Beware of Oblivion

Elijah stepped out of the car, his bag slung over one shoulder. In front of him loomed a massive building, its minimalist design intimidating yet oddly elegant. It didn't scream "Corps Headquarters," but there was something imposing about it nonetheless. 

"Where is this?" Elijah asked, his voice laced with suspicion. 

"This is the Corps Training Camp," the woman who had driven him said in a straightforward manner. Her sharp features betrayed no emotion. "Newly identified Espers who have turned 18 are sent here for training before officially joining the Corps. Please proceed to the main door." 

Before Elijah could respond, the woman stepped out of the car, reached for his wrist, and removed the black cuff bracelet. Instantly, he felt his Nexus hum faintly, his mana stirring like a beast waking from slumber. He flexed his fingers instinctively, feeling the return of his power, but the sensation was dampened—he'd been restricted for days, and his energy felt rusty. 

"Go," she said curtly, nodding toward the entrance. 

Elijah hesitated briefly before walking toward the building. 

The moment he stepped inside, he froze. The interior was awe-inspiring. The vast space could easily accommodate 5,000 people, with towering ceilings and pristine floors reflecting the lights above. Vaulted ceilings stretched high above, adorned with intricate designs that gave the hall a sense of grandeur. The place could easily hold thousands of people, yet only a few were scattered around—perhaps fifty, all around his age. 

Elijah glanced at the others, his mind cataloging their expressions. Some looked calm, even excited; others radiated anger and resentment. A few seemed outright terrified, their nervous energy palpable. 

The sound of footsteps drew his attention as an unfamiliar figure appeared in front of them. It was a different man who had conducted the Esper test at his school the day before. He was floating slightly above the ground, his presence commanding attention. 

The man wore the same Corps uniform as the man, but now it was complemented by a sharply designed cap, reminiscent of Victorian-era knights from the novels Elijah used to read. 

"MIC TEST! MIC TEST! ONE, TWO, THREE! ONE, TWO, THREE!" the man's voice boomed, his exaggerated tone making a few recruits chuckle nervously. 

"HELLO, EVERYONE!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the hall. "ALL ASPIRING CORPS OFFICERS WHO HAVE MADE IT HERE, WE SINCERELY WELCOME YOU TO THE CORPS TRAINING CAMP!"

Elijah resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man's theatrical delivery. 

"FOR TODAY, YOU ARE FREE TO DO WHATEVER YOU WISH—TOUR THE CAMPUS, GET TO KNOW YOUR FUTURE TEAMMATES, OR WHATEVER ELSE STRIKES YOUR FANCY."

The officer then held up a handful of small objects and, with a dramatic flourish, threw them into the air. Elijah reached out and caught one. It was a sleek key card, surprisingly heavy for its size.

"THIS CARD," the officer continued, "WILL DETERMINE YOUR ROOM AND TEAM. ON IT, YOU WILL FIND THE BUILDING AND FLOOR TO WHICH YOU'VE BEEN ASSIGNED. THAT IS ALL. GOOD LUCK!"

Elijah looked at his card. It read: *'B-6 F-3.' Building 6, Floor 3. 

He frowned slightly. The officer hadn't explained how to find the buildings, and there were no visible signs or directions. It was another test, subtle but deliberate. 

Following the flow of recruits, Elijah found himself behind the main building. Several smaller structures stretched out across the campus, each distinct in appearance. He noticed a pattern as he looked closer: the rooftops of the buildings were different colors. His key card was red. 

With a sigh, Elijah spotted the building with the red roof. 'Damn Corps and their mind games,' he thought bitterly, shaking his head. 

As he approached the building, he noticed a modest fountain in front of it, the water reflecting the sunlight in shimmering ripples. The structure itself was smaller than the main hall but still impressive, its sleek design exuding efficiency. 

Inside, the first floor felt luxurious. There was a cafeteria, snack bars, and several seating areas with plush chairs. Elijah found it excessive, but he couldn't deny the comfort. 

Spotting the elevator, he walked over. There were no buttons, only a card scanner. He swiped his key card, and the elevator whirred to life, taking him to the third floor. 

When the doors opened, Elijah's breath caught. The entire floor resembled a penthouse, with spacious common areas, large windows offering a panoramic view of the campus, and doors that presumably led to individual rooms. 

He was still taking it in when someone emerged from one of the rooms. Elijah's eyes narrowed. Whoever this was had figured out the riddle and arrived faster than him. 

The man in question was striking. His light blue hair, almost like the sky at dawn, fell just past his nape, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to glint with intelligence. He wore a black windbreaker jacket, casual yet purposeful. 

"Oh, that was fast," the man said, his tone laced with amusement. "You figured out the test so easily."

Elijah's first instinct was to feel flattered, but that vanished when he realized this man had arrived before him. He simply nodded, not wanting to admit it had taken him four minutes to figure out the clue.

The man studied him openly, his gaze sharp and unashamed as it swept from Elijah's head to toe. Finally, he extended a hand. 

"My name's Visconti Zenon," he said with a faint smile. "Let's get along. We'll be teammates."

Elijah took his hand, his grip firm but not aggressive. "I'm Elijah Blackwood."

The handshake lingered a moment longer than necessary, each sizing the other up. For better or worse, it seemed they were stuck together now. 

"I'm staying in the first room there," Visconti said, pointing to the door on the left. "The other two rooms are vacant." 

Elijah nodded and headed to his assigned room. The interior was simple yet comfortable, with clean lines and soft lighting. A desk sat near the window, offering a view of the training camp's sprawling grounds. He placed his bag on the bed and leaned his sword against the wall beside it. The silken-wrapped weapon gleamed faintly, its aura subtle but powerful. 

After changing into more comfortable clothes—a loose hoodie and joggers—he left his room and wandered back into the common area. Visconti was sitting on the couch, watching a movie. 

Elijah's eyes caught the screen, and he immediately recognized the film. "Below Celsius."

It was a dystopian story about an orphan boy fighting against a corrupt government. The boy, Allen, eventually became an anti-hero, committing morally ambiguous acts for the greater good. His methods were questionable—robbing from the rich to feed the poor, and executing corrupt officials—but his intentions were noble. The story's climax was bittersweet: Allen, realizing his mission could only succeed if he became a martyr, asked his closest friend and partner to kill him. His death ushered in the change he had dreamed of—a peaceful world. 

Though the movie had its merits, Elijah preferred the original novel. 

"Oh, do you like this movie?" Elijah asked, sitting on the couch beside Visconti. 

"Not really," Visconti replied, his tone casual. "But I love the novel. I figured I'd watch the adaptation anyway."

Elijah perked up. "You've read the novel too? Same here!"

Visconti turned to him, surprised. "Really? Most people who've read the book after watching the movie think it's boring."

"Not me. I thought the book was incredible."

Visconti nodded approvingly. "So, who's your favorite character?" His voice took on a mysterious tone, as if he were probing for a secret. 

"Allen, of course," Elijah answered without hesitation. 

Visconti raised his eyebrows. "Good choice."

Elijah smiled faintly. "By the way, has our third teammate arrived yet?"

Visconti shook his head. "Not yet. Maybe he's still wandering around, trying to figure out the challenge." His tone was light, almost teasing. 

Elijah chuckled, though he was unsure. "Surely not, right?"

Visconti smirked. "Of course not. The challenge was way too easy."

Elijah fell silent, suddenly remembering how long it had taken him to solve it. He glanced at Visconti, who seemed entirely at ease. 

Visconti: Solved the riddle instantly. 

Elijah: Took four minutes. 

Deciding to let it go, Elijah shifted the conversation. "So, what kind of books do you usually read?"

For the next hour, they talked about literature. At first, the conversation revolved around academic texts and classic novels, but eventually, they veered into books about Espers. For Elijah, this was unfamiliar yet refreshing—he'd never openly discussed such topic with anyone not even Oliver.