The first failure case was labeled Summoning Attempt: Pilot Candidate Morrison, Year 2121. Duration: 3 minutes 17 seconds. Result: Dimensional feedback loop. Status: Medical discharge.
It started the same: candidate kneeling at pool's edge and entering the meditation state, consciousness opening toward dimensional boundary. The pool responded, liquid metal beginning to flow upward in familiar streams.
Then something went wrong.
The metal moved too fast, chaotic and predatory. Instead of shaping, it consumed. It wrapped around the candidate with terrible purpose, ignoring her defensive screams and raised hands. The metal didn't pull back. It kept flowing, surrounding her, reaching for more.
Valoris watched the candidate's face and saw the exact moment her consciousness fractured. Terror overwhelmed focus, meditation collapsed into pure panic. Her psyche couldn't maintain coherence through the fear. The dimensional substrate sensed that weakness and flooded through.
The liquid metal wrapped around the candidate's legs, climbing toward her torso, seeking her face. She thrashed and screamed, trying to pull away from the pool, but the substrate held her fast. Emergency personnel rushed forward; medical teams, dimensional containment specialists, instructors with equipment designed for exactly this situation. They physically dragged her back while the liquid metal released her body with visible reluctance, flowing back into the pool. The candidate collapsed onto the platform, convulsing. Her body seized in uncontrolled spasms, neural pathways overloaded by dimensional feedback, consciousness temporarily shattered by contact she wasn't prepared to handle. Medical teams surrounded her with equipment deployed.
The footage cut to aftermath text: Candidate Morrison recovered after six weeks of medical treatment. Permanent neural scarring. Dimensional sensitivity reduced to zero. Medical discharge approved. Current status: Civilian employment, non-combat role.
Silence settled over the observation area, heavy and sobering.
"Loss of control," Kael said quietly. "Her consciousness fractured under the strain of dimensional contact. The pool sensed weakness, and the substrate attempted to flood through that opening. She survived because emergency protocols worked and medical response was immediate. But she'll never touch dimensional space again. Her mind can't handle it anymore."
He let that sink in before continuing.
"Second failure case. Watch carefully."
The next footage showed a different candidate; male, maybe fifteen, approaching the pool with visible nervousness. His hands shook. His breathing was already unsteady. Valoris could see raw terror poorly concealed behind determination.
He knelt at the edge, closed his eyes, began the meditation process.
The pool responded. Liquid metal flowed upward in the initial stages of shaping. Structure began to form, a skeletal framework suggesting mech emergence. The candidate maintained focus, his will directing the substrate.
Then halfway through the shaping process, something changed. The candidate's expression shifted like he was seeing something beyond comprehension, experiencing something his mind couldn't categorize. The liquid metal paused mid-flow, its form half-completed, neither mech nor formless material but caught between states. The framework hung suspended in the air, waiting for consciousness to direct its completion. But the candidate couldn't maintain focus. Whatever he'd touched through his opened consciousness was too much.
His eyes snapped open. He looked at the half-formed structure. His concentration shattered.
The substrate collapsed instantly. The partial mech formation dissolved back into liquid, flowing back into the pool without completing the transformation. The candidate stumbled backward, staring at his hands like they'd betrayed him.
Text overlay: Summoning Attempt: Pilot Candidate Reeves, Year 2120. Duration: 5 minutes 43 seconds. Result: Consciousness instability. Unable to maintain coherent will through full summoning process. Status: Removed from summoning consideration. Three subsequent attempts failed similarly. Final disposition: Non-combat assignment.
"Mental coherence failure," Kael explained. "He reached into dimensional space successfully and shaped the substrate initially. But he couldn't maintain that focused will through the entire summoning process. His consciousness wavered, and the forming mech sensed that instability and refused to complete. He tried three more times over the following months, failed each time the same way. His mind couldn't sustain the level of focused will required for full summoning."
Valoris felt Milo tense beside her. She knew he was thinking about his own scattered consciousness, his chaotic thought patterns. Wondering if his mind could maintain coherence through full summoning when even this candidate, who'd made it to summoning consideration, who'd passed every evaluation, had failed.
The third failure case began playing.
This one was worse.
The footage showed a female candidate approaching the pool. She looked calm and confident, showing no visible nervousness. She knelt, entered meditation, reached toward the dimensional boundary with practiced ease.
The pool responded normally. Liquid metal flowed upward, beginning the shaping process. Framework started to form. Everything proceeded according to standard protocols.
Then the candidate's expression changed. This wasn't fear or confusion; it was something worse. Recognition, perhaps. Horror at something only she could perceive, something destroying her from within.
Her eyes snapped open, still glowing with dimensional awareness. She looked directly at something off-camera. Something only she could see. "No," she whispered, voice barely audible on the recording. "No, I don't… I can't–"
The liquid metal continued flowing, still responding to her consciousness, but her body began shaking, a tremor that looked like she was experiencing something her mind couldn't process or contain. Her mouth opened. No sound came out initially. Then she started screaming with the particular quality that happens when consciousness touches something it was never meant to encounter. It reminded Valoris horribly of Milo's incident.
Emergency teams rushed forward as they had for Candidate Morrison. They pulled her away from the pool, but her eyes stayed distant, looking at something none of them could see, something that existed only in the dimensional space she'd accessed. Something still visible to her even after the physical connection to the pool was severed.
The screaming stopped, replaced by a silence more disturbing than sound. The candidate went completely still. Her body remained motionless, eyes open but unseeing. Catatonic. Her consciousness had been broken by whatever she'd touched in the space beyond the boundary.
Text overlay: Summoning Attempt: Pilot Candidate Hayashi, Year 2219. Duration: 2 minutes 8 seconds. Result: Catastrophic consciousness breach. Candidate's awareness touched dimensional space directly. Psyche fragmented beyond medical repair. Status: Permanent medical care facility. Prognosis: No recovery expected.
The observation area was absolutely silent. Students stared at the screen, processing what they'd just witnessed. Someone nearby was crying quietly. Someone else looked like they might vomit. Quinn's hands were white-knuckled on their tablet. Zee's jaw was clenched hard enough that Valoris could see muscles working. Saren had gone very pale. Milo looked like he'd aged five years in five minutes.
"Contact with dimensional space during summoning is supposed to be mediated by the substrate," Kael said, his voice carefully controlled. "The liquid metal acts as interface, allowing shaped consciousness to pull forth mechs without direct entity contact. But sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – a candidate's consciousness reaches too deep. Touches the space beyond directly without the protective buffer of summoning protocols. Human minds aren't designed for that kind of contact. They break."
He paused. Surveyed them.
"Candidate Hayashi has been in medical care for six years. She's alive; she breathes, eats when fed, maintains basic bodily functions. But she's absent. Her consciousness exists somewhere else, somewhere we can't reach."
The weight of that settled over the observation area like physical pressure.
"Summoning has casualties," Kael said quietly. "Dimensional contact is inherently traumatic to consciousness that evolved for baseline reality. You're asking your minds to reach into space that operates under different rules and shape material that shouldn't exist. Some of you won't be able to do it. Some will try and break yourselves attempting. Even if you summon successfully you could still suffer complications we can't predict."
He let them sit with that for several long seconds.
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"The success rate is approximately seventy-three percent among students who reach summoning consideration. That means roughly one in four candidates fails in some form. The failures range from minor setbacks – unsuccessful first attempt but recoverable for second try – to catastrophic outcomes like what you just witnessed. Most failures fall between those extremes: consciousness instability or partial summoning, or neural feedback that requires medical intervention but doesn't cause permanent damage."
Kael gestured to the pool below them, where liquid metal waited with patient indifference.
"In six months, each of you will kneel at that pool's edge. You'll reach into dimensional space and attempt to pull forth the structure that will become your mech. You'll undergo the most invasive consciousness experience humans can survive. You'll risk breaking yourselves in pursuit of becoming pilots. Some of you won't make it through intact."
He paused, expression softening slightly with recognition of what he was asking them to confront.
"We'll explain the process now, as far as we’ve come to understand it: how dimensional substrate works, how consciousness shapes it, how space on the other side permits or rejects summoning attempts, how bonding begins once a mech manifests. You'll understand the mechanics before you experience them. You'll be prepared as much as preparation is possible. But understand: no amount of preparation makes summoning safe. It only makes it survivable."
The lecture that followed lasted two hours: a technical explanation of dimensional mechanics, substrate properties, consciousness interaction protocols, entity behavior patterns, summoning process breakdown, bonding mechanics, post-summoning procedures.
Instructor Kael spoke with professional distance that suggested he'd delivered this information dozens of times, watching students process their mortality while explaining how to survive the unsurvivable.
Valoris took notes automatically, her mind only half-present. Most of her awareness remained fixed on the pool below, that liquid metal that glowed with wrong light. The beautiful terrible substance that existed between realities and promised transformation or death with equal indifference.
Six months, she thought. Six months until I kneel at that edge and open my consciousness fully to dimensional space and hope whatever waits beyond permits my attempt. I’ll discover if I'm strong enough or if I'll break like Candidate Hayashi.
Five generations of Kades had knelt at that pool's edge. Five generations had succeeded, had summoned mechs worthy of the family name, had begun the process of becoming legendary pilots. She couldn't fail. The weight of legacy demanded success.
But she'd just watched footage of what failure looked like: consciousness breaking, neural pathways overloading, awareness touching something beyond human comprehension and fracturing from the contact.
I can fail, she realized. Legacy doesn't protect against dimensional feedback. Family name doesn't prevent consciousness instability. I can kneel at that pool and break myself attempting to live up to expectations that might be impossible.
Around her, other students processed their own versions of mortality. Some looked determined, understanding the risk but committed to the attempt anyway. Others looked shaken, reconsidering whether becoming a pilot was worth the cost.
"Questions?" Kael asked as the lecture concluded.
Silence. Nobody had questions. Or everyone had questions that couldn't be answered. How do I make sure I don't break? How do I guarantee success? How do I know if I'm ready?
No answers existed.
"Return to barracks," Kael said. "Process what you've seen. Discuss with your squads. If anyone wants to remove themselves from summoning consideration, speak with your squad leader or contact medical services directly. No judgment. No consequences. Just informed decision about whether you can handle what's required."
Students began filing out, conversations subdued, usual energy dampened by confronting exactly what they were preparing to attempt. Chimera Squad moved together automatically through months of proximity that had made staying together instinctual. They ascended in silence as elevators rose through layers of foundation, passing back through the dimensional boundary threshold. Nobody spoke. Nobody knew what to say.
The metallic taste lingered in Valoris's mouth even as they climbed, that elemental cold still settled in her bones. Her skin still prickled with residual dimensional energy, as if proximity to the pool had marked her somehow, changed her.
Back at their barracks, Chimera Squad sat together in their common area in a silence too heavy to break.
Minutes passed. Nobody moved. They'd witnessed the reservoir, seen both transformation and destruction. Now they had to decide if they could continue.
Finally Zee spoke, her voice rough: "That's what we're doing in six months. Reaching into that pool and hoping something doesn't eat our brains."
"The statistics are favorable," Saren said, but her voice lacked usual confidence. "Seventy-three percent success rate. Better than some surgical procedures."
"That's also twenty-seven percent failure rate," Milo countered. "One in four candidates breaks in some form. One in four people like us, people who've trained for years, who've passed every evaluation, who've been cleared for summoning consideration, still fails when they reach that pool."
"The pool doesn't care about our training," Quinn said, their flat voice containing more emotion than usual. Something like fear beneath the monotone. "Dimensional substrate responds to consciousness, to psyche. If our awareness isn't coherent enough or our will isn't strong enough, if we touch something in dimensional space that breaks us... no amount of training prevents that."
"Then what's the point?" Zee demanded. "Why train for months if success depends on factors we can't control?"
"Training improves probability," Quinn said. "Doesn't guarantee outcomes. But meditation practice, consciousness discipline, mental coherence work… all of it increases the likelihood of successful summoning. We're not powerless. Just not guaranteed."
Valoris watched her squad process what they'd witnessed. Each of them confronting mortality in their own way. Each understanding that six months from now, they'd kneel at that pool's edge and discover if they were strong enough.
The silence stretched and thickened, became something that needed to be addressed or it would solidify into doubt that could fracture them before they even reached summoning.
"I need to be ready," Quinn said quietly. "If I can't summon, I'm nothing. No purpose. No function. No reason to exist."
"You're Quinn," Valoris said firmly. "You're our squad. You're–"
"Statistics and strategy and pattern recognition," Quinn interrupted. "Those skills are valuable only in context of becoming a pilot. If I wash out, what am I? Where do I go?"
Nobody had good answers.
"What if I summon something weird?" Milo asked, his usual chaotic energy dimmed by genuine fear. "What if my consciousness shapes substrate into something wrong, something that doesn't fit standard mech categories? I watched that footage and kept thinking… what if my psyche is too scattered? What if I pull forth something that reflects how my mind works and it's just... broken?"
"Then it'll be your broken," Valoris said, echoing words she'd spoken months ago during first year. "Your mech. Your consciousness externalized. Whatever emerges from that pool will be yours."
"Small comfort when whatever emerges might be deemed unsuitable for deployment," Milo muttered.
"Is it?" Valoris challenged. "Or is that the point? Our mechs will be us; literally, physically us. Our psyches externalized, our fears and strengths given form. We're trying to summon ourselves."
She stood up and looked at each of them in turn.
"I watched my ancestor’s summoning footage today. I’ve seen Sovereign before but I just watched it rise from that pool for the first time. A perfect summoning. Perfect form. And we should have advantages she didn't."
Valoris paused.
"But you know what her perfect summoning got her? Eight years as a pilot before dimensional corruption became terminal, gradually breaking apart at cellular level until her body couldn't sustain the neural connection anymore. Eight years that ended with her mind incoherent and her body failing."
She took a breath.
"Five generations of Kades have succeeded at summoning and been legendary pilots. That's the legacy I'm carrying. That's the expectation sitting on my shoulders every time someone says my name and looks at me with anticipation or resentment."
She paused again. "And you know what I realized today?"
"What?" Zee asked.
"I can fail. Legacy doesn't protect me. Family name doesn't make summoning safer. In six months I'll kneel at that pool and I might break. I might fracture my consciousness reaching for something I'm not equipped to handle. I might summon something and begin bonding and discover my body can't handle the neural integration. I might do everything right and still fail because dimensional space doesn't care about my lineage."
The silence that followed felt different; less heavy, more contemplative.
"So what do we do?" Milo asked quietly.
"We prepare," Valoris said. "We train like our lives depend on it because they do. We support each other through every moment of doubt. We acknowledge the risk without letting it paralyze us. And in six months, we kneel at that pool and we reach into dimensional space and we hope."
"Hope," Zee repeated. "That's your strategy?"
"Hope and preparation and squad cohesion," Valoris clarified. "Statistics say seventy-three percent of candidates succeed. That means most of us will make it through. If we support each other, if we maintain cohesion, if we function as Chimera Squad rather than five individuals, our probability improves."
"How much?" Quinn asked.
"Unknown. But superior to baseline." Valoris smiled slightly. "Your words, Quinn. Our foundation is solid. That has to count for something."
Zee leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You really think we can do this? All of us?"
"I think we have to try," Valoris said. "And I think we do it together. Whatever happens at that pool, whether we all succeed or some of us fail, we face it as squad. We don't abandon each other when things get hard. We don't let fear fracture what we've built."
"Together," Saren said quietly, testing the word like she was trying to believe in it.
"Together," Zee echoed, stronger, a commitment rather than a question.
"Together," Quinn added, their flat voice containing something that almost sounded like hope.
"Together," Milo finished, some of his usual energy returning.
They sat in silence again, but it felt different now; less like confronting inevitable doom, more like acknowledging a challenge they'd chosen to face. They'd seen the reservoir, watched success and failure. They'd understood viscerally what they were preparing to attempt.
And they'd chosen to continue. All of them. Together.
Valoris looked at her squad; this group of fractured people she'd somehow been assigned to lead, who'd become more important to her than legacy or expectation or family name. She didn't know if they'd all survive summoning. Didn't know if she'd survive it herself. But she knew they'd face it together, that they'd support each other through the fear and doubt and very real possibility of failure. Whatever happened at that pool in six months, they wouldn't face it alone.
