everyone! Can you please look this way?"
A voice called out over the murmur.
Hugo turned toward the sound — and froze when he saw who it belonged to.
An older man, maybe in his forties, stood near the edge of the platform. He wore a crisp black suit, his hair neatly combed back, and a welcoming smile that somehow carried both warmth and authority.
Uncle Barns.
For a second, Hugo's expression softened.
Barns had been one of the few constants in his and his mother's lives — a friend from her old days, before everything collapsed. Back when his father was still alive, Barns had been a colleague of his. And when things went bad, he'd been one of the few who hadn't turned away.
He was the reason they still had a roof over their heads.
Barns caught his gaze and gave him the faintest nod — not personal, not yet. There were eyes everywhere here, and professionalism mattered.
"Welcome to The Keep," Barns said, his voice steady, practiced, carrying easily across the station.
"My name is Contractor Barns, and I will be the one evaluating you today. Please follow me."
The crowd straightened instinctively, drawn by the gravity of his tone.