The bell above the old wooden door gave a tired jingle as Veila stepped inside, brushing a bit of rain from her shoulder. The eatery was small, barely lit by the soft glow of lanterns hung from thick wooden beams. The air smelled of baked root vegetables and slow-cooked broth—comforting and warm.
She wasn't planning to eat out, but the rain had started without warning. And this place, with its faded walls and quiet corners, felt like a small escape.
She found a table by the window and slid into the seat, nodding politely to the owner when they came to take her order.
---
The old wooden door creaked as Veila stepped in, her cloak dusted with light rain. The warmth inside greeted her gently. Firewood crackled in a stone hearth, and the smell of fresh bread and seasoned broth filled the room.
It was a small place—old beams, crooked tables, oil lamps swaying softly overhead. Not many people. Just enough to keep it from feeling empty.
She moved toward a table near the window, where the glass fogged slightly from the warmth inside meeting the chill outside.
That's when she noticed her—Mira, seated alone at a corner table, sipping from a clay cup.
Their eyes met.
Mira blinked, then stood. She crossed over quietly, stopping beside Veila's table. "You're here," she said softly, a little surprised.
Veila nodded once. "So are you."
A brief silence passed before Mira spoke again. "Thank you. For what you did… for my brother."
Veila looked at her, expression unreadable, and simply replied, "It was nothing."
Mira didn't argue. Instead, she glanced toward the counter. "Let me buy you something to eat?"
Veila paused, then gave the faintest of nods.
They sat together at the window, Mira waving to the old woman at the counter for two bowls of stew and a jug of soft cider. No more words about the past. Just the clinking of spoons, quiet eating, and the subtle sense of something easing between them.
It wasn't lively. It wasn't fast.
But it was real.
As they finished eating, Mira glanced toward the door, then back at Veila. "I actually live just around the corner," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Second left past the well, near the place with the hanging lantern. Small stone house with red vines on the fence. You'll see it."
Veila nodded, committing it to memory.
Mira hesitated a moment, then added, "If you're free… you could stop by."
Veila looked at her, calm as ever. "I will. Tomorrow."
A simple promise—quiet, unforced.
Mira gave a small smile, and the two of them stood to leave, the weight between them a little lighter than before.
___________
Scene: The Strategy Hall
The long chamber was dimly lit by arcane lanterns, their pale blue glow casting soft shadows across the stone floor. A round table stood at the center, surrounded by high-backed chairs where figures in uniform sat — captains, junior captains, and instructors, their expressions sharpened by experience.
A few stood with arms crossed, others leaned forward in their seats. Steam curled from untouched cups of herbal brew.
Instructor Halric, the eldest of them, spoke first. "It's been a long time since we've seen a batch this… charged."
Captain Elenor( research division)tapped her fingers lightly against the table. "You mean difficult."
"No," said Halric, voice level. "I mean different."
Junior Captain Vael( research division) leaned back in his chair. "You're referring to the royals, I assume."
"Among other things," said Halric. "But yes. Royals — and not just from fringe bloodlines. We have daughters of dukes, sons of high advisors… and," he paused, "the prince himself."
The room shifted at those words — not with surprise, but with quiet gravity.
"Altherion," Elenor confirmed. "He passed the outer tests without favor. No title used."
"That was intentional," murmured Vael. "The king wants him shaped by merit."
Another instructor, Veyron , lean and sharp-eyed, added, "It places pressure on the others. The moment they recognize his status, everything becomes a contest of posture."
"Not just pressure," said Halric. "Opportunity. Watch closely—some of these recruits will try to prove themselves by rising above him."
Junior Captain Lareth (Custom operation division), one of the younger ones, chimed in. "And some will try to gain his favor."
---
Instructor Halric set his cup down gently.
"Still… it's not just the royals. The sheer number of high-performing recruits this year is remarkable."
Captain Elenor nodded. "Agreed. And most of them are turning up in the Research Division. That's what's unusual."
"They're not just brawlers," added Junior Captain Vael . "They think. Some of their match strategies today were—rough, yes—but there was raw brilliance underneath."
Captain Maris (Custom operation) scoffed lightly. "Brilliance with no polish is still dangerous."
"True," Elenor replied. "But it's better than dull blades altogether. And this year, the Research Division is full of sharpened edges waiting for purpose."
Halric leaned forward, fingers steepled. "We've seen formations in the past — strength heavy, theory weak. Or gifted minds who collapse in pressure. But this batch… it's different."
"There's balance," murmured Lareth.
"And hunger," Elenor added. "That's the word for it. Hunger. Some of them — noble or not — are moving like the ground beneath them might vanish tomorrow."
Veyron grunted. "We'll see how long that spirit holds when they're pulled deeper into real operations."
"The pairing structure will reveal more," Halric said. "Now that the 3-person team formations are locked, we'll see who adapts. Who carries. Who falters."
Maris looked toward the dim archways of the hall. "And who begins to stand out... for better or worse."
A figure stood up from his seat closer to the central projection—tall, broad-shouldered, armored in deep black and red arc steel. His cloak bears the mark of the Ember Sigil, worn by only one living man.
Captain Lucien Drachmour (Attack Division)
He does not raise his voice. He doesn't need to.
"You speak of recruits as if they have time."
Silence. Even Captain Maris stops her usual smirk. Lucien continues, his voice cold and deliberate, each word edged in weight.
"Five cities have gone silent. Trade lines vanish. And shadows move with no name, no banner, no declaration. They do not seek conquest. They seek collapse. From within."
A long pause. No one interrupts.
"You think we are preparing soldiers. We are not. We are forging shields. Every one of them must be a wall. If they falter, the kingdom falls inward."
"Make no mistake. This is not a season of peace. It is the breath before the break."
"Train them. Without mercy."
He steps away from the projection. The meeting is over. No one dares add another word.
They all fell silent for a moment. The room held the heavy stillness of foresight, but the weight of knowing that something long-stirring had begun to move.
_______
Scene: Division Grounds – Later That Day
The three divisions—Research, Custom, and Attack—stand assembled in formation. For the first time since selection, each division sees them: their Junior Captains.
Each one stands alone before their recruits, eyes stern.
▪️ Junior Captain Vael (Research Division):
> "Orders from Captain Lucien Drachmour. From this moment on, training will escalate. Mercy is no longer part of the schedule. You will not complain. You will not fall behind. You will become unbreakable."
The junior Captain leaves after making his announcement
Kael shows no surprised reaction and neither does Liane and some of the recruits.
Ren and a few others like him begin panicking.
---
Research Division Barracks – That Night
The low murmur never quite dies out. It drifts from bed to bed, between candlelight and shadow, carrying on nervous voices pretending not to care.
"You've heard it, right? What happened at Dreadmoore Rift?"
"The border fortress?"
"No, not just that. The whole valley. Gone."
The speaker lowers his voice, as if saying it too loud might summon something.
"They say Captain Drachmour walked into a siege of over a thousand. Alone."
"Impossible."
"Shut up and listen—he didn't take soldiers with him. No backup. Just him. He told the General on duty to stand down and wait until nightfall. Then he walked through the valley."
"What happened?"
"Silence. Not a sound all night. When the sun rose, every enemy soldier was gone. No bodies. No blood. Just… ash. And Captain Drachmour, standing at the edge of the cliff. His armor scorched black. Eyes glowing like embers."
Another recruit chimes in, quieter.
"My brother's in the Custom Division. He said even Captain Maris doesn't speak in front of him unless he asks her something directly."
A final whisper:
"They call him the Ember Blade behind his back. Because anything he decides to cut… burns."
No one speaks after that. Some try to sleep. Most just stare at the ceiling, wondering what kind of training awaits them.
---