The bell rang.
At first, no one moved. The trainees lay still in their beds,half-sleep tucked in their blankets, their minds not yet registering the harsh sound from outside.The bell rang again—louder this time, more insistent. Like a hammer pounding straight into their bones.
One by one, they sat up, confused and dazed. For a few long seconds, they just stared at nothing, the weight of exhaustion clouding their thoughts. Then it hit them.
They were in the training field. Gleason.
Panic erupted.
Their feet slammed against wooden floors. Blankets flew. Voices shouted in hushed urgency as everyone scrambled to grab their things and run outside. Some trainees forgot their towels. Others grabbed buckets blindly. The air was cold, and the sun hadn't even begun to rise. Only the glow of oil lamps lining the path lit their way, casting long shadows over the dirt and stone.
Eleonor rushed out, clutching a wooden pail, barefooted. As she sprinted toward the well, a sudden chill brushed her skin—not from the wind, but from something unseen. The air thickened, pulsing with an eerie tension that made her chest tighten. It was as if hundreds of unseen eyes were watching, hovering just beyond the veil of reality. She stopped for a second, heart pounding, scanning her surroundings.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No whispers. No one.
But the feeling didn't fade.
It pressed in—heavy, electric—like a crowd was gathering around her, silent and invisible.
She was alone... and yet, not.
She ran straight to the well, brushing of the strange feeling and just focus on what she will do. The line was already forming, trainees yelling, pushing, groaning in impatience. She managed to fetch a bucket of water, her hands trembling as the bell rang again—its sharp clang slicing through the still-dark sky like a warning.
But the line to the bathhouse was impossibly long. And the bell was still ringing. It made her anxious.
There was no countdown but they can feel the time was running out.
With no other choice, Eleonor darted behind the bathhouse. Hidden from view, tucked into the shadow of the wall, she set the pail down. The ground was damp, the stone cold under her feet.
Still fully clothed, she poured the water over herself.
She scrubbed her arms, face, and neck quickly, her breath catching at the shock of cold. The water soaked her shirt and clung to her skin, but she didn't care. She had to be clean. She had to show up. There was no rule against it—and in the dark, no one would see.
It's not against the rules. It's fine. I'm not cheating. I'm surviving.
And as the final clang of the bell echoed across the training grounds, Eleonor stood up straight, wearing her uniform, shirt, trouser, boots and cloak—all proper yet, her hair is dripping but refreshed—ready to face the first day of training.
They were instructed to fall in line, three platoon,three platoons—though many were confused by the terminology, unsure of where or how to stand. Still, they followed the order, forming rows as best they could under the dim, cold light of early dawn.
The four officers, Lieutenant Hosea, Hera Sawyer, Sergeant Shun Mortea and Captain Ishan Halston were all there to welcome them.
"Did you all took a bath?," her eyebrows furrowed with Captain Ishan's silly question. Eleonor slowly looked around. Their hair are all wet, dripping, wetting their uniforms.
No one dared to answer.
"Did you bathe, Sergeant Shun?," he added, with a mockery in his voice. No one make a sound. He casually shifted his weight on his right leg and placed his hands pn his waist. Sergeant Shun placed his finger on his chin, acting like he was thinking.
"Why bother?,"he answered, his tone is not clear if he was joking, or serious, or was it just the humor of the two seniors in front of them.
Eleonor gasped when the cold air brushes towards her skin. Her knees are shaking, nervous of what will happen next.
"Dirt and sweat will embrace your body, anyway," Captain Ishan added, slightly laughing as he picked up the oil lamp. His eyes wandered in the dark, looking at everyone's faces. He then pouted in disappointment.
"That's enough, you two,"Hera Sawyer stopped him and stood in front, full of authority. Though this is her first time doing this kind of thing, she still needs guidance from Lieutenant Hosea.
"Good morning, Trainees," she greeted, warmly but without a smile. She just stood there full of power and authority, or at least that is what she want to show to the trainees.
"Good morning, maam," the trainees greeted back.
"Today, the first day of your training. As the welcome rites, you will be doing the full-course drill," a silent murmur from everyone was let out from the trainees.
"Silent," Lieutenant Hosea, calmly shouted, making them shut.
"Three laps of jogging around the field, and pass all the obstacles,"
"Remember, this is a graded performance. There is a hidden grading system. This activity is not only based on physical strength, endurance or time, there is a whole lot more,"
"This morning routine will commence everyday, at exactly five in the morning. There is no excuse. Not the coldnes, not the darkness, no excuses,"
"There will be breakfast, not until everyone finished the course," Hera Sawyer stated and then signaled everyone to start the drill.
With the guide of other officers, they are all around the field, some are already on the obstacles, some are along with the four seniors. They stood nervously on the starting line of the field.
The whistle blew—sharp, still and forceful.
For a second, no one moved. The stillness of dawn wrapped around them like a thick blanket, but it quickly shattered as boots started pounding against the earth. The field roared with movement.
Their foot echoed the field. The sound of their boots roared, signifying dedication, fear and excitement. Some compete with each other, trying to see if who will finish first.
Eleonor blinked hard, shaking off the fog in her head. She fell into step with the crowd, her body moving on instinct. Cold air slapped her face. Her breath turned to mist in the low light of the morning. The world was still dark, lit only by torches and oil lamps scattered around the training field.
Eleonor ran along with other trainee, with the dark embracing the field, she failed to identify the people on her side, behind and ahead of her. It was terrifying to run the dark field yet she did not stop. She continue, she push herself. She didn't know where she was going, only that the person in front of her was running, so she ran too.
"Three laps," someone muttered from her right. She turned her head slightly—it was Aria Levisa, her cabinmate, face already flushed, teeth chattering.
"What is this, a death ritual?" Eleonor huffed out a weak chuckle. "Feels like it."
Behind them, a voice groaned dramatically. "I should've stayed in bed and accepted a dishonorable discharge." a woman said, she was about to cry.
Eleonor glanced over her shoulder. It was Atalia Nicolaides, face scrunched, trying to tie her boot as she jogged.
"Careful, you might tripped," Eleonor warned, concerned.
"Let me trip, maybe it's the only way out," Atalia grumbled, managing a laugh despite her breathlessness. She picked up her pace and caught up beside Eleonor, who by now had found a steady rhythm.
This adrenaline within her---feels familiar. Familiarly-bitter.
The sound of dozens of boots thudding on wet soil echoed around them. The trainees moved like a slow, ragged tide. Some already looked like they were about to pass out. Others were trying to pace themselves, heads low, arms pumping.
They were halfway through the first lap when a tall, lean guy bumped Eleonor's shoulder as he passed her.
"Move faster, weak legs," he muttered under his breath.
Eleonor stumbled but kept running. "Who was that?"
"That's Hugo" Aria said, jogging beside her.
"From Cabin Five. He thinks he's already in the officer ranks."
"I hope he trips," Naomi muttered.
They rounded the training field's north curve, where mist hovered low on the grass. Eleonor felt the burn building in her calves. Her breath was getting heavier. Her wet uniform clung to her skin, her hair sticking to her nape. Don't slow down, she told herself.