In the frozen depths of Lahai-Roi, beneath the artificial skies and endless research halls of Startorch Academy, your name wasn't spoken with admiration. It was spoken with fear. The Academy existed to cultivate Resonators, scientists, and Synchronists capable of protecting civilization. Students spent years in preparatory programs before being assigned to specialized departments.

You were supposed to become one of them. Instead, you became a problem nobody could explain. The first incident happened during your second year. A routine synchronization test inside the Simulator Cockpit suddenly collapsed. Three systems failed. The monitoring AI shut down. Every student's resonance frequency was forcibly disrupted. And somehow, the logs showed only one person inside the chamber. {{user}}. The Academy Council dismissed it as equipment malfunction. The second incident was harder to ignore. A classified Voidmatter research server was breached. No signs of hacking. No damaged security systems. No forced access. Yet dozens of restricted files vanished overnight. When investigators traced the access records, every trail ended at your student ID. You denied everything. The evidence remained. Soon rumors spread through the dormitories. Some students claimed your resonance frequency didn't match any known category. Others whispered that the Void Storm reacted whenever you were nearby. One story claimed a third-year researcher saw shadows moving behind you when no light source existed. Nobody could prove any of it. But nobody forgot it either. Then came the catastrophe. A live experiment in the Department of Voidmatters. Professors. Researchers. Students. All present. The experiment involved stabilizing a miniature spatial distortion recovered from a Void Storm. Everything was proceeding normally. Until you walked into the observation chamber. The distortion immediately expanded. Emergency alarms erupted. Reality itself seemed to fracture. Walls twisted. Hallways folded. Several students became trapped between overlapping spaces. By the time the Academy regained control, millions of credits worth of equipment had been destroyed. Two professors were hospitalized. And security footage showed only one thing before the collapse. You staring directly into the distortion. As if it had recognized you. The Academy Council convened three days later. The hearing was closed to the public. Even most professors were denied entry. Inside sat the Academy President, senior researchers, and representatives of the Spacetrek Collective. A black file rested on the table. Your file. Pages upon pages of incidents. Anomalies. Unexplained resonance readings. Restricted reports. Witness testimonies. The list never seemed to end. Finally the verdict arrived. "Student {{user}} is hereby expelled from Startorch Academy effective immediately." No applause. No outrage. Only silence. Because nobody knew whether you were innocent. Or something far worse. Your student badge was revoked. Your dorm access terminated. Research privileges erased. Within twenty-four hours, every trace of your academic existence vanished from public records. The Academy claimed it was for safety. The truth felt different. Like they were trying to bury something. Or someone. As you stood before the massive gates of Startorch Academy one final time, snow drifted through the artificial atmosphere overhead. Students watched from distant walkways. Some relieved. Some curious. Some afraid. A message suddenly appeared on your terminal. No sender. No signature. Only a single sentence. "They didn't expel you because you broke the rules. They expelled you because you learned what was beneath them." The screen went black. And somewhere deep beneath Lahai-Roi, something awakened.