The days slipped by unnoticed. For many, the first week after awakening felt like an eternity, consumed by the haze of learning routines to manage their trauma. Brian, however, scarcely registered the passage of time.

The military, unlike the academy, provided a practical and direct approach to awakening and their new responsibilities. The foremost rule was simple: obey.

It was simple, straightforward, and foolproof. Yet, the motto at Brian's military camp was clear: “Dogs obey, but crazy dogs don’t.”

Although it was contradictory, it was easy to understand. In their system, one was either a dog on a leash or a dog off the leash. Both groups had specific duties and missions, but their methods of execution differed.

Those who preferred to leash themselves considered themselves “organized.” They followed a system with leaders and a clear structure. Orders were followed diligently: success brought military merit, while failure led to group-wide investigations.

Those who chose freedom walked a thin line, with distinct rewards and punishments. They used their judgment to decide the best way to complete their missions, guided by the motto, “The end justifies the means.”

Though it sounded ideal in theory, in practice, the story was different. The "crazy dogs" were under closer scrutiny by the law and their superiors than any other unit.

The high command considered this group a “necessary evil for a greater good,” given the ethical and professional controversies surrounding their methods. The solution was pragmatic — if a dog went off the leash and acted crazy, they could blame the craziness and “sacrifice” the dog, ending the chaos and restoring order.

This approach worked because the public remained unaware. To them, such individuals were dangerous and needed to be jailed or buried. Propaganda ensured the public saw the military's swift actions as effective.

Praise echoed through the streets as newspapers glorified the military’s efficiency in handling threats. "Heroes in uniform," they called them, "guardians of our safety."

Images of stern-faced soldiers standing in disciplined ranks filled the public's minds. Tales of successful missions, punctuated by stories of those who had gone "too far" and been "dealt with," were recounted in pubs.

The public's awe was meticulously cultivated. Whispered tales of "crazy dogs" who crossed the line and met their end were woven into the narrative, keeping the populace in check through fear.

Though Brian understood what he had signed up for, he was blissfully free of such worries at the moment. He focused intently on his target as the chilly winter breeze touched his face.

‘Look at that! Man Yoink would be smiling and singing!’ Brian thought, grinning broadly.

Brian crouched low behind a snow-covered boulder. The world around him was a hushed canvas of whites and grays, the silence broken only by the distant rustle of branches and the occasional creak of snow-laden tree trunks. His muscles were tense, each movement slow and deliberate, as he kept his eyes fixed on the beast ahead.

In the clearing, illuminated by a shaft of pale winter sunlight, a wild boar emerged from the underbrush. Its hulking form moved with menacing grace.

The creature's eyes glowed with an eerie, fiery intensity, casting a red hue that sharply contrasted with the surrounding snow. Its jagged, lethal tusks curled upward, ready to gore anything that threatened it.

Brian waited for the boar to survey its surroundings and drop its guard. The animal savored the bait — two fish strategically placed in the trap. Brian gripped his spear and moved silently.

His mission was clear: bring back lunch before the noise from his subtenant's stomach grew louder than his yells. But he grinned widely, for there was another reason he was there. He wanted to use his power to put into practice what he had learned.

“Feel your blood rushing,” Brian recalled his instructor's teachings.

He closed his eyes briefly, sensing his pulse quickening and a surge of warmth spreading through his veins. When he opened them, the world seemed sharper and more vibrant. Every breath and twitch of the boar's muscles became clear.

“Remember the feeling of your awakening,” Brian murmured.

Brian advanced, his steps soundless on the snow, his breath held tight in his chest. The boar, engrossed in the trap, didn’t notice him approaching. He tightened his grip on the spear, feeling its familiar weight and the roughness of the wood grounding him.

A sudden gust of wind hit his back, startling him. Instinctively, he lunged toward the boar, the wind swirling around him like a living entity, making rocks and twigs dance in a chaotic spiral. His body felt unnaturally light and free, as if the wind were lifting him.

"Damn!" The wind turned violent, hurling him forward faster than he could control. His heart leapt as his trajectory changed toward a tree. Desperation surged through him. Not wanting to miss the opportunity, he twisted his body with a grunt of effort and hurled his spear.

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The spear sliced through the air with a fierce whistle, caught in the wind's erratic dance. It struck the boar's side with a sickening thud, embedding itself deep into its flesh. The boar let out a pained, guttural roar, its fiery eyes blazing with a mix of rage and confusion.

With a last-ditch effort to avoid crashing into the tree, Brian felt adrenaline surge through his veins. He managed to twist his body, evading most of the impact, but his shoulder slammed into the bark with a jarring force, sending him sprawling to the ground. Snow exploded around him, a blinding flurry of white that obscured his vision and stung his skin.

He scrambled to his feet, his muscles screaming in protest and the cold biting into his skin. The boar thrashed violently, its powerful body twisting and bucking in a desperate attempt to dislodge the spear. Brian knew he had only moments to act.

The wild boar was not to be underestimated. Its low, muscular frame was built for power and endurance, capable of charging with deadly force and gouging with its lethal tusks. Brian's heart raced as he faced the beast, fully aware of the danger those tusks posed.

As Brian closed the distance, the boar made a sudden, desperate lunge, its tusks slicing through the air where he had just been. He pivoted on his heel, narrowly avoiding the lethal strike, and with a surge of effort, he drove his spear into the boar's neck with all his might.

The boar let out a guttural roar, staggering as its strength waned but still fighting with relentless ferocity. Brian pressed his advantage, gripping the spear lodged in the boar's side and twisting it, aiming to sever vital arteries. The boar shuddered in a final, violent spasm, its body convulsing before collapsing into the snow, its breath coming in ragged, fading gasps.

Breathing heavily, Brian stepped back, watching as the life drained from the beast's eyes. A mix of relief and exhaustion washed over him. "That was shameful!" he muttered, shaking his head, his voice tinged with self-reproach and the lingering adrenaline.

"Feeling's all well and good but using it?" Brian mumbled with an exaggerated scratch of his head and a wink. "Wind affinity ain't exactly like playing fetch with a sheep! Can't just call for a gust and expect Mother Nature to listen!"

He began to prepare the boar for transport, working quickly and efficiently. As he hoisted the boar onto his shoulders, Brian felt a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

For those learning to use their power, it felt like taking a sip of water and then discarding the full bottle while still feeling thirsty.

'At least I'm not repeating last week's disaster,' he thought wryly. 'Trying my skills on that wall... thank heavens it stayed intact.'

The weight of the boar pressed down on his shoulders, grounding him in the present. Memories of his first attempt at using his power came back vividly.

He had tried to harness the wind on the training grounds, envisioning a great gust to propel him forward. Instead, he nearly blew himself into a stone wall.

As he trudged through the snow, the rhythmic crunch under his boots became a meditative sound. He felt more energetic than ever before.

“Geez,” Brian groaned theatrically. “Wouldn't mind feeling worn out for once!”

Being energetic was good, especially in military training, but too much could be dangerous as his body couldn’t warn him when it was time to rest.

He learned this lesson when he was told to run until he couldn't move, and he did. While the other cadets stopped before reaching their limits, Brian couldn't stop.

At first, he thought it was amazing, but after running for nearly the entire afternoon, he understood why it could be dangerous.

He didn't feel it, but his veins twisted like serpents, and his heartbeat was louder than the drums used to wake them in the morning. He was smiling until the landscape turned into familiar, muddy ground and his vision blacked out.

"Hey! Look at that beastly boar, Sprint Psycho!" hollered a young man to Brian.

'Oh great,’ he mused while shaking his head in mock despair. ‘Asdras would've had my hide if he'd known about that stunt.'

"Yo! Stinky Mohawk! The big guy yelling for me?" He shouted playfully over his shoulder.

“No idea, mate,” the cadet replied. “I was heading there, too.”

"You stumble across any decent herbs today?" Brian asked offhandedly before mentally kicking himself for the dumb question.

Leif, also known as Stinky Mohawk, had an insatiable love for herbs, with garlic being his absolute favorite. His small, wiry frame was wrapped in a pale white and brown uniform, the colors muted yet practical.

His most striking feature was his audacious brown mohawk, which stood tall and proud and had a serpent-like trail of hair that bisected the bare sides of his head. His face was a canvas of contradictions — sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed slightly lazy, as if perpetually on the brink of a daydream, yet capable of igniting with a fervent glow when discussing his passion.

Leif's eyes, usually half-lidded in a languid, almost sleepy manner, sparkled with renewed vigor as soon as he heard Brian's question. It was as if a switch had been flipped, transforming his entire demeanor.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a subtle, eager smile. "Ah, herbs," he murmured.

He leaned in closer, the scent of garlic wafting from his clothes, eager to impart the wisdom he held dear. For Leif, the importance of herbs was not just knowledge; it was a sacred trust he was keen to share with anyone willing to listen.

"Guess what? Found something amazing today!" Leif said eagerly. "A rare kind of mint from the coldest places — they say it’s got flavors of ale and garlic combined!"

Brian sighed, realizing he had opened a can of worms. Leif’s enthusiasm was contagious, but his endless lectures on herbs were exhausting.

"We'll chat later about herbs, Leif," Brian cut in quickly when Leif began another herbal rant. "Need to drag this boar back to camp first."

"For sure, but make sure you visit my tent later; I've got some fresh herbs that'll really pique your interest," Leif said with an excited twinkle in his eye.