When Silver Burned: Chapter 29-31 (Patreon)

29 - Rivals

Swords are more than just pointy sticks. You wave them around, arms flailing like a hysterical octopus and hope the metal rod hits the thing in your general vicinity that's bothering you. Simple, in theory. Problem is, the waving around part requires a hell of a lot more finesse than you'd think at first glance. That's why, if you aim to improve said arm-flailing, you better find someone who's not afraid to show you the error of your ways with a generous dosage of blunt pain all over your body.

And some people are more generous with dealing out pain than others.

Kalsin cupped his jaw, opening and closing his mouth like a stranded fish and hoping all his teeth remained intact. Over the last few days he'd become a little more intimate with Ringtail's elbow than he'd ever meant to be.

Ringtail circled an arm as if to stretch her muscles, but the seemingly casual move didn't fool Kalsin. He scored a decent smack to her forearm with the flat of his blade that must've smarted more than his jaw. Her pain tolerance or her pride; Kalsin wasn't sure which one was the culprit.

"That one's on me. Should've seen it coming," Kalsin said over the noise of sparring recruits around them. Though it was still dark with only the faintest lines of dawn lighting up the horizon, they'd been at it for long enough to fill the open farmland with a sweaty tang.

"Why didn't you?" Ringtail said back. "I dropped the spin after you said it was, quote, 'too predictable', so you shouldn't be one to complain."

After confirming he didn't suffer any permanent dental injuries, Kalsin got back into position. "Not complaining, no, just surprised. When'd you ever take my suggestions to heart?" 

"Never said I did. Maybe I was already gonna do that without your input."

Before Kalsin could point out the unlikely chances of that being a coincidence, Ringtail came at him. Her strikes blurred quickly as Kalsin parried one after another, keeping her offense at bay. They traded back and forth, pushing the other to give up a few steps of ground before being driven back. They had become familiar with each other's styles enough that, for all they knew, there could've been an unseen puppeteer hanging above their heads and directing each move and motion.

Each swipe Kalsin blocked had just a little more strength behind it, growing in concert with Ringtail's always mounting frustration. It gave her a frightening edge in terms of resilience, but made her more predictable to those with enough perception to see one step farther than the blade coming at them, and solve the puzzle that was the person wielding it instead. 

In contrast, Kalsin kept his emotions locked in a far-away box as his sword whistled through the air, his face a calm surface. No intimidation, no mental edge, only the consistency of someone confident in the skill of their craft. It was a lesson life had taught him; someone with a complete lack of surge could not afford to make mistakes in a duel. Practice or no, he never fought for the thrill of it. That was not an indulgence he could afford to make.

They separated for a moment, giving Kalsin barely enough time to switch positions. He held his sword below the waist, blade lowered toward the ground in a so-called fool's guard.

As Kalsin expected, her strike came at his upper body, and he raised his sword into a hanging parry, blade aligning with his body almost vertically. Their swords connected with bone rattling force, but Kalsin already had his free hand shooting toward Ringtail's two-handed grip. As she was about to disengage from her overreached position, instead of trying to pry her blade out of her hands, Kalsin leaned in and added some extra force to her pull. Suddenly realizing her sword’s pommel was sailing at her own face a little faster than she would've liked, Ringtail twisted her body out of the way. Or tried to.

The good news was, the pommel of her sword made a glancing connection with her cheek, still hard enough to leave a mark. Bad news was that before he could call his victory, Kalsin lost his balance and bodily collapsed on top of her smaller form.

That in itself didn't cause Kalsin much grief. He tried avoiding it, but it wasn't for the first time spars ended up in a pile of tangled limbs. So as he laid on his sparring partner—who only managed a groan through her hand plastered to her face—he muttered an apology and rolled himself off her to the side. He caught his breath for a moment before he pushed himself into a sitting position, then looked over at Ringtail, hoping he didn't give her lasting brain damage.

Ringtail's shirt had ridden up, exposing a lightly muscled stomach that Kalsin might've been able to appreciate for a fraction of a second. That is, if there wasn't a rotten black line ruining the tanned landscape of her skin.

A dizzying force of nausea hit Kalsin harder than the elbow minutes ago. It was a good thing he wasn't fully upright because he felt his legs go weak, promptly flattening him back on the soft grass. 

Fuck. He blinked at the recruit slowly regaining her wits next to him. Not trusting his legs, Kalsin performed another inelegant roll to put more distance between the two of them. In his state, it was a miracle his breakfast remained where it belonged, though it only did by a slim margin. He stared at the gray sky, focusing on the ringing of steel to settle his squirming insides.

Too close. He'd come way too close to disaster. If it wasn't for a single layer of fabric separating them, he'd have a third scar added to his collection right about now. And a suddenly, mysteriously Clenn recruit raising hell in a thousand mile radius. He bit back a fresh wave of sickness.

"What the hell," Ringtail spat from somewhere nearby. Roast him on a spike if Kalsin was going to look again. "I had you, I did, and then come your spontaneous bullshit again. Handgrabs, tackles. You got a sword, how hard is it to just use the damn thing!"

"Says the one who just slammed an elbow in my face not two minutes ago."

"'Least that was an honest hit, not some smoke and mirrors trick. A bait that obvious would never work on the field."

Kalsin pushed himself to a sitting position, meeting Ringtail's glare. "Seeing how it worked on a moron like you, I wouldn't bet on that." 

"Who cares," she said, then gave a smile that was all teeth. "Next time I'll just come without a shirt and watch you run off crying to mommy and daddy."

He barely noticed when or how, but a moment later he was standing face to face with and equally pissed off Ringtail. He felt his body shake all over, but it didn't stop him from shoving her roughly. "That's all you can do, isn't that the truth? 'Ghost, that's cheating! Ghost, I'm so much better than you!' Brute force till you get what you want. Please, go on and rush ahead with that attitude so I can celebrate over the worthless carcass of a Scarrd who got impaled by the first sharp object in her way. Preferably right through the gut."

Something resembling uncertainty flickered through Ringtail's face, as if she didn't expect to be on the receiving end of an outburst. Probably thinking, Ghost had never spoken back to her, so why the sudden change of heart? Or maybe she was weighing her chances if things escalated past practice. One or the other, Kalsin was past the point of caring. "You know, where I come from, people have fucking standards. See this face, hm? The rot between my eyes, the one right here underneath? I could tie a cloth over them, cover them up. Sure as shit would make my life a lot easier, but I learned manners growing up, manners enough to have the decency and let people know which part of mine they should avoid."

Ringtail stared at him with visible shock. Several recruits have stopped their training around them.

"But no, you, you're above that. Why's that, I wonder. Maybe you think if people don't see that hideous thing on you, they'll treat you like a Clenn? Parade through the underworld as Scarrd defer to you, not knowing you're just as much of a human garbage as they are? Probably the reason you're here in the army, I'm thinking. Messed over a good deal of people before they found out and tried throwing you in a cell like you deserved. And those people, they had it right. They're better off without you."

Ringtail blinked once. "Fuck you," she whispered before quickly turning. 

She picked up her sword and marched away.

Kalsin ran a hand through his sweat slicked hair, eyes shut as he let the early morning wind wade through him. What on earth was he doing? He lost control, that's what, and now he had hushed whispers directed at him all around. Drawing unwanted attention was the last thing he needed, especially not by insulting all and every Scarrd in earshot. Stupid, him and his mouth.

He was tired of improvising. Without a solid plan, things would careen off the road and leave him crushed under the wheels sooner or later, and soon had long passed by now. What was he doing here, going off to the end of the world only to play soldier and defend a country he didn't care for? He almost ripped off his uniform then and there, making a run toward Jack and Cinder, and to the depths with the consequences. Almost.

"Here," Fals said, holding out his dropped sword to him hilt first. 

Kalsin didn't even notice her creep up on him. He needed to get his shit together. He mumbled a thank you as he slipped the weapon in his scabbard, though not before swiping the dirty blade clean on his trousers. "Enjoyed the show?" he asked.

Fals gave a so-so gesture. "Eh. Would've preferred a frothing tankard of grog to go along with it, but we take what we can get. Just be glad Brownweather likes his beauty sleep, or you'd be getting a historical dressing down. Both you and Ringtail, probably."

"Probably," Kalsin allowed. He hesitated. "Just, you know. I didn't mean all I’ve said. A Scarrd bad mouthing other Scarrd while serving in the Scarrd Division, no rationale can rightly justify that. Lost my temper. Lashed out at the easiest target. Sorry."

"Hah, you gotta try harder than that to hurt the feelings of little bold me," Fals said. "I've said my fair share of things I didn't mean, so yeah. We're good. And I get it. Phobias are twisted things just by themselves, but..." She grimaced. "Say me, for example. I'm overweight, I know it, and I still think I'm the most incredible tavern rat that has graced the world with its voice. I hate my fat, but I don't hate me for my fat, if that makes sense. And I don't hate others for theirs. That's all good and dandy the way it is." 

Fals had a dreamy expression as she started chewing on a fingernail. "Now, if someone harbors full-blown hatred for a select group of people, and this is a group of people that he also belongs to… then where is the line between others and the self? The distinctions blur together. Things become jumbled. Like a tumor, something part of the person but separate from the whole." She gave Kalsin a smile, still nibbling away. "Eeeh, twisted things. Anyway, you have to be a special kind of fucked-up to exist like that. While I think you could use some lessons in tact, you're a decent bloke. No need to convince me otherwise. I don't believe a guy like you could really hate Scarrd. That, and himself alongside it."

Kalsin watched the brightening clouds for some time after she'd left. 

"'Course not, Fals. Of course not." 

He adjusted the sling of his scabbard and joined the dispersing crowd. They broke camp, and by the time Warmlight cast its first rays down from the sky, the recruits were already moving east.

30 - Brother and Sister

The following days slipped past quicker than a current swept eel. The fifty-something men and women, soon-to-be defenders of the Ember Republic, walked along roads and slithering fractures from daybreak to dayfall, after which they put their exhausted muscles through further abuse under—or behind—Lieutenant Brownweather's barely watchful eyes. If someone hadn't broken in their military issued boots beforehand, they definitely did throughout the journey. Groans, blisters and a general gray atmosphere had become just as commonplace as the visage of forever slanting wheat, bean, and corn mounds, something the mountainous landscape had no shortage of—at least at the start. The ground slowly evened out the farther they marched east, and it was a fact that didn't go unappreciated by the recruits.

Though he'd never explored this side of Újtavak, Kalsin's expectation of a sparse local population was quickly proven wrong. Standing on high ground, one could see settlements scattered across the region, tiny dots of civilisations sitting between the archipelago's web of fractures. They passed anything and everything from small huts to lone travelers' inns, religious shrines to disorganized yet bustling settlements. And the people, well, the people of the region were a lot of things, but boring wasn't one of them.

If Kalsin wanted to describe them in a single set of words, he'd have gone with 'farmer marauders'. Imagine this; a wide brimmed hat, bad teeth, white linen shirt with dark—and significantly dirtier—pants, topped off with a handcrafted axe or spear tied across the back. Practical, slightly intimidating. Judging from the number of narrow-eyed glares they had received, the people around these parts were either deeply suspicious, or looked into the sun for so long the expression had stuck on their face permanently.

Speaking of the sun, Blindlight had come, stayed for two days, and was gone without much issue. Their group had waited out the radiance in a little town called Hammershine, safely tucked in near-empty barns and chicken coops, then quickly resumed their journey. The only downside was the unpleasant odor of animal filth that accompanied them afterwards, especially true for Youthere, who had a pig defecate on his feet during the night. Ironically enough, it was Batshit giving him the most, uh, shit, about the unfortunate event. Even if this soldiering gig didn't work out for them, those two were definitely going places.

A few times Kalsin had caught sight of the Clenn recruits marching ahead. They were perhaps a quarter of a day's time ahead of them, similarly being escorted toward their destination by their own delegation of Clenn soldiers. The group was too far ahead for Kalsin to make out individuals, though it wasn't for the lack of trying. He could only see their golden uniforms glinting in the sun as if mocking the lesser creatures who followed in their footsteps.

Kalsin missed Cinder and Jack, and being so close yet separated only made the feeling intensify. What started as a sluggish fly buzzing in the back of his mind soon grew into a bloody trumpeting elephant with wings. He wanted to see them. He needed to know if they were fine. He’s been out of loop for too long, been stepping to the beat of others too obediently. 

So, after making sure he could slip away unseen, Kalsin sneaked out of their camp every night when he had the chance, closed some distance between him and the Clenn squad, and waited. 

Kalsin lost track of time as he adhered to the routine of practice, walking, and the snippets of sleep he caught after crawling into his bedroll, returning from yet another fruitless attempt to meet his friends in the night. He thought it unlikely, but if the people around him managed to look past his scars, they might've noticed the circles under his eyes—but to be fair, the growing stress was not exclusive to Kalsin. Many of the recruits also had it in spades. 

Later arrivals, those who'd only had a couple days of training before the march, like Deplomacy, Quiescent, Leather and Yesfellow, could barely keep on their feet by the time the group stopped to rest. Even Uggo and Joe, two men who'd been there from the start, weren't immune to the mounting pressure, evident from their bloodshot eyes. And those were just the physical signs. Complaints. Sour attitudes. Bitching and moaning in the morning, switched up by the suddenly soulful confession to get off the chest around the somber campfire, like lost men clinging to mortality. 

Whether he wanted or not, Kalsin learned many things about his companions during those evenings. Littleguy had lost a family. Pike had a knack for gardening and loved the smell of blooming lantana. Ringtail—who still maintained her bratty rivalry toward Kalsin—had worked as a thief-for-hire before the army, but funnily enough, the arrest that landed her in the military was based on false charges.

So, yes. They had it rough. It showed, and Kalsin was hardly an exception in that regard. Some caved, others coped, but they all put one foot after the other, because it was something they all signed up for. Coerced for the most part, but still. The illusion of choice had to count for something.

It was during one evening, after they had camped at the shore of a wide pond with ashen dirt and vegetation sparse around the edges, when Kalsin snuck out under the moonlight again. The water was calm and the night peaceful. The flap of the tent Kalsin shared with Crawl and Littleguy barely disturbed the silence as it swished back into place behind him. He looked around, took a moment to inhale the musty scent of still water, and moved out.

Creeping around the camp was easy on most nights; one or two days a week, Brownweather would remember to bark some orders and single out a couple of recruits for guard duty, but everyone knew it was more for the sake of training than actual watching for threats. This deep into the Republic, nobody would dare mess with the army. Not even for the potential haul of dirt- expensive swords and horses. It made Kalsin's former self as a hunter a little jealous. Vultures had many things; fine articles of steel, good leather packs, a mount to get around. But the fearsome reputation of a collective system of authority to scare off thieves wasn't one of them.

Kalsin soon left their tents behind and fell into a comfortable rhythm toward the Clenn camp. The moon was out in its full glory, casting a pale light on the shrub-lined wilderness and dirt road cutting through it. A high note of katydid—bush cricket—accompanied him at first, but even that much faded as he trudged to the thump of his heavy boots along the road. The wind held its breath, summer air warm, unmoving and unexpectedly pleasant.

The next hour swept past in a dreamy state, just walking, thinking, talking out loud, and more walking. 

Though he acted the opposite, and few looking in would've guessed it… but Kalsin wasn't a people person. Not really. Not for long, at any rate. To maneuver the snare traps of conversations, to say the right things when the right things needed to be said—anyone can learn that. Easy as popping a leg out the socket. But the sound, the crunch, the feeling of bones slipping out of place—they wear on your mental if you're not wired for it. The pressure builds up, bit by bit, until it either breaks open with an explosion, or you let it out in a controlled environment and without judging eyes. 

Kalsin preferred the latter.

He never remembered much of his ravings. It suited him well enough. He often emerged with burning eyes and the last pulses of a splitting headache, or curled on the ground, head tucked deep under his arms. One time, he woke in complete darkness only to find out he'd tore up his shirt and tied the ruined cloth over his eyes. Things like that. Everything was a blessed blur afterwards. The one detail he knew, that he was absolutely sure of, was that he never let other people see him in such a state. Shut it in a deep corner of his mind and keep going until he found solitude.

So when he felt a hand suddenly grip his shoulder, his senses returned like a sharp arc of lighting. He grabbed the arm, twisted with the entire weight of his body and pushed off to gain some distance. His knife was halfway out by the time he recognised the woman stumbling back, one arm cradled against her chest with another that ended in a stump.

Kalsin stared at his sister, breaths coming in gasps. 

"Slow it," Cinder said in a calming voice. "Slow it, Kalsin. It's just me."

Kalsin felt his fingers go numb and he barely noticed his knife hit the ground. Tears that hurt with each drop—how long had he been crying?—poured down his face as he nearly tackled his sister in a bone grinding hug. He could delude himself all he wanted, but there was no denying how much her absence had shaken him.

Cinder let out a strangled laugh, hugging him back as much as she was able. "Missed your ugly mug, too. Augh, 'right, let me out please. Off of me with you." She took a step back, smiling at Kalsin. "You've grown at least two more layers of muscles on those arms."

Dressed in a similar uniform than that of Kalsin, except gold instead of gray, Cinder looked good under the pale light. She always did. Amidst all the confusion and uncertainty, Kalsin was glad to find some things never changed.

"I, uh... Yeah." Kalsin said. He cleared his throat. "Been getting lots of practice to up my form."

"I can imagine. They must be driving a hard routine over there, with and how you were no slouch to begin with." Cinder said. Her eyes fell on Kalsin’s jaw. On his new scar.

Just that single look made Kalsin wince, sharply turning his cheek away.

 "Shit, Kalsin,” Cinder said quietly. “I'm... shit."

Kalsin snorted, though it was a weak sound. He wiped his eyes, and even through his clothes he felt the sick texture of his old scar. He didn't want to think about the other, the one perched right along his jaw, the one that used to belong to his friend and bodyguard. "Good enough summary. That's about as far as I got, myself."

"How did it happen? How could it?"

"Dunno. Magic, maybe?" Kalsin tried for a nonchalant tone, even though he was aware that his sister could see deep below the surface. "Woke in a cell with this thing on my jaw. Turns out, these rotten things are contagious via touch. Funny. It really is. I always wanted to be unique and stand out from the rest, but this wasn't exactly the talent I had in mind."

Cinder stayed silent for a while. "And still no...?"

"Nah." Kalsin said. He didn't have the surge. But that was a hope Kalsin had long given up on. He had no wish to pry open that particular lid. Instead, he asked, "What about Jack? How's she doing?"

Cinder searched his face with a troubled look, and Kalsin suspected she wouldn't let a change so significant in his little brother's life go that easily. But she acquiesced a moment later. "She's doing good. Better, actually, better than I've seen in a long time. Whatever you did to her—willingly or not—it put a storm in her sails. I’ve never seen her more determined."

Kalsin felt some of his strain ebb away hearing the news. Jack was well. That counted for something. "Determined to do what?"

"Just, determined in, eh, a fuck-if-i-know sort of general sense. Driven, you know? To get up in the morning, push things that can be pushed."

Cinder gave Kalsin a playful shove, then sat on a clear patch of grass left open between the jumble of brushes. She patted the spot next to her. She fidgeted as Kalsin joined her, excitement almost rolling off of her like drifting smoke. When Kalsin was about to ask, Cinder said, "She advanced to root."

At first, that threw Kalsin for a loop. Then he remembered Jack was Clenn now; previously dirt, the next step would've been rot. But those were surge names for the Scarrd. A Clenn dirt was a nail, and a nail would be called a root when advancing.

Cinder, who had a stupid grin plastered on her face, faltered for a second. "So. Are you ecstatic or what. She's not one for celebration, 'specially not when marching for war, but news like that are bigger than bull balls."

"No, I am. I'm happy for her." And he was. But Kalsin found himself searching for words. "I'm just thinking… why now? She could've advanced all the way to hive any time she wanted, as a Scarrd. I asked her, before, I asked many times. Her answer was always to, um, use her physical surge and put me on my ass in an instant. I figured it meant she was content with her dirt powers."

Cinder snapped off a nearby branch. "Well, it's not like I asked her. She still, you know. Treats me as if I..." She fiddled with the leaves, tearing off one or another. Kalsin could tell something was nagging at her. Cinder butchered another set of leaves. She sneaked a glance at Kalsin, an intense and thoughtful look. As if holding back something important. As if wondering if he was ready for it.

But then the moment was gone, and she shrugged. "Anyway. You don't need a degree in deep-fracture mathemations to guesstimate Jack’s motivations. Before, as a Scarrd, her ceiling as a hive was set in stone. But now?" She tossed a fistful of leaves in the air. "Now the limit is well and truly the shining nipples of the night sky. As Clenn, she has the chance to be overworld. From root to abyss, and beyond. It's not an easy journey, that. It could take years and years and even more years—not to mention the risks. But imagine. She's finally been granted the chance that life denied her so long ago."

His sister smiled at him. Kalsin returned it, unsure what he was feeling. Cinder put an arm around him, giving him a squeeze and bumping him in the chest with her stump. "You, Kalsin. You gave her back that chance."

Kalsin carefully, slowly disentangled the arm from behind his neck. But he didn't move otherwise. He stayed like that, aware of his sister next to him, her questing gaze on him. Kalsin spoke, eventually, voice quiet. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say exactly what you want to say. No more or less than that."

Kalsin dug his heel in the ground. He kicked at the soft soil bunched under his boot, sending a spray of dirt everywhere. "Fuck it all," he said, sudden anger making his voice unsteady. "Pointless remarks, useless sisterly wisdom. Is that why you came all this way to meet in the dead of night, out of the Clenn camp?"

"No. I came because I wanted to see you, but most of all, because I knew how much you needed to see me. Anything above that is just a plus," Cinder said. "Things are a mess. I get it. I get it more than anyone else ever could. So talk to me. Or don't. I'll understand either way."

Kalsin's anger had no foothold against that. It seeped away, and he was left with something resembling peace.

"Back when we were kids, when I got my scar and left for Gulling, I never thought you'd come after me. Bad times. The worst, maybe, days of my life I can remember. But what did you do, Cinder? Instead of the rational course of action, after you recovered from being crippled by a mythos, you up and defy your father and follow the adopted kid he sent away? Your brother who was at least partially responsible for what happened to you? A mad choice. Find him, stay with him. A Clenn siding with a Scarrd, and in turn, rejecting the acceptance of both worlds. I don't know... how many times have I told you to leave my side? To find something better for yourself?"

Cinder smiled. "Many."

"Many. Yeah. But your stubborn ass wouldn't budge, no matter how much I pleaded or screamed or smashed silverware to pieces over the years. But for all your blind loyalty, you didn't see what it was doing to me. Yes, I needed you. You kept me going, but it was a double edged sword to watch you pay the price. It wasn't fair, Cinder. In throwing everything away for my sake, you also gave me a front row seat to watch the life you didn't get to live. I wanted it to stop. To make it right.

"So we searched for a cure. And, after pushing through hell and razor storms, we found it." Kalsin laughed, raising his arms in a mocking gesture. "Behold! The savior of all, except for himself, the one he really needs to save to make things right. A cosmic fucking joke, eh? And I don't even get to be selfish, because curing myself was never about me. It was about us. Siblings made equal. It's just, Cinder..." He laughed again. It came out as a hitch. "It's not fair. Not fucking fair."

Cinder never interrupted. She just sat there, listening to him rant, cry, then finally talk about whatever came to mind. Inconsequential things. 

She had no solution to offer and no advice to give, offering no more input than a gray boulder jutting out and above the restless sea. But maybe that's exactly what she needed to be, for him; unmoving and safe, a constant within an unpredictable world full of terrifying changes.

Kalsin told her about the new people he'd come to meet. The friendly duo of Crawl and Littleguy, their asswad of a lieutenant, the eccentric blue-haired Cyanfish. His troubles learning the halberd. His unexpectedly newfound love for a fruit part of the military ration called jégberry. 

Cinder, in turn, spoke about the difficulties of shield formation with one hand, and the story about convincing her officers to train her as a scout instead. They compared the two divisions, how the Scarrd practically ignored the surge while the Clenn did the opposite with mandatory training, categorizing men based on their powers. 

They recalled the sights they'd seen, people they pissed off, shared rumors about the East. Where they stood right now and where they were going.

It was good. Simple. 

Kalsin wished that night would never end.

31 - I’m Coming For You (INTERLUDE)

A second was an eternity in her mind. For but a fleeting moment, thoughts swirled within the confines of her head, looking for routes and connecting pathways quicker than the conscious could follow.

Half a second: the map of the Eastern Expanse spread out before her. From her vantage point up in the skyline of aVonal, she could see a row of endless forts that marked the Inner Line of Defense. Further out, the red tundra got more and more desolate as the Old appeared with a barely perceivable line in the far-away mud. With a mental command, she dismissed the jagged border lines and the bold letters that marked the landmarks with their names on the map.

One second: She sailed forward, letting the Inner Line approach and then pass below her. The Old zoomed in, giving her a better look at the little earthen wall and the details the map-makers had deemed worthy to include. The clay huts where the soldiers slept. The lookout towers above the red grass, and a few of the faded lines that the cartographers had failed to fully erase from the model as the frontline shifted over the decades.

One and a half second: She looked north first, toward the Olna. The lake was large enough to split apart both the Old and the Inner Line of Defense—but several forts encircled it around the shores, too many to make landfall a realistic scenario. It might be done, with few people and during the night. Or perhaps during Blindlight.

A bit closer and toward the south, the Maroon Gulf broke into the borderzone of the continent, flowing out into the ocean of Kel Waters. A large, many-armed depiction of a monster’s head peeked out from the middle of the inked waves. The Leviathan.

Nobody guarded that place, for obvious reasons. But maybe, she thought. Maybe a man and a woman could cross unnoticed on a slim little barge.

Two seconds: She flew out above the ocean, rapidly approaching the Republic’s southernmost region, Seven Fallter. She summoned back the letters and numbers with a wave of her hand, and began storing the calculations and coordinates that a captain might be able to make sense of. Storm patterns and mythos nests. Rocky islands for a fleet to shake off a pursuer.

She eyed the settlements along the shore, smaller villages that might’ve been part of the most civilized region of the Republic, but civility always came with a dulling in the claws. Nobody would expect trouble around these parts. Whereas going up north, toward the Olna—well, nothing but the coldest extension of Újtavak resided there.

Two and a half seconds, and she began to feel the strain of her still-fresh surge.

A plan—that’s what she was building.

Jack opened her eyes with a silent gasp, her root’s surge running out. The grass didn't help much to soften the ground underneath her where she knelt, steel greaves digging in. She glanced to the side where her tent lay in a coiled bundle. She hadn’t bothered to set it up.

“Your unit will be setting up that-a way, miss.”

It was the head assistant of the nails’ division who spoke, having approached the little circle of solitude Jack had retreated to. Only a few recruits watched from the sidelines of the camp, their hands raised to shade their eyes from the glaring sun.

Jack rose, casually towering over the man even as she began to dust off her knees. She squinted at the sun, debating whether to try and squeeze in some more planning an hour from now.

“There,” the man cleared his throat, pointing back toward the camp, at the next section closer to the front. She was about to be transferred from the nail section forward to the roots. “The flag with the bent oak?”

Jack absently nodded, still not looking at him. She hadn’t bothered to learn his name. Or the name of any of her fellow nails. 

Grabbing her bundle from the ground, she began stomping her way toward the area designated for roots. The rattle of her armor drowned out whatever the nail penpusher said to her back.

Even from a distance, she could see there were fewer people loitering about in this section of the Clenn division. That was good—less people meant less obstacles in her way to fend off. Though unbothered for the most part, some figures had needed a fist in their face to realize she wasn’t interested in anything but advancement.

That wasn’t too rare, among the Clenn. Some people just pushed day and night, striving to go farther and harder than anyone else. She was glad to play one of the stereotypes.

Not two steps inside the perimeter outlined with purple stakes, a gruff woman stepped up to her. “‘Scuse for a moment.” She shook out a document, finger trailing down the list of names. “Formerly Nail Janette, now advanced? Please sign here.”

The process that followed was brief, yet still longer than Jack would have liked. They asked questions, and she nodded and signed where necessary. This whole affair of soldiering was a lot more lax than she had expected. Nobody, not even their lieutenants ever did so much as raise their voice. The Clenn treated this whole affair more like a vacation, a spectacle for the elite. Practice drills were optional, and the average Clenn recruit used the mandatory surge training to simply show off. No obedience and no sense of duty was forged here.

“Wait here for a spell, please.” The woman scratched something out, then quickly disappeared through the flaps of her tent.

Standing there beneath the glaring sun and surrounded by people she didn’t care for, Jack closed her eyes, and willed her mind to surge.

The construction of the blocks resumed, outlines becoming more structured, future possibilities steadily arranged on the board. Many pieces would be knocked down, and many more end up with fates unknown.

She gave them no thought. Only two pieces mattered.

Hold on, Kal. I’m coming for you.