The sun had barely cracked over the cliffs, spilling gold across the wide open training field. The air was brisk, sharp enough to sting the lungs. Dew clung to the grass, glittering faintly. But the Bluehawks were already awake.

  Alyssa stood apart from the others on the far side of the field, barefoot, sleeves rolled up, her muscles drawn tight with every breath. In each hand she gripped a nagamaki, the long-handled blades heavier than the standard swords the squad used. One edge was chipped, the other gleamed sharp as new steel.

  She moved in a rhythm of tight, efficient circles—one blade cutting high, the other low, her whole body twisting, lunging, ducking. It was slower than her usual combat style, but there was something savage in it. Each motion landed with bite, like a controlled storm of steel.

  Sophie, limping less now, sat on the fence with Sira. She chewed idly on a piece of fruit as they watched.

  “She’s going to kill her spine doing that every morning,” Sira muttered.

  “You’d have to find her spine first,” Sophie replied with a smirk.

  “Oh, it’s there,” Sira said. “Buried under a mountain of trauma.”

  They watched as Alyssa finished a final spinning cross-cut, dropped to one knee, and drove both blades into the dirt as if daring the world to cross the line they marked.

  Inside the squad room, the new recruits stood stiff in their fresh uniforms. Kara Ellian, Tane Rowell, Ethan Brask, and Daelen Virell. Their old armor had been replaced with lighter gear marked by faint streaks of Bluehawk blue across the shoulders and wrists. They were in.

  Alyssa strode through the door, sweat still clinging to her arms, the nagamaki now sheathed across her back in a double harness. She looked them over before glancing at her core veterans: Harlen Voss, Ketta Maren, Bran Ishell, Sira Vance, and Sophie Relin.

  “No more testing. No more pretending. You wear the name now—Bluehawk. And that means something.”

  She walked slowly down the line.

  “You’re not stronger than the beasts. You’re not faster than them. Not smarter. Not better armed. To them, you’re meat. Same as every other unit.”

  She stopped in front of Ethan, who tensed under her gaze.

  “But Bluehawks don’t run. We bleed, we break, we adapt. And we outlast.”

  She gestured toward Sophie.

  “Sophie nearly died because the world doesn’t care how brave you are. So be better. Be sharper. Be faster than the coward beside you.”

  Daelen’s voice broke the silence, quiet but firm. “I’m not a coward.”

  Alyssa didn’t even look at him. “You will be, when it’s dark enough.”

  The silence that followed settled heavy in their chests. The recruits nodded stiffly—some swallowing hard, others clenching their jaws or lowering their eyes.

  Alyssa turned and stepped into the center of the room. “Gear up. Training starts in ten. Formation drills and live-grapple movement through the ridge pass. Move.”

  The recruits scattered instantly.

  By midday, the ridge pass echoed with the snap of grapples firing through the air. Harlen barked positions from the cliffside while Ketta corrected stances mid-motion. Bran demonstrated rolls and crash-landings. Sira played sniper with blunt bolts, knocking anyone off balance who made too much noise.

  Alyssa ran the ridge alone, still wielding the nagamaki. Her style was almost untraceable, weaving mid-air assaults into grapple swings the others could barely follow.

  Kara muttered while climbing, “She doesn’t fight like a human.”

  Tane gasped beside her. “Maybe she isn’t.”

  Alyssa struck through a hanging log clean in mid-air, both blades flashing in the sun. She grappled mid-fall and vanished up the rock wall without touching ground.

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  “She’s showing off,” Sira said casually.

  Sophie, watching in silence, shook her head. “No. She’s evolving.”

  By dusk, the field was painted red with the dying light. Most of the squad had stumbled back to the bunkhouse, bruised and blistered. Only Alyssa remained, near the trees, testing the new weight on her arms.

  Both her wrists carried grapple launchers now. The balance was awkward, unfamiliar.

  She fired the right. It veered wide.

  She adjusted, narrowed her stance, and tried again. This time it caught. The left snapped out perfectly.

  Then both at once.

  The twin wires yanked her into a wide arc between two trees, her body twisting midair. The recoil slammed her shoulder against a trunk, and she tumbled into a rough landing, dirt spraying around her.

  She groaned, breathless. “Too slow. Still too slow…”

  “Or maybe just too stubborn.”

  Alyssa looked up. Kara stood at the treeline, arms folded, fire burning in her eyes.

  “You here to complain about the drills again?” Alyssa asked.

  “No. Not this time.” Kara stepped closer. “I’m here because we all saw Daelen almost get Liam killed today.”

  Alyssa rubbed her shoulder in silence.

  “He hesitated,” Kara pressed. “He lost his grapple rhythm and panicked mid-climb. Instead of backing off, he dragged the whole line down.”

  “You think I didn’t notice?” Alyssa said dryly.

  “Then why’s he still here?”

  Alyssa stood, the grapples hanging slack at her sides. Her voice cut sharp. “Because failing fast is better than pretending you’re ready. He’s not the only one who cracked today. He’s just the one you’re blaming.”

  “I’m not blaming,” Kara said, stepping closer. “I’m scared. I want this. I want to be Bluehawk. But not if it means dying for someone who isn’t ready to bleed the same.”

  “Then train harder.”

  “This isn’t about me!”

  The woods buzzed with cicadas. Kara’s voice softened.

  “Look… you’re the best of us. We all know that. You’re pushing yourself past human. Dual grapples, nagamaki—you’re barely you anymore.”

  Alyssa’s jaw clenched.

  “You said Daelen’s not ready. Maybe he isn’t. But don’t pretend you’re carrying all this just to save people.”

  A long silence followed. Alyssa stared past the trees. “I don’t need you to understand.”

  “I don’t,” Kara admitted. “But I see it. Every time you run ahead. Every time you look back like you’re expecting a ghost to grab you.” Her voice firmed. “Don’t let Daelen drag us down. But don’t drag yourself into the dark either.”

  Alyssa didn’t answer. She reloaded the grapples with precise motions.

  Kara turned to leave. “You’re our leader. Act like one. Before one of us follows you into something we can’t survive.”

  Then she was gone.

  Alyssa stood alone, the weight of both launchers pressing heavy on her arms. She raised them, fired again.

  Both hit true.

  She launched into the dark canopy above.

  The jungle was thick with humidity, the air clinging to skin like a wet shroud. The Bluehawks moved silently through the undergrowth. This was not a mission. It was a test. A trap.

  Alyssa crouched beside a hand-built launcher, tightening its spring cord. Harlen knelt nearby, spear in hand, scanning the tree line.

  “Feels like this thing’s going to snap back and kill us instead,” he muttered.

  “Then we’ll know what to fix,” Alyssa replied.

  Up the slope, Ketta and Tane disguised a crude net trap beneath ferns. Bran sharpened spikes and hammered them into a pit while Sira covered them with leaves. Sophie stood guard, pale but steady, one arm still bound.

  Kara worked on a tripwire between two trees. “Even if it works, what’s the point? Those things don’t drop. We don’t even know if they can die.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Alyssa said, eyes on her work. “We make them bleed. That’s enough for now.”

  A sharp snap cut the air.

  “Movement,” Sira hissed. “West side.”

  Branches cracked. A hulking shape tore through the undergrowth. A Rhupenshron brute. Scarred, mutated, its breath a growl that hated the earth itself.

  It stepped forward—and tripped the wire.

  The spear launcher fired, burying a shaft in its shin. The brute roared and stumbled. One leg dropped into the pit, then the net collapsed across its shoulders.

  It flailed, bleeding.

  Tane’s eyes widened. “It’s actually bleeding?”

  Alyssa grappled upward, blades drawn. “Move! Strike where it’s hurt!”

  Harlen and Ketta yanked tight on a second vine. A log slammed into its ribs. It reeled, torn and confused.

  Sira cried, “We’re actually hurting it!”

  But then the brute screamed. Not in pain. In warning.

  The sound carried through the jungle like a horn.

  Kara’s voice broke the silence. “Shit. It’s not alone.”

  “We need to go,” Sophie urged. “Now.”

  Alyssa landed hard beside Ketta, staring at the blood streaking the dirt. “We got what we came for.”

  She lit a flare and hurled it skyward. Red smoke hissed into the canopy.

  “Bluehawks—fall back!”

  The battered squads staggered out of the forest at sunset, mud-caked and silent. Alyssa led them, blades dirty, face unreadable. At the outpost ridge, Ashguard soldiers were already gathered.

  Soreya leaned on the railing, eyes narrowing as Alyssa approached. “Took your sweet time.”

  “It worked,” Alyssa said flatly, brushing past.

  Soreya frowned. “Worked?”

  Ketta, bloodied, laughed weakly. “Got one to bleed. You ever see that happen?”

  The words silenced the camp.

  “You’re serious,” Eren said.

  Harlen collapsed near the fire pit with a groan. “We hit it. Not dead. But bleeding.”

  Sira nodded. “It called for help though. We had to retreat.”

  Vaeyna’s voice cut through. “Doesn’t matter what they woke. They struck back. That’s more than most.”

  Soreya exhaled, shaking her head with a crooked smile. “You’re a lunatic, Alyssa.”

  “Good,” Alyssa muttered as she entered the bunkroom. “Lunatics are the only ones stupid enough to fight monsters we can’t kill.”

  No one followed her inside.