Excerpt From The Legion's Scholarly Manual On Casting—

Though two is the minimum — all must strive to meet if they desire to live — of the legion, it is by no means a significant point by any other metric.

Many scholars argue that when one achieves the ability to control three tendrils, one should advance to the second tier of the disciplines. While this is the case for some, and those who advocate for this point can always find the exceptions, it is not the truth for all or even most.

I understand why they would hold such a stance. Three is, after all, a near constant in most respects of casting and is looked at as an almost sacred number. But in this case, the evidence does not support the claim.

For the second tier of the Telepathy Discipline, one will have the basic level of skill required for the casting technique at three strands.

At such a level, they will be able to reach out and brush another's mind for surface emotions and even project their thought to have a conversation.

But it is only when they can control four strands they may enact a Union of Will, forming a mental network. However, once the link is established, even those with lesser skills may utilize it fully.

As for the second Telekinesis tier, it is only once a person can solidly control four strands that one can spread their psy consistency throughout the body, enhancing its physical capabilities and durability manyfold. The most accomplished of such practitioners can overshadow the beastkin's physical capabilities as they do the average citizen.

While most say that the sphere of perception in the Control Discipline only takes three strands, that is only for those with actual power, such as the City Lords and their descendants.

This is a fact, as I know many who can control five or even six strands and can not hold a sphere for the briefest of moments.

**********

Kathren jerked up, whipping her hand holding the knife at the figure looming over her.

"Whoo!" Cried out the figure stumbling back, holding up their arms, and falling to the ground.

Kathren started to move off her bed and continue to pursue her attacker, but she stopped halfway to her feet. Blinking in confusion, the fog clouding her mind started to clear.

Eyes focusing for the first time, she looked at the man scooting away from her on the ground.

"And that's why we wake up Kathren by throwing rocks at her." Said a voice filled with amusement in a knowing tone. The voice could not hide the stifled chuckles, though.

Looking over, Kathren saw Anooha standing in the doorway, bouncing a handful of pebbles on her palm. Seeing Kathren's scowl, all she did was smile wider, then carefully bend down and place the stones next to Kathren's door, giving them a small pat.

Frown deepening as her eyes squinted, Kathren looked down at her bed knife clutched in her fist.

Finishing her movement to get up, Kathren tossed her knife onto her blankets before moving towards Jim, still sitting on the ground with wide eyes.

"Move," Kathren grunted, fulfilling her morning speech quota.

Jim looked up at her, more than a bit of white showing at the edges of his eyes. She knew he didn't understand, so she grunted and motioned to her piled equipment that he had unknowingly scooted next too.

"Ahh," Jim eloquently said, scrambling to his feet and moving to exit her room.

Kathren ignored him as she bent down to grab her shit. The dirt caked into her skin reminded her of her days living on the streets. She could feel the grit settling deeper with every sluggish, reluctant movement.

But, though she never had been called — and never would be — a cursed 'morning person,' a shudder running through her at the very thought, a decade in the legion had taught her at least a few lessons.

Mainly, she learned that when anyone who knew her actually tried to get her up, facing the threat of her bed knife, there would be a fight soon. Or something important was happening that required her to be there. Basically, she needed to get kitted now.

From the look on Anooha's face and the uneasy shifting from everyone else, it was the former.

The hardest part of any fight was the wait for it to start, and no one ever really got used to the building tension, only how to hide it better. And the signs were as blatant as the noonday sun on all of them for those who knew what to look for.

Slipping into her cuirass and tightening the buckles and straps, she looked to Anooha and raised an eyebrow.

Answering the unanswered question of why she was woken up, Anooha started talking, "Beastkin warbands appeared outside the northern and Western Forts half an hour ago. They look to be lining up for an assault on the walls within the next hour or two. They have ladders, battering rams, and are quickly constructing several siege towers… Honestly, I've never seen the equipment constructed so fast." A grim look passed behind her eyes. Anooha did not have much, if any, more experience than Kathren, but they both knew the horror of battle was coming.

Giving a shake of her head, Anooha focused on Kathren again, "We are being positioned on the Middle Fort in the center of the Triad's bridges." Giving a feigned indifferent shrug, she said, "Might be some of the fiercest fightings with those barges and towers… Should be a good time, right!" She tried to make her voice excited but fell short. Coughing, she continued, "And if The Triad falls, we are supposed to report to the senate with a full account of the battle."

Kathren only nodded her head. It was to be expected. They were scouts. The only way to become one was by fulfilling your first decade of compulsory service.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Everyone from the highest noble to the lowest orphaned street rat serves in the legion. After that, everyone may choose to leave the legion, but if they stay, the legionaries are considered veterans.

Scouts are the veterans that are particularly skilled in being stealthy. Not having them in a position to fight would be stupid. Putting them into a new century and disrupting it would be idiotic.

Placing them in a critical but relatively small section of the battle where they could leave to report on the events of the battle made sense.

Adjusting her bracers, she slung on her belt and then her cloak. Turning to Anooha, she grunted, "Ready."

The other woman only nodded before turning and walking away, the three others of her squad trailing behind.

Rolling her shoulder, Kathren's hands quickly tapped over the spikes strapped to the leather strap crossing her chest. Then to the three knives and short sword scattered over her person.

Stepping out of her room, she saw Joxin give her a half smile and wave from where he was leaning on the wall. Jim was beside him, half trying to hind behind Joxin, giving her sidelong glances.

Kathren only snorted, saying, "Come on," while tilting her head after Anooha.

Without waiting for them, Kathren started walking, hearing their quick footsteps until they stopped, an arm spanes behind her.

"Here," Joxin said, causing her to turn and look at him while continuing to walk. He was holding out a shield. One similar to the ones all of the rest of them carried on their backs or arm.

She noticed it earlier, but maybe she just didn't want to acknowledge it.

Slowly, she reached out with a nod of thanks, sliding her arm into its straps.

When they stepped out into the cool night air, she looked up for a moment, seeing that the stars and moon were covered by clouds. "That's not a good sign…" She muttered to herself before turning and following behind the other ground of trainee scouts.

The seven walked through the Western Fort. The walls echoed with distant footsteps marching in tandem and shouts.

Kathren's eyes tracked three centuries marching past them, heading towards the stairs leading up to the top of the outer walls. The century first had faces sent into blank masks as their bodies were loose. Some even managed to crack a joke or two with each other.

Trailing behind the first century, like they didn't belong there and didn't know what they were doing, were the fresh-faced fish. The youths… well, by the end of the night, they wouldn't be youths anymore. You can't see the deaths of hundreds and still be called a child.

The legionaries looked lost and worried they weren't ready. At least they know the truth…

As they made their way through the fort along the main roads, something was bothering Kathren. It was the troops they were passing, and she wasn't talking about the fish centuries. It was most of the others.

They almost looked like… "The militia?" Kathren asked more to herself than anyone else.

"Yep," one of the men followed behind Anhooa turned and answered her question with a bright smile. If she was less tired, or the time between her waking was farther away, she might have called him cute. Bordering on handsome. Now she just wanted to smack him for looking so chipper at a god-awful hour. "The night before you arrived, we heard rumors they might be called up. After you returned, well, word spread fast of your report. And the call for the militia went out…”

The man looked sheepish for a moment, then asked, "So, is it true?"

"What did you hear?" Kathren asked.

“…That Instructor and the others were killed. That they were a distraction for you three to get back to report an army of tens of thousands… That— that the beastkin have… boats?" His voice was uncertain at the end of his sentence, filled with trepidation.

It was one thing for beastkin to suddenly have powers able to turn night into day. Them being able to build? To have a strategy to take the fort other than running at the walls until they overwhelm them with bodies was… wrong.

Like the foundation of their beliefs was just upset.

She could tell by the tightening of their backs and half-turned heads the other three were listening as close as the one asking the question. What was his name again? He looks familiar…

"Yes," she stated. "What's your name anyway?"

The man looked at Kathren in shocked confusion, his voice a mix between disbelieving and being hurt. "I've told you my name like… three times."

Kathren shrugged indifferently, "Huh, didn't make an impression then." She was starting to regret asking.

Anooha's shoulders started to violently shake while the two others turned their heads away from Kathren, hunching over slightly.

The man spluttered, his face shifted from indignation to incredulity, “Wh— I ca— We had sex! How the fuck can't you remember!" He finally shouted, his voice echoing around the street. When he noticed, his face flushed, and he looked away, but everyone on the street had already looked at him and were chuckling behind their hands or openly.

"Sorry, Ritchor," said the man to the one she was talking to's right, patting his shoulder in commiseration, but he could not hide his smirk.

The other was still hunched over, laughing, as Anooha turned around, a smile touching her face. "Told you she didn't remember. Plastered was an understatement for her that night." She said to Ritchor, wiping a tear from her eyes.

Ritchor had a deep olive skin color with dark hair and brown eyes in the torchlight. Combined with his muscular body, she could see why she slept with him. Way to go drunk me. She thought, mentally patting herself on the back as they continued to walk.

Their laughter lightened the atmosphere hanging over their group, making it a little easier to walk through the fort. It wasn't much, and the overall feeling in the air pressed down on them again, but it pushed the dark thoughts back.

Kathren's eyes skimmed over the militia marching by her. Few had whole suits of armor, most missing a few pieces or had holes chewed into them. Some didn't even have armor at all, having to make do with a tunic.

And she didn't see a single spear or sword in the groups without spots of rust on the blades.

That was nothing to say about the fact most were middle-aged, and it showed that they hadn't exercised regularly in… decades? That has to be the minimum with those guts. Not like the Triad is known for its laborers.

While all had experience in the legion, fighting skills — like steel — rusted without proper care. And fighting in a battle was not something to be rusty at. It was your life on the line.

Century after century marched by their group in a rush as they walked up the sides of the Western Bridge of The Triad.

Eyes flicking up the bridge, they landed on the gates of the Middle Fort. In truth, the fort was an oversized triangle at the intersection of the three bridges of the Triad. The walls extended twenty feet out to the sides of the twenty-five-foot wide bridges that were lit every twenty feet by a sunstone placed on a ten-foot pedestal on both sides of the bridge. Each point of the triangle had a fifty-foot tower with arrow slits lining them. The few times a hoard had overrun the walls of one of the forts, they had never taken the Middle Fort. No way to fill up the river a hundred-plus feet blow with bodies after all.

Shifting her eyes, she looked at those exiting the gates of the Middle Fort. Every single face they passed was bloodless, their eyes filled with fear as their centurions barked at them to keep marching. The look in their eyes was like they had thought they had woken up from a nightmare long ago but suddenly realized they were in one again.

Turning around to see what they were staring at, Kathren felt the blood drain from her face. The weak light of the moon had broken through the clouds and partially lit up the field before the walls.

Out in the distance, she spotted rank after rank of yellow dots and shadowy forms. Then a bolt of lightning tore across the clouds, lighting up the night with its azure brilliance.

And the beastkin who silently stood in rows vanishing into the darkness of the grasslands.

When Kathren finally heard the crack of thunder, the veil of darkness dropped over the world once more. But she still knew the monsters were out there…