The next morning, Kael woke up still troubled by the encounter from the previous day. He still couldn't believe that the boy who hadn't flinched under Sareth's overwhelming aura was none other than Declan Valroth, his former classmate from Academia Solarys. A wave of memories flooded his mind — their laughter, their training, the whispered promises in the halls of the Aelaris manor. That unexpected meeting reignited something old within him — a forgotten strength, a flicker of hope.
More determined than ever, Kael got ready for the day's challenge. It was announced that they would have to run non-stop for two hours around a 100-meter circular track. No rest, no break. Just their legs, their breath, and their willpower. The whistle blew, and the candidates surged forward.
After twenty minutes, some began to slow down. Their breaths were short, muscles screaming, steps heavy. Kael gritted his teeth. The pain in his legs was unbearable, but he thought of Declan, of Naelys, of everything he had lost. Of everything he still wanted to protect. He couldn't fall now.
Every lap was a battle. His feet pounded the ground, his heart raced, and his clothes were drenched in sweat. One hour passed. Then another. He was almost stumbling, but his legs kept carrying him forward. When the final signal sounded, Kael collapsed to his knees, gasping for air — but alive. He had made it.
During the lunch break, the candidates gathered in the cafeteria. Kael picked up a tray, sat at a table, and slowly ate his food, his mind still foggy. The others whispered about the challenge — some complained, others laughed, relieved to have survived. But suddenly, everyone's attention shifted to the television screen mounted on the wall.
A serious-looking reporter delivered the latest news. On screen, scenes of destruction and warfare played out. "The 9th Recon Division of the Dreads Corps launched another offensive on the former city of Tharvos…" The name echoed grimly through the cafeteria. "Unfortunately, the operation ended in yet another defeat."
Kael watched the footage: soldiers in black armor, bearing the symbol of a skull pierced by a black crescent, desperately firing at Vorms emerging from the shadows. Horror filled every frame. Faces twisted in fear, screams drowned by explosions, breaches opening everywhere. It was a living hell.
The reporter continued, "The toll is heavy: over 1,000 soldiers killed, 500 wounded, and barely 5,000 survivors. The effort to reclaim Tharvos, once a thriving capital, remains incomplete. Still, the Dreads Corps refuse to give up." The screen showed an officer standing atop a barricade, shouting commands, his face bloodied but resolute.
In the cafeteria, silence hung heavy — until nervous voices broke through. "I'm never joining the Dreads Corps, that's suicide!" said a boy, hands trembling. Another candidate added, "They're crazy to keep going… That city's a deathtrap."
But Kael remained still, staring at the screen. He saw something different. He saw courage. Determination. The fragile hope carried by those men and women in their relentless fight to reclaim what humanity had lost. And in their struggle, he saw something familiar — a burning rage, an unyielding will to survive, no matter what.
He slowly stood, his tray still half full. His heart beat faster, this time with a newfound resolve. He wanted to join those people. The ones called reckless. The ones who dared go where no one else would. He wanted to become a Reaper.
He wanted to join the Dreads Corps.