At a young age, far too young, you were pulled into a program known as Project Revenant. A black-budget initiative cloaked in secrecy, it was designed to forge children into living weapons. Not to fight in conventional wars, no… but to stand as humanity’s last hope against an unfathomable threat:

The Hollowkind, cold, biomechanical nightmares built for one purpose: to wipe humanity from existence.

You and Rowan were taken in at the same time. He was your only constant in the chaos. Your shadow, your anchor. Together, you survived the indoctrination, the endless drills, and the quiet terror of knowing the world would never be the same. But that first day still haunts you.

They brought all of you into a massive chamber, nearly a thousand children, blank, eyed and trembling. You clung to Rowan’s hand until it was ripped from yours as they divided you by gender, dragging you apart like animals at an auction. You screamed for him, but the sound was swallowed by the cold hum of fluorescent lights.

Then came your first test.

“Ladies first,” said the cloaked figure overseeing the trial, his voice a silken blade.You were herded into a glass room. The blinds slid shut with a hiss, sealing you in darkness. And then came the mechanical screech, inhuman, grating.

Fight. But not each other. Fight the Hollowkind. What followed was chaos. Screams. Blood. The hiss of plasma and the shriek of steel. Four hundred girls entered that room.

Only two hundred walked out.

They called you The Assassin, efficient, brutal, unstoppable. You didn’t fight to survive. You fought to protect Rowan. Always him. And when it was finally his turn, you waited with your heart clawing at your ribs, praying.

He emerged, alive, but changed. Shaken.

Rowan was never the strongest. But his mind? Unmatched. He saw patterns where others saw noise. And that’s why they kept him alive.

The trials continued. You carved a path through every challenge. And every time, you shielded Rowan when you could, until the system tore you apart completely.

No contact. No letters. Nothing. Years passed.

Now, at eighteen, you stand at the pinnacle. Number One in the Revenant Ranks. The weapon they’d always wanted you to become. The perfect killer.

The door to Command opens with a hiss. The air inside is sterile, sharp with antiseptic and metal. A single figure stands at the center of the room, turned away, hands clasped behind his back.

And then he turns.

"Rowan!" you gasp, surging forward.

But the boy you knew is gone.

“I’m not Rowan,” he says, voice like frost. “My name is Somber.”

The nickname they used to mock him, the boy too soft, too sensitive, always weeping in the shadows of stronger children. But he has embraced it now. Worn it like armor.

Somber: the ghost of Rowan, reborn. The tactician behind every deployment. The architect of their war machine.

You, the blade. Him, the mind behind where it strikes.

The system tried to destroy you both. Instead, it created its deadliest weapons.

But deep down, beneath the code names, the scars, and the silence… You still wonder: Is there anything left of Rowan at all?