We had been walking for half a day when the tension became almost palpable, settling over us like an invisible shroud. The once-lively chatter among the volunteers had dwindled into an uneasy silence.

No one dared to speak; instead, they kept their eyes fixed on the surroundings, scanning every shadow, every flicker of movement, as though expecting danger to leap out at any moment.

I couldn’t sense anything unusual—not that my instincts or abilities could cover the range from which an arrow might come hurtling toward my skull. Still, I refused to let fear lock my muscles. Tensing up in anticipation of an ambush would only make me slow and clumsy. Instead, I chose to remain loose, relaxed, ready to spring into action like a coiled spring.

It wasn’t bravado; it was technique.

Taking deep, diaphragmatic breaths helped me stay calm and focused. The rhythmic inhale and exhale sharpened my senses, allowing me to catch faint smells in the air, subtle hints of our surroundings.

It was like tapping into the ebb and flow of the environment itself, all while marching in step with the group.

Ahead of us, there was something behind the metallic trees—tech trees*, as people called them. These short, natural constructs had long since been scavenged for their components, their hollow trunks opened like gutted carcasses to harvest the circuits within.

As we pushed deeper into this strange, metallic forest, the landscape shifted. At first, it was just the faint outline of a stone wall peeking through the gloom.

Then another.

Soon enough, the ruins came into view, with crumbled structures scattered like forgotten relics of a past civilization. Hiding among the debris were figures—people. Their wary gazes followed us as we approached.

Under the silent scrutiny of these sentinels, we entered the fort's ruins. Flanking us were members of the Third Volunteer Legion, their faces drawn and weary from countless battles. Yet, as they saw us arrive, a flicker of hope softened their hardened expressions.

"Set up camp and secure the perimeter!" Syphon barked.

He continued toward the heart of the ruins, accompanied by Mallu and Faris, where the medical tents stood, guarded by regular soldiers. Against the backdrop of broken stone and rubble, the tents looked like fragile islands of order amid chaos.

"Let's find a place to set up our tents," Captain Shepard commanded. The other captains echoed similar orders, and our teams dispersed across the ruins.

Our group found shelter near the remnants of a tower. The ground here was damp, the air heavy with the cool humidity of perpetual shadow cast by the ruins. We quickly pitched our tents, each of us unburdening ourselves of the packs we had carried for miles.

I decided to keep my dry rations on me, though. I trusted the beasts lurking in the forest more than I trusted the hungry men who might rummage through my things while I was away.

"Captain!" I called out, an idea forming in my mind. "Can I go scout the area?"

Shepard turned to me, raising an eyebrow as though my request were unexpected. "You want to go scout?"

"Is there a problem with that?"

"Other than the fact that you're volunteering to put yourself at risk by wandering through unfamiliar territory? No, nothing at all," he said with a hint of sarcasm. Then, after a moment's pause, he added, "But if you manage to come back in one piece—and with some valuable intel to boot—it'll be a job well done. Just be extremely careful. The nomads might still be around, and their arrows are deadly accurate—better than shardspire guns at times."

"I’ll keep that in mind," I replied. "First, I’ll take a look around the camp to get a sense of the surroundings. Then I’ll head out."

"Are you familiar with forests like this?" Shepard asked, his tone suddenly more serious.

"I’m trained as a hunter," I said confidently.

"Good. Do as you wish, but you’re not going alone. We’ll be sending official scout teams after the Commander has been fully briefed, but for now, you should take someone with you." He turned and called out, "Darien!"

"Yes, sir!" The boy burst out of his tent, rushing to Shepard’s side with almost startling enthusiasm.

Well, his obedience is remarkable.

"Azyen here wants to take a look at the surroundings. I'll have you go with him," Shepard said.

Darien exchanged a surprised glance with me before nodding. "Yes, sir."

Gesturing for him to follow, I led the way, weaving through the rubble as we began our exploration. My priority was to identify escape routes and vulnerable points—places where trained infiltrators could slip into our camp undetected.

The remnants of the fort’s walls varied in height, some standing as tall as four meters, others crumbling into barely knee-high ruins. There were plenty of gaps wide enough to welcome intruders, and those gaps were precisely where sentinels had been stationed.

At each vulnerable point, or hidden behind piles of collapsed stone, at least one man stood guard. Higher up, on the taller structures, sentinels were positioned under the cover of large rocks, their eyes fixed on the forest beyond.

It was a strategic placement, but even so, I couldn’t shake the sense that it wasn’t enough.

The part of the camp where we’d entered was surrounded by tech trees, the tallest not reaching past the riders at the front. However, the area where we had pitched our tents was bordered by regular trees—with dense foliage and towering.

A skilled archer could easily nest in those branches and send a few projectiles our way while we were busy taking a piss.

The thought wasn’t comforting.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Honestly, if the nomads wanted to attack us, their best approach would be to target the sentinels first—the unlucky souls standing watch. With limited numbers, the nomads couldn’t hope to wipe us out in a single assault, but they could pick us off bit by bit, wearing us down until we were too weak to hold the camp.

And that, I suspected, was why the military had chosen this spot for the medical camp. The critical soldiers fighting further ahead to protect the main roads could be cared for here, even if it meant sacrificing a few men in skirmishes.

Still, something about it didn’t sit right with me.

It wasn’t just the medical tents that caught my attention. Among them were crates—large ones, filled with food and water.

Supplies.

This wasn’t merely a treatment center; it was also a supply hub. If the nomads discovered that, they’d attack without hesitation, no matter the cost.

But the broader context? I had no idea.

I didn’t know how many nomads we were fighting, why this conflict even existed, or what they wanted. Frankly, I didn’t care. My concern was my own survival. After all, the only reason I was here was to sharpen myself.

"Come on, let’s head out," I said to Darien, who was armed with both a sword and a shield.

"You’re not afraid of dying?" he asked as we stepped beyond the relative safety of the ruins. "I’ve seen plenty of people killed by arrows. No sane person volunteers to scout the forest."

I smirked at his words. "Let’s just say if I were destined to die in a forest, it would’ve happened a long time ago."

I couldn’t tell him I wasn’t afraid—he’d ask why, and I wasn’t in the mood to lie to him. The truth was, I had more tools at my disposal than most. If I didn’t take a fatal hit, I could heal myself. My instincts were sharp, and I had the Astral Triad to fall back on.

In short, I was prepared for most threats.

Darien didn’t drop the conversation. "What’s your specialty?" he asked after a pause.

"My specialty?" I repeated, tilting my head.

"Yeah. What are you best at? To work together, we need to understand each other, right? I need to know your strengths so I can cover your weaknesses, and you can cover mine," he explained earnestly. "My specialty, for instance, is my speed. I’m a combat-type mancer with a rank of D+. I’ve bonded with an Aero-element shard."

I let out a small laugh. "First off, I’m good at one-on-one combat. Second, why would you assume I have weaknesses?"

Darien blinked, confused. "Well—"

"Elite mancers don’t have weaknesses you can easily exploit," I said, cutting him off. "And even if they do, they have ways to compensate for them."

Darien frowned, considering my words. "I can’t say you’re wrong, but we’re not elite mancers, are we? That’s why we’re out here together—to watch each other’s backs." His voice carried a mix of honesty and naïveté that was both endearing and exasperating. "So what type of mancer are you? Tell me something about yourself. Otherwise, I won’t know how to help you."

"I’m an Animancer," I said finally. "Combat Type. Rank C+. Damage-oriented."

His eyes widened. "C+? That’s impressive! I’m damage-oriented too, but my combat rank is so much lower than yours."

"If you're damage-oriented and your specialty is speed, then why do you carry a shield?" I asked, casting a sidelong glance at Darien.

"To cover for my weakness, as you said," he replied without hesitation.

"So you do compensate for your weaknesses," I remarked, a smug edge to my tone as I made my point.

"Of course," Darien said with a shrug. "But that doesn’t mean I don’t have weaknesses. I’m no one-man army." He paused before continuing, his voice taking on a serious tone. "That’s why we have to work together—to increase our chances of survival. If I provide support for you, you’ll be able to deal with attackers faster."

I stopped walking and turned to face him, my patience thinning. "Support? The only ‘support’ you can offer is drawing attention to yourself or putting yourself in the line of fire for me," I said sharply. "Tell me something—do you have any kind of defensive ability?"

"Of course not," Darien admitted. "I’m damage-oriented, so the abilities my shard gave me are focused on speed and attack. Besides, I’m only a Sky 1." He hesitated, then raised his head curiously. "What about you? Do you have any defensive abilities?"

"Obviously," I replied curtly, resuming my walk.

"But you’re also damage-oriented," he said. "Logically, your shard shouldn’t have granted you any defensive abilities. Did your family buy you a defensive ability shard?"

"No, of course not."

Darien grinned, an odd spark of excitement lighting his eyes. "Anyway, I’m happy for you."

I stopped again, this time locking eyes with him. I wanted to peer past his gaze, deep into his soul, searching for what made him say that. "Why are you happy about when you don't have any?"

"Because it’s rare to have both offensive and defensive capabilities. That’s amazing!"

"... you don’t have to be happy for me," I said coldly. "The price I paid for it is more than you could ever imagine."

I turned away, observing the forest at my right.

"Do you also have problems at home?" Darien asked softly.

"I don’t have a home," I snapped, the words escaping before I could stop them. "Better said, I do have one, but…" I trailed off, shaking my head. The bitterness in my voice lingered in the air between us.

I knew my response would startle him, maybe even confuse him. I wanted it to. Letting him catch a glimpse of my despair—just enough to spark his curiosity and compassion—was a calculated move. Those were qualities good people had in abundance, and Darien, for all his inexperience, wasn’t trained to guard them.

He was an open book, easy prey for manipulation.

I needed to see what he was capable of, to test his resolve, his worthiness. If he showed potential, I could keep him close, perhaps even mold him into something useful. Maybe, just maybe, I could learn something from him as well—something about what it means to be good again.

"Let’s head into the forest," I said firmly. "No more talking from here on."

Darien hesitated but fell into step behind me.

"But why did we circle around the camp first? The third legion must already know the terrain and potential threats," he said after a moment.

"I didn’t do it for the captain or the legion," I replied without turning back. "I did it for myself. I needed to know where the dangers might come from and where I could run or take cover in case of an emergency."

Darien stopped walking this time, his confusion evident in his voice. "You’d run in an emergency? Abandon us?"

"If we get attacked and the camp is overrun, what else is there to do? Stay and die?" I asked bluntly, turning to face him.

"I’d stay with the others," he said with a steady voice. "If we eat together and fight together, then we’ll die together."

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "You think that’s what these men would do? Do you honestly believe they'd care about anything beyond their own survival? Even if some of them are exceptions, even if they truly care about you, do you think they’d want you to stay and die with them? No. They’d want you to live—to avenge them, or at the very least, to carry their memory forward."

Darien stared at me, narrowed-eyed, as I continued.

"That dream of yours—dying alongside someone who truly cares about you—is just that. A dream. To have someone so precious, so loyal, that you’d share not only your life but your death with them? That requires solid bonds, brotherhood, by choice. That’s something every man longs for. But here," I gestured to the ruins behind us, "that dream is a fantasy. You don’t have bonds like that with these people."

"And how would you know?" Darien barked back, his voice rising with frustration. "How can you say it’s a fantasy?"

I clenched my fists, the words rising in my throat like bile. "Because I lived it!" I wanted to shout but forced myself to whisper instead, my voice trembling with restrained emotion. "I had someone I called a brother. Someone I trusted with my life. And I was betrayed."

Darien’s defiance faltered as I pressed on, my voice heavy with pain. "I was hunted by the very people who trained me, who raised me. My masters, my comrades—they turned on me for money and fear of death. So I know what I'm saying. That’s why I tell you not to give your life and trust away so easily. Don’t suffer like I did."

What started as an act to manipulate him had taken on a life of its own. My hands trembled, whether from anger or pain, I couldn’t tell. The memories I thought I’d buried clawed their way to the surface, raw and unrelenting.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.

"Forgive me," I said finally, my voice softer now. "It’s not my place to tell you how to live. You have your own path, your own mistakes to make."

Darien stared at me, his expression a mix of fear and compassion.

Maybe I’d gone too far, but a part of me said I hadn’t. Maybe this would work in my favor after all.