On a typical morning, Anemone would wake gently from her nightly dreams. She would keep her eyelids shut for peace and welcome the chime of her alarm clock a few minutes later. That was an ordinary morning.

But today she woke to a dense shudder in her chest as she inhaled panic instead of breath. Her body folded into a sharp angle as she lifted her chest, her jaw clenched shut, eyes inflamed, sinking the time displayed her quaking alarm.

A quarter before nine blinked on the little screen. Ordinarily calm, the clock screamed. And unlike a human, its voice hardened rather than weakening.

She overslept, but not by much, fortunately. And she wouldn’t be late if she left right away. She tossed her blanket off to the side, disregarding all of the tidiness Calace had walked her through.

Tidiness was the least of her concerns now, though it hardly ever was. She rushed past her simplistic, metal desk, five books on top with bookmarks in three, one book flipped open an inch of pages deep as she had run out of marks. She pinched her fingers into the narrow crease between the wall and closet door, and she pried the door open with great urgency.

Clean clothes lay in a jumbled mess on the shelf to the left, which she quickly discarded her current sleepwear and searched for the loosest, most unobtrusive shirt and trousers she could find, putting them on in haste. She tossed her used clothes to the right, either on the shelf or the floor; both meant they were worn and needed a wash.

Anemone appreciated a fresh pair of clothes every day and the freedom to choose what she wore. In Dork, she had two sets of clothing, two matches. In Dormoor, they gave her five outfits, all with the same white pants but different colored shirts. But here she had countless combinations to choose from. Still, like her purple shirt she kept from Dormoor, she favored some over others, and those at the bottom of her clean pile often never leave.

Finally, she pulled out the bin in front of her and hurried her armor on, as Kinler had told her it was mandatory, suggesting she wear something thin underneath to keep from overheating. How she would overheat in the chilly, latter half of Fall, she didn’t know.

Her torso piece was the easiest to put on, already padded with the metal plate over her chest. The problem came with everything else. Her arms were completely bare apart from the short white sleeves of her shirt. First came the shoulder piece, followed by the bicep, elbow, and wrist, and Anemone had to thread laces into each piece. She hurried her left arm now, eventually finishing the upper half.

She assembled her leather leggings in a near similar fashion, the thighs and calves connecting through the knee pads. Anemone put on her boots, making sure the overlapping soles held firmly.

Finally, she rushed out of her room, ten minutes to make a fifteen-minute walk.

Anemone ran at as comfortable a pace she could while aiming to cut her daily walk down by five whole minutes. She tried to keep her manner as she ran past those on the street, though she wasn’t exactly paying much attention to her surroundings.

And, as a result of that, she almost ran her arm off her body. Someone snagged her wrist unexpectedly. Her legs continued to move a few steps, but her chest tensed and fought her movement so she didn’t drag whoever grabbed her across the street. At least, she thought she was moving that fast.

“Nem?” Delta raised a brow. She pulled against a falling Anemone, keeping her from crashing to the concrete. “What are you doing running wild on the street!”

“I’m going to be late!” Anemone panicked. “I can’t be late my first day!”

“I thought your first day was yesterday,” Delta frowned. Her pale, elven ears poked through her long black hair. As she asked the question, this wiggled inquisitively like a cat.

“That was just a formal meeting or whatever he said it was, I don’t know, I’m in a hurry,” Anemone said, her voice stressed, words racing to get out of her mouth.

Delta’s grip on her wrist loosened, and she let go. “I’ll run with you.”

Anemone smiled and started running. Though immediately, she throttled her pace so Delta could comfortably keep up.

“What about you?” Anemone asked. “Aren’t you worried about being late?”

“Symond’s late every day,” Delta shrugged as she ran. She wore a tightly pressed uniform, silver much like what Kinler wore, only fit for a woman half his size. “Is that your armor! It looks so cool on you!”

Anemone flushed. Sometimes being told nice things by friends felt as good, if not more sincere, than the same compliments from her parents. In no way did Anemone feel entitled to such kind words from a friend but receiving them never failed to warm her heart.

And friends they had become. She was petrified when she first moved into the apartments, learning that Ranun and Calace were so far away in an entirely different district. But under the same room—granted a floor and several doors away—Delta lived with her. She showed her around, brought her to the local library, and taught her games.

They arrived at the agency building, and at this point, Anemone was already late. She slowed down to a walking speed, moving casually now that she was inside what was supposed to be a prestigious building.

Colorswords posted all around but concentrated more near the prison wing of the facility. Anemone and Delta moved thoughtfully inside, and Anemone eyed the front room once again.

The receptionist had a smile behind her desk. Behind her were postings of various accomplishments the agencies contributed to Soucrest. The board with the most on it had the name Carter Gentry at the top. That must be the general of that agency, as another, mostly empty board had Kinler’s name at the top. She squinted at the accomplishment inside and noticed it referenced the deal made between Soucrest and Dork, allowing the former to use their land to station their forces and secure the border.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to be late,” Delta grinned, nudging Anemone to the side toward the hallway leading to the briefing rooms. “Come on, Nem. You aren’t going to suddenly drop your urgency after making me run all the way here.”

Anemone followed Delta, seeing her walk a powerful stride as she led. Delta had a firm grip on Anemone’s, similar to how Calace would hold onto it when she didn’t want Anemone to get lost.

They stopped before Anemone’s door. Delta grinned. Anemone noticed some sweat between her arms and felt guilty. The marks would chill outside but feel warm and gross in the heated rooms of the agencies. Delta didn’t deserve that.

“Well, go on in,” Delta said.

“Right,” Anemone nodded. “Cya, Del.”

Delta laughed as Anemone touched the metal lever of the door.

“What?” Anemone asked, turning her head.

“You called me Del,” Delta flashed a grin. “You’ve never called me that before.”

“You call me Nem,” Anemone defended. When Delta first started calling her Nem, she thought it was a different name entirely. It was only several days after she first heard it that it clicked. Anemone. Anemone. “Can I call you Del?”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Delta perked up confidently, crossing her arms. “Sure, fair is fair, though you cut my name by one syllable while I cut yours by three.”

“And?”

Delta sniffed. “I win,” she said, turning away and walking down the hall. Her smile stayed as she turned her head and waved goodbye.

Anemone felt warm, though she quickly tried to chill herself as she entered the room, hoping not to be reprimanded for being a few minutes late. She’d rather the crash not be from happy to sad all at once but move gradually from one blissful end to one more strict.

Though Kinler wasn’t one to get angry, even when someone messed up. Even when Anemone messed up a thousand times in practice, Kinler hardly said a word. And if he did, it was as constructive as it was reassuring.

Anemone entered the room, half expecting to have entered the wrong room altogether, seeing a different adult at the front behind Kinler’s desk. The clean, handsome adult had a similar appearance to Jaxton, though he was more confident in how he looked, eyes down on a book, glancing through thick-templed glasses. He looked up at Anemone and said, “Come in. Don’t worry; you aren’t the last to arrive.”

Anemone nodded appreciatively. So this was the right place. And as she turned her head, she noticed some agents, all in their armor. Well, all but Jaxton.

Why does he get to sit this one out? Anemone thought. It didn’t matter enough for her to ask. Anemone sat down between him and Wing, who wore green sleeves and trousers with a brown leather over his chest and upper legs, the green like an undersleeve.

Anemone envied the loose layers of his arms and legs, with no elbow or knee pads to feel excessive.

Past Wing, Rown sat alone at his table. A large metal casing over torso and legs, a massive sword through the square window of the chair he sat on. He looked as if he was a knight from one of Anemone’s books. Tall and mighty. Like the knights from her books, Rown had an engraved square on the front, with small diamond-shaped gemstones on each corner.

Only recently did Anemone learn that the Church of the Square wasn’t a fantasy but a real, tangible presence in modern life. A religion. Delta, who said she was a devout follower, told Anemone all about it. But little did she know Rown was a knight!

Burt and Jakar entered together both in opposite spectrums of what Anemone thought armor would represent. Jakar had a loose cloak, but through an unbuttoned gape showing his chest, she noticed a leather, plated vest similar to what Anemone had.

Burt, however, had the second-most metal in the room apart from Rown. Shiny plate armor came down from his shoulder before breaking at his elbows to continue at his wrists, freeing up movement in his joints. His thighs were plated in the front and back but bare in the sides like his calves. The metal plate on his chest piece was naked, nothing, not even cloth overlapping the plate. She could see the screws in the corners, both in the front and the back.

Is he as good in a fight wearing all that? Anemone thought, remembering the battle that left her breathless for a few minutes. All of that has to hinder your movement somewhat, right?

“So I assume we’re ready to begin,” the man in front said. “As some of you may already know, I am a general here. You may call me by my first name, Carter.”

Carter Gentry, Anemone thought. From the board.

Burt raised a hand.

“Yes, Burt?”

“Why are you here?” Burt asked, sparking a whisper among his table.

“I am your morning instructor for the next week,” Carter explained.

“I thought Kinler was leading us full-time,” Rown added.

“He is,” Carter adjusted his glasses. His uniform had striking similarities to Kinler, though he had a surplus of medals on his chest. “And I’m teaching you part-time.”

“How does that make any sense?” Burt asked. “Kinler can’t teach us full-time while you teach us part-time.”

Carter throttled a laugh. “What? Kinler didn’t tell you?”

“Tell us what?” Rown insisted.

Anemone leaned forward, ears attentive. There was an air of uncertainty. Carter was unfamiliar with the agents, and here it was like he would flip their worlds over on the first day. There was a sort of obedience Carter instilled in the air. He had the same mystery as Kinler, making Anemone wonder if this was a trait one needed to be a leader.

“You’ll be living here for the next five days,” Carter grinned but tried to fight it. “How could he have not told you?”

“You can’t be serious!” Burt snapped. He stood up from his seat, fists clenched as he lightly tapped the table, seemingly calming himself down. “But what does this have to do with the armor?”

“You’re forbidden from taking it off for the duration of the week. Of course, the one exception being when you must relieve yourself. So this means no baths or showers, nor even briefly to change your clothes underneath.”

Anemone, mostly unsure about the whole ordeal, didn’t react much. Instead, she scanned the others’ expressions. Jaxton looked more uncomfortable than disgusted, and judging that he has the least to his outfit, he probably didn’t like wearing clothes for an extended period.

Wing said nothing, smiling. Jakar, on the other end of the room, grinned as if amused. Neither of them, like Anemone, had anything too heavy on them.

But Burt and Rown were joined together for once. Fighting each other yesterday, they were fighting the same battle today. Anemone worried most of all about the heavy solid shell of armor Rown wore.

“This is unfair!” Burt snapped. He pointed to Anemone’s table. “Look at them! One of them isn’t even wearing armor. Another one looks like a festive clown!”

“At least he’s not acting like one,” Carter said. “Sit down, Burt.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll need a hundred pushups,” Carter grinned, adjusting his glasses, “and if you can’t do that, I’ll have grounds to expel you immediately from the program. So, weigh your options, soldier. Sit down, push up, or leave.”

“A hundred pushups? That’s nothing—” he stopped, looking considerate for once. He sat down, not saying a word. Did he realize something?

“Sweat,” Carter said, amused. “Will be spent sooner or later. I’m surprised you didn’t opt sooner for your pride, but I appreciate your obedience nonetheless.”

Rown raised a hand, polite. His fingers twitched, and sweat came earlier to him than the others, nervous. Carter called on him. “Will you at least tell us why we have to wear our armor? Is it hazing or is there a purpose?”

“Excellent question. Have any of you heard of the battle of the Nameless Castle?” Carter asked. Jaxton was the only one to nod. “It was before even my time. Soucrest sieged a Gleonish city a couple miles east of our border. Our very own Ranun Spring attended this battle.

“However, the Gleonish people are a more stout foe than they seem on the surface. They held us outside in the cold Southern Winter for two weeks. Periodically in the day and night, they would blitz a small force to disrupt us, catching many men off guard. The attacks revealed something interesting after we counted the losses. Three out of four of our losses came from those with their armor unequipped. They, during a war, opted to stay comfortable. War isn’t comfortable. It is best you all learn that now.”

Rown eventually nodded, keeping his head sullen and down.

Carter let his words hang in the air for a while, making sure everyone understood. He continued, retreating to his desk to grab a stack of thin books, proceeding to hand them out to every agent.

Anemone flipped through and read from a random page. What she found made no sense. “The man in glam imbibed a shiv through his back, striking his soul, agonized by she he wished the world. He regurgitated not the shiv but bile over his effigy.”

Anemone blanked out. What in the world could any have that meant? Some of the words were Huish, but… there was no way that all of them were. Right?

Suddenly, laughter from the opposite end of the room. Jakar skimmed the book with a sinister grin.

“What. The. Hell?” Burt said, face flushing red. Anger?

“What is this?” Jaxton asked.

“Your assignment,” Carter explained. “You will be taking a test when the week is over. Thirty questions, you must get twenty-three of them right. Whoever doesn’t pass will stay behind for another week—in their armor, of course—and retake the test. If they fail again, well, there is no third chance.”

“What dialect is this?” Jaxton asked, looking through. “It makes no sense.”

“I am not inclined to ans—”

“It’s called Elite Ssspeak among the nobles of Avarich,” Jakar noted with a hiss. “It’s a rich man’s language. It’s Huish, but the language is made to be complex and only decipherable to the brilliant-minded. Though, as long as you can guess to what it meansss, it’ll be easy enough for all of you to understand.”

“I don’t think I get any of this,” Jaxton sighed, looking through the book. Anemone looked at another page—more weirdly worded, bizarre language.

“Well, hmm,” Jakar flipped through the pages from front to back. “Are you the woman who fought her every day in her childhood? No, I don’t think so. I already know who was raised in the Tall Trees,” he glanced at Wing, who nodded politely. “Are you the street urchin, begging for money?”

“What the hell?” Jaxton looked through the book.

“Chapter four,” Jakar said. “That’s your chapter.”

“There’s a chapter on all of us?” Rown said, thunderstruck. He stared in Jakar’s direction, though she could only see the back of his shiny bald head.

Anemone looked at Carter, who seemed delighted with himself for making them panic over such a thin book.

Jakar called everyone’s chapter. Anemone had chapter two, Wing Chapter three, Burt chapter five, and Rown chapter six.

Anemone flipped through to find her chapters, as the only easy part of the book to read were the numbers on the bottom corners. She eventually found the chapter break and read the first line.

“The doctor plundered the two flowers of their seed, then cast it in a grim garden where few could sprout and fewer could shine.”

The opening, brain-souring lines left Anemone’s brain fried. This was going to be a long, unmerciful week.