The capital train had two boarding entrances.
The first stood behind steel barriers, armed guards and enough cameras to cover every angle of the protected platform.
The second had a temporary sign fixed above it.
CADETS — COACHES 8 TO 12
Nate waited beneath it with his parents.
Reporters crowded behind the opposite barrier. Every few seconds, someone shouted Ethan’s name or raised a camera above the people in front. Mara had entered through another secured corridor ten minutes earlier without Nate seeing her.
His mother opened the side pocket of his bag and added a medical pouch.
"There’s already one inside."
"This one is easier to reach."
"I’m going to an academy with a medical division."
"You have three hundred kilometers of Wasteland to cross before reaching it."
His father lifted the bag to test its weight, then handed it back without supporting either side of the argument.
A warning tone sounded across the platform.
BOARDING CLOSES IN TWENTY MINUTES
The protected entrance opened, and the reporters pressed closer to the barriers.
Ethan appeared between two guards.
He wore a dark jacket issued by the Crown Program. It was too tight across his shoulders, and the official beside him spoke continuously while another watched the crowd.
Ethan nodded without listening. His gaze moved across the standard platform until he found Nate.
For a moment, some of the tension left his face.
He pressed a fist against his chest, the gesture they had used before practical examinations throughout their two years of preparation.
Nate returned it.
One of the guards directed Ethan toward the train. He disappeared into Crown Car Two before either of them could cross the distance between the platforms.
Their farewell had lasted only a few seconds.
Nate’s mother touched the tape around his knee.
She studied him before looking toward the front of the train.
"You don’t have to keep up with Ethan during your first week."
Nate adjusted his bag.
"I know."
His father pulled him into a brief hug.
"Call before the network disappears."
"I will."
"And when you arrive."
Nate nodded.
His mother hugged him next. She held him longer than usual, one hand pressed against the back of his head as if he were still young enough for her to stop him from leaving.
The boarding announcement sounded again.
Nate joined the cadet line.
A railway officer scanned his documents and closed a silver band around his wrist.
"Coach Eleven, seat forty-two. The band contains your identification and medical records. It will not open the protected sections."
Nate followed the other candidates toward the train.
The armored locomotive stretched along the platform like a moving section of the city wall. Its narrow windows were reinforced, and thick plates covered the lower half of every carriage. Scratches crossed the metal around old repairs.
Two weapon mounts rested beneath folded housings near the front.
The advertisements had made the capital trains look polished and new. This one looked as though it had survived by being repaired faster than the Wastelands could destroy it.
Nate passed Coaches Eight, Nine and Ten. Guards stood beside each carriage connection, checking wristbands and luggage.
The Crown section was too far ahead to see.
Inside Coach Eleven, rows of four seats filled most of the space. Reinforced storage racks ran above them, and narrow emergency cabinets had been built into the walls at both ends.
Most of the passengers appeared to be academy candidates. Some wore fitted combat jackets with private-center emblems. Others had arrived with ordinary clothes and overfilled travel bags.
Nate found seat forty-two beside the window.
A broad young man already occupied the seat next to it. Two large cases stood between his knees, leaving him almost no room for his feet.
Nate recognized him from the awakening ceremony.
Burden Bearer.
"Both yours?" Nate asked.
The young man shook his head.
"Someone from Coach Nine saw my registration and paid me twenty credits to carry one."
His tone was casual, though the grip around the handle was not.
"That didn’t take long."
"No."
Nate stored his bag beneath the seat.
"Nate Calder."
"Milo Kern."
They shook hands.
Milo looked at the silver band around Nate’s wrist.
"Kinetic Recall?"
"Yes."
"You awakened in the First Banner session."
"We trained at the same regional center."
Milo glanced toward the front of the train but did not ask another question.
Across the aisle, a girl lowered the book resting on her knees. Her dark hair was braided tightly, and a white medical emblem had been sewn onto her sleeve.
"Your manifestation was the one the Array couldn’t identify," she said.
"It found an answer eventually."
"Iris Morn. Pulse Medic."
"Nate."
"I know."
She returned to her book.
The carriage doors closed.
A vibration passed through the floor as the train began to move. Outside, Nate’s parents waited behind the safety line. His father raised one arm, while his mother waved with her phone still in the other hand.
Nate kept his hand against the window until the platform slid out of view.
Apartment blocks passed first, followed by warehouses and the industrial yards near the outer wall.
His phone vibrated.
ETHAN: They won’t let me leave the protected section.
Nate replied:
Same here.
The answer came a moment later.
ETHAN: Still the same train.
Nate looked toward the front. Nine coaches, several guarded connections and locked security doors separated them.
NATE: Technically.
The outer wall approached.
Massive gates opened around the tracks, revealing a landscape without the clean borders of the city.
Grey grass covered uneven fields. Trees leaned at strange angles, their branches stripped bare on one side. Transmission towers stood among the hills, many broken near the top or connected to cables that vanished into the mist.
The Wastelands.
An announcement filled the carriage.
"Relay coverage will become intermittent beyond the outer boundary. Passengers must remain inside their assigned sections. External doors and carriage connections will lock during Wasteland transit."
The train passed through the gates.
Nate’s network fell to one bar and then disappeared.
The indicators above the doors changed from green to blue. Heavy locks engaged along the carriage one after another.
Conversation faded as the city vanished behind the mist.
The train accelerated.
Its movement was rougher than the local lines. Each change in the armored track travelled through the floor and into the seats.
Nate loosened his ankles and allowed his knees to follow the sway. Rovan’s lesson helped him move with the carriage instead of resisting every turn.
Milo tightened one hand around his seat during a sharper shift.
"You don’t feel that?"
"I do."
"You barely moved."
Nate looked down the aisle instead of answering.
A railway employee had entered through the rear service door before the locks activated. He wore a grey uniform, a dark cap and carried a narrow tool case.
The man walked toward the front of the coach.
Most passengers ignored him.
Nate watched his feet.
The carriage shifted left. A standing candidate near the aisle leaned right to keep his balance.
The employee adjusted before the movement reached him.
Railway crews travelled the route every day. Experience could explain that kind of balance, but the correction had been unusually early.
The man stopped beside the access panel connecting Coaches Ten and Eleven. He placed the tool case on the floor and turned his back toward the passengers.
Nate could no longer see his hands.
A small amber light appeared above the locked door.
It remained for less than a second before returning to blue.
The employee picked up his case without opening the panel and continued into Coach Ten. The door locked behind him.
Milo pushed one of his cases farther beneath his seat.
"Can you lift your foot?"
Nate moved it without looking away from the front connection.
The indicator remained blue. No alarm sounded, and none of the railway staff reacted.
Outside, the last transmission tower belonging to the regional territory disappeared into the mist.
Coach Eleven carried them deeper into the Wastelands.