Chapter 7 — The Trial Commence

  Solrise, Day 18, Year 514 E.A.

  Season of Awakening

  Two weeks later.

  — ? —

  Arc I — Let the Forest Trial Begin

  Scene Card — MorningLocation: Forest Gate Staging GroundsEnvironment: Open field before the treeline, barrier posts set into the earth, med tents and instructor platforms visible, freshman units forming ranks

  The Forest Gate looked less like an entrance and more like a line someone had drawn to separate safety from whatever came next.

  Mist hung low over packed earth. Barrier posts hummed quietly, their lamps blinking in patterns Aiden didn’t understand but still respected. Med tents were set off to the side, clean and ready, and the instructor platforms were built high enough that nobody could pretend they weren’t being watched.

  The treeline filled the horizon. It was thick, dark, and still, and Aiden hated how much that made his stomach tighten.

  Two weeks of training hadn’t made them fearless. It had just given them sore hands, bruises in predictable places, and enough repetition to know exactly how fast things could go wrong.

  Team Sol stood together in their lane. Everyone tried to look calm, and everyone failed in small ways.

  Tessa adjusted her gloves once, then stopped when she realized she’d done it. Orion kept his posture solid, but his eyes were constantly moving—ground, brush, distance—like he was measuring threats that hadn’t shown themselves yet. Selene watched the fog as if she could read it. Lucen was unusually quiet. Lira’s hands were clasped tight, but she kept her gaze forward.

  Aiden lifted his hand slightly. “Stay close when we cross. Don’t let the gate split us.”

  They tightened formation without complaint. Their spacing wasn’t perfect, but it was present, and that mattered.

  Across the field, Team Iron looked like a team only because they were standing in a line.

  Ronan stood at the front, shoulders squared, doing his best to look like someone who had control of six different people. Neris stayed near him, calm but alert. Ren and Drayen were positioned farther back like they’d chosen the quietest places by instinct.

  Viera Azora wasn’t where she’d been told to stand.

  She was moving forward, steady and deliberate, stepping past her own teammates as if the lane belonged to her. The whip at her side was coiled neatly, handle sitting in her palm like she’d carried it her whole life. She didn’t draw it, but she didn’t hide it either.

  Ronan noticed late and called out, “Viera. Stay in position.”

  She didn’t turn.

  Ronan stepped into her path. “I said stay in position.”

  Viera stopped because she felt like stopping. She looked at him over her shoulder, bored. “I heard you.”

  “Then act like it,” Ronan snapped. “You’re not running this.”

  Viera’s smile was small and sharp. “Neither are you.”

  Ronan’s jaw tightened. “You’re being a child.”

  The word landed harder than the volume.

  Viera stopped so quickly the whip shifted against her side with a soft leather sound. She turned toward him, calm in a way that made it obvious she was furious.

  “A child,” she repeated, quiet. “Say it again.”

  Neris stepped in before it got worse. “Viera. Not here.”

  Viera didn’t look at Neris. Her eyes stayed locked on Ronan. “You don’t get to speak to me like that.”

  “Then stop acting like you’re above your own team,” Ronan said. He was trying to hold his temper and failing.

  Viera’s posture changed. She lifted her chin slightly, shoulders settling back as if she’d slipped into a role she knew too well.

  Ronan kept going, voice firmer now. “You’re not above anyone here.”

  For a beat, Viera just stared at him.

  Then she spoke, simple and cold. “I am.”

  The words were quiet, and they still cut.

  “I’m above you,” Viera continued. “Above being spoken to like I’m equal to someone who thinks volume makes him a leader.”

  Ronan’s face flashed with anger and disbelief. “Are you serious?”

  Drayen’s voice came flat. “That’s going to cause problems.”

  Across lanes, a few heads turned. Even Team Sol felt it, the way attention shifts when someone says something they can’t take back. Tessa looked over with open disgust for half a second before she forced her eyes forward again.

  Neris stepped closer, voice controlled but firm. “Viera. Stop.”

  Viera didn’t turn. “I’ll stop when I’m done.”

  She brushed her fingers against the whip handle, not threatening to use it, just reminding Ronan that she could.

  Ronan took a step closer. “You’re going to get us eliminated before we even start.”

  Viera’s smile sharpened. “Then keep up.”

  Ronan swallowed hard. His fists clenched, then loosened again, like he was physically forcing himself not to explode.

  “Get back in line,” he said.

  Viera turned away from him and took the front-left anyway, because she could, and because she wanted everyone to see she could.

  Behind them, Kael stood at the back of the lane like he didn’t care who won the argument.

  Hands loose. Shoulders relaxed. Eyes not on Ronan, not on Viera, not on the instructors.

  His attention stayed on the forest.

  He stared into the treeline with a small smirk that didn’t belong in a situation like this, and that made it worse.

  Ronan saw it and snapped, “Kael. You listening?”

  Kael didn’t look at him. “What.”

  “This isn’t a game,” Ronan said.

  Kael’s smirk didn’t move. “Didn’t say it was.”

  “You’re not paying attention.”

  Kael finally glanced toward Ronan, expression flat. “I’m paying attention to the part that matters.”

  Ronan started to fire back—

  Rowen’s voice cut across the staging grounds, loud enough to stop every lane without yelling.

  “Enough.”

  The field quieted fast. Even the kids who’d been whispering to their teammates stopped. The word hit with authority that didn’t need extra explanation.

  Rowen stood on the platform with his hands behind his back, scanning the students like he was already counting mistakes.

  “This is the moment you decide what you are,” Rowen said. “You don’t get more practice.”

  His eyes lingered on Team Iron just long enough to make them feel it.

  Dean Voss stepped forward beside him. The shift in attention was immediate.

  “Today, you begin your first field exam,” Voss said. “The Forest Trial.”

  “This will last two days. Acquire your Sigil. Reach the deposit zone. Place it.”

  “Failure to complete the objective within the Trial window is elimination.”

  His gaze swept the lanes. “Engagement between units is allowed.”

  The barrier posts hummed louder. Lane gates opened.

  “The Forest Trial begins,” Voss said.

  Team Sol moved first. Aiden led them across the boundary markers, and his team followed in one shape.

  Team Iron hesitated for half a heartbeat.

  Viera went first the moment the lane opened, pushing into the forest like she was proving something. The whip at her side swayed once as she crossed the line.

  Ronan followed, jaw set, forcing himself to focus on movement instead of anger.

  Neris moved in smoothly behind him. Ren and Drayen entered together, quiet and alert.

  Kael waited.

  He let the others go ahead, not rushing, not performing, as if being last was a choice he was making on purpose.

  At the boundary, he stopped for a second and stared into the trees, smirk still there.

  Then he lifted his hand to the bead chain at his chest. The beads clicked softly against his collarbone as his fingers closed around them, and he held them for a brief moment like he was grounding himself.

  Kael exhaled and stepped into the forest last.

  — ? —

  Arc II — Team Sol’s Balance

  Scene Card — Late MorningLocation: Forest Interior — Entry Lanes to Midline RidgeEnvironment: Dense trees, slick roots, low fog pockets, uneven terrain, distant movement in the brush

  Aiden felt the change as soon as they crossed into the forest. The air smelled heavier, and the quiet was different. Their footsteps didn’t echo the way they did on stone. Leaves swallowed sound, and the smallest scrape felt like it traveled.

  Aiden led with Orion half a step to his right, trying to keep their pace steady. He didn’t want anyone speeding up because they were nervous, and he didn’t want anyone slowing down so much that fear had space to grow. Behind them, Tessa held middle-left, Selene middle-right, and Lucen and Lira stayed closer to center.

  “Spacing,” Aiden said.

  Tessa answered quickly, then softened. “Got it.”

  Orion’s eyes stayed on the ground ahead. “Watch your steps. Roots are slick.”

  They adjusted together. It wasn’t smooth the way practice was. It was real. Aiden could feel how aware everyone was of their own breathing.

  A few minutes in, Aiden caught a root with his boot. He didn’t fall, but his foot slid enough to make embarrassment spike through him. Orion drifted closer without comment and sealed the small gap before it became a real one.

  Fog thickened between the trunks as they pushed deeper. Light dimmed under the canopy, and the forest started to feel like it was pressing in.

  Lira’s voice came out thin but clear. “Left brush.”

  Aiden raised his hand. “Stop.”

  They stopped. Not perfectly. Selene’s sleeve brushed Tessa’s arm. Lucen’s heel scraped a stone, sharp enough that all of them tensed at once.

  “Sorry,” Lucen whispered.

  Tessa shot him a look. “Shh.”

  Aiden swallowed and kept his voice calm. “Reset. Half-step right.”

  They shifted. The formation tightened.

  The brush trembled.

  A low creature crawled out first—slick hide, pale eyes reflecting foglight, limbs that bent wrong. Another shape moved behind it through the mist, circling slowly.

  Orion lowered his stance. “Two.”

  Aiden tightened his grip on the Solstice Blade, then loosened his fingers on purpose. “Stay together,” he said. “Don’t chase.”

  Lira’s breath caught. Orion didn’t look at her, but his voice stayed steady. “You’re fine. Stay center.”

  Lira swallowed and forced her shoulders down. A faint harmonic shimmer gathered at her chest—not bright, not dramatic. More like a pressure in the air smoothing out. Aiden didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until his lungs loosened, and his next step landed cleaner. Tessa felt it too, the way the ground seemed less slippery for a second, and she steadied without thinking about it.

  Lira nodded too quickly.

  The lead creature lunged low for Aiden’s front leg.

  Aiden stepped off-line correctly, but his boot slid a fraction on wet leaves, and panic flashed through him before he could stop it. He recovered anyway and cut across the creature’s shoulder line instead of chopping downward. Steel bit. Recoil tugged at his balance, and he nearly followed the motion too far.

  He forced himself to stop.

  Aiden felt his Light Aura answer that restraint—warmth tightening in his chest, then condensing into his arms. Not a blast. A controlled burst that steadied his body, like sunlight locking into his spine.

  Orion stepped in with a braced shoulder and forearm, and a thin barrier-plane flashed for half a second—sapphire geometry, just enough to deny the creature’s next snap. The creature’s teeth hit the shield line and skidded off with a harsh scrape.

  The second creature angled toward Lira’s feet.

  Lira saw it and stepped back too far. The formation opened.

  Aiden’s stomach dropped. “Lira—”

  Lucen’s hand caught her elbow, quick and light. “Stay.”

  Lira froze and forced herself to stop moving. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t apologize,” Tessa said fast, then softened when she saw Lira’s face. “Just stay with us.”

  The second creature lunged.

  Lucen stepped into its line and redirected with his shoulder and forearm. A faint mirage-trail flickered off his movement—just a fraction of afterimage, enough to make the creature snap at the wrong shoulder. It bit air, missed, clipped a root, and stumbled.

  Tessa kicked the root line hard enough to collapse its footing. As it dropped, she flicked her wrist and a small stabilizer pulse ran through the ground—barely visible, more felt than seen—tightening the footing under Team Sol so nobody slid when the lane shifted.

  Selene moved in and redirected the creature’s weight into open ground with a clean strike that didn’t chase power. Moonlight Aura shimmered briefly at the edge of her motion, not as a beam, but as a timing thread—an instant of slowed reaction in the creature’s lunge that gave Aiden the opening.

  Aiden finished it with one controlled cut and forced himself to stop again instead of following through into panic momentum.

  “Tighten up,” Aiden said.

  They did.

  The first creature tested again, snapping forward. Orion absorbed it and pushed it back into the lane. Aiden stepped in and ended it with one clean strike.

  After that, the forest went quiet again, not peaceful, just watchful.

  Tessa let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

  Lucen swallowed, then blurted under his breath, “I hate that thing,” and immediately looked annoyed that he said it out loud.

  Selene didn’t look at him, but her voice softened slightly. “Fair.”

  Selene kept her eyes on the fog line. “More could be close.”

  Lira’s hands were still shaking, but she lifted her chin. “I can keep calling,” she said quietly.

  Aiden nodded. “Good. That helps.”

  They moved again. The ground angled uphill toward a ridge where the trees thinned slightly. Fog gathered in pockets and hid rocks until the last second. Their formation tightened because the path narrowed between boulders and trunks.

  Orion pointed ahead. “High ground.”

  Tessa nodded. “Less chance of getting surprised.”

  Aiden lifted his hand. “We take it. Stay close.”

  They climbed. Near the crest, Aiden slipped on a slick stone and caught himself on a trunk. Bark scraped his palm and stung. He kept his face neutral, but his heart was still pounding too hard.

  Tessa saw it anyway. “You good?”

  Aiden forced a nod. “Yeah.”

  They crested the ridge and crouched behind a fallen log, looking down into the next stretch of forest.

  That’s when the sound hit—metal on metal, clean and sharp, not branches and not claws.

  Lucen’s eyes narrowed. “That’s another team.”

  Selene’s shoulders tightened slightly. “Yes.”

  Aiden felt tension settle into his chest. Monsters were one thing. Other students were unpredictable, and everyone out here wanted the same objective.

  Tessa leaned close, whispering, “Do we avoid them?”

  Orion answered quietly. “If we can.”

  The sound came again, sharper this time, like it was meant to be heard.

  Lucen lowered his voice further, eyes locked on the fog line below the ridge. “Okay… that was on purpose.”

  Aiden stared into the mist. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Someone set this up.”

  He looked back at his team—tired eyes, tight shoulders, kids trying not to show fear—and made his voice steady.

  “We don’t rush,” Aiden said. “We don’t split. We don’t chase.”

  They nodded.

  Not confident. Not calm. But together.

  — ? —

  Arc III — The Iron Stabilizes

  Scene Card — Late MorningLocation: Forest Interior — Eastern CutlineEnvironment: Narrow lanes, thick undergrowth, low visibility, constant movement in the brush

  Team Iron moved deeper into the forest with the kind of tension that made every branch feel personal.

  Ronan kept looking over his shoulder like he could physically hold the team together just by watching them hard enough. He tried to keep them in a straight line because it felt simpler, but the terrain wouldn’t cooperate. The ground dipped and rose in ugly little angles, and fog kept sliding through the trees like it wanted to make sure nobody got comfortable.

  “Stay close,” Ronan said, trying to sound calm and failing. “Don’t drift.”

  Ren adjusted without speaking.

  Drayen’s glasses fogged again, and he pushed them up with a sharp motion. “Visibility is decreasing.”

  Ronan shot him a look. “Yeah, I know. We’re in a forest.”

  Drayen blinked once, like he hadn’t meant to annoy him. “I’m aware.”

  Neris stayed near the front with Ronan, scanning brush and ground. Viera held the front-left, whip at her side, posture sharp and impatient. Kael stayed toward the back again, quiet, eyes on the trees more than the team.

  The brush hissed.

  Neris reacted first. “Left.”

  A creature burst out low—slick hide, pale eyes, limbs too long. Another followed behind it, moving fast.

  Ronan stepped in hard on instinct, trying to shut it down before it got momentum. His boot slid on wet leaves; he corrected too sharply and felt his balance go ugly for half a second.

  The creature snapped at the opening.

  Neris covered it immediately, and her water Aura tightened into a thin mist-slick film along her blade edge. She redirected the strike with a tight movement that looked simple but stole the creature’s bite lane. Her eyes flicked to Ronan’s feet.

  “Watch your footing,” she said, quiet.

  Ronan swallowed his pride and reset his stance.

  Ren intercepted a flanker with one short cut that forced it off-angle. The air around his blades darkened for a moment—Shadow Aura tightening the edge, not making it bigger, just making it cleaner.

  Drayen tossed a small device down. A faint grid flickered over the ground, and tiny glyph-like lines mapped movement for a second.

  “Three,” he said. “Right brush. One low.”

  Viera didn’t move right away. She watched like she was deciding whether the threat deserved her attention.

  Another creature shifted behind them, brush parting on the right.

  “Rear,” Drayen said quickly.

  Ren pivoted and caught the movement in time. Drayen’s grid blinked once, then dimmed.

  A crawler snapped toward Neris’s calf.

  Viera hesitated for a beat too long.

  Then she moved, annoyed.

  Her toxin Aura didn’t bloom into a cloud. It lashed out in a narrow line, purple mist cutting across the crawler’s face. The creature recoiled, hissing.

  Neris glanced at her. “Viera—”

  “Don’t,” Viera replied, voice flat. “Just fight.”

  Ronan finally turned enough to see the bigger problem. The creatures were one thing. The spacing was another. The team was stretching and breaking into little clusters, and he could feel the whole situation turning into the exact mess he’d been afraid of.

  “This is why we lose,” Ronan snapped. “Because nobody stays where they’re supposed to.”

  Ren’s voice came quiet and sharp. “Because you’re panicking.”

  Ronan’s head whipped toward him. “I’m not panicking.”

  Ren didn’t argue. He just looked back toward the brush like Ronan wasn’t worth the conversation.

  Ronan’s anger needed a target.

  His eyes went straight to Kael.

  Kael was still near the back. Still quiet. Still looking into the trees like he was waiting for something else to happen.

  “You,” Ronan said. “Are you even paying attention?”

  Kael didn’t look at him. “What.”

  Ronan’s hands clenched. “This isn’t a joke.”

  Kael’s gaze stayed forward. “I know.”

  “Then act like it,” Ronan snapped. “You’re standing there like you don’t care if we fail.”

  Kael’s jaw tightened. “Stop talking.”

  Ronan took a step toward him. “No. You gave up leadership, and now you’re—”

  “Enough,” Kael said.

  He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even move much.

  His Aura surged anyway.

  Heat rolled outward. Fog pulled back. Leaves trembled. It wasn’t flashy, but it was heavy, like the air thickened around him.

  Ronan froze.

  Neris moved instantly, voice low but firm. “Kael. Control.”

  Ren’s blades lowered slightly, not because he was afraid, but because he was ready.

  Drayen stepped forward one pace. “Three breaths,” he said, calm. Then, more human and more honest than he liked sounding: “Don’t make me chase you.”

  Kael’s hands shook once.

  He inhaled. The first breath was rough.

  Second breath steadier.

  Third breath controlled.

  The heat eased. Not gone, but contained.

  The forest didn’t wait. Another hiss came from the brush, and movement followed.

  Ren’s head tilted. “More.”

  Drayen’s eyes flicked right. “Two. Rear-right. One higher.”

  Viera’s lips pressed together. “You’re attracting everything.”

  Kael shot her a glance. “So stop staring and fight.”

  Viera didn’t argue this time. She snapped her whip out in a fast crack that cut through fog and forced the closest creature to flinch back. A thin toxin trail rode the whip’s path, stinging without committing her to a full release.

  Ronan watched that and forced himself to swallow pride.

  “Okay,” Ronan said, voice tight. “I’m making it worse.”

  No one answered. The silence stung.

  Ronan pushed through it anyway. “I just want us to stop breaking up. That’s it.”

  He looked at Kael. “If you’re going to be in the back, then be in the back. Don’t check out.”

  Kael’s gaze flicked to him. “Then stop yelling.”

  Ronan’s jaw tightened. He nodded once. “Fine.”

  Drayen spoke without looking up. “Call what you see. Short.”

  Neris nodded. “We cover each other. That’s all.”

  The next wave hit.

  Ronan overstepped once and had to correct, and when he planted again his Titan/Warforce Aura thickened around his forearms like weight. He didn’t swing bigger—he hit denser, and when a creature slammed into him it bounced back like it hit stone.

  Ren took a glancing hit to the shoulder line and let out a controlled breath through his teeth, then adjusted and kept going.

  Drayen saw the breath and glanced at him for half a second. Ren didn’t look back, but he didn’t move away either.

  Kael held the rear. A creature tried to slip past Drayen’s blindside, and Kael caught it barehanded with a compact hit that ended the motion. A faint flame-vein flickered across his knuckles, then disappeared as he reset.

  When the brush finally quieted again, Team Iron stood breathing hard, dirty, and still in one shape.

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  Ronan didn’t smile, but his voice came out steadier.

  “Move,” he said.

  This time, they did.

  — ? —

  Arc IV — Team Sol vs. Team Aegis Corps

  Scene Card — Early AfternoonLocation: Forest Interior — Midline Ridge DescentEnvironment: Narrow downhill switchbacks, scattered boulders, dense trees, visibility broken by fog pockets

  The ridge descent forced Team Sol to pay attention in a way that was exhausting. Wet leaves slid under boots. Roots hid under moss. Fog rolled in patches that made distance hard to judge.

  Orion moved beside Aiden at the front. Tessa stayed just behind them. Selene followed close. Lucen and Lira stayed center.

  “Take it slow,” Orion said quietly. “This slope wants someone to slip.”

  Tessa muttered, “Not me,” and placed her foot carefully like she didn’t trust the earth at all.

  Aiden lifted his hand. “Stay tight. Watch your steps.”

  They rounded another switchback when they heard voices before they saw anyone—steady, measured, like the other team wasn’t scrambling or scared.

  Aiden signaled. “Stop.”

  They tightened behind a boulder line and listened. Footsteps approached with control, branches parting cleanly. Whoever was coming knew where they were stepping.

  Four students emerged through a thin fog pocket and stopped in a loose but disciplined formation.

  Alder Nox stepped forward with a short spear in hand—compact, built for quick wedges and control rather than reach. Aria Thorne stood beside him with a reinforced staff, her grip light, ready to redirect and support instead of brute force.

  “Aiden Lazarus,” Alder said.

  Aiden kept his face neutral. “Do I know you?”

  “No,” Alder replied. “But I know how your team moves.”

  Tessa’s jaw clenched. “So you’ve been watching.”

  “That’s the point,” Alder said. “Aegis Corps.”

  Aria’s eyes flicked across Sol’s center. “Keep it controlled,” she said quietly to Alder.

  Alder nodded once. “Engagement is allowed.”

  Orion answered calmly. “We know.”

  Alder stepped a fraction closer. “Then give me your route and pace.”

  Tessa blinked. “No.”

  Alder’s tone stayed even. “Then I take it.”

  Aiden felt his pulse jump.

  “We’re not handing you anything,” Aiden said. “If you want to fight us, that’s your choice.”

  Aiden raised his hand slightly. “Stay with me.”

  Team Sol tightened, but the slope made it messy. Selene’s boot skidded on wet leaf layer and she caught herself with a sharp inhale. Lira’s eyes widened for a second, then she forced herself to stay focused.

  Aegis moved first.

  Alder didn’t charge. He stepped into space at an angle, spear tip pressuring between Aiden and Orion to split the front by forcing one of them to give ground.

  Orion sealed the line with one step, but his heel slid a fraction. He corrected fast, widening stance. A thin sapphire barrier-plane flickered across his forearm as he absorbed Alder’s spear pressure—just enough to keep the point from biting.

  Alder saw the tiny inside gap that formed anyway and snapped the spear in, fast.

  Orion blocked with forearm and braced shoulder. The contact jolted him enough that his foot skidded an inch.

  Aiden almost lunged.

  He stopped himself. He stepped into the gap instead and tightened his guard. “Shift.”

  They rotated. Tessa bumped Lucen’s shoulder while moving, and Lucen hissed “Sorry” without thinking.

  Aegis widened pressure.

  One Aegis student drifted toward Tessa fast enough to force a decision. Another stayed near Alder. Aria angled toward Lucen and Lira, staff held horizontal as a soft barrier that said you don’t get past me.

  Tessa planted her boot and didn’t retreat. She used the slope and a fallen branch to narrow space so the attacker couldn’t rush straight through. As he feinted high, Tessa’s Aura pulsed once—an Aeris-style stabilizer pulse through her calves—anchoring her footing so her shoulders didn’t twitch again.

  The strike came low.

  Tessa drove her forearm into his wrist line and shoved him off-angle.

  Aria held her lane against Lucen, and Lucen tried a fast feint—left then right—hoping to pull her out.

  Aria didn’t chase. Still, her breath caught for a split second when Lucen’s illusion afterimage flickered. She was annoyed at herself for it, and the irritation flashed across her eyes before she buried it.

  Lucen exhaled sharply. “You’re annoying.”

  Aria replied without heat. “That’s the point.”

  Behind him, Lira’s breath hitched. She forced herself to stay center. A faint harmonic shimmer rose around her hands, not an attack—just a stabilizing resonance that kept her breathing from spiraling.

  Alder pressed Aiden now, trying to force a mistake. He struck high to pull guard up, then snapped low toward Aiden’s hip line.

  Aiden blocked low, but his foot slid on the slope. Panic flashed.

  Aegis capitalized immediately, a second student surging toward the gap between Aiden and Selene.

  Tessa’s voice cut sharp. “Gap!”

  Aiden reacted before panic could spread. “Hold!”

  Orion anchored and re-centered his feet. Selene reset her footing and stopped sliding. Selene’s moonlight Aura flickered briefly—timing-threading the wedge attempt just enough that the attacker’s step arrived late.

  Aiden stepped into the wedge line himself. He drove forward with stance and shoulder to collapse the angle, then used a short strike to push the Aegis student off-line. Aiden’s Light Aura condensed into a tight burst down his arms, stabilizing the shove without turning it into a blast.

  Weapons clashed close. Aiden’s forearms burned. He forced his breath to slow.

  Alder’s heel caught on wet leaves near the edge of the switchback. He recovered fast, but his jaw tightened in a flash of irritation at himself before the calm came back.

  Aiden saw the distance loss. “Shift.”

  Team Sol rotated. Orion cut off retreat. Selene held flank. Tessa pressured the second mover just enough. Lucen stayed glued to Lira’s lane so Aria couldn’t break their center.

  Aiden’s counter didn’t win a fight. It won space.

  Alder had to step back two paces to reset.

  Aegis paused.

  Alder lifted his hand, and his team pulled back cleanly.

  Aiden kept his hand raised. “Stop.”

  No chase. No celebration.

  Alder nodded once. “You fixed it.”

  “We’re not here to fight you,” Aiden said, voice steady because he forced it to be.

  “You will anyway,” Alder replied.

  Aria’s gaze flicked over Team Sol and landed on Lira for a half second, then returned to Aiden. “Your formation recovered fast. Keep doing that.”

  Lucen rolled his shoulders. “Thanks for the advice.”

  Aegis disappeared into fog the way they arrived.

  Tessa spoke first. “They were testing us.”

  Orion nodded. “And we didn’t break.”

  Selene’s voice stayed calm. “They’ll remember how we move.”

  Lira swallowed. “So will we.”

  Aiden nodded. “Center.”

  They tightened formation and moved deeper.

  — ? —

  Arc V — Team Iron vs. Analytica Cell

  Scene Card — Mid AfternoonLocation: Forest Interior — Shattered GroveEnvironment: Broken trees, uneven ground, Flow-active air that feels unsettled, visibility flickering between fog and harsh sun streaks

  The grove felt wrong, like someone had already fought here and left the place bruised.

  Drayen crouched and pressed two fingers to the soil. “This happened recently.”

  Ronan scanned the broken trunks. “So we’re not alone.”

  Neris stepped beside him. “Don’t rush.”

  Ronan’s mouth tightened. “I’m not.”

  Viera flicked the coil of her whip once. Kael’s eyes tracked it.

  “Don’t stare,” Viera snapped.

  “Don’t make it a show,” Kael said.

  A voice dropped from above them, smooth and smug.

  “Good. You noticed.”

  Four students stepped down from the trees and landed cleanly. One of them had a slate strapped to his forearm.

  “My name is Cassian Rook,” he said. “Analytica Cell.”

  Viera laughed once. “You climbed a tree to introduce yourself.”

  Cassian’s smile didn’t change. “We came to confirm something.”

  Ronan’s jaw tightened. “Confirm what.”

  “That you don’t work well together,” Cassian said. “Six strong students pretending they’re a team.”

  Ronan felt heat rise in his chest.

  Neris spoke first. “He wants you mad.”

  Drayen nodded once. “He wants mistakes.”

  Ronan exhaled through his nose. “Fine.”

  Cassian raised two fingers.

  Analytica moved.

  Two attackers came at Ronan and Neris together—one high, one low. Ronan reacted fast, but his foot slid on loose leaves and his weight drifted too far forward.

  The low attacker tried to punish it.

  Neris covered it, water Aura tightening into a slick mist along her blade as she redirected the wrist line. The low strike skidded into dirt.

  “Your foot,” Neris murmured.

  Ronan reset, feet wider. “Yeah.”

  The high attacker tried again, faster, then pivoted, hoping Ronan would chase.

  Ronan started to follow.

  Neris’s shoulder brushed his. A reminder.

  Ronan forced himself to stop chasing movement and hold his ground.

  On the left, Ren was tested immediately. One attacker jabbed to pull him away while another tried to slip behind.

  Ren didn’t chase. Shadow Aura tightened around his blades in thin, controlled edges, and he used short cuts to shut lanes without overcommitting.

  Drayen tossed a device down. A faint luminescent grid flashed across the ground.

  “Two,” Drayen said. “One’s trying to get behind you.”

  Ren shifted half a step and erased the lane.

  On the right, Viera and Kael were pressured together. An attacker tried to step into the space between Viera’s whip range and Kael’s position.

  Viera didn’t bite the feint. She snapped the whip low across the ground in front of his feet. The crack made him flinch.

  Kael stepped in and drove a compact punch into the ribs, then stopped immediately. The attacker staggered.

  Viera hooked the ankle and dragged the foot out. The attacker hit dirt hard.

  Kael glanced down. “That was yours.”

  Viera’s smile sharpened. “You’re welcome.”

  Kael flexed his fingers once as he stepped back. His knuckles stung, but he didn’t look at them.

  Cassian watched, irritation creeping in. “You’re adapting.”

  Viera snapped, “You talk too much.”

  Cassian ignored her and looked at Kael. “You’re the unstable one.”

  Kael looked back, flat. “And you’re boring.”

  Analytica tried to reset their pattern faster. Ronan took a high strike on his forearm and felt it bite into bone. A dull throb settled in immediately, and Ronan hated that he could feel his hand wanting to shake.

  He wanted to bulldoze forward.

  Neris tapped his elbow. “Ronan.”

  He breathed through his teeth and didn’t chase.

  Ren’s side shifted. Drayen threw another device down; it bounced wrong and rolled.

  “Seriously—” Drayen hissed.

  Ren stopped it with the toe of his boot and pinned it where Drayen needed it without breaking stance.

  Drayen blinked. “…Thanks.”

  Ren didn’t respond, but his shoulder shifted slightly like he heard it.

  Two attackers pressed Viera and Kael at once. One tried to bait Kael into chasing. The other tried to slip inside whip range.

  Viera’s whip cracked across the space between them, drawing a line that made the inside attacker hesitate. A thin toxin trail rode the whip’s path, stinging the air and forcing distance.

  Viera’s palm burned from the whip’s friction. She shifted her grip slightly and didn’t let her face change.

  Kael used the hesitation to slam a short punch into the attacker’s shoulder line, turning him sideways.

  Viera snapped the whip around the attacker’s wrist for a heartbeat, pulled just enough to steal the arm and spin him off balance.

  Kael finished with a second hit to the ribs and stepped back. The attacker dropped to a knee, coughing.

  Viera’s eyes cut to Kael. “Don’t get reckless.”

  Kael glanced at her. “You’re telling me?”

  “I’m telling you because I’m not failing because you lost your mind,” Viera shot back.

  Kael’s mouth twitched. “Fair.”

  Cassian’s calm cracked into urgency. Team Iron wasn’t breaking into arguments. They were snapping, but they were covering.

  Cassian stepped back to reset.

  Neris didn’t shout. She just said Ronan’s name quietly. “Ronan.”

  Ronan understood. He stepped in and forced Cassian backward toward the roughest patch of ground, where roots punished quick footwork. His Titan Aura thickened around his forearms like weight, not glow—density that made his pressure feel real.

  Cassian pivoted to escape.

  Ren slid into the lane without speaking, cutting off the obvious exit.

  Drayen triggered a timing flash, sharp enough to make Cassian blink and miss the next half-step.

  Neris matched Ronan shoulder-to-shoulder and denied the counter angle, her water Aura tightening along her blade like a current that wouldn’t let the lane open.

  Ronan’s fist rose and stopped inches from Cassian’s face.

  “Yield,” Ronan said, breath rough.

  Cassian stared at him, then glanced at his team.

  “Stop,” Cassian said.

  A flare snapped overhead.

  Elimination marker.

  Ronan lowered his arm slowly and shook out his forearm once, like he was trying to pretend it didn’t hurt. Kael flexed his fingers, then stuffed his hands into his pockets like he hadn’t.

  For a second, nobody moved. Ronan’s arm had stayed raised like his body hadn’t caught up.

  Neris exhaled and gave him the smallest nod. “That was better.”

  Ronan laughed once, half relief. “Yeah.”

  Drayen adjusted his glasses. “They got predictable. We didn’t.”

  Viera stared at him. “That was normal enough.”

  Drayen blinked. “Thank you.”

  Ren made a quiet sound that might’ve been amusement. Drayen turned too fast.

  “Was that you laughing?” Drayen asked.

  Ren didn’t answer.

  Cassian rose, expression tight. “You’re improving,” he said, and he sounded like he didn’t like it.

  Ronan wiped sweat off his brow with his sleeve. “Wrong moment to test us.”

  Cassian nodded once and stepped back toward his team.

  Ronan glanced at Kael, voice quieter. “You showed up.”

  Kael shrugged. “Had to.”

  Viera clicked her tongue. “Don’t get sentimental.”

  Kael looked at her. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

  Viera’s mouth twitched like she almost smiled, then shut it down and turned away.

  Ronan let out a long breath. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  They moved forward—dirty, tired, and still not friends.

  But working.

  — ? —

  Analytica After Elimination (Instructor Mira)

  Scene Card — Mid AfternoonLocation: Instructor Observation Perimeter — Analytica Extraction PointEnvironment: Fog-thin clearing marked with barrier pylons, instructor lanterns, a medical aide station in the distance, the elimination flare’s afterglow fading overhead, instructor platforms faintly visible through the trees

  The flare faded, but the embarrassment didn’t.

  Cassian Rook walked out of the grove with Analytica Cell behind him, shoulders stiff in a way he would’ve mocked in someone else. One of his teammates kept rubbing their wrist like it burned. Another kept looking back into the trees like the forest might announce their failure again.

  The moment they crossed the perimeter pylons, the air felt different—less heavy, less alive.

  Cassian stopped anyway, because he saw who was waiting.

  Instructor Mira stood a few yards ahead, posture straight, hands behind her back. Her expression wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was the kind of calm that made your stomach sink because you knew it meant she’d already decided what she thought.

  Cassian straightened. “Instructor.”

  Mira didn’t answer right away. Her eyes moved across the four of them, slow and exact—mud on knees, torn cuff seams, the small tremor in one student’s hand that they were trying to hide. Then her gaze lifted past Cassian’s shoulder.

  Through the thinning fog, the instructor platforms were faintly visible between tree lines. Lanterns. Silhouettes. Observers who didn’t miss anything.

  Mira held that look for a beat, jaw tightening slightly, then returned her attention to Cassian.

  “This isn’t just about you,” Mira said quietly, then continued.

  “You were eliminated first,” she said.

  Cassian’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

  Mira took one step closer. Her voice stayed quiet, but it carried. “Do you understand what that means?”

  Cassian swallowed. “We lost the engagement.”

  “You didn’t just lose,” Mira said. “You walked into that grove believing you were in control.”

  Cassian held her stare. “We had a read on their instability.”

  Mira’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You had a theory.”

  Cassian’s voice stayed careful. “Our pressure pattern should’ve forced them apart.”

  “Should’ve,” Mira repeated. She let the word sit for a beat. “That’s what you say when you’re explaining a mistake you didn’t think you could make.”

  Cassian’s shoulders tightened. “They adapted faster than expected.”

  “Yes,” Mira said. “Because you handed them something they needed.”

  Cassian blinked. “What.”

  Mira’s tone stayed steady. “Focus.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Mira leaned in slightly—not aggressive, just close enough that he couldn’t hide behind posture. “You went in to prove they were broken.”

  Cassian tried to respond. “We went in to confirm—”

  “Stop,” Mira cut in, quiet.

  Cassian shut his mouth.

  “You didn’t confirm anything,” Mira said. “You motivated them.”

  One of Cassian’s teammates shifted nervously. “Instructor, we—”

  Mira’s eyes snapped to the student, and they went silent immediately.

  Mira looked back at Cassian. “You wanted to be clever,” she said. “You wanted to be right.”

  Cassian’s cheeks warmed. “I wanted to win.”

  “Then you failed twice,” Mira said. “Because you didn’t just lose. You showed them how you think.”

  Cassian’s eyes widened a fraction.

  Mira nodded once, like she’d been waiting for him to catch up. “Anyone watching that flare is going to ask why Analytica fell first. The teams worth fearing will figure it out.”

  Cassian’s throat bobbed. He didn’t look away, but his confidence had gone quiet.

  Mira stepped back and let the silence do its job.

  “I’m disappointed,” she said finally, plain. “Not because you lost.”

  Cassian swallowed. “Then why.”

  “Because you stopped learning the moment you decided you already knew what they were,” Mira replied. “You tried to break them with pressure. All you did was teach them how to stand together.”

  Cassian’s voice dropped. “Understood.”

  Mira held his gaze another beat. “Good. Because you’re not leaving this as ‘bad luck.’ You’re going to debrief tonight. All of you. No excuses.”

  She turned slightly toward the med aide station, then paused.

  “And Cassian?”

  “Yes, Instructor.”

  Mira didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. “Next time you go hunting for someone’s weakness, make sure you’re not handing them yours.”

  Cassian didn’t move until she walked away.

  Then he exhaled slowly, like the breath weighed more than it should, and looked back toward the forest without any smugness left.

  By the time the sun started dropping behind the canopy, the forest felt colder, and every unit still standing started thinking about sleep like it was something they had to earn.

  — ? —

  Epilogue

  Scene Card — DuskLocation: Forest Interior — Camp Perimeter ZonesEnvironment: Firelight contained in shallow pits, tents in uneven clusters, damp air cooling fast, barrier signal lamps blinking faintly through the trees, distant movement beyond the safe line

  Units started building camps wherever they could find ground that wasn’t soaked or slanted. Some teams looked like they’d practiced. Others looked like they’d never touched a tent stake in their lives.

  Team Sol found a shallow rise where the soil held firm and the fog didn’t cling as thick. Orion paced a slow circle around their spot, checking distances and gaps between boulders like he didn’t trust the forest to stay honest. Tessa knelt near the edges placing small marker devices that blinked faintly. Selene sat near the fire pit, hands out for warmth, staring into the treeline as if she was listening for rhythm instead of footsteps. Lucen hovered near the tent supplies, eyeing stakes like they were personally insulting him.

  Aiden watched all of it and realized his body still hadn’t stopped buzzing from the day. His palm stung from where it had scraped bark earlier, and he kept flexing his fingers like he could shake the feeling out.

  Tessa noticed immediately. “You’re doing that thing again.”

  Aiden looked over. “What thing.”

  “The ‘I’m fine’ thing,” she said, then held out a strip of cloth without ceremony. “Wrap it. Your hand’s going to start bleeding again.”

  Aiden hesitated. “It’s not—”

  Tessa raised her eyebrows. “Aiden.”

  He sighed, then took it. “Thanks.”

  Tessa didn’t make it a big deal. She sat beside him and started adjusting one of the markers, voice lower now. “You did good today.”

  Aiden gave a small, tired laugh. “I almost ate dirt twice.”

  “Yeah,” Tessa said. “And you didn’t panic. That’s the part that matters.”

  Aiden looked at her, and for a second, he didn’t try to sound like a leader. “I was scared.”

  Tessa nodded like she’d been waiting for him to say it. “Me too. I just hide it louder.”

  That earned a real smile out of him, brief but genuine. “You do.”

  She nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “Get used to it. You’re stuck with us.”

  Aiden glanced around the camp—the half-finished tent, the fire pit, Orion’s slow patrol—and his voice softened. “Good.”

  Across the small rise, Lira sat near the fire with her shoulders pulled in tight. Every now and then her eyes would flick toward the treeline and then away like she didn’t want anyone to catch her.

  Orion approached quietly and crouched near her, keeping his body turned slightly outward so he was still watching the perimeter.

  “You’re shaking,” he said, not accusing. Just noticing.

  Lira swallowed. “I don’t want to be.”

  Orion nodded once. “Then don’t fight it alone.” He held out a canteen. “Drink.”

  Lira took it with both hands, drank too fast, then coughed and looked embarrassed.

  Orion’s mouth twitched. “Slow down.”

  Lira wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Sorry.”

  Orion shook his head. “Stop apologizing for being human.”

  That made her blink.

  Orion glanced toward the trees, then back to her. “You called movement early today. That mattered.”

  Lira’s voice went small. “I also backed up and made it worse.”

  “You corrected,” Orion said. “That’s what we’re here to learn.”

  Lira stared at him like she didn’t know what to do with kindness that didn’t feel like pity. “You’re… really calm.”

  Orion hesitated, then admitted quietly, “I’m not. I just don’t want anyone else to feel like they’re alone out here.”

  Lira nodded once, and her hands stopped shaking for a moment. “Thank you,” she said, simple and real.

  On the opposite side of the camp, Lucen was losing a quiet war with tent stakes.

  He drove one in at the wrong angle, it bent, and he stared at it like it had betrayed him.

  Selene watched for a few seconds without commenting, then stood and walked over.

  “You’re forcing it,” she said.

  Lucen looked at her, defensive. “No, I’m— okay, maybe.”

  Selene took the stake from him, adjusted the angle with small movements, then pushed it in cleanly.

  Lucen blinked. “Show-off.”

  Selene’s expression stayed calm, but her eyes softened slightly. “You’re loud when you’re stressed.”

  Lucen opened his mouth, then closed it. “That obvious?”

  Selene nodded once. “Yes.”

  Lucen exhaled and sat back on his heels. “I’m not trying to be annoying. I just… don’t like the quiet.”

  Selene paused. “The quiet doesn’t mean something is wrong,” she said. “Sometimes it means you’re safe for a moment.”

  Lucen looked at the bent stake, then back at her. “You make it sound easy.”

  “It isn’t easy,” Selene replied. “I just learned how to look calm.”

  Lucen’s voice dropped. “Same.”

  Selene handed him a fresh stake. “Angle it. Then push.”

  Lucen followed her instruction, and it went in straight.

  He looked up like he’d just won something. “Okay. That actually helped.”

  Selene nodded. “Good.”

  Lucen hesitated, then said quietly, “Thanks, Selene.”

  She glanced away first, like she didn’t want the gratitude to turn into a moment. “You’re welcome.”

  Across the forest in another zone, Team Iron’s camp looked rougher but functional. Ronan’s tent lines were uneven. Drayen’s devices blinked in a semicircle near the edge. Ren stood half in shadow, watching the dark. Viera sat near

  the fire with her whip coiled beside her. Kael sat a few steps off with his back to a tree, eyes on the treeline.

  Ronan tried to hammer a stake in and hit a root again. The stake bounced and nearly took his fingers. He hissed under his breath and shook his hand.

  Neris took the stake from him gently. “Here.”

  Ronan bristled automatically. “I can do it.”

  Neris didn’t argue. She angled it properly and pushed it in cleanly. Then she handed it back.

  Ronan stared at it, then looked away. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks.”

  Neris’s expression softened. “You’re trying too hard.”

  Ronan frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

  “It means you’re doing the thing where you think you have to carry it,” she said quietly. “You don’t.”

  Ronan looked away, embarrassed. “If I don’t, we fall apart.”

  Neris shook her head. “We fall apart if you break yourself doing that.”

  Ronan swallowed. His voice dropped. “I almost lost it today.”

  “I know,” Neris said. “And you didn’t.”

  Ronan nodded once.

  Near the edge, Drayen adjusted one of his devices. It blinked twice, then steadied. He glanced at Ren, who still hadn’t sat down.

  “You can sit,” Drayen said.

  Ren didn’t answer.

  Drayen waited a beat, then added, “You’re not going to get ambushed because you sat for thirty seconds.”

  Ren’s eyes stayed on the treeline. “You don’t know that.”

  Drayen opened his mouth, then stopped himself. “Okay. Fair.” He patted the ground next to him anyway. “If you want. This is the least stupid spot.”

  Ren’s gaze flicked once to the semicircle of devices. He stepped closer, then finally sat—still facing outward, still ready to move, but sitting.

  Drayen blinked like he’d just watched a miracle. “Wow. He does have joints.”

  Ren glanced at him, unimpressed.

  Drayen lowered his voice. “Earlier, when you stopped that device from rolling. That was good.”

  Ren didn’t respond.

  Drayen almost filled the silence, then noticed Ren’s hand shift slightly, the smallest acknowledgment he’d gotten all day.

  Drayen nodded to himself like he’d won something anyway. “Cool.”

  By the fire, Viera’s eyes kept sliding toward Kael. Kael sat a few steps off, watching the trees like he was waiting for the forest to do something.

  “You’re doing that thing again,” Viera said finally, not looking directly at him.

  Kael didn’t turn his head. “What thing.”

  “Looking like you want trouble,” Viera replied.

  Kael’s mouth twitched. “Maybe I do.”

  Viera huffed. “Idiot.”

  Kael finally glanced at her. “Princess.”

  Viera’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that.”

  Kael looked back into the dark. “Then stop acting like it.”

  Viera’s fingers tightened on her whip handle. For a second she looked like she might snap back with something sharp.

  Instead her voice dropped, quieter than usual. “If you lose control out here, there’s no cell. No dean. No second chances.”

  Kael’s jaw flexed. He didn’t answer right away.

  “Yeah,” he said finally.

  Viera’s eyes stayed on the treeline too now. “Then act like you know.”

  Kael’s hand drifted to his bead chain without thinking. He rolled the beads once, then let them rest flat against his chest.

  Viera noticed the motion and paused. “What’s that.”

  Kael didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”

  Viera’s tone sharpened. “That’s not an answer.”

  Kael finally glanced over, and for once his expression wasn’t smug. “It helps.”

  Viera stared at him for a beat, then looked away like she hadn’t seen anything. Her voice came out quieter. “Fine. Keep it.”

  Kael’s mouth twitched. “Did you just give me permission.”

  Viera shot him a look. “Don’t push it.”

  Kael looked back into the trees. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  One of Drayen’s devices blinked twice—alert.

  Ronan stiffened. Ren’s posture changed. Kael’s head tilted slightly. Viera’s grip tightened on her whip.

  Drayen listened, eyes focused. “Movement. Far edge.”

  The whole camp went still. No one breathed loud.

  Then the movement faded.

  Drayen’s shoulders loosened. “It passed.”

  Ronan let out a slow breath. “Great.”

  Neris spoke quietly. “Eat. Rest. We’ll take turns.”

  Ronan nodded like he was grateful she said it instead of him.

  Somewhere far off in the forest, a flare went up—brief, bright, and then gone—and nobody at either camp said a word about it.

  — ? —

  Scene Card — Night Location:

  Instructor Observation Cabin — Perimeter OverlookEnvironment: Lantern-lit table, slates and map boards, muted voices, forest canopy visible through reinforced windows

  The cabin lights were low and warm against the dark outside. Map boards covered most of the table. Slates flickered with unit markers drifting through the forest like slow-moving points of light.

  Mira stepped in last.

  She didn’t look rushed, but the way she shut the door behind her—quiet, controlled, a little too precise—made the room feel like it tightened by a notch. There was faint dirt on the hem of her cloak, and her jaw stayed set as she crossed to the table.

  Taren glanced up at her. “Everything stable?”

  Mira didn’t meet his eyes right away. She placed her slate down with care, then answered in a calm voice that didn’t match the tension in her shoulders. “Stable.”

  Rowen’s gaze flicked to her, then back to the board. He didn’t ask.

  Mira leaned over one slate and tapped a marker. “Aegis is moving fast.”

  Taren rubbed his jaw. “They’re disciplined.”

  “They’re fourteen,” Mira replied. “Discipline doesn’t make them invincible.”

  Liora’s gaze stayed on a different cluster of markers. “Team Sol held together after a clash,” she said. “That matters.”

  Haldren snorted. “One good recovery doesn’t mean they’re ready.”

  Rowen stood a little apart, arms folded, watching the boards like he didn’t trust himself to relax.

  Mira glanced at him. “Iron didn’t collapse.”

  Mira’s finger hovered for a second over an empty space on the slate before she moved on.

  Rowen’s eyes stayed on the markers. “Not yet.”

  Taren leaned forward. “What changed?”

  Rowen paused. “They stopped arguing long enough to cover each other.”

  Mira’s mouth twitched. “That’s a low bar.”

  “It’s still a bar,” Liora said quietly.

  Dean Voss finally spoke from the far side of the table, calm enough to steady the room.

  “Day One doesn’t make them strong,” Voss said. “Day One tells you who can learn while scared.”

  Haldren looked toward the canopy outside the window. “Tomorrow’s when they get sloppy. When they’re tired.”

  Mira nodded. “When a small mistake turns into panic.”

  Rowen’s gaze tightened. “That’s why tomorrow matters.”

  Voss’s eyes moved across the board.

  “Let them sleep,” Voss said quietly. “They’ll need it.”

  He looked up, and for a moment he didn’t look like a war hero. He looked like a man watching children carry something too heavy.

  “Tomorrow,” Voss said, “they earn the rest.”

  — ? —