“You have ten minutes.” Boldwick kindly informed Rodren, the poor unfortunate boy whose Armor kept breaking apart every mile since they’d left the walls. Rodren, As Erec discovered, that was the name of other unfortunate pilot of outdated loaner Armor. Even if Rodren didn’t have much to say so far, Erec felt a kind of kinship in their struggle.

The orb of light trailing them paused, ever-present since they'd left the meeting field. The lens through which many nobles eagerly watched the group.

“Thank you; I’m so sorry!” Rodren called out. He engaged the Armor’s exit procedure—typically, Knights and engineers repaired Armor on hydraulic racks to access hard-to-reach areas, but in the barren wastes outside of the wall, that wasn’t an option.

Erec moved away from the group and also started the exit procedure. The whirring of shifting pistons blasted his ears as the plates connected to the frame came to life. Though this particular suit wasn’t as sophisticated as the models the rest of the group wore, it still managed to complete the procedure in only a minute; exposing an opening in the back of the suit to allow the pilot to evacuate. At once, Erec’s sweat-stained skin soaked in the hot and dry air.

It felt good. He’d baked in the sun in the steel death trap, and today was particularly hot. But there was an intoxicating feeling to having the light from above torch his skin. A pleasant sting that left him wanting to spend these ten minutes spread out on the dirt and sand nearby. No one else but him was suffering from the lack of an internal cooling unit, which showed. Both in the blasé attitude of the spoiled nobles and in Garin’s gratingly relaxed attempts to talk to Erec. As if this were just a pleasant stroll on the surface.

As much as he wished he could spend these ten minutes soaking in the rare sun and letting himself feel the breeze, he couldn’t. Ten minutes wasn’t enough time to patch up a faulty Armor error that caused Rodren to keep lagging behind. Throughout his training, Erec had gotten a similar malfunction in his Markos II, so he knew the culprit behind it. Diagnosing and repairing it alone would take too much time.

Erec rushed over to Rodren, who’d hunched over as he tried to fix the frayed wire connecting the servos behind the plate.

“Error message?” Erec asked and knelt next to the stranger, though he already suspected he knew what he’d hear. But never operate without a confirmation. Rodren hesitated and frowned. Is he suspicious of me? “No, none of that. As far as I’m concerned, we’re in the same boat; the only difference is I happened to get a little luckier. I’ll be damned if I end up jobbing for a couple of spoiled brats, and I won’t see that happen to you.”

That seemed to set Rodren at ease. “Right uh—right, it’s a servos connection issue—the left leg is err, it’s overheating somehow and jamming. But it doesn’t feel particularly hot.”

Erec frowned as he ran his fingers under the plates. The wires felt frayed and several stripped. It seemed that the rats had enjoyed a feast. He got to work sorting out the jungle of cables—trying to feel where the wires connected and mostly going off intuition. If he hadn’t spent all of the past month jury-rigging his Armor, they’d have been screwed.

There. The break he was looking for—a torn spliced wire connecting the joint of the back frame and the left leg. Among several, it’d be hard to tell, but this one was vital since it ran to the process safety board and collected information. With it broken, the Armor would receive inaccurate information and jam up to keep the pilot safe from the leg reaching dangerous internal heat levels. With the internal cooling all screwy, it couldn’t compensate for the fake temperature.

At the end of the ten minutes, Rodren re-entered his Armor and shook out the leg—the servos worked like a charm. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Chances are that my Armor’s going to bust somewhere along this trip too, and you’ll be able to repay the favor.” Erec sighed. “But this is enough for now. Hopefully, it holds up until we make camp, then we’ll see if we can’t patch it up a bit more.”

“I don’t get why you’re helping me; this is a competition, isn’t it?”

Erec took a long look at the two others in their fancy Armor. Garin stood a bit away from them—they appeared disinterested in associating with a Baron’s son. “I already told you, but it’s fair for you to feel off kilter. You know, normally, I would be trying my damnedest to crush you and everyone else to win. This doesn’t feel like a competition, though. Between us, at least. More like we’re against them, and I don’t want to lose.”

Rodren paused and nodded his head—before placing the helmet on and letting the locking mechanism engage. His fist rose in a gesture of support.

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“All done?” Boldwick’s metal legs kicked up small bits of dust with each step. He barely glanced between Rodren and Erec. “Seems his Armor is up and functioning. Well done. Get your suit back on, and we’ll get moving again. I’d rather we get to shelter before the night comes; even this close to the wall, it’s unpleasant to spend the night in the open.”

Erec sighed and got back to his Armor. In another minute, he was once more clad in the suffocating ton of steel, and the minute past that, their little group was plodding down the worn trail.

Outside their little oasis’s wall, the vibrant green steadily gave way to brown and decay. Converting from the lush life to an almost barren and hostile wasteland, he’d known that their engineers and magic provided enough water to sustain their society, especially on the surface—working with them in the bio-caverns taught him as much. But without that additional influence, the world outside of the wall scraped by.

It’d never recovered.

You might see patches of long and dried grass, maybe wild grains, and even clusters of anemic corn. Over time it might expand and begin to reclaim some life. But it’d take much longer than the three hundred years they’d had. The land had been irredeemably damaged.

Those without the Goddess’s blessing weren’t as resistant to the changes wrought by the holy fire.

Their magic could help influence the world, but expanding outward meant constant opposition against the monsters that now roamed and the increased risk of a Rift opening up in undefended territory.

“Erec was it?” the faint voice of Lyotte drifted in from his right. Erec nearly missed it due to another warning from his Markos II, but he turned his head slightly to acknowledge her.

“Yeah?”

“Is this your first time out here?” She asked.

“No one’s allowed outside the wall except for the Knights and the Church, right?”

“I meant out here—beneath the sun. I saw your face when you left your Armor.”

“…Yeah, it is,” Erec admitted and reluctantly gave more attention to her. The Armor she wore was no less impressive than Colin’s, though his Armor had a more sleek feel—hers was a more bulky and heavy setup. He imaged that it must’ve taken quite a feat of Vigor to handle, especially at their relative level. If a pilot couldn’t handle what an Armor demanded, they were using it suboptimally and putting themselves at risk. He doubted any high-noble house would risk any in their line to those sorts of injuries.

He returned his attention to the road as the conversation lapsed into silence. She made him uncomfortable; he didn’t want to picture her or Colin as anything but spoiled nobles to be crushed.

Lyotte had a different idea. “You’re from House Audentia.”

“You know me?”

“I know where you’re from; it’s not as if your House is a secret after what your mother did.” Erec stopped in his tracks, as did Lyotte.

“Are you trying to pick a fight? I’ve heard just about everything about my mother and what a dirt bag she was from enough stuck-up assholes already; spare me the lecture.” Erec damn near growled. The heat, Colin, and now this? His tolerance level for bullshit was hitting dangerously low levels; he needed time to himself to cool off.

“No, not that. I didn’t mean to offend you. I, well—I imagine it must’ve been hard to go all this time to hear that thing. To be black-marked from something you didn’t even do…” Lyotte’s voice hitched a bit, and she fidgeted in a way that threw Erec off balance.

The hell? Who brings up that sorta crap—“I’m not interested in talking about that, okay? I’m my own person and not even the heir to our house. It’s not very polite to bring that sort of thing up with someone you don’t know to begin with, but…” Erec paused and let out a pent-up breath. Even though her face was hidden beneath that helmet, he could tell by the way her body was shifting she was uncomfortable. Why am I pandering to her anyway? “I’ll let it go. I overreacted, and I’m sorry.”

"No! I'm the one who's sorry I didn't mean to—"

"Quit stalling back there! Move it, you two. Goddess, have mercy if this is the crop of new initiates we have." Boldwick barked out from a good fifty feet away, having stopped in his tracks to glare at them.

"C'mon, let's get back to walking. I'm not here to make friends, okay? I don't care what you think about my family or me or what any of the high-nobility gives two fucks about. I'm here to join the Academy and make my way in this world." Erec started to march ahead.

Then he stopped as he didn't hear any footsteps behind him.

Lyotte froze, refusing to move despite being ordered to by the test administrator.

"Are you crazy? What are you doing?"

"I—" she was unnaturally stiff. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

"I didn't mean to make you upset—I don't have the space to worry about this sort of thing or what—"

"I'm not upset. Go on. " Lyotte said.

"You two, if I have to repeat myself for the third time, I'll consider it an act of insubordination, and I'll note that down on my report. Move. It." Boldwick yelled this time; his voice carried heavy across the empty waste. Erec flinched at the gesture. Thankfully though, Lyotte began to move again, slow, complying with the order with the least possible effort.

Erec gave her one last look before breaking out into a slow jog to catch up with Garin. What the hell is with her?