Months had gone by since there had been word of war between kingdoms. The kingdom had not broken into pieces but had flexed under duress. Cracks emerged now—scar lines on the ground, on the buildings, on people. The officers were training with fervor, and the young ones under their command had lost the habit of wondering why.
The earth lay wide out in the glow of early morning. A misty veil curled tight over the walked grass, still wet from dew in the darkness. Five figures stood loosely in a circle, each of them surveying the ground with different eyes.
Kraft broke the stillness first.
"We can't charge in there again. We all know what happens when we charge in." His voice wasn't commanding, but weighty—of one who'd already scripted the loss in his mind.
One of the trainees, a lanky teenager in glasses whose frames were silver, raised a hand with restrained enthusiasm. "What if we take up position by the south ridge? Let him approach us. Dictate the meeting."
Another, a red-striped girl down her neck, laughed. "You think we'll get to form? The moment we even begin to form, we're gone."
They all turned when she spoke. Except—she hadn't.
She stood apart, staring at the fog as though drawing invisible lines across it. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, far and absorbed.
Kraft nudged her shoulder—hard, but softly enough to make her jerk. "We have to think, all of us. Not react."
She blinked, nodded slightly, and retreated back into the circle. No time to hesitate. A shot cracked—a clean pulse from the signal tower.
Training had begun.
The simulation exploded at once. Trainees scattered across the field in choreographed confusion. They'd been trained for this, learned patterns, memorized fall-back positions. It didn't matter.
Group 4 vanished first—no scream, no fight, gone. 7 and 9. Paths of dark fog trailed behind the wind, and wherever the mist drifted, someone died. Not to suffering. Not to fear. To nothing.
Group 1's Chief Ivers managed to reform Group 2 close to the old trenchline. Felix bellowed quick orders, Deiss set up an ad hoc cover, and Haldin secured their guns support.
But it didn't work.
Group 10—Lindsay, Kraft, and two junior recruits—were slower to react. They didn't even witness what occurred. One minute the mist was just in the background; the next, it was all that existed. No fight, no collision—just a enveloping quiet. Like being shrouded in quiet.
And then. release.
The black mist rolled back. Not shattered, just retreated.
He stood at the ridge's edge, arms folded, face inscrutable.
"Main Unit HQ," he said softly, not yelling. "Five minutes."
He was gone before one could blink.
No one complained.
The debrief room was cold even at noon. Stone walls had that attribute—absorbing all heat and chill. The entire training group were seated in rows, quiet. Tension was not being spoken, but it permeated their demeanor.
He stood in front, facing away from the window, arms crossed behind his back. For a moment, he said nothing. Then:
"You lasted two seconds longer than last time."
No smiles.
There was, however, no disappointment silence afterwards—it was resignation. Everyone on the train had learned by now: trying to run from him was not the goal. No longer.
You're done with evasion training," he said. "Now we focus on power building only. Tactics, teamwork, raw talent. You were just running to keep you alive. Now you need to learn to fight."
Whispers spread through the room like a wave.
He touched a panel to his left. A list had materialized, projected in light across the room: Provisional Power Rankings – Internal Only.
"Felix," he said without looking, "you're at the top."
Felix smirked, arms behind his head like he'd expected it.
Other names followed—Deiss, Ivers, the red-marked girl from earlier. Kraft's name landed in the middle of the list. No reaction. He already knew.
At the bottom was Lindsay.
She lowered her gaze. Her abilities—mind reading, limited control over physical matter, sensitivity to mental states—weren't suited for direct combat. Not yet.
Ivers moved stealthily, steel arms folded tight. "It's not permanent, is it?"
"Nothing is," the MC replied.
Someone growled anonymously, "Figures Lindsay's rank is so low."
She didn't respond. Kraft, though, shot the speaker a warning look.
The MC continued, "You are not these numbers. But they are the truth of your current limits. Adapt."
He pressed the glyph embroidered into his chest. "Julie. Come in."
Julie came a few minutes behind, tidy and smooth as usual. She carried a bundle of paper, more through habit than requirement, and laid it down on the nearest table.
"The battlefield will be just west of the Mirefolds," she said. "Rough ground. Muddy. Thin cover. Tree lines dense to the north and west."
The map unfolded, and the trainees crouched in.
"We'll divide into three main units," she went on. "Main Combat, Support Coordination, and Ranged/Utility. Roles will be assigned tomorrow morning. Everyone will get experience in each role.
"What about him?" one of the newer recruits asked, pointing toward the MC.
He replied before Julie could.
"I'll be on the front line."
Murmurs followed again. He held up a hand—not to quell them, but to emphasize the next point.
"Don't rely on me. Your survival and success lie in your coordination, not my intervention."
His voice never increased. Never. But it struck with more power than yelling.
Julie rolled up the map. "Final strategy meeting two days prior to deployment."
Dismissed.
Night fell over the field again, but there was no fog.
He stood alone outside, arms crossed in his coat sleeves, eyes gazed up—not at the stars, but beyond them. He was not seeing. He was waiting.
Wind blew in, light, carrying the scent of tilled earth and mowed grass. His thoughts wandered. And then.
He was gone.
Not from here. But the world around him fell silent.
Darkness. Not a place, not absence—just absence. No weight. No breath. No awareness.
Then—sound.
Not words. Something. A pull, a whisper, a breath straining to remember how to be. His heart skipped, and then ran again. He gasped—not out of fear, but out of confusion.
And then he was back.
The field was quiet.
A voice broke the silence behind him.
"Nervous about the battle?"
He turned, not quite. Lindsay stood behind him, a small smile on her face.
He said nothing. He didn't need to.
They walked in silence for several paces, boots whispering on the grass.
"You've changed us," she said finally. "You changed everything. I just. wanted you to know that."
He stood with his eyes still staring straight ahead. But he heard her.
They stopped at the summit of the hill, gazing out over the lights of the HQ below. Lindsay turned to walk away.
"Oh, and." she said, spinning around her shoulder, "don't play dumb like you don't care."
He turned at the noise, but she'd already started to walk away. He didn't catch what she muttered—somehow, however, he did. A wave. A smile. Peaceful quiet.
Something stirred within him—a tiny fissure in the wall he'd built. Knowing. He couldn't name it, and he didn't want to.
He remained standing there to watch her disappear down the hallway.
And then, for the first time in years, he allowed himself to sleep.
Not just to lie there, motionless.
But to sleep.