Days had passed like a burning wind, marked by sweat, pain, and relentless discipline. Each morning, they woke up to the sharp blare of the sirens, trained without rest, forging both their bodies and their will. Kael had learned to wield various weapons, to dodge, to strike, to survive. But today marked the end of that cycle: the final trial.
They were led into a vast armory room, its walls lined with gleaming weapons, each displayed like a sacred relic. Swords, daggers, axes, maces, reinforced fans, gauntlets for hand-to-hand combat, and in the center, placed on a silver pedestal, stood a lance.
"Choose your weapon," said the instructor with a sharp gaze. "What you choose today will reflect who you are."
Kael stepped forward slowly. Over the past few days, he had observed a man fighting with a lance. The ease of his movements, the grace, the lethal precision—it had fascinated him. He approached the lance. His fingers brushed the shaft, and a strange sensation coursed through him. He picked it up.
The man he had watched gave him a subtle nod and a faint smile from the corner of the room. Kael lowered his gaze, almost shy, then gripped the weapon firmly. He was the only one to choose a lance.
The others turned to more conventional weapons: long swords, twin daggers, massive gauntlets, bladed fans. Each candidate revealed something of themselves in their choice. It was as much instinct as strategy.
Once the weapons were chosen, a solemn silence fell over the room. A threshold had been crossed. The instructor declared that 25 candidates had passed all the physical trials. With the 4 who had been pre-selected at the beginning, that made 29 recruits.
"The four who were pre-qualified haven't received their gear yet," the instructor announced. "That will be rectified today."
Five hours passed before Sareth entered the room, as imposing as ever. He held a tablet in his hands, his eyes scanning the names with cold precision.
"It's time to make your choices," he said. "You will each select your Corps, the unit you will serve. I will call your name one by one. When you hear it, step forward, state your choice, and receive your badge and equipment. If you're joining a Corps, it means you've passed."
The names began. The first ten all chose the Sentinel Wing, drawn by the idea of being the elite protectors, the shield of civilization.
The next six opted for the Iron Bastion, those who sealed dimensional breaches and kept the world from falling into chaos.
Three others chose the Umbral Seekers, the scouts of the ruins, those who ventured into the unknown and returned with secrets.
Then came five more, all choosing the Vulture Recovery, the scavengers and cleaners of the battlefield, tasked with recovering the lost and fallen.
Only six names remained. The tension grew heavy. Sareth looked up and said:
"Naelys Aelaris."
At the back of the room, Kael froze. That name—he hadn't heard it in days. He watched the figure step forward. She had changed. Taller, more confident, and even more beautiful. Her white hair fell in soft waves, and her gaze was sharp like a blade.
"Dreads Corps," she said calmly but firmly.
Kael's eyes widened. The Reapers? He hadn't expected that. He thought she would choose the Sentinel Wing or a safer path. But no. She had chosen the danger.
Sareth spoke again.
"Declan Valroth."
The Altaris heir stepped forward with his usual relaxed stride, his gaze steady.
"Dreads Corps," he declared without hesitation.
Kael felt a lump form in his throat. Two people who once meant the world to him... now in the same unit.
Sareth continued:
"Nyra Thorne and Syla Thorne."
Two young women stepped forward simultaneously, identical as mirrored reflections. Twin sisters with silver eyes and raven-black hair. Their synchronized steps spoke of intense training. They spoke in unison:
"Dreads Corps."
Sareth raised an eyebrow.
"You're bold... But very well. You four," he said, looking at them, "are the ones who stood above the others. You are our finest selections."
He stepped back.
"Now... Kael Vox."
Kael's heart skipped a beat. All eyes turned to him. He stepped forward, still holding his lance. Sareth gave him a sideways smirk.
"I assume you'll follow your buddy Ryven and join the Sentinel Wing?"
Kael took a deep breath.
"No. I choose the Dreads Corps."
A stunned silence spread through the room. Then, from where she stood, Naelys flinched. A single tear slipped down her cheek. She whispered:
"Kael..."
Her heart had recognized him, even after all these years. And this time... she wouldn't let him vanish again.