From Useless Dud To The Alpha's Queen

The Ascension Trials were imminent—the absolute only chance for their squad to leave this decaying planet and enter the vast, elite sea of stars. And Alana, the only 'Dud' conduit in the squad who couldn't summon an Eidolon, was bearing all the crushing pressure.

In this world, women held absolute power. They ruled the cities, commanded the armies, and took multiple husbands as a sign of status. Men existed to serve—as warriors, laborers, or consorts. A woman without an Eidolon was a disgrace; a man without a squad was worthless. But Alana, born female, had failed twelve summoning attempts. In the eyes of society, she was less than nothing.

Alana stared at the holographic tactical board. The blue light flickered, stuttering as the outdated processor struggled to render the terrain of the upcoming Ascension Trials. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, rubbing her temples until dull pain bloomed beneath her skin.

The heavy metal door of the underground tactics room slammed open.

A gust of cold, damp air rushed in. Cash Patterson strode into the cramped space, his heavy combat boots thudding against the grated floor. He didn't say a word. He just raised his right hand and slammed a thick, gold-embossed paper contract onto Alana's console.

Dust exploded from the impact, catching in Alana's throat. She coughed, her chest tightening, and picked up the heavy parchment.

Her eyes scanned the bold lettering at the top. It was a "Deep Sponsorship" agreement from Chet Wolfe, the heir to one of the most ruthless corporate conglomerates in Zenith City. Below it sat a list of high-tier gear that could easily guarantee their squad a flawless victory.

Then, she flipped to the second page.

Her eyes stopped on a single, highlighted paragraph. Clause 4: Full-time private companionship and physiological comfort to be provided by the squad's Conduit, Alana Nicholson.

The air in her lungs vanished. A cold, heavy stone dropped directly into her stomach, pulling her organs down with a sickening lurch. Her pupils dilated. The words blurred, replaced by the memory of Chet's greasy, lingering stares and his sweaty hands. Chet already had three wives and nine consorts, but men of his wealth could never have enough. He wanted her as another ornament—a female broken and tamed.

She snapped her head up. She stared at Cash, her fingers trembling so violently the thick paper rattled.

"You want me to sign this?" she asked, her voice a raw scrape.

Cash pulled a silver lighter from his pocket. He lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, and blew a cloud of gray smoke directly into her face.

"Sign it," Cash said, his tone flat, as if he were asking her to pass the salt.

Alana threw the contract. The heavy pages hit Cash square in the chest and scattered across the dirty floor like dead leaves.

"No," she spat.

Cash's face darkened. The casual arrogance melted into something ugly. He took a heavy step forward, closing the distance between them. He used his six-foot-two frame to box her against the console, his broad shoulders blocking out the dim light.

In a proper matriarchal order, a man would never dare raise his voice to a woman. But Alana had lost her status. She was a Dud—and Duds, regardless of gender, were lower than breeding males. Cash knew this. He leaned on it.

"Listen to me, you useless bitch," Cash growled, his voice vibrating in her chest. "If we fail the Ascension Trials next month, we lose our funding. You know what happens to a Conduit without a squad? They strip your rank and throw you into the civilian breeding program. You'll spend the rest of your life on your back anyway."

She knew exactly what that meant. In a society where women could take multiple husbands, the breeding centers were the ultimate punishment—a female reduced to a passive vessel, stripped of her right to choose, forced to bear children for men who had no claim to her. It was worse than death.

Alana locked her jaw. Her teeth ground together so hard a sharp pain shot up into her skull. She dug her fingernails into her palms until the skin nearly broke.

"My tactics are the only reason this squad survived the last three years," Alana fired back, her voice shaking with pure rage. "You wouldn't have made it past the first year without my routing."

Cash let out a sharp, barking laugh. He leaned in closer, the smell of stale tobacco and mint overwhelming her senses.

"Tactics?" he mocked. "You are a Dud. You can't even summon a basic Tier-F Eidolon. You're just window dressing, Alana. A liability. Sign the contract for the gear, or you are out of Dawnbreaker."

A sharp pain pierced Alana's chest, right behind her sternum. The betrayal was a physical ache, a knife twisting in her ribs. She thought of Chet's eyes. She thought of being locked in a corporate penthouse, treated as a piece of meat.

She straightened her spine. She tilted her chin up, forcing herself to meet Cash's furious gaze without blinking.

"Never." The word left her lips sharp and definitive.

Shock flickered in Cash's eyes, quickly swallowed by explosive rage. He spun around and slammed his fists onto the holographic tactical board.

The glass shattered. The blue projection died instantly, plunging the room into shadows. Sparks hissed and popped from the severed cables, casting erratic flashes of light across Cash's twisted face.

"You're done!" Cash roared, pointing a thick finger at the door. "You are officially removed from the roster. Get out!"

Alana swallowed the hard lump of acid rising in her throat. She turned away from him, her movements stiff and mechanical. She walked to her narrow metal locker, pulled the handle, and grabbed her worn, leather-bound tactical notebook. She pressed it tightly against her chest, feeling the solid weight of three years of her life.

Cash lunged forward, reaching for the notebook. "That belongs to the squad."

Alana twisted her torso, dodging his grasping hand.

"Don't touch my work," she warned, her voice dropping to a deadly, icy whisper.

Cash froze. For a fraction of a second, the sheer intensity in her eyes paralyzed him. His hand hovered in the air.

Alana didn't wait for him to recover. She turned on her heel and walked toward the exit. Her combat boots stepped directly onto the scattered pages of the Wolfe contract.

"You won't survive the month!" Cash screamed at her back.

Alana didn't look back. She pushed her weight against the heavy metal door and stepped out into the freezing, sterile hallway.

The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows on the linoleum floor. She gripped her notebook so tightly her knuckles turned a stark, bloodless white.

A sharp beep echoed from her wrist. Her comm-link flashed red.

System Notification: Squad privileges revoked.

Her stomach hollowed out, but the tears didn't come. Instead, a freezing, absolute resolve settled into her bones.