Azyen Vayne

It was my first time meeting the boy standing before me. His apology struck me as unnecessary and completely out of place. Yet, in his earnest blue eyes, I saw something I had long since lost: goodness.

A flicker of my past self stared back at me from those eyes, a self that might have been naive enough to apologize for things that didn’t matter—unless, of course, it did matter to me. Unless it helped me find peace within myself.

“I still find your apology unnecessary,” I said, my tone sharp but steady, “and your behavior, well…stupid.” His face fell slightly, but I continued. “However, if it was important for you to say these things to me—” I bowed my head, the gesture deliberate, “—then allow me to apologize.”

I would never dare to mock purity, not now that I’ve come to understand its true value.

The boy’s eyes widened, startled. He shook his head quickly, almost panicked. “No, no, you don’t need to apologize to me! Even though…” he hesitated, “I didn’t like how you acted. Still, you might be right. I have to man up and stop being so…soft.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of my lips as his words reached me.

“Real men,” I said with a faint smirk, “are tough on the outside and soft on the inside. Women, on the other hand, are soft on the outside and tough on the inside. It’s the law of energy—positive and negative blending together to create a whole.”

He stared at me, his expression halfway between confusion and amusement.

“Of course,” I added, scratching the back of my head in an awkward imitation of his earlier gesture, “there are exceptions. Everyone has their own mix of positive and negative energy in their structure... No need to overthink it.”

His lips quirked into a genuine smile. “You’re not that bad, actually.”

Only if you knew this is but a show to me.

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that,” I replied with a trained grin. “They might start believing it.” Extending a hand, I added, “I’m Azyen, by the way.”

“Darien.” He shook my hand firmly, though his grip still carried the hesitance of youth.

“Nice to meet you, Darien. How old are you, if I can ask?”

“Fifteen. You?”

“One year older. And you’re a mancer too, right? Did you come here to train?”

He nodded, but his voice carried a trace of anguish. “More or less.”

Before I could press further, a booming voice shattered the moment, echoing across the camp like a thunderclap.

“We have fourteen recruits from Karum and twenty-seven from Iskar-Brum!” Mallu’s powerful voice called out from the sea of volunteers gathering near the base's wall.

I retracted my hand and motioned toward the crowd. “We should head over. We can talk later.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Darien replied, falling in step behind me as I strode toward the growing mass of people.

The volunteers were a patchwork of colors and materials, their mismatched armor and weapons betraying their disparate origins. Each had to procure their own gear, which ranged from shining steel to weathered leather, from swords with elaborate hilts to crude, dented spears. They formed a tight, jostling circle near the wall, making it difficult to squeeze through.

Not that I wanted to expend the effort of elbowing my way to the front. For me, this whole test—along with the officers' arrogant behavior and cutting words—was nothing more than a cheap charade.

"Most are regulars, but we have a few mancers among them," Mallu announced, his voice carrying strength. "All recruits proficient in close combat, step forward for a mock battle against our veterans. Those skilled in long-range shooting, aim for the can atop that wall."

I followed the direction where the crowd’s collective gaze had turned. Atop the base's wall, an iron can balanced precariously on a thin rod. Its dented surface bore the scars of countless shots, hinting at its role.

"No overcharging your shots," Mallu continued. "Hit or move the can without knocking it down, or you’ll be carrying the provision bags for your entire team. Fail, and you’ll prove unworthy of trust in battle."

A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the crowd, its sound like dry leaves stirred by a faint breeze. Faris, his voice tinged with humor, added, "That can’s Mallu’s handiwork. Don’t knock it down unless you enjoy hard labor—he’ll make you regret it."

Before the laughter from Faris’ remark could fade, Syphon’s voice sliced through the atmosphere like a blade. "Who wants to break the ice?"

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Darien glanced at me, his expression curious, as if waiting to see if I’d step forward. I had no intention of volunteering. Hell, if I could avoid participating entirely, the day would become infinitely better.

"Commander!" A voice, loud and urgent, thundered through the camp. The ground seemed to vibrate in sync with the galloping of hooves. "I bring news to Commander Syphon!"

The rider emerged, his horse’s hooves scattering loose dirt as he approached the startled crowd. Darien and I watched him, both curious and cautious. His eyes locked onto mine for a brief moment before he dismounted with an easy grace, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk.

"Did he just smirk at me?" I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

"I think so," Darien replied.

"Where does the arrogance of these people come from? They’re nothing more than vermin clinging to the edges of the food chain."

"Aren’t we lower than them?" Darien quipped with a laugh, his tone lighthearted.

"No. Why would we be?" I turned to him, trying to grasp his reasoning.

Meanwhile, Syphon pushed through the crowd, grabbing the sealed letter from the rider. He read its contents swiftly, his expression darkening into a scowl. Mallu leaned in, scanning the letter over Syphon’s shoulder before muttering something under his breath.

"Change of plans, boys," Syphon barked, his tone curt and final. He folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket. "Gather your things—we leave in ten." Without another word, he strode toward his barrack, Mallu and Faris trailing behind.

"Shepard!" Faris called out. "Distribute the rations."

"Yes, sir!" a man shouted from somewhere in the crowd, his voice echoing against the base walls.

"Move!" Mallu ordered, his glare ensuring immediate compliance.

"Come on, we need to prepare as well," Darien said, his hand twitching as if he wanted to grab my arm but stopped himself at the last moment. Instead, he motioned with his head.

"I just need to grab my pack." I tapped the hilt of the sword strapped to my belt.

As Darien advanced, my gaze flicked to the rider. He walked toward his coldblood* mount, his posture relaxed but unfriendly.

Timing my movement, I closed the distance in a few quick strides. My elbow jabbed into his stomach, forcing a grunt from his lips as I gripped the back of his head. Pulling him toward the blade of my dagger, I leaned in close, to whisper, "Careful with those high-definition eyes—you might accidentally live-stream your last day. Got it, shithead?"

I didn’t linger, careful not to draw unwanted attention. Releasing him, I resumed my walk toward the tent. A fleeting glance over my shoulder caught his gaze on me. He then strode toward his horse as if he was digesting what had just occurred—or perhaps planning a response.

I wasn’t the type to waste energy stirring trouble with people who could end me or slow my progress. It wasn’t worth the time, let alone the consequences. But letting every mosquito treat me however they pleased?

That wasn’t happening either. Balance was key—push back just enough to hold my ground, without inviting chaos. Otherwise, I might start believing I didn’t belong in this world. And I did. Didn’t I?

Everyone was ready in less than ten minutes, fully equipped with armor, packs, and weapons. We waited by the gates for the commander and his officers to arrive. Dressed in an assortment of clothing and armor—whatever we could afford or salvage—we stood in loose formation. Besides the standard-issue packs, tents, and rations, the military had provided nothing.

This was not how I envisioned life here to be, but I'll have to make do with it.

The sound of hooves echoed around us as Syphon arrived at the front, flanked by his two officers, Mallu and Faris, along with eight other men.

"Before we set off, I’ll quickly assign the recruits to their teams," Syphon announced. "Sar-Kai, Bumba, Jarlow... you’re with Kratz."

Kratz, mounted on a vegatroot*, raised his hand high. "Everyone from my team, gather here!" he called. The new recruits, along with his existing members, moved toward him.

Syphon continued calling names, his tone brisk and no-nonsense. There were eight captains in total, excluding Mallu and Faris. While they seemed to outrank the captains, their roles seemed to be more administrative than tactical—essentially, Syphon’s bearded secretaries.

"Azyen, Flaus, Gormen, and Boil, to Shepard!"

Hearing my name, I scanned the crowd for Shepard’s raised hand and began making my way toward him.

"Excuse us, we’re passing through!" Darien apologized to those blocking our path as he followed close behind. "Looks like we’re in the same team," he added with a faint smile.

"Then you’d better stay alive," I joked, glancing back at him. "Otherwise, I’ll have to blame your captain for your death."

Darien didn’t respond, and I suspected my humor didn’t land.

When I reached the front of the group, I stopped before Shepard’s vegatroot, where other volunteers had already gathered. The captain, a grizzled man with a stern but measured demeanor, locked eyes with me and gave a curt nod before beginning to count his team.

I took a moment to survey the others in our group. My gaze lingering briefly on Darien. On his astronomical karmic score of more than a hundred thousand positive that hovered above his head like an unseen halo. From that, I knew he was trustworthy.

Whether I could ever fully trust him—especially to cover my back—remained to be seen. After all, people change, and one can never say for sure that he knows what others are capable of. Not even after spending a lifetime with them.

But maybe, I could make him my ally. I'll have to test him.

"Welcome aboard, boy," one of the team members said with a casual nod.

I returned the gesture without a word.

"Looks like the captain’s got a soft spot for kids," another voice muttered, the tone dripping with disapproval. "Hope he lives long enough to see them grow up."

"Shut your mouth," a man leaning against a battle axe replied sarcastically. "You’re talking about a 2nd Sky here."

"Don’t pay them any mind, kiddo," another volunteer chimed in, clapping Darien on the shoulder while locking gaze with me. "If you can fight, they’ll be clinging to you like you’re their mother soon enough."

"Klaid, what’s that supposed to mean?" the axe-wielder, growled.

"A joke, Harler. A simple, harmless joke," Klaid replied, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"I don’t make jokes about—" Harler began, but Shepard’s sharp voice cut him off.

"Twenty-five!" the captain called, responding to Syphon.

"Twenty-five!" echoed Kratz’s voice, followed by the rest of the captains in unison.

"Listen up!" Syphon’s voice boomed, pulling our attention. "The third volunteer legion was ambushed last night at the ruins, suffering significant casualties. As a result, they can no longer maintain the perimeter around the medical camp, leaving it vulnerable. To prevent further risks, we will take over their position and secure the safety of the medical center for as long as necessary. Let's move!"

With that, he turned his coldblood horse, and the team captains formed two orderly rows behind Mallu and Faris. We, the foot soldiers, followed in lines of four. Some of the volunteers picked Glowseed Lanterns to carry with them, but I preferred to have my hands free.