The Director gave a small nod toward Zexe.

  “Thank you,” he said simply before shifting his gaze across the table, settling on Paige. “Paige.” She straightened slightly at the mention of her name before speaking. “With Marshal’s assistance,” she began calmly, “we’ve gathered updated intelligence regarding activity in The Badlands.”

  Her voice was steady. Clinical. “There has been a drastic increase following the incident involving Elion.” At the mention of the name, the room grew subtly heavier.

  Marshal moved without a word. He reached into his coat and removed a small metallic device no larger than his palm. Without ceremony, he tossed it onto the center of the table.

  It landed with a soft click before activating.

  A three-dimensional holographic map rose into the air above it, an intricate projection of The Badlands. Terrain, elevation, and landmarks formed in pale blue light.

  Then the red dots appeared. Dozens of them, scattered at first glance. Marshal rested his hands behind his back again. “Take note of the marked locations,” he said. His voice was firm, shaped by discipline.

  “These indicate confirmed sightings and activity associated with the Dark Church.”

  Gale flinched. It was small, but visible.

  “...They’ve been getting more active,” he said, his earlier confidence tightening slightly. Anora leaned forward, her eyes scanning the hologram with sharp precision. “They’ve also changed their behavior,” she added. “They’re more aggressive. And more discreet.”

  Her fingers were no longer tapping. “They’re hiding their movements better. Choosing their engagements more carefully. There’s a high likelihood they’re preparing for something.”

  The words lingered as she leaned back slightly. “There’s a possibility we’ll soon face something more troublesome than anything they’ve deployed before.”

  Silence followed until Zexe closed his notebook with a soft snap. “That is concerning,” he admitted. But his eyes shifted toward The Director immediately. “...However…” He leaned forward slightly.

  “It isn’t enough.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Not enough to justify forming an entirely new squadron.” He tilted his head. “So I’ll ask directly. What is the real reason?”

  The Director allowed the silence to settle fully before speaking. “The Dark Church’s rising activity,” he said calmly, “”is one of the reasons.

  “But that's not the main reason.”

  Marshal had already understood what to do when The Director glanced at him. Without waiting to be told, he reached down and adjusted the controls on the holographic device. The projection flickered once, The Badlands dissolving into scattered particles of light before reforming into something much larger.

  The continent.

  Its full scale stretched across the table, terrain carved in pale blue light. Mountain ranges, coastlines, fractured zones of habitation.

  And on the far right–

  The Capital.

  The Director watched their reactions carefully before speaking. “We’ve maintained control of The Badlands for a long time,” he said. “We’ve fortified it. Stabilized it. Made it such that we’re the biggest threat here.”

  His eyes remained on the display.

  “But it is time we expand our operations.”

  The shift in the room was immediate. Anora’s expression hardened. Her fingers, once restless, now lay still against the table.

  “...Why?” she asked.

  Her voice was calm, but heavier than before. “You’ve always been adamant about keeping our faction within The Badlands.” She held his gaze. “You said expansion was an unnecessary ambition.”

  The Director nodded faintly.

  “It was not a decision I intended to make.” He reached into his coat and removed a small, thin disk. “It was a decision forced upon me.” He handed it to Marshal. He accepted it without question and inserted it into the holographic device.

  The display shifted again.

  Documents appeared. Reports. Movement logs. Structural plans.

  Classified.

  The Director began explaining as they read. “The Capital is located on the opposite side of the continent,” he said, gesturing toward the far eastern edge of the projection. A faint highlight marked it.

  “There are only a handful of viable routes between their territory and ours. Every single one of them passes through land not controlled by us… nor by them.” Several narrow corridors illuminated across the map.

  “Third parties,” Paige said quietly.

  The Director nodded once. “For years, this has maintained balance.” His eyes darkened slightly. “But I recently received intelligence from one of our embedded spies.” A new document surfaced in the hologram.

  “The Capital is preparing to expand.”

  Gale leaned forward slightly.

  “...Expand where?”

  The Director didn’t answer immediately. Instead, the center of the continent darkened. A vast region, marked and labeled.

  The Expanse.

  “The only thing preventing them,” The Director said, “is this.”

  The Expanse pulsed faintly in the projection. “An unknown virus has rendered this entire region uninhabitable.” Images appeared. Figures in bodysuits. Creatures distorted beyond natural form. Environmental decay.

  “The virus infects any unprotected organism,” he continued. “Full-body isolation suits are required for safe passage. And even that’s impossible considering the aggressive nature of the organisms there.”

  Another image appeared.

  A creature.

  Once recognizable.

  No longer.

  “It alters living beings,” The Director said. “Forces erratic evolution. It does not kill, it transforms, turns things into something else.”

  Silence filled the tent.

  “They have been attempting to solve this problem.” he continued. “Searching for a method to cross safely, making a formula to render the virus useless.”

  Understanding began settling into the room. He looked at each of them as it slowly hit them. “If they succeed…”

  “...they gain unrestricted access across the continent.”

  The projection shifted. A line formed. From the capital, through The Expanse, and straight towards The Badlands. “They will have the ability to move an army. There will be no natural barrier left.”

  “No delay. No warning. Nothing stopping them from achieving full control of the continent.”

  Gale’s pen was completely still now.

  Anora’s eyes had narrowed.

  Marshal stood motionless.

  Paige remained composed, but her attention had sharpened.

  Zexe said nothing.

  The Director spoke one last time. “Knowing The King…” his voice lowered slightly. “...the only thing maintaining this balance in the continent is his current inability to conquer.” He let that truth settle fully.

  “We must prepare for that time.”

  He looked at each of them, not as subordinates but as the pillars of the faction. “Because if their efforts succeed…”

  “Continental war will no longer be avoidable.”

  The Director allowed the weight of his last words to settle before continuing. “My solution,” he said, “is the formation of a new squadron. This one will operate beyond just The Badlands.”

  That was enough to shift the atmosphere. If he didn’t have everyone’s attention before, he did now. “They will handle missions deemed critical,” he continued. “Operations that require reach beyond our established territory.”

  Gale leaned back slightly in his chair, his pen resuming its familiar motion between his fingers. His expression carried interest now, not dismissal. “That sounds like a heavy responsibility,”

  The pen spun once, twice, then stopped between his fingers.

  “How much personnel will you be taking from each of our squads for this?”

  It was a practical question, one that was on everyone’s mind.

  The Director answered immediately.

  “None.”

  “This squadron will be composed entirely of new recruits.”

  The reaction was immediate, with Zexe speaking first.

  “That’s…” he paused briefly, choosing the exact word, “...out of character.” He leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “You’ve never favored mass recruitment. If anything, you’ve avoided it.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “There are years where we don’t see a single new agent.” Paige nodded once. “And from a security standpoint,” she added, “that would increase vulnerability.”

  Her tone remained calm, but firm. “Every new recruit is an unknown variable. Background verification, behavioral analysis, loyalty screening… It all falls under my jurisdiction.”

  She looked directly at The Director. “It would multiply my workload significantly. It might impact our defenses temporarily.”

  Gale smirked faintly. He tilted his head, the pen resting loosely in his fingers.

  “...Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing,” he said. Paige’s eyes shifted toward him instantly. Gale continued, unconcerned. “Considering only two individuals were able to breach the main camp and cause that much havoc during the last incident.”

  The implication hung clearly in the air. Paige’s gaze sharpened, not with anger but precision. But before she could respond, Marshal spoke. “They breached during a compromised window.”

  His voice was steady. Not defensive, but corrective. “The majority of the security force had been reassigned.” He looked at Gale directly. “They were securing the perimeter following the raid in The Caverns and assisting my analytics division.”

  The holographic flickered faintly behind him. “We were investigating the origin of the golden flames. A phenomena that no matter how much we dug, barely had any information about.”

  Marshal did not elaborate further.

  Paige said nothing, but the tension in her posture eased slightly. Not because she needed defending, but because the truth had already been stated. Gale raised his hands slightly in mock surrender.

  “Relax,” he said lightly. “I’m just stating facts.”

  Marshal cleared his throat softly, steering the room back from the philosophical edge it had begun to teether on. “With all due respect,” he said evenly, “you’re known for precision. You don’t make large-scale structural changes without a framework.”

  His sharp eyes fixed on The Director. “What exactly is your plan?”

  The Director gave a faint nod, as if he had been waiting for that question. “My plan,” he said, “required your involvement.” That drew their attention more effectively than any dramatic pause.

  “I will not handpick this squadron alone. Each of you will have the ability to recommend candidates.”

  Gale’s brow lifted slightly. “You trust us that much?”

  “I trust your judgment,” The Director corrected. “Each of you sees potential differently. Paige assesses risk. Marshal evaluated discipline and adaptability. Gale observes cognitive flexibility. Zexe understands psychological fracture points. Anora…”

  His gaze rested on her briefly. “You recognize strength before it surfaces.” Anora did not respond, but she did not look away either. “There are conditions,” The Director continued.

  “Firstly, every candidate will be screened by me personally.” Paige’s posture straightened slightly at that. That answered part of her earlier concern. “Second, they must be within their teenage years.”

  That shifted everything.

  Anora spoke first. “Why specifically that age?” Her voice wasn’t hostile, just probing. “You know what comes with that phase. Instability. Identity conflict. Recklessness.” Her eyes narrowed slightly.

  “...Or do you already have specific individuals in mind?” There was a subtle weight in her words. Paige leaned forward as well. “Teenagers are difficult to manage,” she added bluntly.

  “Security incidents spike in that demographic. Emotional volatility, boundary testing, authority resistance.” She gave him a look that said this would absolutely become her problem. “Why deliberately choose that?”

  Gale sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “It’s also usually the point in someone’s life where they cause the most collateral damage to the people around them,” he added dryly. “Camp’s about to get livelier than ever.”

  He glanced toward Zexe. “Better prepare for the constant office visits.” Zexe gave a quiet scoff. “Troublesome, yes,” he said calmly. “But it’s also a gamble.” he tilted his head slightly, studying The Director.

  “If it works… you’d be shaping them before their worldview fully solidifies." He folded his hands together. “That could produce something formidable.”

  Marshal remained quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Why not young adults?” he asked. “Why not fully trained prospects from allied territories? Why teenagers specifically?”

  The director stood slowly this time. “Because they are unfinished.” Marshal’s expression did not change, but there was a shift in the angle of his head, a subtle signal that he was engaging more deeply.

  “What do you mean,” he asked evenly, “by unfinished?”

  Before The Director could answer, Zexe looked toward him. Not to interrupt, but to request permission. The Director gave a small nod.

  Zexe leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “Age fifteen,” he began calmly, “is when awakening occurs. What The Director really means is that he wants individuals between fifteen to nineteen. The younger within that window, the better.”

  Anora frowned faintly. “That makes no sense,” she said. “Wouldn’t older candidates be preferable?” She leaned forward slightly, her fingers no longer tapping. “They would have more time to understand their abilities. More control. More experience.”

  Her logic was sound.

  Zexe did not dismiss it. “What you’re saying is correct,” he replied. “Older individuals often have better operational control.”

  “But control is not what we need.”

  That drew their attention fully.

  “We need malleability.”

  He folded his hands together. “Soemone who has barely begun to understand their ability has not yet formed rigid usage patterns.” He glanced briefly toward Gale. “They haven't subconsciously limited themselves."

  Gale’s smirk faded slightly at that.

  “Most people,” Zexe continued, “spend years, sometimes decades, misusing their own ability.” He tapped his finger lightly on the table once. “They discover one application that works, and they stop exploring.”

  Marshal nodded faintly. “They become efficient,” Marshal said. “Yes,” Zexe agreed. “Efficient.” His eyes sharpened slightly. “And incomplete.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “There is no natural mechanism that informs a person of their full capability,” Zexe explained. “An ability reveals itself only through use. Through stress. Through necessity.”

  He gestured slightly with his hand. “A person could live their entire life using only half of what they were capable of.” Anora’s expression grew more serious. “And a newly awakened individual?” she asked.

  Zexe met her gaze. “Could surpass them,” he said simply. “Potential is not measured by time,” he continued. “It is measured by discovery.” Paige crossed her arms tighter. “So you’re saying you believe younger candidates can be shaped.”

  “Yes.”

  Marshal spoke again. “Shaped into specialists.”

  “Yes.”

  Gale tilted his head slightly. “Shaped into weapons,” he added.

  Zexe did not confirm it. But he did not deny it either. Instead, he continued. “There is also the matter of time.” That word drew The Director’s attention again. “There is no confirmed timeline for the capital’s success in succeeding their experiments.”

  The holographic projection still hovered nearby, the giant chunk of land in the middle of the continent dividing it like a wound. “They may succeed in five years.”

  He paused.

  “Or fifty.”

  Marshal’s jaw tightened slightly. “We cannot predict it.”

  “No,” Zexe agreed.

  He looked toward The Director briefly. “But the longer it takes, the more advantageous it is for us.” He returned his gaze to the group. “This squadron will not be a temporary solution. It will grow.”

  Anora understood immediately. “You want to build them under our system,” she said quietly. “To develop an elite force that can handle any mission, our very own silver bullet.”

  Gale leaned back slowly. “So instead of recruiting finished operatives,” he said, “we cultivate unfinished ones.”

  The Director finally spoke again. “Yes.”

  Marshal exhaled quietly. “That required patience.”

  Paige added coldly, “And trust.”

  Zexe added one final piece. “And observation.” He glanced briefly at The Director again. “Because the greatest variable is not what their abilities are, it’s what they will become.”

  The Director let the silence settle before speaking again. “In times like these,” he said, his voice steady, “we take our chances.” His hands rested calmly on the table, fingers interlocked.

  “Luck is not something I favor depending on, but it is something we will have to rely on during this process.” His gaze moved across each of them, one by one. “I’m certain each of you already has someone in mind.”

  Gale’s pen stopped spinning entirely.

  Zexe did not look up from his notebook.

  Marshal remained still.

  Paige’s eyes did not leave The Director.

  Anora did not react at all.

  “Someone young,” The Director continued, “who surprised you.”

  He leaned back slightly. “The badlands is no place for a child.” His tone hardened slightly. “It never was.” He glanced briefly toward the holographic map still faintly glowing beside him. “It is dangerous. Unforgiving.”

  “And yet…”

  His voice lowered slightly.

  “It is where the best talents bloom.”

  No one argued that, because each of them had seen it. Survivors forged into something sharper than what safer lands could ever produce. “Once we have enough candidates,” he said, “I will begin its operations.”

  He then gave a small, dismissive motion with his hand. “If there’s nothing else,” he said calmly, “you are dismissed.”

  Chairs shifted.

  Marshal stood first, precise and efficient. He gave a respectful nod to everyone before turning and leaving the tent without unnecessary motion. Paige followed next, gathering her materials. She did not speak, but her eyes lingered briefly on Gale before exiting.

  Gale leaned back in his chair for a moment longer, twirling his pen once more before catching it and slipping it into his pocket. He stood, stretching slightly, and left with an easy stride.

  Zexe remained seated for a few seconds after the others had begun leaving, finishing whatever line he was writing. He closed his notebook, stood, and gave The Director a small nod before quietly exiting as well.

  The tent grew quieter with each departure.

  Until only two remained.

  Anora has not moved. She sat exactly as she had before, her posture straight, her hands resting calmly on the table.

  The Director noticed immediately.

  He exhaled softly. “That’s unusual,” he said.

  “Between the five of you, you’re usually the first to leave.” He leaned back slightly in his chair. “And yet,” he added, looking at her, “you stayed.” He tilted his head slightly. “That’s quite off.”

  The air between them shifted. Because when Anora stayed behind, it was never without reason. “Don’t worry,” she said calmly. “I’m not here to argue about your proposal.” Her purple eyes lifted to meet his.

  “I just have a question.”

  The Director studied her for a moment, then gave a faint nod. “It’s about Pheo isn’t it?” It wasn’t a guess, but certainty. “I don’t know what specifically about him,” he added, “but it is about him.”

  Anora didn’t deny it. “He’s already under the wing of the Hollow Ravens,” she said evenly. “I’m not considering transferring him anywhere else.”

  Her tone was firm.

  Protective.

  The Director’s expression did not harden, but it did sharpen. “You’ve forgotten something,” he replied quietly. Anora’s eyes narrowed slightly at his words.

  “Pheo is not under any squad.”

  The words were deliberate.

  “The Hollow Ravens,” he continued, “are mentoring him. Watching him. Training him informally under the favor Adam asked of us.” He leaned back slightly. “But he is not enlisted.”

  Anora said nothing.

  “He is here because he has not awakened,” The Director continued. “He remains in this camp until he comes of age.” His voice was calm. “Until he awakens.”

  “And when that happens, there is no policy that allows him to remain.”

  The air between them grew heavier. “Once he awakens,” The Director said, “he’ll have to walk his own path.”

  Anora’s jaw tightened faintly. “You would sent him away.”

  “It is how this camp operates.” The Director’s tone did not waver. “This is an elite camp. We do not harbor awakened individuals without designation. No exemptions. No exceptions.”

  He held her gaze steadily. “If I make one exception, I undermine every structure I’ve built.” Anora’s voice dropped slightly. “He survived things most grown agents wouldn’t stand a chance against.”

  “Yes,” The Director said. “And that is precisely why he must choose his path properly.”

  She stood now. “You’re already considering him for the squadron.”

  The Director did not answer immediately. “I am considering candidates,” he said instead. “That includes him.”

  Anora’s eyes flashed faintly. “He’s not ready.”

  “No one at fifteen is,” The Director replied. Silence stretched between them before he continued. “I know you’ve grown attached.”

  That struck closer than she expected.

  “I don’t hold that against you,” he continued. “Attachment is not weakness.” He stood as well now, adjusting his coat lightly. “But if you want him to remain here…”

  His gaze sharpened slightly.

  “...you will need a reason.”

  “I have nothing against the boy,” The Director said calmly. “But the camp has rules.” He moved toward the tent entrance. “If I bend them for one,” he added, “I fracture the authority that keeps this place standing.”

  He paused at the exit before glancing back at her.

  “I wish you luck in your decision, Anora.”

  Then he stepped outside, the tent flap shifting closed behind him as he left Anora alone.

  Alone with the quiet him of the fading holographic display.

  Alone with the weight of what she would have to decide.

  Zexe was walking outside, the dry air of The badlands greeting him like an old inconvenience rather than anything hostile. He yawned openly, not even bothering to cover his mouth as he stretched both arms above his head until his joints gave faint, satisfying pops.

  “Unbelievable…” he muttered to no one in particular. He rolled his shoulders, glancing at the parked vehicles nearby. “All the way out here. In the middle of nowhere.” He exhaled sharply through his nose.

  Sure, he hated working.

  But at least back in his office, he could spin around in his chair. He could sit with his feet on his desk. He could stare at the ceiling and pretend to think while waiting for the next batch of injured soldiers to arrive.

  That, at least, had comfort.

  This?

  This was hours inside a cramped vehicle, all for a meeting that barely lasted ten minutes. He began walking toward the nearest vehicle. “If I leave now,” he murmured to himself, “I can still make it back before sunset…” Just as he reached the driver’s side–

  Two hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders from behind. Firm and sudden, Zexe didn’t flinch but sigh as he already recognized who it was.

  “...How long has it been?”

  Gale’s voice came from behind him, warm with amusement.

  Zexe didn’t turn around. “Probably the last time you got injured,” he said flatly. “Since that’s the only time you ever visit me.”

  “More like it’s the only time you allow me to visit you.” Gale said before laughing, releasing him and stepping around to face him. “Come on,” he said, grinning. “Give me a break. I just got back.”

  His white hair caught the light, and despite the dust of travel clinging to him, there was an unmistakable energy in his posture. “It’s been years.”

  Zexe gave him a tired look.

  “Yes,” he said. “You’ve been gone long enough that The Director had to step in and appoint someone as a temporary captain in your absence.” That wiped off the grin off Gale’s face for half a second.

  Then he shrugged.

  He let himself fall backward onto the dry ground without hesitation, folding his arms behind his head as he stared up at the endless sky. “Well,” Gale said casually, “it’s better than leaving the position empty.”

  He closed one eye against the brightness. “Stlira may be inexperienced, but she’s still capable.” Zexe stared down at him for a moment. Then, after a second of hesitation, he lowered himself to the ground beside him.

  “The camp hasn’t been quiet,” Zexe said.

  Gale smirked slightly, “When is it ever?”

  Zexe rested his arms on his raised knee. “She and Anora had a dispute.”

  Gale turned his head slightly. “Oh?”

  “More like disputes.” Zexe glared at him. “It happened so much that people started placing bets.”

  Gale burst into laughter. “That sounds like her,” he said. “Sylira still hasn’t outgrown that part of herself.” He stared back at the sky. “She tends to hold onto things.” His expression softened slightly.

  “She’ll probably be furious when I return.”

  Zexe adjusted his glasses slightly. “Furious?”

  Gale smirked. “At losing her captaincy, even if it's just temporary.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I know she’s been waiting for that position for her entire life. But she was never meant to keep it forever.”

  Zexe didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he asked–

  “How long will you stay this time?”

  Gale didn’t answer right away. The wind moved faintly across the barren ground. “...Not long, not with what The Director is planning.”

  Zexe shifted slightly against the ground, the dust settling beneath him as he adjusted his posture. “...What took you so long?” he asked. His tone wasn’t accusatory or anything, just curious.

  Gale didn’t answer immediately. He lifted one arm, shielding his eyes from the sun as he stared upward. “The mission wasn’t my cup of tea,” he said. “But it was something only I could do.”

  He groaned softly, dragging his hand down his face.

  “...It took days.” His fingers fell to his chest. “Things that would’ve taken others only hours to finish.” Zexe glanced at him briefly, seeing that Gale’s face showed that he wasn’t exaggerating, just frustrated.

  Not because it was difficult–

  –But because he hated it.

  Gale exhaled. “I hate missions like that.” He turned his head slightly, staring out across the horizon. “I wonder what the camp looks like now.” His voice carried something quieter.

  “I heard that The Director’s another camp in The Free City now, and he plans on making one right here as well.” He smiled faintly. “But I’m more interested in The Free City. I haven’t seen it since I left.”

  “I heard it was rebuilt,” Gale continued. “Something about political fallout. A power dispute that caused the entire city’s destruction.” He exhaled through his nose. “Knowing how much The Director loved that city, I can’t begin to picture how much it improved.”

  Silence.

  Zexe didn’t respond.

  Gale waited until a few seconds passed, then turned his head. “Hey?”

  No answer.

  Zexe wasn’t looking at him, but staring ahead. Gale followed his gaze and saw who he was looking at.

  Narfius.

  Standing not too far away, his back partially turned toward them. He held a compact communication device in one hand, speaking into it quietly, but his posture was tense.

  Frustrated.

  His shoulders rigid, voice low and sharp.

  Gale frowned slightly.

  “...Why does he have one of those?” Zexe asked quietly

  Gale blinked, looking again at the device Narfius was holding. Recognition set in as he realized that he wasn’t holding something standard issue, but something rare, extremely limited.

  A phone.

  Gale shrugged.

  “You’re asking the wrong person,” he said. “You’ve been here more than I have.” Gale kept watching Narfius. “...Knowing him,” he added casually, “he either took it from someone he killed…”

  “...or knew someone willing to sell it.”

  Neither possibility sounded unlikely.

  As if sensing their gaze, Narfius turned, his eyes landing on Zexe immediately.

  He smiled.

  Calm. Easy. Familiar.

  He raised his hand and waved.

  Zexe’s expression didn’t change.

  But he looked away.

  Gale noticed, letting out a quiet breath. “...You two really are strange.” He folded his arms behind his head again. “I’d give up a lot to have a brother.”

  Zexe’s eyes remained fixed on the empty horizon. “It’s not as simple as you think,” he said. “Some things just don't stay the same.”

  As the air between them remained heavy, far from them at the edge of the camp, Narfius was turned away from the both of them, walking further away. The device in his hand hummed faintly, its polished surface reflecting the harsh sunlight of The Badlands.

  He pressed it closer to his ear.

  “You will uphold your end of the deal,” Narfius said, his voice low but sharp. “I did the job. Just because some guy you sent failed to do his doesn’t mean I don’t get my cut.” his fingers curled slightly around the device.

  The voice on the other end did not respond immediately. When it did however, it was calm, cold, and unmoved. “Our agreement was clear,” the voice said, “Payment would be delivered upon the successful completion of the operation.”

  “It did not succeed.”

  Narfius’ grip tightened further. “You think I had control over that?” he snapped. “You think–”

  The line went dead, a sharp silence replacing the faint hum. Narfius stared at the device for a moment, waiting.

  Nothing.

  “...Tch.”

  The sound left his mouth as a quiet groan of frustration. His shoulders tensed, then relaxed again as he ran a hand through his hair. “Cowards,” he muttered under his breath.

  Always hiding behind conditions.

  Always shifting responsibility.

  He resisted the urge to crush the device in his hand. Not yet, not when it was still useful. He exhaled slowly, then looked back at Zexe. Even from a distance, Narfius could recognize him instantly. The posture. The stillness. The quiet observation he had of his surroundings never changed.

  He smiled again, genuinely, but Zexe was still looking elsewhere.

  Wait for me.

  The thought formed silently.

  I’m almost done.

  His fingers tightened slightly around the communication device.

  I’ve worked too long to stop now.

  His gaze lingered on Zexe’s turned figure. Not resentment, not anger, but something heavier.

  Just a little longer.

  Then he lowered his hand, his expression settling back into its usual calm, as if nothing had happened at all.

  Meanwhile, far from the camp they were in, far from the watchful eyes of The Director, the call ended in the other line. A quiet click echoed in the darkness as the man on the other end closed his flip phone.

  He stood still for a moment, staring at the device in his hand. The faint blue light of its screen faded, leaving him in the dim glow of industrial lamps bolted crudely into stone.

  Then he tucked it into his coat. Turning around, he walked deeper into the cave. The air inside was thick. Heavy with iron and decay. Bodies lay scattered across the stone floor. Dozens, if not, hundreds.

  Men. Women. Some barely more than children. Each of them bore a similar wound, a single hole through their torso. Clean and precise.

  More corpses were being brought in.

  Trucks waited near the cave’s entrance, their engines silent but their cargo freshly delivered. Hooded figures moved between them, lifting the dead with mechanical efficiency. No hesitation. No reverence.

  One of them approached him. Smaller in frame, but cloaked like the others. There was something wrong with their silhouette however, something uneven beneath the fabric. Something attached.

  “Kuu.”

  Her voice was unmistakingly female. He turned his head slightly to acknowledge her.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  Kuu shook his head once. “A complete failure.”

  His voice carried no anger, only acceptance. “But it doesn’t matter.” His eyes drifted toward the piles of corpses. “I already knew better than to trust a mercenary like him.”

  His gaze hardened faintly. “In preparation for this outcome, I sent another Apostle.”

  The woman tilted her head slightly.

  “To a village hidden within the extreme ranges of The Badlands.”

  He paused.

  “They should already be on their way back.”

  “With more.”

  The woman scoffed softly. “I knew Narfius would fail.” Her tone carried venom. “Next time I see him,” she continued coldly, “he’ll be worse off than a dead man.”

  Kuu didn’t react. “Don’t worry about him,” he said calmly, “our time will come soon.”

  That certainty was absolute. The woman stared at him for a moment before nodding. She turned away, walking back toward the fresh bodies being unloaded. And as she moved, her cloak shifted.

  Two additional arms extended from her back.

  She moved with terrifying efficiency.

  One arm held the corpse steady.

  Another tore open the flesh.

  A third reached inside.

  And the fourth pulled the heart free. Wet and warm.

  She placed it carefully into a metal container at her side before reaching for the next body. Around her, the cave filled with the quiet, methodical sounds of harvesting. Preparing for something yet to some.