Ascendrea crouched beside her cabinet, her fingers moving through items that were already perfectly organized—uniforms arranged by wear rotation, her small basket of washing supplies positioned exactly where it always sat, everything aligned with meticulous precision that required no adjustment. But she pulled out her spare uniform anyway, examined it with false scrutiny, refolded it with deliberate slowness, her hands going through motions that served no purpose beyond creating the appearance of legitimate activity.
Around her, the other girls moved toward the door, their voices rising in casual morning conversation, their boots striking coral in an irregular rhythm that grew louder as they filed into the hallway. Ascendrea kept her head down, her attention seemingly fixed on the cabinet's contents, her body angled away from the exodus like she was too absorbed in her task to join them.
She held her breath without meaning to, her lungs freezing mid-inhale as she tracked the sounds of departure. Footsteps in the corridor outside, voices calling back to Abby about meeting at the usual spot, the particular acoustics of bodies moving away down the hall—growing fainter, more distant, the sound fading with each passing second.
Then silence. Just the ambient quiet of an empty barracks room, the soft pulse of alchemical solutions through their channels in the walls, the faint creak of coral settling.
Ascendrea let out a breath, the air escaping her lungs in a long exhale that made her shoulders drop. She sat down on her bunk, the thin mattress compressing slightly under her weight, the rough-woven blanket scratching against the backs of her legs through her uniform.
The plan had worked. She was alone. Had successfully avoided leaving with the group, had created the separation she needed to time her arrival at PT for the exact moment formations would be called.
She sat there on the edge of her bunk, her boots planted on the cool coral floor, and waited for the seconds to pass. One, two, three, measuring the minutes she needed to elapse before heading to the PT grounds.
But as the count climbed higher, the pressure in her chest began to build. Starting small, barely noticeable at first—just a slight tightness around her ribs, a faint constriction that she tried to ignore. Then growing with each breath, each second that ticked by in the empty room. The tightness spreading, wrapping around her lungs like bands being pulled taut, making each inhale feel slightly insufficient, slightly too shallow.
Her breathing sped up without her conscious direction, her body trying to compensate for the feeling of not getting enough air. Quick, shallow breaths that made her chest rise and fall faster.
She brought her legs up onto the bunk, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Curled herself into a smaller shape, making her body compact and contained, pressing her shins against her ribs hard enough to feel the pressure through her uniform. The position should have been grounding, should have created the containment she needed.
It wasn't enough.
Her hand found her pocket, fingers fumbling for the stone pouch, pulling it out with clumsy urgency. Blue, red, yellow. Soldier, artillery, scout. The pattern started automatically, the ritual moving through her mind with desperate speed.
But the stones felt distant under her fingers, their familiar weight and texture not creating the usual anchor. The comfort was unable to totally compete with the spiral that was already gaining momentum in her thoughts.
What if she'd miscalculated the timing? What if formations were called early and she arrived late, drawing exactly the kind of attention she was trying to avoid? Or what if she arrived too early, giving Mara time to spot her across the PT grounds, time to approach before the instructor's command separated them into barracks groups?
What if Mara was already looking for her, wondering where she was, asking other recruits from Room 12 if they'd seen her? What if avoiding the group departure had made her more noticeable instead of less, had created questions instead of preventing them?
Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat hard and distinct, making her chest hurt with the force of it. Her hands trembled where they gripped her legs, the stones in the pouch pressing into her palm but failing to steady the shaking.
It felt like an eternity waiting for enough time to pass. Each second stretched impossibly long, marked only by the pulse of alchemical solutions through the walls and her own racing heartbeat. Her mind kept cycling through the same anxious calculations—too early, too late, too early, too late—unable to settle on certainty.
Eventually the minutes elapsed, ticking by with agonizing slowness until her internal count told her it was time. She straightened from her curled position, her legs protesting slightly from being held too tightly against her chest, her muscles stiff from tension. She rushed from the room, her boots striking coral with quick, uneven rhythm, the panic still tightly packed in her chest like compressed weight that made breathing difficult but drove her forward with urgent speed.
The corridor blurred past her, coral walls streaming by on either side. Her pulse pounded in her ears, making it hard to hear anything beyond the rush of her own blood and the sharp percussion of her footfalls. The morning air hit her when she emerged from the barracks building, thick with humidity that pressed against her skin.
She could see the PT grounds ahead—groups already gathering there, milling around in loose clusters before formations would be called. Recruits stood in casual conversation, their sea-silk uniforms creating patches of blue throughout the open space. Instructors were positioned at various points with clipboards, their postures relaxed but attentive as they prepared for the morning's training.
She reached the edge of the grounds, her breathing harsh and quick, her chest still tight with compressed panic.
"ATTENTION! FORMATION BY BARRACKS!"
The command cracked across the grounds with sharp authority. Perfect timing. Exactly as she'd hoped despite all her spiraling doubts.
Bodies shifted immediately from casual clusters into organized movement. Ascendrea slipped into the back row of Room 12's formation as it solidified around Abby's position. Found her spot between two other girls, her feet finding their marks on the smooth coral surface, her spine straightening automatically into proper posture.
Done. Timed perfectly. The relief flooded through her chest, cool and immediate, loosening the bands that had been constricting her lungs.
She'd avoided it. Had executed her plan exactly as intended. Had prevented any opportunity for Mara to approach before formations separated them.
PT ended with the instructor's sharp whistle cutting through the morning air. The formations dissolved immediately, structure giving way to loose movement as recruits began dispersing back toward the barracks compound. Ascendrea moved with the flow of Room 12, her muscles aching from the morning's exertion, sweat making her uniform cling despite the sea-silk's cooling properties.
When they reached the barracks building, girls immediately headed to their bunks to gather washing supplies. The ambient noise rose with movement and conversation—cabinet doors opening, items being collected, voices calling out.
Ascendrea went to her bunk and retrieved her basket from the cabinet. The woven coral handle was cool under her fingers, the familiar weight settling into her palm. Then she sat down on the edge of her mattress and waited, her basket resting on her lap, her posture deliberately relaxed like she was just taking a moment to catch her breath after PT.
Girls filtered out toward the washing area in small groups, their voices and footsteps gradually fading down the corridor. She tracked the exodus without appearing to watch, her eyes fixed on some middle distance while her attention remained sharply focused on the sounds of departure.
The room emptied around her. Bodies leaving in ones and twos and small clusters, the noise decreasing with each group that passed through the doorway until only a handful of stragglers remained.
She sat and counted the minutes. Let them accumulate, waiting for enough time to pass that the washing area would have absorbed the initial rush, that most girls would be through their routines and heading toward breakfast. The panic was less consuming than before PT, her success there softening her spiral but not completely allowing her to escape completely.
When the corridor outside had been quiet for several minutes—no footsteps passing by, no voices carrying from nearby rooms—she picked up her basket and stood. Her legs felt slightly stiff from sitting after the exertion of PT, her muscles protesting the stillness.
She headed to the washing area, her boots striking coral in steady rhythm that echoed slightly in the now-quiet corridor. The alchemical lights pulsed in their channels, providing soft illumination that created more shadows than it dispelled.
The washing area appeared ahead, and she slowed slightly as she approached the entrance, listening. Water running from a few basins. The soft sound of fabric being scrubbed. But nothing like the chaos and noise of the morning rush.
She stepped through the entrance. The space was nearly empty—just two girls finishing up at basins on the far side, their backs to her, their attention focused on their own washing routines.
Ascendrea scanned the stalls quickly, her eyes tracking across closed and open doors. Checked the basins along the walls, noting which were occupied. Let her gaze sweep across the common area where girls sometimes gathered to wait.
Empty enough. Safe enough.
She found an available stall near the entrance and slipped inside, sliding the coral door shut behind her with a soft whisper of stone against stone. The enclosed space pressed in around her immediately—walls close enough to touch on both sides, the particular acoustics of a small contained area that made every sound seem amplified.
She stripped off her sweat-damp uniform quickly, her movements efficient and purposeful rather than leisurely. No time to linger.
The water was cool when she turned the valve, flowing from the spout with steady pressure. She worked quickly through her washing routine.
Water rinsed away the suds, carrying with it the morning's physical evidence—the sweat, the dirt, the tension that had been held in her muscles throughout PT and the careful timing of her arrival.
She dried with the same efficiency, pulled on her clean uniform, the fresh sea-silk settling against her skin with its familiar chill. Fastened her belt, positioned everything properly, made herself regulation-ready in the minimum time required.
She emerged from the stall, basket in hand, her damp washing supplies tucked inside along with her soiled uniform.
The washing area was empty now. The two girls who'd been finishing up had left while she was enclosed in the stall, their departure so quiet she hadn't noticed it over the sound of running water. Just empty basins and vacant stalls and the ambient humidity hanging in the air.
Perfect. She'd timed it correctly again.
She returned to Room 12, the corridor still quiet around her, most of the barracks having already emptied toward breakfast. She stored her basket in her cabinet, positioning it exactly where it belonged, then closed the door with careful precision.
Ascendrea stood beside her bunk, her clean uniform settling properly on her frame, and waited. Listened to the silence that felt both peaceful and hollow.
When enough time had passed—when her internal count told her breakfast would be nearly over, most recruits already finished and dispersing—she headed toward the mess hall. Her boots struck coral with steady rhythm, the sound echoing slightly in corridors that had grown quieter as the morning rush dispersed throughout the compound.
The mess hall appeared ahead, and immediately she could tell something was different. It was quiet, lacking the usual overwhelming wall of sound that pressed against her ears when she entered. Just scattered conversations instead of the layered din of dozens of voices competing for space.
She stepped through the entrance and relief flooded through her chest. The space was much emptier now than it had been at previous meals. Just a few stragglers finishing up at scattered tables, their trays mostly cleared, their conversations winding down. Most tables sat empty, their surfaces already wiped clean, coral gleaming under the light filtering through the high windows.
She'd timed it perfectly. Had avoided the crush of bodies, the overwhelming stimulus of peak breakfast rush. Had arrived when the crowd had already dispersed, when she could move through the space without feeling pressed in on all sides.
She moved through the serving line with practiced efficiency, accepting her tray and the portions that were ladled into it. Stew that steamed gently in the main compartment, its savory scent rising into the air. Bread still warm enough to feel the heat radiating from it. Water poured clear and cool into her cup.
She turned with her tray balanced in both hands, the chilled coral familiar under her palms, and scanned for an empty table. Somewhere in a corner maybe, or along the wall where she could sit with her back protected and—
"Rea!"
The voice cut through the quiet space with bright clarity. Familiar and warm and impossible to ignore.
Ascendrea's eyes found the source automatically, her head turning before her mind could intervene.
Mara sat alone at a table maybe twenty paces away. Her position was near the center of the mess hall—not tucked away in a corner but occupying space with confidence. Her own tray sat pushed aside in front of her, empty except for crumbs and the residue of a finished meal. The seats around her stood vacant, the table that usually held her growing group completely deserted except for her.
Everyone else had left. Had finished eating and dispersed toward their morning activities. But Mara remained, sitting alone at an empty table, her golden eyes bright when they found Ascendrea across the space.
She waved, her hand rising in that familiar gesture, her whole arm sweeping through the arc with enthusiasm. She gestured at the seat beside her with clear invitation, her smile wide and welcoming.
Ascendrea's stomach dropped. Her chest tightened immediately, the bands she'd finally loosened during PT constricting again around her ribs.
She'd waited. Had counted minutes with careful precision, had deliberately delayed until breakfast would be nearly over. Had timed her arrival to avoid exactly this—to slip in when Mara would have already finished and left.
But Mara had waited. Had finished her own meal and stayed, sitting alone at an emptying table, clearly expecting Ascendrea to arrive eventually.
There was no escape. No way to pretend she hadn't heard, hadn't seen. No other empty tables that would make sense to choose when Mara was sitting right there, calling her name, gesturing her over with obvious welcome.
Ascendrea walked over, her boots striking coral with steps that felt too loud in the quieter space. She sat down in the seat Mara had indicated, the bench cool through her uniform, and carefully positioned her tray on the table in front of her.
"I was worried you weren't coming," Mara said immediately, the words tumbling out with genuine concern threading through them. Her ears tilted slightly backward, not quite drooping but showing her emotional state clearly. "You've been really late to everything today. Are you feeling okay?"
The question landed with weight, carrying more than just surface worry. Mara's golden eyes searched Ascendrea's face with that same assessing look she'd been giving her yesterday—like she was trying to solve a puzzle that didn't quite make sense, trying to find the piece that would make the whole picture clear.
Ascendrea focused on her meal, bringing the spoon to her mouth with mechanical precision.
Mara watched her throughout, concern clear in every line of her expression—the slight furrow between her brows, the way her ears stayed tilted backward, the unusual stillness of her tail behind her. But she didn't interrupt, didn't push for immediate answers. Just sat there with patient attention, letting Ascendrea eat at her own pace.
When Ascendrea finished—when she'd forced down enough food. Mara spoke again. Her voice came out gentle, careful, like she was approaching something fragile that might break if handled wrong.
"Being late to things... it doesn't seem like you." The observation was delivered without accusation. "You always seem so... organized. So prepared. So this feels really off."
The words hit harder than they should have. Because Mara was right—being late wasn't like her at all. Everything Ascendrea did was calculated and timed with precision, designed to meet expectations and avoid standing out. And now her attempts to avoid Mara had created exactly the kind of noticeable pattern she'd been trying to prevent.
"It's not," Ascendrea said quietly, the admission coming out smaller than she'd intended. Her fingers found the stone pouch in her pocket automatically, pressing against familiar shapes through the fabric. "I'm just... having a hard time adjusting to all the changes."
It was a partial truth. The smallest piece of honesty she could offer without revealing the real reason.
Mara's expression softened immediately, the concern in her golden eyes shifting to something warmer, more sympathetic. Her ears perked up slightly, and her whole posture relaxed a fraction. "That makes sense," she said, her voice carrying genuine understanding. "Everything's really different from the orphanage, right? New place, new people, new routines... I can see how that would be hard."
Ascendrea nodded, the movement small and controlled. Let Mara believe it was adjustment struggles rather than calculated avoidance. Let the lie sit between them like all the others she'd offered, adding to the weight pressing against her chest.
"If you need help with anything, you can ask me," Mara said, her voice gentle but earnest. Her tail swished behind her in a slow, thoughtful arc. "Or Barracks leader, probably. She seems like she'd be good at helping people adjust. She's got that whole 'responsible barracks leader' thing going on."
"I'll be fine," Ascendrea said quietly, the words coming out flatter than she'd intended.
"Okay." Mara stood, her movements fluid as she collected both their trays, stacking Ascendrea's on top of her own with practiced efficiency. "We should probably go. Combat drills start soon."
Combat drills took place in a large training area positioned on the eastern side of the compound. The space was open and airy, with high ceilings that allowed for vertical movement and windows positioned to let in natural light. The floor was padded coral—harder than true padding but treated with something that caused it to slightly give under pressure, enough to soften falls without eliminating impact entirely.
Instructors were already present when they arrived, standing at the front of the space with the relaxed posture of people who'd done this countless times before. Other recruits filtered in from various directions, the ambient noise building as bodies filled the training area.
The lead instructor—a tall Vayore woman with scars visible on her forearms—called for attention. Her voice cut through the rising chatter with sharp authority.
"Today we're working on handling multiple attackers," she announced, her eyes sweeping across the assembled recruits. "In real combat, you won't always face one opponent. You need to know how to position yourself, how to use one attacker against another, how to maintain spatial awareness when you're surrounded."
She demonstrated the principles with two other instructors, her movements precise and efficient as she showed how to angle your body, how to redirect force, how to keep moving so you never became a static target.
"Pair up in groups of three," she called when the demonstration finished. "Two attackers, one defender. You'll rotate positions so everyone gets practice in each role."
Ascendrea had barely processed the instruction before Mara's hand found her wrist, fingers wrapping around it with warm certainty.
"Partners!" Mara's voice was bright with enthusiasm, her golden eyes lighting up with obvious pleasure at the opportunity to work together.
Before Ascendrea could respond Mara was already pulling her across the training floor toward another girl standing nearby.
The Marakari girl had green-tinted scales along her arms that caught the light filtering through the windows, creating subtle iridescent patterns. Her horns were small but well-defined, curving back from her temples with elegant symmetry.
"Hey! Want to join us?" Mara asked, her tail swishing with friendly energy.
The girl nodded, her expression neutral but agreeable. "Sure."
"Great! I'll defend first," Mara said immediately, releasing Ascendrea's wrist and positioning herself in the center of their small training space. She settled into a ready stance, her compact frame coiled with contained energy, her golden eyes bright with anticipation. "Come at me!"
The drill began. Ascendrea and the Marakari girl exchanged a quick glance, establishing basic coordination, then moved in as attackers from different angles.
Ascendrea's mind immediately started racing. Which angle was optimal? The instructor had shown three different approaches depending on the defender's positioning. Mara was standing with her weight slightly forward—did that mean Ascendrea should come in low or maintain center height? And the grip—should she go for the arm or the shoulder first? Both techniques worked but required different timing and—
She reached for Mara's arm, her movements slow and uncertain, her thoughts still churning through variables, her fingers closing around warm skin just above the elbow where the sea-silk sleeve ended and fur began.
The contact shattered every analytical thought into fragments. That warmth bleeding through where their skin touched, immediate and electric.
Ascendrea's carefully constructed mental checklist dissolved completely. She couldn't remember if she was supposed to pull or redirect. Couldn't recall the proper foot positioning. Her body moved anyway—wrong, clumsy, executing something that resembled the technique but lacked any of the precision or timing that made it work.
Mara easily countered, using Ascendrea's poor positioning against her with minimal effort. A quick pivot, a shift of weight, and suddenly Ascendrea was off-balance, her grip broken.
Reset. Try again.
Ascendrea came in from a different angle this time, trying to rebuild her mental approach. Foot placement first—left foot or right? The instructor had demonstrated both but which one applied when the defender was already moving? Should she adjust for Mara's height difference? And the grip needed to be firm but not restrictive, needed to provide leverage without—
She grabbed Mara's shoulder, her palm settling against sea-silk that covered firm muscle and every half-formed thought about technique evaporated.
She forgot to track the Marakari girl's position. Forgot the basic spatial awareness the instructor had emphasized. Her mind was just... blank. Static. Unable to access the sequences she'd practiced, unable to think past the sensation of touching Mara.
Mara deflected both of them with minimal effort, her movements flowing and efficient.
"This is fun!" Mara said cheerfully, her smile wide and genuine. "Let's go again."
Again. Ascendrea tried to focus, tried to rebuild her analytical approach from scratch. Step one: assess the defender's stance. Step two: choose optimal angle. Step three: establish grip with proper hand placement. Step four—
She knew these techniques. Had practiced them countless times in controlled settings. Could probably demonstrate them perfectly if asked to show the movements slowly for an instructor. She had never been good when under pressure but somehow with Mara she was even worse.
Her attempts remained poor throughout, each one hampered by the combination of her overthinking and the way proximity to Mara shattered even her ability to execute memorized sequences.
"Rotate!" the lead instructor called across the training area.
The Marakari girl moved to the center position now, settling into defensive stance. Mara bounced on her toes beside Ascendrea, her energy undiminished.
Ascendrea attacked alongside Mara. Without having to touch Mara she could at least think through things. It wasn't good—she still overthought the approach, still second-guessed her angles mid-movement, still hesitated when she should have committed.
Should she grab high or low? The Marakari girl's stance suggested low but what if she shifted? And the timing needed to coordinate with Mara's attack but how could she predict when Mara would—
Her execution was clumsy, imperfect, her movements lacking the fluid confidence that came naturally to others. But she could at least complete the techniques, could push through the analysis paralysis enough to make her attempts functional even if they weren't elegant.
"Rotate!" the lead instructor called again. It was Ascendrea's turn to defend.
She positioned herself in the center, trying to remember the instructor's guidance. Weight distribution—should it be evenly balanced or slightly forward? The demonstration had shown both depending on the attackers' positioning. And spatial awareness—she needed to track both opponents simultaneously, needed to—
Mara came in first, moving with confidence that never seemed to waver. Her hands found Ascendrea's arm, fingers wrapping around just above the elbow, trying to pull her off balance.
Every thought about technique evaporated. Ascendrea's mind went completely blank again. She froze in place, her body locked, losing her positioning completely. She couldn't remember what counter the instructor had demonstrated. Couldn't recall if she was supposed to rotate or redirect or—
The Marakari girl came in from the other side, hands reaching for Ascendrea's shoulder.
Ascendrea tried to recover, tried to redirect Mara while tracking the second attacker, but her movements were stiff and uncoordinated. Wrong. Her feet were positioned incorrectly—she knew that even as she moved, could feel the wrongness of her stance, but couldn't figure out how to fix it while also dealing with Mara's grip and the Marakari girl's approach and—
Ascendrea's legs tangled. Her balance, already compromised by poor positioning, gave out entirely. She went down hard, the padded coral floor catching her fall with enough give to prevent injury but not enough to make it comfortable. The impact drove air from her lungs in a sharp exhale.
"You okay?" Mara's voice came from above, concerned and immediate. Her hand extended down, offering assistance.
Ascendrea took it, Mara's palm warm and solid against hers. Let herself be pulled up with smooth efficiency, Mara's strength making the assist look effortless.
They reset. Ascendrea tried to rebuild her mental approach from scratch. Defensive stance—weight should be centered, she was sure of that. Or was it? The instructor had said something about staying mobile. Did that mean weight forward or—
Same result. The moment Mara's hands found her, every half-formed thought about technique dissolved. Her body froze or moved wrong, unable to access the training she knew she'd received, unable to execute even basic counters.
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Third attempt. She tried to prepare herself mentally this time, tried to build a step-by-step sequence before Mara even moved. When she grabs, I rotate left. When the second attacker comes in, I redirect using Mara's momentum. Simple. Clear. Executable.
But when Mara actually touched her, when those warm hands closed around her arm and that proximity shattered her focus completely, the sequence evaporated like mist. Her body didn't rotate left. Didn't redirect. Just froze, locked in place while her mind spun uselessly through fragments of half-remembered technique.
Fourth attempt. Fifth.
By the time they reset for the sixth try, frustration was burning hot in Ascendrea's chest, making her throat tight and her eyes sting. She could feel it written across her face—the anger at herself, at her inability to function, at the way she kept failing at something others managed with imperfect but functional execution.
"Hey, this drill is really hard," Mara said gently, her golden eyes soft with understanding rather than judgment. "Multiple opponents is advanced stuff. Don't beat yourself up."
The kindness made it worse somehow. Made the frustration twist into something sharper, more complicated.
The lead instructor's whistle cut across the training area. "Good work, everyone. That's enough for today. Dismissed to your next assignments."
The drill ended. Recruits began dispersing, voices rising in casual conversation about the morning's training, bodies moving toward exits and their various destinations.
Lunch was served in the mess hall, the space filling with the usual noise and press of bodies as recruits converged from their various morning training sessions. Ascendrea moved through the serving line with Mara beside her, accepting portions as they were ladled onto her tray—some kind of grilled fish today, its skin crispy and aromatic with herbs, vegetables that had been roasted until caramelized, bread still warm from the ovens.
They found seats at Mara's usual table where Daven and Lira were already positioned, along with a few other recruits whose faces were becoming familiar through repeated proximity. The bench was crowded, bodies pressed close on either side, the ambient noise of the mess hall creating that wall of sound that made Ascendrea's temples throb.
Occasionally someone would address her directly and she'd nod, offer a word or two of acknowledgment, then retreat back into peripheral silence.
"What are you doing during free time?" Lira asked, her question directed at the table generally rather than any specific person. Her blue-tinted skin caught the light filtering through the high windows, creating subtle shifts in tone when she moved.
"I heard there's a garden area near the eastern barracks," Daven said, leaning forward slightly so his voice would carry over the ambient noise. His spiraled horns caught the light as he tilted his head. "Might check that out. Supposed to have these flowering vines that smell amazing."
"Sounds crowded," Mara said immediately, glancing at Ascendrea. Her golden eyes brightened with sudden inspiration. "Want to go to the assessment building? Probably won't be many people there after we just finished all the courses yesterday."
The suggestion landed with complicated weight. Time alone with Mara, away from crowds—exactly what part of Ascendrea craved. But also exactly what she'd been trying to avoid, the proximity that scattered her thoughts and made her chest feel too tight.
Ascendrea nodded anyway, the movement small and controlled. Unable to refuse when Mara was looking at her with such hopeful anticipation, when the alternative was a crowded garden full of other recruits.
They finished eating, the conversation continuing around them while Ascendrea focused on consuming enough food. Then they cleared their trays, the coral clattering against coral as they added them to the collection stacks, and headed out together.
The walk to the assessment building took them through corridors that were quieter now during free time, most recruits having dispersed to various activities throughout the compound. The afternoon air pressed against them with thick humidity when they emerged into open space, the sun high and bright overhead.
The assessment building loomed ahead, its entrance standing open to allow air circulation. When they stepped inside, the space was mostly empty—just a few recruits scattered throughout the large area, using different courses in isolation or small groups. The ambient noise was minimal compared to the mess hall, just the soft sounds of movement and occasional grunts of exertion echoing off coral walls.
Two instructors stood near the entrance, their postures relaxed but attentive as they watched to ensure no one attempted anything dangerous without supervision.
"Where do you want to practice?" Mara asked, her tail swishing with barely contained energy. Her eyes swept across the various courses spread throughout the space with obvious excitement.
Ascendrea scanned the area, her gaze tracking from structure to structure. The climbing walls near the front, already occupied by a pair of recruits working through techniques. The suspended platforms in the center, swaying slightly with air currents. The balance beam course near the back wall, standing empty and available.
"There." She gestured toward the beams.
They made their way over, their boots striking the padded coral floor with soft percussion. The padded floor extended generously around the structures, providing safe practice space that wasn't dedicated to specific equipment. “Do you want to go first?” Mara gestured at the balance beam. Ascendrea shook her head. “No, I was actually thinking I would practice combat drills.”
"Want a practice partner?" Mara asked, already bouncing slightly on her toes with anticipation. "It's hard to do the combat drills alone without someone to actually defend against. We could work through those techniques from this morning."
Ascendrea's chest tightened immediately, the bands constricting around her ribs with sudden force. The thought of practicing with Mara—touching her again, being that close, having those golden eyes watching every mistake and freeze and moment of analysis paralysis—
Her throat closed around words that wouldn't form. The refusal stuck there, heavy and uncomfortable, because she couldn't explain why without revealing the truth. Couldn't say that Mara's presence scattered her focus completely, that proximity made everything harder, that she needed distance to even attempt functional performance.
"I need to practice alone first," Ascendrea said finally, the words coming out quieter than she'd intended. "To... work through the movements without pressure.".
"Oh. Okay." Mara's whole demeanor shifted—her ears tilting backward slightly, her tail lowering from its excited swish, her shoulders dropping just a fraction. Disappointment written clearly across her features before she smoothed it away with visible effort. "Let me know if you change your mind."
She climbed onto one of the balance beams with fluid grace, her compact frame settling into the challenge with natural confidence. She started walking across, her tail swishing behind her for balance, her arms extended to either side. Her movements were controlled and sure, each step placed with precision born from practice and innate athletic ability.
Ascendrea moved to the open padded area nearby, creating distance between herself and the beams, between herself and Mara. She began working through the combat drill movements they'd learned that morning—defensive positioning, footwork sequences, the deflection techniques that were supposed to redirect an attacker's force.
But without a real opponent, the movements felt hollow. Incomplete. She had to imagine where the attacks would come from, had to visualize grip points and momentum that didn't actually exist.
Should her weight be forward or centered for this stance? The instructor had said centered but then demonstrated a forward stance later. Or was that for a different variation? And the footwork—left foot first or right? Both seemed valid depending on the attacker's approach but how could she practice proper responses when the attacker was imaginary?
Her movements felt stiff as she worked through the sequences. Awkward. Every technique requiring mental gymnastics to execute against opponents that existed only in her mind. She'd step and rotate and deflect against empty air, her body going through motions that felt disconnected.
Nearby, Mara moved across the beams with easy grace, her tail providing natural counterbalance, her body making constant small adjustments that kept her centered and stable. Occasionally she'd glance over—quick looks that Ascendrea felt even when she wasn't directly watching, awareness prickling across her skin. But Mara respected the distance Ascendrea had requested, didn't offer commentary or suggestions, just continued her own practice while staying peripherally aware.
Ascendrea tried to focus solely on her own movements, tried to lose herself in technical execution the way she usually could. But Mara's presence nearby created a constant pull on her attention, a magnetic awareness that made it impossible to fully concentrate.
The bell rang across the compound—clear and resonant, cutting through the quiet of the assessment building. Free time ending, academic sessions beginning.
Recruits began filtering out of the assessment building immediately, responding to the bell's authority. Voices rose as people called to each other, coordinating their movements toward the academic classrooms positioned in a different section of the compound.
The academic classroom was arranged in tiered rows, coral benches carved directly from the building's structure rising in gradual elevation so everyone could see the front. Large windows positioned high on the walls let in natural light that filtered down in slanted beams, illuminating dust particles floating in the humid air. The space smelled of coral and bodies and the faint medicinal tang of cleaning solutions used on the surfaces.
Ascendrea sat in the middle row, Mara beside her radiating enthusiasm as she struck up a conversation with another recruit. Other recruits filled the benches around them, their conversations creating ambient noise that gradually quieted as the instructor entered.
The instructor was Vayore—tall and lean, with dark skin and close-cropped hair going gray at the temples. She moved to the front of the room with efficient purpose, her boots striking coral in steady rhythm.
She gestured toward a large map mounted on the wall behind her—the island of Servitous rendered in careful detail, its coastline clearly marked, different regions shaded to show territorial control.
"Two thousand years ago, the Elfriche arrived on Servitous—"
Ascendrea flinched. The word hit like a physical blow, driving into her chest and stealing breath. Her spine went rigid, her shoulders drawing up toward her ears.
"—and enslaved the three native tribes—Savari, Marakari, and Abysari." The instructor's voice remained neutral, factual, delivering information without emotional coloring. "The tribes had no magic and couldn't resist Elfriche control."
Her hands found her lap automatically, moving without conscious direction. Her fingers curled inward, nails pressing into her palms with increasing pressure. The sharp points dug into soft flesh, creating small crescents of pain that helped ground her against the rising panic.
Elfriche. Her people. Her blood. The ones who'd done this, who'd enslaved entire populations, who'd—
"Two hundred years ago, Vayore explorers arrived and used their knowledge of alchemy and steam technology to help the tribes break free." The instructor pointed to a different section of the map, tracing routes with her finger. "Together, they formed the Legion—a unified force built on equality and mutual protection."
Another flinch ran through Ascendrea's body, her muscles jerking with involuntary response. Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together with force that made her temples ache. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, the soft tissue catching between her molars, pain blooming sharp and immediate.
The instructor moved to point at the southern portion of the map, her hand sweeping across shaded regions.
"The Rebellion cost nearly eighty percent of the tribal populations. Even now, two hundred years later, we control only the southern twenty percent of the island." She tapped the northern sections with her knuckles. "The Elfriche still outnumber us ten to one."
Blood filled Ascendrea's mouth. The copper taste spread across her tongue, sharp and metallic and undeniable. Her nails had broken through the skin of her palms, creating small wounds that leaked wet warmth under her fingertips. The pain was distant, muffled, less real than the horror spiraling through her thoughts.
Ten to one. Eighty percent dead. Two thousand years of slavery. Her people. Her blood. Her—
"Our purpose is to protect our people, maintain our territory, and eventually find a way to push back and reclaim what was stolen." The instructor's voice carried firm conviction, pride threading through the words. "This is why research and development remains our highest priority—we need advantages that numbers alone can't provide."
Ascendrea's breathing came shallow and quick, her chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm that couldn't pull in enough air. The room felt too hot suddenly, the humidity pressing against her skin like a weight, making sweat form along her hairline and between her shoulder blades. Nausea rolled through her stomach in waves, making saliva flood her mouth and her throat constrict with the urge to swallow repeatedly.
She was Elfriche. Sitting here in this classroom full of Savari, Marakari, Abysari, and Vayore. The descendants of the people her ancestors had enslaved. Discussing the atrocities her people had committed.
The silver hair they'd all seen. The angular ears. The dark skin with its subtle sparkle. Everything about her appearance marked her as one of them, one of the oppressors, one of the enemy that outnumbered them ten to one in the territories they couldn't reclaim.
"Questions?"
Several hands rose around the room, recruits eager to engage with the material, to understand their purpose and history.
The instructor called on a boy near the front, his hand raised highest. "If we're so outnumbered, why don't we just leave? Find somewhere else to settle where we wouldn't have to fight?"
"There are a couple people in this room who experienced the reason firsthand just a few days ago." The students looked at each other uncertainly. “The Void Ocean.” Ascendrea whispered too quietly to be heard. Her response was echoed by another student moments after.
“That is correct. Any attempt to cross the Void Ocean would be disastrous. It was a miracle the Vayore explorers managed to make it to the island.”
The instructor's eyes swept across the classroom, tracking along the rows of faces. Her gaze paused briefly on Ascendrea, holding for just a moment—recognition flickering in her expression.
Then her expression shifted slightly, something almost like regret or discomfort crossing her face before being smoothed away into professional neutrality. She looked back to address the class as a whole, her attention moving deliberately away from where Ascendrea sat frozen.
"The ocean surrounding Servitous is impassable. Ships that stray are destroyed. We're trapped here—both us and the Elfriche. This island is all the territory that exists for either of us."
Trapped. Both populations. Can't leave. Have to fight. Outnumbered. Her people. Her blood. Her fault somehow, even though she'd never chosen this, never wanted to be born Elfriche, never asked for the legacy of slavery and bloodshed that came with silver hair and skin like the night sky.
"If you have further questions about Legion history, you can speak with me after class," the instructor said, her tone shifting to something more brisk and practical. "For now, let's move on to discussing our current territorial organization and the structure of Legion operations..."
She began pointing out different regions on the map, her finger tracing boundaries and explaining command structures, her voice continuing in that same neutral, informative tone. But Ascendrea couldn't track the words anymore. They washed over her like meaningless sound, breaking apart before they could form coherent meaning in her mind.
Her nails dug deeper into her palms. Blood pooled in the small wounds, warm and slick. The inside of her cheek throbbed where she'd bitten through tissue. The copper taste intensified with each shallow breath.
Minutes passed. Maybe many minutes. Time felt distorted, stretching and compressing in ways she couldn't measure. The instructor kept talking, kept pointing at maps and diagrams, kept explaining things that Ascendrea's mind couldn't process.
Finally, mercifully, the bell rang. Its clear tone cut through the rushing in her ears, signaling the end of class.
"Dismissed," the instructor said. "Remember to review the territorial maps in your reference materials before next session."
Students began gathering their things around her, voices rising in casual conversation, bodies standing and stretching after sitting through the lecture. The ambient noise built quickly, filling the space with movement and sound.
Ascendrea remained seated while bodies stood and moved around her, while voices rose in casual conversation and boots struck coral in the rhythm of departure. Her hands stayed clenched in her lap, nails still embedded in her palms, the small wounds leaking warmth that spread across her skin. She focused on breathing—shallow pulls of air that didn't quite fill her lungs, each exhale shaky and insufficient.
Waiting for the nausea to settle enough that standing wouldn't make her vomit. For her breathing to steady into something that felt less like drowning. For the rushing in her ears to quiet so the world would stop feeling distant and distorted.
Mara turned to her, her mouth already opening to say something—probably something cheerful, something bright, her usual energy ready to fill the space between them.
But the words died when she looked at Ascendrea's face.
"Rea?" Her voice shifted immediately, all brightness draining away, replaced by sharp concern that made her brows draw together and her ears swivel forward with focused attention. She reached out, her hand moving toward Ascendrea's shoulder with clear intention to offer comfort through touch. "Are you—"
Ascendrea flinched. Her whole body jerked away from the approaching hand, muscles contracting with involuntary force, her spine pressing back against the bench behind her.
Mara's hand jerked back like she'd been burned. Her ears flattened against her head, her golden eyes going wide with shock and something that looked almost like hurt. "What's wrong? You look really pale, and—" Her gaze dropped to Ascendrea's lap, to where her hands were still clenched. "Is that blood?"
The instructor appeared beside their desks before Mara could finish the question, her tall frame suddenly present in Ascendrea's peripheral vision. "Excuse me." Her voice was gentle but carried authority that suggested this wasn't a request. "Are you heading to dinner?"
The question was directed at Mara, though her eyes kept flicking to Ascendrea with that same concerned assessment.
Mara looked between the instructor and Ascendrea, her expression caught between worry and uncertainty. Her tail hung low behind her, and her hands fidgeted with the edge of her uniform sleeve.
"I need to speak with this recruit briefly," the instructor said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll send her to dinner when we're finished."
Mara hesitated, her golden eyes searching Ascendrea's face like she was trying to find some answer there, some explanation for what was happening. Then she nodded slowly, the movement reluctant and small. She gathered her materials from the desk with fumbling hands, her usual fluid grace disrupted by obvious distress. She glanced back at Ascendrea once more before leaving with the stream of other students filtering toward the exit, her ears still flat against her head, her whole posture hunched inward.
The classroom emptied in waves—voices fading down the corridor outside, footsteps receding, the ambient noise decreasing until only silence remained. Just Ascendrea and the instructor in the large space, the tiered benches rising empty around them, dust particles still floating in the slanted afternoon light.
The instructor's expression softened, the professional neutrality melting away. She gave Ascendrea a sad smile "You can stay in here as long as you need." The words were quiet, meant only for the two of them in the empty room.
She walked toward the door with measured steps, her boots striking coral in soft percussion. Then she paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and looked back.
"Make sure you eat something. Even if it's just bread."
Then she left, the door closing quietly behind her with a soft whisper of coral meeting coral. The sound of her footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving true silence in their wake.
Ascendrea sat alone in the empty classroom. The tiered benches stretched around her in ascending rows, all vacant now, the space feeling too large and too exposed. Afternoon light continued filtering through the high windows, creating patterns on the floor that shifted slowly as the sun moved across the sky.
Her palms stung where her nails had broken skin, the small crescents burning with sharp insistence. Blood still coated the inside of her mouth, the copper taste thick on her tongue, mixing with saliva that kept flooding in with each wave of nausea. She swallowed repeatedly, trying to clear it, but the taste remained.
She wasn't sure how long she sat there on the coral bench, staring at nothing, her body locked in that rigid tension that made everything hurt. The light through the windows shifted angles, growing cooler and more shadowed as the evening progressed. The sounds from outside changed—dinner was underway, less recruits were moving through corridors toward the mess hall, their voices carrying distantly through the walls.
Eventually, her legs stopped shaking enough that standing seemed possible. She pushed herself up slowly, her muscles protesting the movement after sitting frozen for so long. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her, threatening to buckle, but they held when she put weight on them.
She made her way to the door, each step requiring conscious effort and focus. The corridor outside was quieter than usual—dinner hour still ongoing, most recruits occupied in the mess hall. The alchemical lights pulsed in their channels with steady rhythm, providing soft illumination that created more shadows than it dispelled.
She walked back toward the barracks compound, her boots striking coral with uneven rhythm, her body still trembling despite her efforts to control it. The humid evening air pressed against her skin, making sweat gather along her hairline and down her spine even though she felt cold from the inside out.
Room 12 was empty when she entered, all the other girls still at dinner or engaged in evening activities. The space felt cavernous in its silence, just the soft pulse of alchemical solutions and the distant sounds of the compound beyond the walls.
She went to her bunk and climbed onto it without bothering to change or prepare for sleep. Just curled up on top of the blanket, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, making herself as small as possible. The cool smooth fabric pressed against her cheek where she pressed her face down, and the thin mattress provided minimal comfort beneath her.
Her whole body shook. Tremors ran through her muscles in waves she couldn't control, making her teeth chatter slightly, making her breath come in small gasps that didn't quite fill her lungs. She couldn't make it stop. Couldn't force her body into stillness no matter how hard she concentrated.
Her palms stung where they pressed against her legs, the small wounds sticky with drying blood. The inside of her mouth tasted like copper and salt, the torn tissue throbbing with each heartbeat.
More time passed. She tracked it only by the changing quality of light through the window, shadows lengthening across the floor. The bell rang at some point, the clear tone cutting through her awareness but failing to penetrate the fog wrapping around her thoughts.
The shaking didn't ease. If anything, it intensified as time went on, her body refusing to release the tension locked into every muscle, every joint, every breath.
She stayed curled on her bunk, trembling, tasting blood, unable to do anything except wait for it to pass.
Voices in the corridor outside, growing louder as bodies approached. Girls returning from dinner, their conversations carrying through the coral walls in muffled waves of sound. The door to Room 12 opened and recruits began filing in.
Conversations rose around Ascendrea immediately, filling the space with ambient noise that pressed against her awareness. Laughter burst out from somewhere near the door. Footsteps moved between bunks and cabinets. Cabinet doors opened and closed with soft sounds of coral meeting coral. The normal sounds of evening preparation swirling through the room while Ascendrea remained curled on her bunk, facing the wall, trying to make herself invisible.
Footsteps approached her bunk specifically. Stopped beside it with deliberate purpose rather than passing by.
"O113." Abby's voice came from above, quiet enough not to carry across the room but firm with unmistakable authority. "Come with me."
Not a request. A command delivered gently but with the weight of her position as barracks leader making refusal impossible.
Ascendrea uncurled slowly, her muscles protesting the movement after being locked in that tight position for so long. She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bunk, her boots finding the cool coral floor. The room tilted slightly when she moved, vertigo making her pause to let the world settle.
Abby's expression shifted when she got a clear view of Ascendrea's face. Something flickered in those amber eyes. "Do you need to go to the medical building?"
Ascendrea shook her head. The movement made her stomach lurch, nausea rolling through in a fresh wave, but she swallowed against it and kept her expression as neutral as possible.
"Can you walk?"
A nod. Smaller this time, more careful.
"Come on."
Abby led her out of Room 12, her ringed tail swishing once as she turned toward the door. They crossed the corridor to a smaller room Ascendrea hadn't noticed before—positioned directly across from the main barracks entrance, its door unmarked and unobtrusive. Private space rather than communal. Just a table made of smooth coral and a few chairs arranged around it, the walls bare except for the pulsing channels of alchemical solution providing soft light. The door closed behind them with a quiet sound, immediately muffling the conversations and activity from the barracks across the hall.
Abby moved to the table and set down a cloth-wrapped bundle she'd been carrying. She gestured to one of the chairs. “Please take a seat.” Ascendrea did as she was asked. Once she was seated Abby unwrapped the bundle, revealing a sandwich and some fruit inside.
"If you can keep it down, you need to eat." She picked up the bundle and placed it directly in Ascendrea's lap, the weight settling against her legs with gentle pressure.
Abby pulled out a chair and sat, the coral scraping slightly against the floor with the movement. She positioned herself directly across from where Ascendrea sat, her amber eyes fixed with steady attention that suggested she wasn't going anywhere.
"You were late to PT this morning. Late to breakfast. And now you've skipped dinner entirely." She listed the infractions with matter-of-fact precision, no accusation in her.
The observations landed with weight, making Ascendrea's chest tighten further. Of course Abby had noticed. Of course she'd been tracking these things—that was her job as barracks leader, to monitor her recruits and identify problems before they escalated.
"If it was just the first two, I would have given you more time to adjust," Abby continued, her tail swishing once behind her chair. "New environment, new routines—some struggle with the transition is expected. But skipping meals crosses a line. That's a health and readiness issue, not just adjustment difficulty."
Ascendrea looked down at the food in her lap, the sandwich resting against her legs through her uniform. Her stomach turned at the thought of eating, bile rising in her throat with the copper taste of blood still coating her mouth. The smell of the bread reached her nose—yeasty and fresh—but instead of appealing it made nausea curl tighter.
"Every recruit is expected to meet with their counselor once a week," Abby said, her voice remaining steady and calm. "Your first scheduled meeting is at the end of the week. But if you need it, I can arrange an early session. Today, even, if necessary."
Counselor. The word registered with dull awareness. Another person to talk to, another authority figure who would ask questions Ascendrea couldn't answer honestly, another opportunity to fail at appearing normal and well-adjusted.
"I'll wait for the scheduled time," Ascendrea said quietly, her voice coming out rough and strained.
Abby studied her for a long moment, amber eyes searching Ascendrea's face with that same assessing look. "Are you sure? Because if something happened that needs immediate attention—"
"Yes." Firmer this time, cutting off the offer before it could be extended further.
"Alright." Abby leaned back in her chair slightly, though her posture remained alert and attentive. "But I need you to understand something. If your behavior doesn't improve—if you keep showing up late to required activities or skipping meals—I'll have to involve our barracks inspector. That's not a threat. It's my responsibility as barracks leader to escalate issues that affect recruit health and readiness."
She gestured at the food still sitting in Ascendrea's lap. "Eat. I'm not leaving until you do."
The statement was delivered with calm certainty. No anger, no frustration, just patient determination that made clear this wasn't negotiable.
Ascendrea picked up the sandwich with trembling hands, her fingers fumbling slightly with the cloth wrapping. She brought it to her mouth and took a small bite, tearing off a piece. The texture felt wrong against her tongue—dry and thick, difficult to chew. Tasteless except for the lingering copper that colored everything.
She chewed mechanically, forcing her jaw to work through the motion even though everything in her wanted to spit it out. Finally she swallowed, the food moving down her throat with difficulty, settling into her protesting stomach like a stone.
Abby watched throughout, her expression patient but unyielding. Waited without speaking, letting the silence stretch while Ascendrea took another bite, then another.
Each bite was difficult, requiring conscious effort to chew and swallow. Her stomach clenched with each addition, threatening to reject everything, nausea building with each mouthful. But she forced it down anyway, one small bite at a time, because Abby wasn't going to leave until she did and sitting here indefinitely wasn't an option.
When she'd finished half the sandwich and picked at some of the fruit—managing a few bites that were slightly easier to swallow than the bread—Abby nodded once.
"That's enough." She stood, her chair scraping against coral. "Go wash up and get ready for sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
Ascendrea stood as well, her legs unsteady beneath her. She started toward the door, the food sitting heavy and uncomfortable in her stomach, threatening to come back up with every step.
"O113."
She stopped, her hand on the door handle. Looked back over her shoulder.
Abby's expression had softened slightly, the firm authority giving way. "Whatever's going on, you don't have to handle it alone. That's what counselors are for. That's what I'm here for." She paused, her amber eyes holding Ascendrea's with steady intensity. "Remember—we are the Legion. None of us are ever alone."
The words should have been comforting. Should have created warmth or relief or some sense of being supported. Instead they just made Ascendrea's chest feel tighter, made the guilt press harder against her ribs.
She nodded once—small and controlled—then left, pulling the door open and stepping back into the corridor where the sounds of evening routines continued unabated.
She returned to Room 12, stepping back into the ambient noise and activity of evening routines in progress. Girls were scattered throughout the space—some at their bunks changing into sleep clothes, others organizing cabinets, a few clustered together in quiet conversation. The air was thick with the mingled scents.
Conversations continued around her, flowing past without requiring her participation. She moved through the space like a ghost, bodies parting slightly to let her pass, then closing the gap behind her as if she'd never been there.
Ascendrea gathered her washing supplies from her cabinet—soap, scrubbing cloth, her bottle of Mistmint that was running lower each day. The uniform she'd worn felt stiff against her skin where sweat and blood had dried into the fabric. She bundled it with mechanical efficiency and headed toward the communal washing area.
The space was busy with evening routines when she arrived, multiple stalls occupied, the sound of running water and quiet conversations echoing off coral walls. The humidity pressed against her immediately, making the air feel thick and close.
She found an available stall near the back and slipped inside, sliding the door shut with soft percussion. She stripped off her uniform, the sea-silk peeling away from skin that felt tender and raw. She washed quickly. She scrubbed until her body felt clean enough, then dried with brisk movements and dressed in the fresh uniform she'd brought.
The soiled uniform received the same mechanical attention. She scrubbed it with alchemical solution at one of the basins, the blue-tinted water carrying away evidence of the day until it ran clear. Wrung it out thoroughly, twisting the fabric until her wounded palms screamed with fresh pain. Moved to the drying grates and swapped it for yesterday's uniform that had dried completely, the sea-silk cool and fresh against her fingers.
She returned to Room 12 dressed in clean uniform, stored her supplies in the cabinet with precise positioning, then changed into sleep clothes without conscious thought.
She climbed into her bunk, the thin mattress compressing beneath her weight, and lay on her back staring at the ceiling where shadows moved with each pulse of the alchemical lights in the corridor outside.
Around her, the room gradually quieted as girls finished their preparations and settled into sleep. Conversations faded to whispers, then to silence. Cabinet doors stopped opening and closing. Footsteps ceased their movement across the floor. Breathing deepened throughout the space, creating soft rhythm of bodies at rest.
Ascendrea lay awake, her eyes tracking patterns in the darkness.
Her hand found the stone pouch under her pillow, pulling it out with fumbling fingers. The fabric was soft and worn. She pressed against the first stone through the cloth.
Blue. The wound in her palm exploded with sharp pain where the stone's pressure found broken skin. Fresh blood wet the fabric, creating a dark spot she couldn't see in the darkness but could feel spreading warm and sticky against her fingers.
Red. Another spike of pain, sharper this time, making her breath catch. The torn tissue protested the pressure, nerves screaming with each press.
Yellow. The reminder that she'd done this to herself, that the pain was self-inflicted.
Soldier, artillery, scout. The words moved through her mind automatically, the pattern worn smooth by repetition.
But the stones couldn't ground her through the pain. Couldn't quiet the word echoing in her head with relentless repetition, couldn't create the usual anchor when every touch brought fresh pain.
Elfriche.
The word reverberated through her thoughts like a bell that wouldn't stop ringing.
Elfriche.
Two thousand years of slavery. Eighty percent dead. Ten to one.
Elfriche.
Her people. Her blood. Her legacy written in atrocities she'd never committed but couldn't escape.
Elfriche.
Her chest hitched, the movement sudden and involuntary. Tears spilled from her eyes without permission, running down her temples in hot tracks that disappeared into her hair. Silent. Controlled even in breakdown, even when everything inside was fragmenting into pieces she couldn't reassemble.
She pressed the stones harder despite the pain, maybe because of the pain. The ritual that had always worked before, had grounded her through panic and anxiety and fear. Blue, red, yellow. Soldier, artillery, scout. But the pain and the words and the tears all mixed together until she couldn't separate them, until the ritual became just another thing that hurt, another reminder that she was broken in ways she couldn't fix.
The tears kept coming, soaking into her hair, dampening the pillow beneath her head. Her chest hitched with suppressed sobs that she couldn't allow out, that had to remain silent because drawing attention would make everything worse.
Her fingers ached from pressing the stones. Her palms burned with renewed bleeding. Her chest felt like it might crack open from the pressure building inside.
Sleep finally pulled her under sometime deep in the night, exhaustion overwhelming even the spiral that wouldn't stop. The tears were still wet on her face when consciousness faded, the stones still clutched in her blooded hand.
