Observer One's bioluminescent patterns glowed a steady, tranquil gold. The voice that reached his mind was, as always, devoid of emotion, yet this time it carried the certainty of a measured decision. "Analysis complete. Your potential falls into a range outside our standard classification metrics. Your logical and structural abilities are high-level, but the core that feeds and directs these abilities is a field of abstract and chaotic creativity. Your mind doesn't just calculate possibilities; it feels, shapes, and bends them."
Robert felt his legs tremble as he slowly rose from the chair. "What... what does that mean?"
"It means," said Observer Two, looking at the data tablet in its hand, "that your place is not in concrete disciplines like Engineering or System Security. Your raw potential requires you to play with the fundamental concepts that make up the fabric of reality. Therefore, your major at the High Genetic Capacity Assessment Academy... has been designated as the 'Imagination Bending Division.'"
"Imagination Bending?" When Robert said the word aloud, it left a strange, foreign taste on his tongue. It sounded like a course from a school of wizardry, something a scientist would never take seriously.
"The concept can be misleading," continued Observer One. "What we call 'imagination' is the probability field at the foundation of the universe. It is the potential state of all things before they exist. An Imagination Bender understands this field, accesses it, and can make small, local changes with their will. Like creating a new axiom to solve an equation, or 'thinking' an instantaneous energy source into existence to power a machine. Your abilities show a natural affinity for this field. Your Prometheus project was, unbeknownst to you, your first great attempt at Imagination Bending. You weren't harvesting the storm's energy; you were focusing the idea that energy should exist at that point."
Robert's brain was throbbing. His entire life, all his scientific beliefs, had been turned upside down by a few minutes of analysis from these beings. He wasn't a scientist, but an unwitting... magician?
"However," Observer One interjected, cutting through the chaos in Robert's mind, "before you can begin your primary education and its sub-disciplines, there is a prerequisite you must fulfill. You must join a group, a team, which is the cornerstone of the Academy's social and operational structure. Solitary beings atrophy here. Potential only develops within synergy. Therefore, like all new arrivals, you will attend the Selective Conference."
Before Robert could ask any more questions, the wall of the room opened again, and a third Malken entered. This one was different. Its physical contours were less sharp than the others, softer, and its bioluminescent patterns flowed in tranquil silver and lavender. Robert instinctively sensed it was female.
"This is Lyra," said Observer One. "She is an orientation counselor. She will give you the necessary information before the conference." Observer One and Two gave Robert one last look with their bottomless indigo eyes, then silently departed the room.
Lyra approached Robert. Her presence, unlike the others, radiated not a sterile curiosity, but a calm aura that could almost be called warm. "Welcome, Robert," her voice echoed in his mind, softer, more melodic than the others. "I know, this is all very overwhelming. Please, come with me."
Robert followed her silently. She led him to a living space similar to the room he had first woken in, but this one contained simple, functional furniture. "This will be your room until the conference. You have some time to rest."
Lyra stood in the middle of the room and began to explain. "The Academy is a place where 'anomalies' like you, from all corners of the universe, are gathered. The purpose is to understand these potentials, develop them, and guide them to serve the universal balance. This development happens in teams. Teams are units where different species and abilities come together, complementing each other. You protect each other, learn from each other, and complete missions together."
"Missions?"
"Yes. The Academy is not just a school; it is an active organization. Fieldwork in the 'Spheres of Influence,' recovery of lost technologies, repairing dimensional instabilities... Your team will be your new family and your unit."
Lyra waved her hand in the air, and a three-dimensional schematic of a hall appeared before them. "The Selective Conference takes place in the grand assembly hall. All new arrivals—you are the only one from your species—gather in the hall. The leaders of existing teams observe you. They decide if you are suitable for their team based on your abilities, your test results, and your aura. When a leader chooses you, they send you an 'invitation.' When you accept the invitation, you join that team. If you are not chosen by anyone by the end of the conference, you are placed in the 'Unassigned Pool.' That is not a good start."
"What if I don't want to join a team?"
Lyra's silver patterns faded for a moment. "That is not an option, Robert. That is the first and most fundamental rule of the Academy: Everyone belongs to a team. Solitude here is equivalent to chaos."
Robert didn't know how much time had passed. In this artificial world with no concept of day or night, time was measured only by the silent appearance of meals from a slot in his room and Lyra's periodic visits. During this time, he learned about the basic functions of the Academy, ate the nutritious but tasteless paste, and felt the growing weight of his solitude. He missed his family, his home, the stormy night. But beneath all this longing, a new feeling was sprouting: curiosity. Imagination Bending... This insane concept both disturbed the mind of a scientist and simultaneously captivated it in an irresistible way.
Finally, Lyra arrived and said, "It is time."
She led him through crowded corridors of a width he had never seen before. The corridors were no longer silent. Robert encountered more different beings than he had ever seen or even imagined in his life. Gelatinous, shimmering creatures floating in defiance of gravity; massive, multi-armed beings that looked carved from rock, walking with heavy steps; cloaked, shadowy figures who whispered complex star charts in his mind as they passed...
Finally, they stood before two massive doors. The doors vibrated with a cacophony of sound and a riot of light seeping from within. "When you enter, stand in the central area reserved for new arrivals," Lyra said. "Stay calm and observe. When the selection begins, you will feel a leader's aura focus on you. Make your decision carefully. Your team is your destiny."
Robert took a deep breath and stepped through the doors.
The sight left him speechless.
The hall was vast enough to contain a city. Its ceiling was an artificial night sky; an infinite darkness holding unfamiliar constellations and slowly rotating nebulae. The floor was like polished obsidian, carrying the colorful reflections of the thousands of beings upon it. The architecture had an impossible geometry; arches that defied gravity, platforms suspended in mid-air, and glowing crystal formations growing organically from the walls. In the air hung a cacophony created by a thousand different species: a sea of whispers, rhythmic clicks, melodic hums, crackling static, and countless mental conversations his brain couldn't translate.
The new arrivals were gathered in a large, circular area in the center of the hall. Robert felt incredibly small and alone among the hundreds of different species. Just as he was about to take a step, he heard a faint click under his foot. He looked down and realized he was about to step on an insectoid creature, the size of a human palm, with a bright, iridescent shell. The creature skittered aside, moving its dozens of tiny legs rapidly, and waved its antennae at him threateningly. Robert pulled back apologetically. Even the smallest, most harmless-looking being here could be lethal.
He studied the beings around him. In one corner stood a group whose bodies seemed to be made of pure crystal, emitting a soft light from within. Their conversation sounded like faint chimes. Next to them floated a being composed entirely of gas, wearing an intricate suit of armor to control its form. Each species had formed its own small island, looking at the others with a mixture of distrust and curiosity. The one thing they all had in common was the same look of loss and expectation in their eyes. They, too, were anomalies torn from their homes, from their realities, just like Robert.
Suddenly, the hum over the hall ceased. The sea of sound created by thousands of beings evaporated in an instant, replaced by absolute silence. All eyes turned to the raised main podium at the far end of the hall.
From the void behind the podium, a single figure emerged.
He was tall and imposing. He wore dark garments that seemed woven from the night itself, but what truly defined him was the blood-red, heavy cloak that cascaded from his shoulders to the floor. The color of the cloak was so vivid, so deep, that it seemed to glow of its own accord even in the hall's dim light. As the figure walked to the podium, the cloak billowed behind him, leaving a trail like liquid flame.
This was Valen Lazeria, the founder and director of the Academy. His face resembled a Malken's, but far older, far sharper. His skin was like cracked porcelain, and his bioluminescent patterns glowed a faint red, like slowly pulsing embers. His eyes were not a simple indigo, but pure voids in which stars were born and died. His presence instantly filled the room with the crushing weight of millennia of knowledge and untamable power.
When he reached the podium, he scanned the hall in silence for a moment. His gaze passed over every single being, and when that gaze fell upon Robert, he felt as if he were being seen down to the very depths of his soul.
Then he spoke. His voice was neither mental nor auditory, but a mixture of both. Each word was a resonant force that was both heard and felt, penetrating directly into the center of one's being.
"Welcome to the Academy, Lost and Found," Lazeria said. His voice was as slow and absolute as a mountain shifting. "Each of you was an anomaly in your own reality; here, you have become potential. This is your sanctuary, your school, and your proving ground. But do not forget, this is also a place where rules reign. Rules are the thin membrane separating chaos from order. If you break them, the universe itself will devour you."
His crimson cloak shifted slightly. "I will state the rules once. Etch them into your minds."
"First Rule: The boundaries of the Academy are never to be left without permission. The outside is filled with dangers beyond your comprehension. Permission is granted only by the approval of your team leader and the decision of the Council."
"Second Rule: Violence within the Academy is strictly forbidden. The use of weapons, the display of aggressive abilities, or physical confrontation will result in immediate isolation. There are two exceptions to this: The designated Arena for training, and the Spheres of Influence used for missions. In those zones, anything is permissible for the survival of your team."
"Third Rule: Teams are sacred. Private interactions, alliances, or sharing of information with beings outside your own team, without your leader's permission, are forbidden. Your loyalty belongs first to your team, then to the Academy. Those who try to disrupt this order will be crushed by it."
"Fourth Rule: The resources and knowledge of the Academy are open to you, but all knowledge has a price and a responsibility. To seek beyond what is given to you, to enter forbidden areas, is considered theft, and the penalty is severe."
"Final Rule: Your choices are final. The team you join in this conference will be your team for the duration of your existence in the Academy. There is no change. There is no regret. Choose wisely, for you are choosing your fate."
Valen Lazeria fell silent. His words hung in the hall, as tangible as the air itself. Then he raised his hand and said, "Let the selection begin."
At that moment, the hundreds of team leaders standing on the platforms around the hall stirred. Robert felt their auras as invisible searchlights, scanning over the new arrivals. When a leader's interest focused on you, you felt a slight mental pressure and a sense of expectation.
Robert waited nervously. Minutes passed, and the beings around him were chosen, one by one. One of the crystal beings chimed with joy as a glowing blue rune appeared above it, and it floated off to join its team. The gaseous being was encased in a purple energy field and drawn toward one of the platforms. Robert, however, was still there, like someone invisible and unwanted. Lyra's warning about the "Unassigned Pool" rang in his mind. Panic began to spread through his veins like a cold poison.
Just as he was about to lose hope, an aura locked onto him. It was strong, disciplined, and crushing. On one of the platforms stood a leader, a warrior-type species with four arms, its body covered in gleaming black chitin armor. The leader's mental invitation was not a question, but a command: "Your mind is structured. Your logic is sharp. I need a 'processor' to calculate my battle strategies. Join my team, the Black Guard."
Robert hesitated. This wasn't what he was looking for. He wasn't a warrior or a calculator. He was a creator. But did he have another choice? It was better than falling into the Unassigned Pool. Just as he was about to mentally accept the invitation...
Suddenly, another aura descended like a shield, blocking the first. This aura was different. It wasn't disciplined; it was chaotic. It wasn't cold; it was warm. It held not order, but passion and a degree of recklessness.
Robert looked to the source of the aura. On a different platform, a group stood slightly apart from the other leaders. Their leader was a humanoid, very similar to Robert's own species, with red hair falling to his shoulders and a mocking smile on his face. His eyes glowed like burning embers. The emblem on them was a symbol of two intertwined flames.
The red-haired leader's mental invitation was the exact opposite of the Black Guard's. It wasn't an order, but a whisper: "'Imagination Bender,' right? I saw that chaos inside your mind. Just like us... We don't need calculators; we need someone who can imagine the impossible. But there's a problem. My team, the 'Crimson Friends,' is at full capacity. We can't take you on as a warrior."
Robert's heart skipped a beat.
"But..." the leader's voice continued, like that of a co-conspirator. "Every team has a 'technician' roster. Someone who deals with machines, with systems, who isn't counted as a warrior. Your structural logic is the perfect cover for this position. We'll officially bring you onto the team as our technician, but in reality, you'll bend imagination with us. What do you say, scientist? Want to... bend the rules a little?"
It was an invitation. It was a challenge. It was a voice that resonated deep in Robert's soul. He didn't hesitate for a second.
He focused his mind on the red-haired leader and answered with a single word: "Yes."
Instantly, a blood-red flame symbol glowed above him. The leader of the Black Guard withdrew his aura with a mental huff. The choice was made.
Valen Lazeria had watched the events from his podium, impassive. As the conference ended, he announced, "Your teams are set. You are no longer alone. Now go and prove you are worthy of your fate."
As the crowd began to disperse, Robert remained frozen in place. He had a team. The Crimson Friends. A mysterious group that had saved him at the last second, offering to bend the rules. When he looked at the platform, he saw the red-haired leader and the rest of his team coming toward him. Who were these people? What kind of beings were they? What kind of adventure awaited him?
He didn't know the answers. But for the first time in a long time, he felt excitement replacing his fear. It was time to meet them.
As Valen Lazeria's final words faded in the massive hall, the overwhelming silence created by thousands of beings gave way to a moving hum once more. Newly formed teams descended from the platforms and began to flow toward the hall's various exits. Robert stood in the midst of this cosmic tide, like an island trapped between the immediate relief of being chosen and a profound anxiety for the unknown. The blood-red flame symbol glowing on him was both a badge of belonging and a flashing question mark in his mind.
He turned his gaze to the platform where the group that had chosen him stood. They were not dispersing in a hurry like the other teams. Calmly, with a self-assured air, they descended from the platform and began to move toward him through the crowd, flowing steadily as if an invisible riverbed were parting for them. As they approached, the concept of "team" in Robert's mind transformed from an abstract idea into flesh and blood—or rather, into flesh, metal, light, and fire.
The eight-person group displayed a strange harmony in their dissonance. Each was a different note, but together they formed a strange, magnetic chord. At the very front walked the leader he had seen during the Selective Conference, with his flame-red hair falling to his shoulders. The mocking smile on his face carried an expression as if he were the only one in on the universe's funniest joke. Robert instinctively tensed at the reckless energy radiating from this figure.
When the group stopped in front of him, the humming hall seemed to grow a little quieter. The leader sized Robert up, from head to toe, with a piercing attention. His eyes were like pieces of coal with embers burning inside.
"So this is the Imagination Bender," he said. His voice was nothing like Valen Lazeria's crushing power or the Malkens' synthetic tone. It was human; a little husky, charismatic, and dangerously indifferent. "Your test results are interesting enough to annoy the Council. I like that."
The man reached up to his flame-red hair and, to Robert's astonishment, pulled it off his head like a wig. Underneath the wig, disheveled, jet-black hair of his own fell loose. With this sudden change, his face took on a completely different expression. The mockery was gone, replaced by the face of a more serious, more focused leader. The red hair was a mask, a role. The real man was standing before him now.