Saturday evening arrived, and the atmosphere in the multipurpose hall was electric with anticipation. Rows of recruits, including Ethan and his team, sat on neatly arranged benches, their expressions ranging from nervousness to excitement. The hall itself, with its high ceilings and polished stone floors, seemed to amplify the energy of the crowd. At the front of the room stood Gabriel, flanked by Himmel and a handful of rank 2 soldiers who looked every bit as formidable as one might expect.
Gabriel raised a hand, and the murmurs in the hall died down instantly. His commanding presence needed no amplification. "Recruits," he began, his voice steady and clear, "you have made it through your first week. It was a grueling start, but this is only the beginning. Starting tomorrow, you will enter a month of specialized training. By the end of it, you will not only know your strengths but also how to wield them effectively in combat."
Ethan leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. His fingers unconsciously drummed against his knee as he listened intently.
Gabriel gestured to the rank 2 soldiers standing beside him. "These soldiers are among the best in their respective disciplines. Each of you will be assigned to one of them based on your aptitude and weapon of choice. They will train you in weapon techniques, combat strategies, and prana channeling. Learn from them, respect them, and push yourselves to your limits."
A tall, broad-shouldered man with a battle-worn spear slung across his back stepped forward. His eyes were sharp, scanning the recruits like a predator sizing up its prey. "Name’s Dren," he said, his voice a low rumble. "If you’ve chosen a spear or polearm, you’ll be under me. Don’t expect any hand-holding. You’ll either keep up, or you’ll break. Simple as that."
Ethan felt a small shiver run down his spine. Guess that’s who I’ll be stuck with, he thought, glancing at the spear resting against the bench beside him.
Next, a lean woman with cropped silver hair and a longbow strapped to her back stepped forward. Her posture was impeccable, and her piercing gaze made her seem taller than she actually was. "I’m Kael," she said curtly. "Archers, you’re with me. Precision, patience, and discipline are what I expect. If you’re looking for shortcuts, don’t bother showing up."
Ethan exchanged a quick glance with Zane, who had chosen a crossbow. Kael didn’t look like she tolerated nonsense, and Zane’s easygoing attitude might clash with her strict demeanor.
The introductions continued. A wiry man with a pair of twin daggers hanging from his belt, introduced himself as Rylis, the instructor for close-combat and dagger users. A hulking woman named Briga, armed with a massive warhammer, was assigned to train heavy weapon users. And finally, a calm-looking man with a single pistol at his side, named Varen, would oversee those who had opted for firearms.
Gabriel stepped forward again once the introductions were done. "The next month will be the most intense training you’ve ever experienced. You will wake before dawn, train until your bodies scream, and then train some more. There will be no excuses and no exceptions. You will be taught to channel prana more efficiently, to integrate it into your combat, and to push beyond your limits. By the end of this month, you’ll either rise to meet the expectations or be left behind."
The recruits shifted uneasily, the weight of his words sinking in. Ethan’s stomach tightened, but he clenched his fists, resolving to give it his all. No way am I getting left behind, he thought.
Himmel stepped forward with a grin, breaking the tension. "Of course, we’re not complete monsters. You’ll get one rest day per week, but don’t expect it to be a picnic. That’s for recovery, not slacking off."
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd, but they were short-lived as Dren cleared his throat. "One more thing," the spear instructor said, his tone serious. "This isn’t just about individual strength. You’re not training to be lone wolves. You’re soldiers. Learn to rely on your team, to fight as one. Because out there, it’s not about glory. It’s about survival."
Gabriel nodded approvingly. "Well said. And that’s why, at the end of this training period, there will be another recruit ranking exchange. This time, it will not just determine your rank but also the resources allocated to you moving forward. Higher ranks mean better equipment, better assignments, and better opportunities. Keep that in mind."
The hall fell silent, the weight of the upcoming month pressing down on every recruit. Himmel clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. "Alright, that’s enough doom and gloom for one evening. Go get some rest. Tomorrow, we start bright and early."
As the recruits began to disperse, Ethan lingered for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts of the days ahead. He glanced at his team—Yara was chatting animatedly with Iris, her mysterious aura momentarily replaced by a rare moment of openness. Zane was leaning against a pillar, his usual smirk firmly in place, while Herbie looked like he wanted to sink into the floor from the sheer intensity of the briefing.
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"Guess we’ve got our work cut out for us," Ethan muttered to himself.
A hand clapped down on his shoulder, making him jump. He turned to see Himmel grinning at him. "Don’t look so grim, Ethan. You’ve got potential. Just don’t let that spear of yours go flying again, eh?"
Ethan managed a sheepish smile. "I’ll try."
"Good. Now get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day," Himmel said before moving off to talk to another group of recruits.
The dorms were unusually quiet that evening, the kind of stillness that came when everyone was lost in their thoughts. Ethan sat at the small wooden desk in his corner of the room, the faint glow of the radio’s dials casting soft light on his face. The faint hum of static filled the air as he adjusted the knobs, his fingers moving with practiced precision. A steaming mug of hot milk rested on the desk beside him, wisps of vapor curling into the cool air.
The radio crackled before a voice broke through, faint but clear enough to make out. “This is the Regional News Channel, broadcasting updates from Regions 14 and 12. As always, life continues in peace. Agricultural outputs remain steady, and trade routes are functioning without disruption.”
Ethan jotted down notes in a small leather-bound notebook, his handwriting neat and deliberate. “Region 14… stable,” he murmured to himself. “Region 12… no disturbances.” He underlined the word “peace” with a faint smirk. “False peace, more like.”
He leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his milk as the radio continued its monotonous update. The words washed over him, but his mind was elsewhere. It wasn’t just the information that mattered to him—it was what wasn’t being said. No mention of growing tensions. No whispers of cracks in the foundation. Just a careful narrative of calm and order.
Beside the main radio, another, smaller device sat half-disassembled. Ethan reached over and picked up a screwdriver, examining the innards of the broken radio. He’d come across it earlier that week, abandoned by a recruit who had been too afraid to return it to the logistics unit after accidentally damaging it. Ethan couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. The poor guy had practically shoved it into his hands, muttering something about not wanting to deal with Himmel’s wrath.
“You’re a lucky find,” Ethan said to the radio as if it could hear him. “Let’s see if we can’t get you working again.”
He set to work, carefully reconnecting wires and replacing a few small components. The process was methodical, almost meditative, and for a while, he lost himself in the task. The repetitive motions, the quiet hum of the functioning radio beside him, the warmth of the milk—it all created a bubble of calm in an otherwise chaotic week.
Occasionally, he’d glance at his notebook, flipping back through the pages. It was filled with observations, not just from the radio but also from his own experiences. Notes on prana channeling, sketches of the spear techniques Dren had demonstrated, even little diagrams of the multipurpose hall’s layout. Information was power, and Ethan had always been a collector of it.
As he tightened the last screw on the smaller radio, he felt a small spark of satisfaction. He turned the dial, and after a moment of static, a faint signal came through. It was weak, barely audible, but it was there. Ethan grinned.
“Not bad,” he said, setting it aside. “Still needs some tweaking, but it’ll do for now.”
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. The room around him was dim, the only light coming from his desk lamp and the faint glow of the radios. His team was scattered throughout the dorms, some already asleep, others quietly chatting or going over their gear. The air was thick with the unspoken anticipation of the week ahead.
Ethan’s gaze drifted to the small window above his desk. The sky outside was a deep indigo, stars scattered like shards of glass. For a moment, he let himself get lost in the view, his mind wandering back to Earth. Back to a life that felt more like a dream with each passing day. The familiar ache of homesickness crept in, but he pushed it aside. There was no room for it here, not now.
He picked up his notebook again, flipping to a fresh page. At the top, he wrote, “Observations: Week 1.” Below it, he began to list everything he’d learned. Techniques, names, strategies. Even little things, like Himmel’s habit of cracking jokes to ease tension or the way Yara always seemed to know what to say to lighten the mood.
He paused, tapping his pen against the edge of the desk. There was one thing he hadn’t written down, something that had been gnawing at him all week. The dreams. Every night since the first time he’d channeled prana, the crimson hue had returned, vivid and unrelenting. It was always the same. The endless red, the suffocating weight, the feeling of being watched. And always, that same overwhelming sense of dread.
Ethan frowned, his grip tightening on the pen. He didn’t understand it, and that frustrated him. Was it a side effect of channeling prana? A warning? Or something else entirely? He shook his head, setting the pen down. “No use overthinking it,” he muttered, though the unease lingered.
Draining the last of his milk, he pushed the chair back and stood. The day had been long, and his body ached from hours of training. The soft comfort of his cot called to him, and he didn’t have the energy to resist.
He slipped under the thin blanket, the faint hum of the radio still playing in the background. The room was quiet now, the conversations and movements of his teammates reduced to soft murmurs and the occasional creak of a bedframe. Ethan closed his eyes, willing himself to relax.
But as sleep took hold, the crimson hue returned. It crept into the edges of his vision, spreading like a stain. The weight pressed down on him again, and the sense of being watched grew stronger. He wanted to move, to fight it, but his body refused to obey. The red consumed everything, and the familiar dread clawed at his chest.