Riley remained in the chapel long after the tears had stopped, sitting in the quiet shadow of moonlight and memory. His fingers absently rolled the silver ring in his palm—the only proof left of Elias, Thalia, and the life they had lost. The bones beside him had crumbled to dust, but the emotions still clung to his chest like wet cloth.
The moon had begun to fall.
It didn't look familiar—larger, heavier in the sky. The moon dipped like a setting sun, sinking slowly and deliberately toward the horizon. Its surface resembled the moon Riley had known, but something felt off. The darker patches and the craters' placement were all wrong. Subtly wrong. Uncanny. Still, Riley had no choice but to accept it—just another quiet reminder that this world followed its rules, not his own.
Riley stood with a sigh, slipping the ring into his jeans pocket. He'd cried most of the night away. Now, all that remained was exhaustion. But as he turned to leave the chapel, a troubling thought struck him.
His earpiece had been silent.
No static. No glitches. No sardonic commentary from Proxy. Nothing since entering the settlement. It had gone from constant chatter to absolute silence.
"Hey... Proxy?" he muttered, tapping the device. "Proxy, you there?"
No reply.
A frown creased his brow. Proxy had led him this far. Had he used Riley? Was he simply a pawn in someone else's strategy? The unease curled in his stomach as he stepped into the chapel's ruined doorway, the sky outside dim with approaching dawn—or whatever Velura's version of it was.
Then—movement.
Riley barely had time to register it before something heavy struck him from behind. A bag was yanked over his head, pulling tight. Hands grabbed his arms and legs. He kicked, struggled, and shouted. A needle stabbed into his arm.
His body went limp.
Darkness swallowed him again.
He woke to motion.
Not the gentle sway of nature, but the jarring bump of wheels over uneven terrain. Riley's arms were bound tightly behind his back. A coarse cloth bag still blinded him, but flashes of light seeped through the fabric—headlights? Lanterns?
He shifted, testing his restraints.
Thwack.
Pain shot through his skull as someone smacked him from behind.
"Don't move," a deep voice growled. "We'll be there soon."
The rest of the journey passed in silence, broken only by the rhythmic thump of tires and the flicker of lights, like stars blinking past a highway at night. Riley counted the seconds. He'd been abducted. Again.
He thought about Proxy.
No voice. No guidance.
Eventually, the vehicle came to a stop. He was unbuckled, but not untied. Rough hands shoved him forward, marching him across gravel and steel. Then, the bag was ripped from his head.
Blinding light hit him first. He blinked hard.
They were inside a vast cavern settlement, shielded from the outside world. The ceiling arched high above like the hollowed-out belly of a mountain, lit by glowing fungi and artificial floodlamps. Buildings made of stone and timber clustered tightly together, walkways winding through them like veins. People moved in and out of shops, armories, and barracks—all armed, all disciplined.
"Big place," Riley muttered under his breath.
Before he could take it in, a tall man in black armor approached. His eyes were cold, unreadable.
"Welcome," the man said, voice deep. "You are now a soldier of Legion."
Riley blinked.
"Wait, what—?"
"Your handler flagged you. You demonstrated signs of Talent activation. That qualifies you for training. Six weeks. Eastern compound."
"Handler… you mean Proxy?" Riley asked, stomach twisting.
The man gave a small nod.
"He did his job. Whether you survive yours... is up to you."
Riley wanted to scream, to argue. But instead, he just stood there—silent.
Because deep down, he knew he had nowhere else to go.
A soldier grabbed him by the arm and began dragging him deeper into the city. Riley didn't resist.
They passed checkpoints, each more fortified than the last. Soldiers stood at every vantage point—rifles strapped to their backs, swords across their hips. Riley caught glimpses of massive, shoulder-mounted weapons too—thick as tree trunks, glimmering with etchings. Oversized sniper rifles?
"Who even lifts those?" Riley muttered.
The soldier ignored him.
Eventually, they reached a large compound encased in concrete and iron. Barbed wire coiled across its roof like a nest of serpents. A gate guard exchanged words with Riley's escort, showed identification, and waved them through.
Inside, chaos.
A hundred or more new recruits gathered beneath floodlights in a wide courtyard. Some stood confidently, laughing with others. Many looked nervous. All wore clothes that didn't fit the setting—jeans, t-shirts, jackets from back home.
He was shoved forward, stumbled—and collided into someone.
The man turned slowly.
Broad-shouldered. Towering.
His eyes were ice-cold, and his voice, posh and venomous.
"Touch me again," he said, "and I'll break you in half."
He turned back to his friends, who laughed quietly. Riley took a slow breath, hands curling into fists.
He then decided to look around and see if there was anyone he could talk to. To be honest there wasn't much. Then he noticed her.
A young woman standing nearby, arms crossed, posture composed. She didn't laugh. Didn't move. Her presence radiated calm—and beauty. But what stopped Riley cold was the familiarity in her features. Something about her face… Her dark hair tied in a bun…
His hand dropped into his pocket, fingers curling around the ring.
She turned, met his gaze.
He looked away.
A stage stood at the far end of the yard, flanked by Legion banners. A man stepped forward—tall, square-jawed, clad in full uniform. Medals shimmered across his chest.
His presence silenced the entire field.
When he spoke, his voice boomed with authority.
"Welcome to Legion."
No cheer. No welcome party. Just dread.
"We are the blade between humanity and extinction. We are the wall that holds back the storm. In six weeks, you will either become one of us, or be sent back broken."
His eyes swept the crowd.
"You are here because you possess Talents. Some of you are Light-Class, barely able to do anything fancy. Others are Titan-Class or higher—already capable of fighting a dragon. We respect power here. Nothing else."
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
He continued, his voice sharper now.
"Those of you with lower classes will work harder. Earn your place. In Legion, your Class determines your rank, and in turn, you're resource access and deployment. There is no fairness. No equality. There is only Talent."
Riley frowned.
This wasn't a sanctuary.
It was a machine.
And he was about to be broken down, sorted, and fed into it.
The commander's eyes locked with his.
"And to those of you who think you can skate through on sympathy or excuses—understand this: weakness gets others killed. If you fail, you're not just a burden. You're a liability."
He paused. The weight of his words hung like a guillotine.
"Now form ranks. Your scans begin at dawn."
Riley stood motionless as the crowd began to move. He could already feel the eyes on him—judging, calculating, some dismissive, others predatory.
And for the first time in a long time…
He missed Proxy.