Lior’s words still lingered as they walked the halls — nothing worth repeating.

  Ayasha kept pace beside him, but her eyes flicked toward his hand, still faintly curled into a fist. Cael trailed a step behind, silent.

  They climbed the stairwell in tired quiet until the steel steps opened into an overlook balcony. From here, all of the team’s training grounds stretched below. Boots pounded against the dirt in a ragged rhythm.

  Team Ironclad.

  At the center stood Captain Varric — back straight, arms folded, his cold gaze locked on the cadets circling below.

  His voice cut through the morning air like a blade.

  “Rex — you lost. If you can’t win a simple match, what use are you to me?”

  Rex’s head hung low, shoulders slumped, arms long and heavy.

  The silence before the next blow felt heavier than the air itself.

  “And not only did you lose,” Varric continued, “you looked so helpless you reached for help. Pathetic! No one’s going to help you. Not here. Not ever. If you don’t have power, you’re nothing. Useless to me.”

  His words struck a core that even Lior felt.

  The air between them froze — every breath waiting for the next strike.

  “Maybe I should sell you to the zoo,” Varric spat. “At least then you’d be worth staring at. You make me look like a fool. All of you do.”

  The three Ironclad cadets froze under his voice, not daring to breathe.

  “Run,” he commanded at last, voice low and venomous. “Now. Until I say stop. And if any of you quit—”

  His eyes drilled into Rex, cold and merciless.

  “—I’ll send you back to Potestas where monsters belong.”

  The cadets obeyed without a word.

  THUD. THUD. THUD.

  Feet pounded the dirt in mechanical rhythm. Rex’s breath was already ragged, his body heaving — but still, he ran.

  From the balcony, Lior’s fist clenched.

  Then, for just a second, Rex’s eyes flicked upward — soft, unguarded, searching.

  Those aren’t the eyes of a monster, Lior thought.

  The realization caught in his chest.

  I’ve seen eyes like that before… the kind that just want someone to say they’re enough.

  Ayasha’s hand brushed his wrist, soft but steady, easing the tension in Lior’s hand.

  “Not every captain cares like ours,” she said quietly.

  Her gaze stayed on Rex, then drifted back to Titan’s figure in her memory. “Some of them left Potestas. Others… Potestas never left them.”

  They lingered a moment longer at the railing, Rex’s labored breaths echoing below, before Titan called his cadets onward.

  ?

  The Seraph training grounds gleamed in the morning sun.

  Cadets moved in practiced rhythm — balanced, graceful, like every step had been rehearsed on stage.

  Their captain stood at the center, hands folded neatly, her voice carrying warmth instead of command.

  “You made me proud yesterday,” she said, smiling at her squad. “Grace, humility, and strength. Just be yourselves. That’s enough.”

  Her gaze drifted as she spoke — not at her cadets, but past them.

  Across the courtyard, Titan and his cadets were walking by.

  The sight of him caught her for a breath too long, her voice softening without her realizing it.

  “Captain!”

  Replica’s hand shot up, waving frantically, cheeks puffed in a dramatic pout.

  “Captain Seraph!”

  The call snapped her back. She blinked, blush rising faint on her cheeks, and turned as though she hadn’t been staring elsewhere at all.

  “Ah — yes, Replica?”

  Replica grinned, eyes glittering. “What are your impressions of Team Titan?”

  Seraph stiffened — breath caught halfway.

  “Who—”

  “More specifically... Lior!” Replica added quickly, as if reading her mind.

  The relief came like a visible exhale. Seraph’s blush deepened, but this time from something softer.

  “Well... if Titan trusts him, that means something. Why do you ask?”

  Replica leaned forward, her smile unstoppable. “He sat with Team Pulse yesterday. Even made Perma laugh. Kinda made me want to join them...”

  Seraph’s expression gentled, though her eyes flickered once more toward where Titan had gone.

  Her voice stayed warm. “Replica... never stop yourself from making friends. Ever.”

  Replica’s grin grew even brighter. “Understood, ma’am!”

  ?

  The day passed, and the cadets began to file into the cafeteria for dinner.

  The cafeteria hummed with its usual clatter — trays, footsteps, the quiet shuffle of routine.

  But at one table, laughter lingered. Titan and Pulse’s voices carried just enough to stand out against the hush — a ripple that hadn’t yet settled.

  Lior pushed his tray aside and rose quietly. His body felt heavier than usual, every bruise from Breaker’s Gauntlet dragging at him.

  Ayasha and Cael stayed behind, caught in the warmth of the table, while he slipped out early to find sleep.

  ?

  The corridor was quiet, lit in pale strips of white. Lior stretched once, jaw cracking in a yawn—

  BAM!

  The door across the hall flew open, slamming straight into his face.

  “Whoa! Sorry, dude!”

  Grid leaned out, lollipop stick tilting. His light brown eyes blinked like he hadn’t quite woken up.

  “Doesn’t even make sense for the doors to open this way in a hallway this small.”

  “You think?” Lior blinked, still rubbing his nose.

  Grid tilted his head, unfazed. “Anyway. I’m Jace. But you can call me Grid.”

  Still rubbing his nose, Lior muttered, “I’m Lior... and you can call me... Lior.”

  The awkward chuckle that followed only made it worse.

  Grid squinted at him, then gave a slow nod like the statement carried some profound wisdom.

  “I saw you fight,” he said mid-yawn. “You’re good. Especially for someone not raised here.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Lior blinked, a tired grin pulling at his lips. “I had good teachers.”

  “Cool.” Grid leaned lazily against the doorframe. “Thanks, man. I didn’t have to go far to hitVitalis’ social interaction quota today. She won’t be hounding me about it later.”

  Lior couldn’t help a small laugh, shaking his head. The guy was something else.

  The door shut with a click, leaving Lior alone in the hall, smiling faintly at the odd encounter.

  Lior’s room was quiet. The hum of Veritas felt distant, almost muffled by exhaustion.

  His body ached from Titan’s drills, but sleep came fast — heavy.

  And then the dream took him.

  Two radiant figures burned into being — one a blinding gold, the other seething crimson. Their clash split the world in half.

  KRRR—THOOOM!

  Waves of destruction tore through mountains, rivers, sky. Every surge felt alive, too alive — the kind of power that shook bone and soul alike.

  The golden figure reeled. The crimson one pressed forward, shadows curling like smoke. Their last surge met—

  WAM!

  The door slammed open, shattering the dream.

  Ayasha’s voice cut sharper than the clash.

  “Lior!”

  She stormed inside, already flushed with frustration.

  “You’re late! I told you to be ready when I left! They told us to get to Gamma Dome ten minutes ago!”

  Lior sat up, still dazed, the fading light of his dream clinging to the edges of his vision.

  He yanked on his jacket and hurried out, boots striking against the corridor floor.

  The halls were nearly empty now, lights overhead humming faintly. His thoughts were louder than anything else.

  Gold. Crimson. The same colors again and again... What did they mean? Did they mean anything?

  Cael adjusted his glasses with a quiet sigh as they pushed forward, Ayasha striding ahead, muttering about dead weight.

  ?

  Team Titan stumbled into the Gamma Dome late, boots echoing too loud against the steel.

  The seats were already full — every cadet lined with their team, backs straight, eyes forward.

  Titan didn’t flinch, but the three behind him looked like they’d just sprinted through half the facility.

  From the rows ahead, Valor’s smirk cut sideways toward Kaito.

  “He doesn’t even care,” he muttered, voice sharp enough to carry. “Privileged types think rules don’t apply.”

  Lior ignored him, forcing himself to keep stride until they reached their row.

  The silence around them felt heavy, every eye tracking their arrival.

  The announcer cleared his throat, voice amplified across the dome.

  “Lior... thank you for taking the time out to join us this morning?”

  A few cadets chuckled under their breath.

  Ayasha shot Lior a glare, but Titan only inclined his head toward the empty seat.

  Lior slid in beside him, jaw set, returning Titan’s steady look.

  No words. Just the kind of silence that yelled at you.

  The intercom carried again, crisp and clear:

  “Tomorrow at 1200 hours begins your second exercise: the Veil Drill.”

  The dome dimmed slightly, spotlights focusing on the speaker’s platform.

  A schematic shimmered above the floor — glowing wireframes of walls, towers, and drones assembling into a compound.

  “The Veil Drill,” the announcer continued, “is a tactical simulation. Two teams must infiltrate a facility guarded by drones, sentries , and many other traps to gain access e a key objective, without being compromised.”

  Murmurs stirred, cadets leaning in, eyes tracking the hologram as the model shifted.

  “Each pair of teams will be chose a joint strategist. This strategist cannot enter the field but will guide both squads via comms from the strategist tower. Your success will depend on whether you can follow — or even trust — that voice.”

  The hologram rippled again, its walls rising and falling like a living maze.

  “Our facility is fully adaptive. Each run will be different — walls will rise from the ground, barriers will collapse, routes will vanish. No two missions will ever be the same. Adaptation will be as important as execution.”

  The compound model rotated brighter, glowing with possibility and threat alike.

  “Points will be awarded based on three metrics:

  One — coordination between squads.

  Two — successful access to the objective.

  Three — effective communication and execution.”

  The announcer’s gaze swept the chamber, daring anyone to speak.

  A murmur slipped out from the cadets’ side.

  Grid leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, muttering just loud enough for the row to hear.

  “Tch... it took me forever to click with Silverline, and now they want me to sync with another team? Come on, man...”

  A couple of cadets smirked, but the announcer’s eyes narrowed, cutting the chatter.

  “Captains were briefed this morning. Any further questions... take it up with them.”

  The announcer’s voice faded, leaving the cadets dismissed to their own captains.

  Boots scuffed steel, chatter low and restrained as teams filed out of the Gamma Dome.

  ?

  High above Gamma Dome, the directors sat in their suite.

  Screens along the walls replayed fragments of yesterday’s Breaker’s Gauntlet — strikes frozen mid-air, bodies hitting the mat in slowed clarity.

  But few eyes lingered on the images. The real clash was at the obsidian table.

  “We should be doubling the pace,” Director Havel pressed, his tone clipped. “Two-a-day trials. Morning and evening. If they can’t endure that, they’ll never endure real combat.”

  Xun’s hands folded neatly on the table. His voice was calm, steady, but firm.

  “They are not soldiers yet. Their Niches are still raw. Their bodies — unforged. Two-a-day drills will burn them down before we see what they’re capable of. If you want truth, not corpses, then one trial a day is all they can bear.”

  Murmurs rippled. A few nodded, most frowned.

  A new voice cut through — Director Lyra Veylen, smooth, low, distinctly feminine.

  One of the newer directors, her hair pulled into a tight coil of silver and blackr, eyes lined with deliberate care. She hadn’t spoken much in prior meetings.

  “I agree with Director Xun,” she said evenly. “They are children. Pushing too fast will only show us who breaks first — not who can grow.”

  The room stirred. Six heads shook. Two remained still.

  No formal vote was called, but the current was clear. The majority settled on one trial per day.

  Xun exhaled, leaning back slightly, though the crease of his brow never smoothed.

  “Then if nothing else, allow them a day’s rest between sessions.”

  Director Havel leaned back, tapping a finger against the table.

  “Why not give them a summer’s break while you’re at it, Xun?”

  His sarcasm bled through every word.

  “We’re raising fighters, not office workers.”

  Xun sat straight in his chair, voice nor demeanor changing.

  “We have the time — why rush this through?”

  Whispers crossed the table until each director was ready to vote.

  When the vote ended, Xun’s count stood only with Director Lyra — two to five.

  A sinister smirk started to crawl across Director Havel’s face.

  “You’ve gotten soft, Xun.”

  Xun thought quickly for a middle ground, then spoke.

  “If we can’t agree on rest, let’s at least come to a compromise. If a drill runs long into the afternoon, do not force another at dawn the next morning. Even soldiers require time to recover.”

  Silence crossed the room again before all but two nodded in agreement.

  Xun, relief ghosting his face, continued confidently.

  “...Agreed then. A day’s pace. And at least a night’s rest between.”

  Chairs scraped. Discussions fractured into side murmurs — the decision made.

  Xun rose smoothly. He adjusted his jacket, then bowed low, voice steady.

  “Thank you for your time. I will respect the council’s judgment.”

  The others barely looked up as he turned. The chamber door slid shut behind him with a whisper.

  Alone in the corridor, the calm fell away.

  His fist clenched, knuckles white.

  The words escaped — low, sharp, for no ears but his own.

  “They don’t understand. They sit too far above the fight... and one day, that blindness will cost more than they can pay.”

  Slowly, he uncurled his hand. His face smoothed again — the mask restored.

  His steps echoed in perfect rhythm as he strode down the empty hall, leaving nothing behind but silence.

  ?

  Lior walked in silence with the others for a time, Ayasha tossing a parting jab at Speedy, Cael still absorbed in Blueprint’s newest holographic display.

  But as the groups split and footsteps scattered, he found himself alone, the cold air settling heavier with each step.

  The dream tugged again at the edge of his thoughts — gold clashing with crimson, light breaking against shadow. It hadn’t left him since the night before.

  That dream… the gold… the crimson. Were they just dreams? Or warnings?

  He hesitated at his door, breath fogging faint in the low light.

  Should I talk to Titan?

  ...No. This is nothing. Just dreams. Probably just tired.

  The corridor darkened as he stepped inside, the shadow rising to meet him.

  Somewhere deep within Veritas, the storm he thought he had left just took a new form.

  End of Chapter 23

  Team matchups incoming…