She walked through the unfamiliar corridor, trailed by rows of children, some younger than her, some older. As she moved, she paid close attention to her surroundings. The glass windows were still the same, showing glimpses of possible futures. Yet now they revealed only the worst of them, because this time the so-called “stable” test subjects were walking beside her.

  She looked into each window. In one room, children staring lifelessly at the walls as if something unseen were calling to them. In another, a child’s body had been twisted into something it was never meant to be: half human, half serpent. It slithered weakly, shedding scales onto the floor only for them to regenerate in an endless cycle.

  Sometimes a scream tore through the hall, shattering the silence, only to be abruptly cut short. It was likely the last sound the subject would ever make.

  She had once convinced herself, when she saw her Valkyrie, that maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all. But facing the truth of it now felt like swallowing a live snake.

  She tried her hardest not to falter under the weight. It was her own choice, and perhaps the only chance she had in life for magic. But still, she didn’t know who the Arkmarschall truly was—only what she had heard from rumors and read in history books. What if he only needed her as a pincushion, then discarded her without ever giving her the chance to learn or use magic properly?

  Quietly, slowly but surely, the snake began to crawl out of her throat and coil around her fragile body. She could only hope that the Arkmarschall was not the man the rumors and books claimed him to be.

  She stepped into the assembly room. It was vast and empty, a cavern of white stone with no tables, no seats, nothing to suggest comfort. The emptiness itself seemed deliberate, designed to strip away distractions.

  Everywhere she looked, banners hung high against the walls — the sigil of Einhart repeated again and again. An ouroboros. its fangs bared, enclosing a sharp vertical eye. The design was stark and heavy in black ink, framed by curling edges that resembled both iron and thorn. The pattern was meant to stare back, to remind every soul present that they were being watched.

  But the greatest banner was not fabric at all. Directly in front of her, dominating the chamber, the sigil had been carved into a slab of light beige marble. The stone gleamed faintly, as though it was polished every morning. Not a chip, not a crack, not even a fleck of dust marred its surface. It stood there like a sacred idol, elevated beyond mere decoration.

  The longer she looked at it, the more the serpent’s eye seemed alive — a silent command to kneel, obey, and never forget whose hall this was.

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  The test subjects moved with eerie precision, like marionettes pulled by invisible strings. Each step was measured, rehearsed, as if an unseen hand guided them. Without a word, they found their places, forming a line with the discipline of soldiers about to march into war. The girl noticed an empty spot in the formation, and she stepped into it, standing as straight as she could.

  Then came the Snake himself. His single eye carried a weight greater than a thousand others. He walked with calm, measured steps, the tap of his cane echoing through the room. He did not ascend the dais; instead, he moved among them, weaving through the line like a serpent, watching.

  “Do you know what they say you are?”

  The voice came suddenly. It wasn’t barked like a command, yet the girl heard it clearly inside her head.

  “Trash. Defects. Burdens. They said it would be better if you never existed at all.”

  The room fell into silence. She saw some fists clench, others fighting to hold back tears.

  “They sent you here because they believed you would die, that you could not survive. They called the Einhartturm Research Facility nothing more than a slaughterhouse.”

  “…”

  “However…” The voice rose, reverberating now, as the Snake continued his march. “They were mistaken.”

  He let the word settle into their hearts.

  “In here, you are given a chance. A chance to prove them wrong. A chance to matter. A chance to endure.”

  The girl studied her Arkmarschall’s face. It was unreadable, yet one thing was certain—his words carried no lies. At least, not for her.

  “When the whole world dismissed you for a condition outside your control, we offered the chance they denied you.”

  She looked up. A faint ember stirred in her heart, fragile but alive.

  “Your survival here depends on your grit and your tenacity, not on the fate that cast you aside. Endure, learn, and you will prevail.”

  Some of the test subjects began to stomp their feet, as if declaring their resolve.

  “And when we inevitably reconquer the Continent,” he said, “you will be the ones remembered. The ones who bled the most. The ones who made dreams possible. Children who defied the fate assigned to them, seized it from the hands of God, and shaped it for themselves.”

  “You are the foundation on which the Reich will rise.

  An iron force, so disciplined, so relentless, that even the Imperium will shudder.”

  He swept his gaze across the room.

  “You will be the shadow that blots out their sun.

  The blade that severs their false divinity.”

  He halted, cane striking the floor.

  “Your resolve. Your suffering. Your sweat. Your defiance.

  All of it will be rewarded.”

  His voice rose.

  “And with your own hands, we will carve the Imperium from this world!”

  “For the Reich. For Order. For Truth!” Leopold thundered.

  The subjects roared with him, voices one and the same:

  “For the Reich. For Order. For Truth!”

  The words rang through the stone chamber, sharp and synchronized,

  like steel drawn from a thousand unseen scabbards.

  At first, the girl wasn’t sure what to do. She wanted to join the chant, but she had just arrived and didn’t know what they would do to her. Yet the cheering around her grew louder, and not wanting to draw attention, she began to shout as well.

  It felt like a knot inside her had loosened—perhaps because fake confidence was better than none at all.

  And then she realized it: she had been thrown into a place that would inevitably change everything about her, perhaps even leave her humanity locked away somewhere. So it would be best to use her remaining days as human to prove, at least to herself, that she mattered at all.