The morning air was thick with the scent of damp earth and sweat. The rhythmic pounding of feet against the dirt echoed through the training grounds, a steady beat only interrupted by the occasional cough or stumble. Mare stood on the edge of the field, arms crossed, her eyes cold and detached as she watched the children complete yet another lap.

“Faster.” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the fog of exhaustion settling over the group. “You think this will be enough to survive out there?”

Hannah’s breath came in ragged bursts as she struggled to keep pace with Atlas and Ellie. Her muscles burned, and her legs threatened to give out with every step. But stopping wasn’t an option. Not with Mare watching.

Ahead of her, Zephyr seemed almost unaffected. He kept a steady pace at the front of the pack, his arms swinging rhythmically by his sides, his breathing calm and level. Hannah felt a dull, simmering envy bubble under her skin. He made it look easy, and that only made her efforts feel more futile.

The sun had finally risen, its oppressive heat bearing down on the children’s backs, creating a sweltering, suffocating atmosphere. Who decided it was a good idea to be up before dawn anyway? For priests who worshipped Yamuna, goddess of the skies, wouldn’t it be disrespectful to start before her light had even touched the earth?

Hannah dimly recalled the loud banging that had woken them all from their scant hours of sleep. Typhon had strolled into the dormitory, his face cheery, but voice cold as he ordered them to prepare for training. There had been something unsettling in his gaze, a heaviness that settled in her stomach like a lead weight. She knew, instinctively, that whatever they were about to face would be anything but merciful.

Ellie was barely keeping up with Atlas, who slowed his pace to match hers. He threw anxious glances over his shoulder every few seconds, worry etched on his face. Ellie, having left Buddy behind at Nia’s request, seemed smaller today, more fragile. Buddy deserved rest after yesterday, Nia had said, and Ellie had reluctantly agreed, though she had looked mournfully at the stuffed bear before placing him on her bed.

Nia herself was struggling too, her breaths ragged and desperate, her face flushed a deep crimson from the exertion. When Ellie glanced at her, a giggle nearly escaped—Nia looked exactly like one of the tomatoes they used to see at the market. The giggle died on her lips the moment she caught Mare’s piercing glare.

“Pathetic,” Mare’s voice cracked like a whip, and the children flinched. “You’re not ready for real techniques. Hell, you’re barely fit enough for this.” She stepped forward, her eyes sweeping over them, cold and calculating. “You’re not soldiers. Not yet. And if you don’t get stronger, you won’t live long enough to become anything at all.”

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The children had been running for what felt like hours, their numbers thinning as the sun climbed higher in the sky.

Hannah’s legs moved automatically, but her mind was elsewhere, her gaze drifting to the children who had fallen behind. The weaker ones, malnourished and bruised from their time before the complex, were dropping like flies. She watched as each one hit the dirt, their bodies crumpling in search of relief that would never come.

Every time a child fell, the dull thud went unnoticed—except by Hannah.

They weren’t getting back up.

A sudden, cold fear gripped her as she glanced at Ellie, who was swaying on her feet, ready to collapse at any moment. With the last of her strength, Hannah threw an arm around Ellie’s shoulder, helping her keep moving.

Finally, Mare clapped her hands. “Stop.”

The children halted, too exhausted to do anything but gasp for air.

Mare stood at the edge of the field, her expression hard and unfeeling. “That’s it for the morning run. Follow Typhon for your earned breakfast. We’ll continue shortly.” She paused, her eyes flickering toward the fallen children, and added coldly, “For humanity.”

A few children managed weak nods, but most simply limped forward. Hannah tightened her grip on Ellie’s shoulder, with Atlas stepping in to help support her weight. They couldn’t afford to fall behind now.

As they began to follow Typhon, Hannah cast one last glance over her shoulder.

The fallen children lay motionless. Their bodies, bruised and bloody, stained the dirt beneath them. Mare stood over them, her gaze impassive, like she was assessing failed experiments. For a moment, her cold eyes locked with Hannah’s, and a chill shot through her, twisting like a knife in her chest.

She turned her head back forward, her heart pounding in her ears. Don’t stop. Keep moving. You can’t be next.

No one moved to bury the dead.

No one dared to mourn.

As the last light faded from the sky, the living carried on, and the ashes of the unworthy were left behind.

They staggered toward their breakfast, the soft murmur of exhausted voices filled the air. Ellie slumped further, her breath shallow and uneven. Atlas did his best to hold her up, his own strength waning.

“Why do they keep doing this?” Ellie whispered, her voice trembling. “We can’t keep running forever…”

“We don’t have a choice,” Atlas replied, glancing toward Mare and Typhon in the distance. “Either we keep up, or we don’t make it.” His voice was strained, though a flicker of determination lingered beneath his exhaustion.

Zephyr, walking a little ahead, shook his head. “This isn’t training. This is torture.”

“You think they care?” Nia muttered bitterly, still trying to catch her breath. “We’re just bodies to them. Tools they can use or break. It doesn’t matter as long as they get their soldiers.”

Hannah stayed quiet, her gaze drifting back to the children who had fallen and hadn’t risen again. A knot of nausea twisted in her stomach. They weren’t tools anymore. They were corpses.

“I miss Buddy,” Ellie said softly, her voice barely audible as she squeezed Hannah’s arm. “I wish I could hold him right now.”

“Buddy doesn’t have to run,” Nia grumbled. “At least you can still move.”

“Shut up, Nia,” Atlas muttered, though the edge in his voice was dulled by fatigue. He reached over and gently squeezed Ellie’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this.”

For the rest of the day, they ran. They trained. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the grounds, the dead lay still where they had fallen, unmourned and forgotten.