Darkness gave way to dim, smoky twilight. Mattius found himself standing knee-deep in tangled reeds along the bank of a wide, silent lake. The sudden shift unsettled him; moments ago he’d been inside the sterile testing facility, sealed in that gel-lined pod. Now he stood in this strange landscape that felt too real to be an illusion. The damp chill of the air, the slick reeds brushing his legs, the faint rot of moss and stagnant water—all of it worked together to convince his senses that this was no mere simulation.
But he knew better. Somewhere beyond these horizons of code and light, the Empire’s observers monitored his every reaction. This was the Warrior test, their attempt to measure his aptitude for interfacing with machines and managing them under stress. He tried to recall the technician’s words: a virtual environment, tailored scenarios testing Warrior, Mage, and Psionic traits. This must be the first challenge.
He glanced around, taking in the surroundings. Overhead, tattered clouds drifted across a pale lavender sky. Gnarled trees stood in crooked silhouettes, their branches knotted like arthritic fingers. The horizon’s gloom weighed heavily, and the hush of the landscape felt ominous. Mattius sensed danger lurking behind the silence, as if this world was holding its breath, waiting for him to act.
A faint crackle of electricity pulled his attention to a metallic shape half-submerged in the muck a few paces away. He waded through the reeds to reach it, heart pounding. Squatting down, he brushed aside wet leaves and discovered a small drone about the size of a large pack, its plating scuffed and bent out of shape. One of its limbs hung limp, wiring exposed. Tiny sparks flickered from a cracked panel, and its sensor array drooped lifelessly.
Repair the downed scout drone. That had been the gist of his pre-programmed instructions before the world went dark and re-formed. He’d have to fix it somehow. Without tools or guidance, he wondered how. The concept of “Warrior interfacing” was still new to him, a skill he barely understood. Yet he remembered the earlier, briefer tests: a subtle mental reach, a sense of wiring and code that bent to his will.
He placed a trembling hand on the drone’s casing. The metal felt clammy and inert. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, trying to conjure that inner voice which had let him speak to machines before. At first, he sensed nothing beyond his own fear. He pressed harder, focusing on the idea of not just touching the drone but connecting with it. He pictured threads of thought extending from his mind into the drone’s systems.
A sting of static made him flinch. Gritting his teeth, he pushed past the discomfort. Fragments of schematic images flickered at the edges of his awareness: crisscrossed circuits, damaged linkages, unstable power feeds. The drone’s internal architecture was like a puzzle scattered by an explosion. He needed to reorder it.
He tried guiding energy flows, willing circuits to redirect. A spark leapt from an exposed filament, and he nearly pulled away. Instead, he concentrated harder, imagining stable configurations. The drone resisted—its systems flared with erratic impulses, as if the machine’s artificial nerves were screaming in pain. Mattius’s arm tingled, as if dozens of tiny needles pricked his skin.
“Come on,” he murmured through clenched teeth. He visualized new paths for the signals to follow, working around damaged components. He found a cracked data node and tried to create a bypass in his mind, patching its logic through secondary couplings. This was no neat lab demonstration; it was like performing delicate surgery on a wounded animal with nothing but his bare hands and imagination.
Gradually, the spark-shower lessened. The drone’s internal chaos subsided into faint static murmurs. He sensed a tenuous order forming. The limb twitched, then rose, as if testing its range. Its sensor array flickered a soft glow. Encouraged, Mattius continued refining the makeshift connections until the drone hovered slightly, albeit unsteadily, above the water.
The soft hum of its thrusters reassured him that at least one thing in this strange world now answered to him. Yet no signal appeared to mark his success—no shift in the pale lavender sky, no whispered prompt of further instructions.
A chill breeze rustled the reeds at his ankles, stirring the stagnant scent of damp earth and mossy decay. He tested his footing, lifting each leg slowly out of the muck and stepping onto firmer ground just beyond the water’s edge. The drone drifted a few centimeters above the surface, sensor array swiveling to track his movements. It seemed curious, or as curious as a machine could seem, with that faint mechanical chirp echoing in the hush.
Mattius waited, heart pounding, for something new to happen. Silence pressed in. The simulation had thrown him into a crisis—repair the drone or fail—and he’d managed it. Now the test offered no further clues. Did they want him to wait until he froze, or perhaps flail helplessly, calling out for mercy? He wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.
If this test measured Warrior aptitude, maybe it wasn’t just about mending broken machinery. Warriors, as he understood, were both technicians and tacticians. They adapted to changing conditions and made use of whatever resources they had. Here he stood in a swampy clearing with no hint of rescue. The world felt authentic enough: a cold wind, moisture in the air, and no guarantee of comfort. Perhaps he needed to show he could endure, take initiative, survive.
He scanned the area. The lake stretched behind him, its dark surface reflecting tattered clouds. Ahead, tangled vegetation and stunted trees formed a ragged coastline of roots and mud. He spotted a slight rise in the land where the ground looked less waterlogged. That might serve as a suitable place to build some form of shelter. He was damp, tired, and the air carried a biting chill. Even if pain or discomfort here were illusions, the test’s realism suggested they wanted to see how he’d handle adversity.
He reached out with his mind, finding that slender mental thread that linked him to the drone. He didn’t have words to give it orders, but he discovered he didn’t need them. A gentle push of intent would suffice: Scan that area for solid footing. Help me find materials. The drone responded with a quiet beep, drifting closer to him, then gliding inland as if sensing his purpose.
Wading through reeds and slippery mud, Mattius followed. The drone hovered ahead, shining a faint beam of light from a repaired sensor node. The beam slid over twisted roots and low ferns, revealing patches of dry ground scattered among soggy depressions. He guided it gently toward a slight knoll, imagining what he needed: a stable base for a lean-to, something to keep the damp chill at bay.
At the foot of a gnarled tree, he tested the soil with his boot. Firmer than the lakeside muck. Good. Mattius knelt, brushing leaves aside. He needed tools—branches, reeds, stones. He had no rope, no blade. Everything he did would have to be improvised.
He studied the trees. They were crooked and stunted, but their branches might be flexible enough to bend or break. He tugged at one low branch. It snapped off with a crack, leaving splinters in his hand. He bit back a curse and tried again, choosing thinner branches that he could pull free more easily. The drone drifted near him, chirping softly as if uncertain. He conveyed reassurance through their link: This is what I need—long branches, sturdy reeds, something to create a frame.
The drone tilted its sensor array, then moved off to one side. Moments later, it hovered over a clump of tall stalks. Mattius pushed through the undergrowth and found slender reeds rising chest-high, their fibrous surfaces rough but pliant. Perfect for weaving. He snapped off several, bundling them by twisting the fibers together. The drone extended its manipulator limb—still bent, but workable—to steady the bundle as he tied it with a strip peeled from another reed.
Step by step, he assembled a crude collection of materials. The drone occasionally nudged a suitable branch toward him or hovered over a spot that concealed flat stones he could use as anchors. He marveled at how responsive it was to his silent suggestions. Through the mental link, he conveyed purpose and direction without fumbling for spoken words. Together, they worked as a team, forging something out of the hostile landscape.
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Back at the knoll, he constructed a simple framework: two forked branches wedged into the earth and a crossbar balanced atop them. Anchoring it with stones took several tries—mud and leaves made the footing precarious. The drone hovered close, shining its light so he could see where the branches fit best. When the crossbar seemed stable, he layered smaller sticks across it, forming a crude lattice. Over this, he draped long reeds, tucking their ends under the crossbar and weighing them down with more stones until he had something resembling a sloped roof.
It wasn’t pretty. Gaps remained where rain or wind could sneak through, and the shelter was barely tall enough for him to sit upright underneath. But it was more than nothing—a place to rest, to huddle against the chill. The drone circled the structure, scanning, and Mattius imagined it evaluating his handiwork.
As he settled beneath the canopy, the reeds rustled gently, forming a soothing whisper against his ear. He wiped sweat from his forehead, surprised at how strenuous the work felt. Simulation or not, his body ached, his hands sore from snapping branches and tugging reeds. He drew his knees up, hugging them for warmth, and sighed.
A flicker caught his eye—just the reflection of the drone’s sensor light against a wet leaf. Still, every movement set his nerves on edge. He realized this environment, for all its quiet, demanded vigilance. The test might still be ongoing. There could be more challenges—a sudden storm, a predator lurking in the shadows. But he’d prepared as best he could. The drone hovered near the entrance, a silent sentinel. He tried to convey gratitude through their link: Thank you for helping.
The drone emitted a soft, musical hum. Mattius smiled. For a moment, he felt almost safe, as if he’d forged a small island of order in a chaotic world. This had to be what they wanted to see: not just his ability to fix a machine but to use it creatively, to solve a problem with limited resources. If the Warrior talent was about synergy with machinery, then he had shown that synergy extended beyond simple repairs. He’d taken a broken drone and crafted with it—a shelter, a brief haven.
Leaning back, he listened to the distant croak of unseen creatures. Night seemed to deepen, or what passed for night in this simulation. The sky’s lavender hue darkened toward indigo, stars timidly flickering into view. He wondered if the Empire’s observers watched him still, noting every decision. Let them watch. He had proven he wouldn’t crumble, wouldn’t drift passively or break down.
In the quiet that followed, Mattius’s thoughts wandered to the Quarter, to Karvel and the others. Would he ever see them again? The Empire had plucked him from that life as if it were nothing. But now he knew he could think, adapt, and build—both in reality and illusion. He would remember that. If they believed him a passive subject, they were mistaken.
He pressed a hand against the shelter’s frame, feeling the reed fibers flex slightly. Even here, he had managed to create a measure of security from the raw materials at hand.
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Dawn came with a sickly, pale glow across the lavender sky. Mattius stirred beneath the crude shelter, stiff and hungry. Rising slowly, he glanced at the drone hovering near the entrance. Its sensor array tilted in greeting. While he had succeeded in bringing it back to life yesterday, he was unable to bring its pulsed energy emitter back online.
He wiped sweat from his brow. If he wanted to eat, he had to find another way. The drone remained his one advantage. Although it couldn’t shoot beams anymore, it could still hover and manipulate small objects. He needed a different kind of weapon—something sturdier than brittle reeds, something with a real cutting edge or blunt force.
Mattius stepped beyond the shelter, scanning the environment. The shallow lake and marshy edges might hide something he could use. Stones, perhaps, could be shaped or at least used as simple bludgeons. Or if he could find a hard piece of bark or bone, he might craft a makeshift knife. He set off carefully along the shoreline, the drone shadowing him quietly.
The mud sucked at his ankles, slowing his progress. After a while, he found a patch of drier ground where tree roots knotted above the soil. He pried at a crooked root and discovered scattered pebbles and stones beneath. Selecting a fist-sized rock with a somewhat sharp ridge, he tried scraping it against another stone. Tiny flakes chipped off—crude, but maybe he could fashion a rough edge by methodically chipping at it. The drone hovered close, as if curious.
Setting to work, Mattius tapped one stone against another, rotating them in his hands. He’d seen scavengers in the Quarter use broken glass or metal shards for knives, but here he had only stone and wood. After several minutes of careful strikes, he managed to grind one stone’s edge into a ragged, sharp surface. It wasn’t pretty, but it could cut if pressed hard enough.
Next, he needed something to secure this “blade” so the drone could wield it. He considered the drone’s manipulator limb—bent but still functional. If he could attach a stone blade to that limb, the drone might strike with it or wedge it into a target. But how to attach it without cords or reeds that break too easily?
He cast his gaze around for tougher material. After some searching, he found a stunted tree with thick, fibrous bark. He peeled long, sinewy strips of it, testing their strength by pulling hard. They resisted, not snapping like reeds. This would have to do.
Working patiently, he positioned the chipped stone against the drone’s manipulator claw. Through their mental link, he guided the drone to hold steady and not jerk away. Then he wound the bark strips tightly around claw and stone, knotting them as best he could. The result was crude: a makeshift axe-like attachment at the end of the drone’s limb. He stepped back to admire his handiwork—odd and primitive, but perhaps effective enough to stun or even cut small animals.
To test it, he had the drone tap the improvised blade against a log. The blade bit into the bark with a dull thunk. Not perfect, but better than bare hands and broken reeds. Now he had a weapon—and one he didn’t have to wield himself. The drone could strike quickly from above, surprising prey before it could escape.
With that settled, he turned to the question of finding food. Knowing that life tended to be around water, h
e motioned for the drone to follow and moved along the edge of the water, scanning for movement. The drone drifted silently, its new blade attachment glinting when a stray beam of light caught the stone’s edge. After several minutes of trudging, Mattius glimpsed ripples along the lakeshore. He slowed, crouching behind a clump of brush.
There, nibbling on wet moss, was a lean, long-tailed rodent-like creature with slick fur and sharp whiskers.Its ears twitched, and it turned its head, beady eyes scanning the area. Mattius froze. If he rushed it himself, the creature would dart away before he got close. The drone’s advantage was speed and surprise.
He communicated a plan through their mental link: Rise above it, wait until it’s distracted, then strike fast and pin it. The drone drifted upward, silent, while Mattius watched from behind the brush.
The rodent-thing sniffed the air and returned to nibbling. Perfect. He sent a mental nudge: Now. The drone dropped swiftly, stone-blade raised. The creature squeaked in alarm, trying to scurry away. The drone’s improvised blade struck its flank, not a clean kill but a sharp enough blow to knock it off balance. It tried to twist free, kicking with hind legs, but the drone hovered, pressing the blade down again in a series of quick jabs. The creature emitted shrill noises, then fell still, its body limp.
Mattius rushed forward, heart pounding. He hated the brutality, but he must eat. Kneeling beside the kill, he felt the creature’s warm body. He retrieved another sharp stone to carefully remove the fur. The drone hovered, watching, as if curious about this next step in survival.
He worked as gently as he could, though the process was messy. Stripping the hide and cutting strips of flesh took time. He reminded himself that none of this was truly real—but it felt real enough to matter. Once he’d harvested enough meat, he carried it back toward his shelter, wary of attracting predators. The drone followed, blade-arm darkened with smears of blood. He’d need to wash that later in the lake.
At the shelter, he realized another challenge: starting a fire. Without the emitter, he had to rely on friction or sparks from stones. He sighed, determined not to fail now. He gathered dry tinder and loose bark. Striking stones together, he tried to produce a spark. It took longer than he’d hoped, but eventually a tiny ember caught. He blew softly, cradling it, feeding it minuscule bits of dry material until a small flame flickered to life. He would only later realize how lucky a section of "stone" he had.
The drone hovered close as he roasted strips of the creature’s flesh on a sharpened stick. The smell was pungent but not as bitter as the frog-meat had been. He tried a bite—chewy, gamey, but it calmed the gnawing hunger inside him. He ate slowly, mindful that too fast a feast might upset his stomach.
He looked at the drone, at the improvised blade secured to its manipulator. Together, they had brought down a creature far faster than he could’ve caught alone. They could likely do it again if needed. As night was approaching he went back into his shelter to head to sleep.