The sun hung mercilessly overhead, bleaching the world in a white glare.
Freya wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, but it did little — the sweat just kept pouring. Her lungs burned, her legs ached, her vision blurred at the edges. Yet she pushed herself through the tenth brutal lap around the training grounds — along with every other cadet.
Around her, the whole squad was running too.
Beside her, Daisy stumbled but kept going, her cheeks flushed red. Alice cursed under her breath a few feet behind.
Freya was struggling to keep up, but seeing those familiar faces around her — even if they were better — pushed her forward.
If they can survive this... so can I.
Her legs felt like stone, her chest heaved, but she refused to slow down.
When Levi finally barked the next command, it was like a rope pulling her out of the storm.
"Gather up in two rows!"
The cadets jogged into place, panting, dripping sweat.
Levi walked between the forming lines, hands clasped behind his back. He gave a sharp nod to a boy standing awkwardly between groups. "You — left line. Don't waste my time."
Then, more softly, to a girl fumbling with her sleeve: "Shift to the right, love. There you go."
Once the rows were set, he raised his voice.
"You may use your own weapons or choose from the rack! Fight with purpose. No killing blows."
The tension shifted. This wasn't a showcase for Freya — every cadet would be fighting someone. Pairs were already forming. The moment one person went down or could no longer defend themselves, the fight would be called over.
The weapon rack gleamed — spears, wooden swords, steel daggers dulled for practice, even nunchuks.
Freya stumbled toward it, muscles still trembling from the run. Her hand found the familiar roughness of a wooden sword.
When she turned, her opponent was already waiting.
A tall woman, about 5'7", with shoulder length black hair.
Olivia Fernandez.
Lean and honed, wearing a white tank top and green shorts. A karambit spun lazily in her hand, flashing in the sun.
Freya's heart skipped.
She looks like she knows what she's doing.
Up above, in the open-air corridor of the facility, Edmund passed by, hands shoved in his pockets, Fredrick chatting beside him.
He caught a glimpse of the field — and paused.
His sharp eyes narrowed when they landed on Freya, sword clutched too tightly.
Fredrick kept walking, leaving Edmund behind.
Edmund leaned against the railing.
This won't take long, he thought, lighting a cigarette.
Levi's whistle pierced the air.
The match began.
Olivia moved first — fast.
Freya barely managed to lift her sword in time, parrying a slash that rattled her bones.
The force sent her stumbling two steps back.
Focus. Focus!
She gritted her teeth, trying to remember the stance corrections Levi had barked at them — lower your weight, balance between your legs.
But her body was sluggish after the run.
Olivia pressed again, jabbing low.
Freya jumped back, slashing at air.
The woman feinted high — Freya flinched — and the real attack sliced her arm.
Pain ripped up her shoulder.Blood wheezing out and some drops fell on the sand below.
Freya gasped, clutching the sword tighter.
Move, you idiot, move!
But hesitation cost her.
A shoulder to her chest knocked her backward, sword slipping from her hands.
Edmund exhaled smoke, eyes steady.
Weak. Slow. No instincts. No killer drive.
Down below, Freya struggled back up.
Her body screamed, blood trickled from her cut.
You can't win this. But you can still stand.
Olivia lunged again. Freya parried clumsily, swinging wide in desperation.
The older girl ducked easily, slashing her ribs with the flat of the karambit.
Freya dropped to one knee, panting, vision swaying.
Olivia circled casually, not rushing the inevitable.
Freya gritted her teeth, staggered up — and Olivia cracked the karambit lightly across her temple.
Freya collapsed face-first into the dirt.
Edmund flicked his cigarette ash over the side of the corridor, watching without expression.
He saw the blood trickling down Freya's shoulder.
It's just a cut. Could be much worse.
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, smoke curling from his lips.
In my day, a session like this would've ended with broken ribs. Or worse.
He remembered the brutal faces of the opponents he'd faced, back when survival wasn't guaranteed by a whistle.
He crushed the cigarette under his boot and turned away.
If she survives this... maybe she'll be worth my time someday.
Down on the field, Levi whistled the end of the match.
Freya blinked up at the sky, dizzy and aching, but she was still breathing. Still awake.
Suddenly a hand appeared in front of her.
Freya blinked, looking up at her opponent — Olivia.
The tall woman offered her a faint smile. "Nice fighting with you. I'm Olivia Fernandez."
Freya took her hand, letting herself be pulled up, wincing at the jolt to her cut.
"It was great to fight you too," she managed, voice hoarse. "I'm Freya."
Olivia nodded once. "See you around."
Without another word, she turned and walked off, blending into the crowd of cadets.
Freya stood there, sword dangling from her fingers, still breathing hard — but somehow, despite everything, a tiny ember of pride glowed inside her chest.
She hadn't quit.
She turned slightly, letting the crowd of dispersing cadets flow past her. That's when Daisy's voice rang out from the other side.
"Ugh, the sand here ruined my nails."
Freya turned and blinked at her. "Yeah, damn, that's concerning," she muttered dryly, looking down at her bleeding arm.
Daisy's eyes widened when she saw the gash. "Damn. That looks bad."
She hurried over, brushing hair off her sweaty forehead. "My medical kit's in the locker room. We'll hit first aid when we get there."
Freya squinted. "Can't you just heal me right now?"
Daisy threw her arms up. "No. I'm running low on aether ever since that stupid mission. And Miss Reyna forbade enhancement pills to replenish it— or do you think I'd be seen dead attending morning drills? It tans my beautiful skin!"
Freya stared.
"If I use any more aether, I might become a zombie," Daisy said bluntly.
Freya blinked, then laughed. "Right. That's comforting."
"I'm not joking," Daisy insisted. "Aether Depletion is a real thing."
Freya paused. "Wait — what is that?"
As they started walking toward the lockers, Daisy gave her a side-eye. "You don't think aether comes without side effects, do you?"
She tapped a finger to her chin, thinking. "Then again... you're not even from Stovia, right? You must be really strong if you've never felt anything yet…"
Freya scratched her head, brow furrowed. "What do you even mean? Please speak English."
Daisy reached for her locker, unfazed. "Aether is... somewhat like cancer."
Freya blinked, her confusion deepening.
Before she could ask anything else, Alice wandered in, half-limping from training, and dropped onto the bench beside them with a dramatic sigh. She didn't say a word—just crunched into a chip and listened in.
Daisy pulled out her medical kit and sat on a bench, opening it with practiced ease. "Stovia is very rich in natural resources. One of them is aether—a radioactive material. Legend says it was formed when a meteor slammed into the earth and fused with underground minerals."
Freya, curiosity getting the better of her, sat down too.
Daisy unwrapped a cotton pad and dampened it with alcohol. "That radioactivity caused us humans to mutate. Some developed supernatural abilities."
Freya winced as Daisy pressed the alcohol to a cut on her arm, but she said nothing, listening intently.
"But not everyone did," Daisy continued, her voice dropping a note. "Some people's bodies rejected the mutation. We call it Aether Resistance Syndrome."
She cleaned the wound with a careful hand. "People always assume aether users are the strong ones. But in truth? The people without powers had the stronger bodies. At least... eventually. Back in the early days, they'd fall into fevers—last for years. Some would suffer for so long, then just drop dead."
Freya's eyes widened. "Years?"
Daisy gave a small nod. "Mm. But over time, their bodies adapted. They evolved."
Freya tilted her head. "So how do you become a zombie, then?"
Daisy blinked, then smacked her forehead. "Look at me—I nearly forgot why we're even talking. Got too caught up in things you should've learned in biology class." She chuckled and pulled a bandage from her kit.
Freya leaned in, eager now.
Daisy wrapped the bandage around her arm and said, "One of the drawbacks of being an aether user is that aether eventually merges with your body. That's why we train—to keep some in reserve. If we don't, it starts messing with our biology. And it hits where it hurts most: the brain. It erodes brain cells until you're nothing but a shell. Undead."
Freya shook her head slowly. "Teach me how to use aether."
Daisy looked at her, almost apologetic. "It's different for everyone. I can't teach you... but maybe Mr. Levi can help."
Right on cue, Alice tore open the chip bag with a dramatic crunch and started munching loudly. The sound shattered the tension like glass.
Daisy gave her a flat stare. "Tsk tsk. Not very ladylike."
Alice didn't miss a beat. "You two were spewing so much science, I thought my report card was about to show up. I swear my ears started taking notes."
Freya snorted. "She kind of has a point. You really tossed out a lot of words. My brain is fried."
Alice extended the bag to her. "You don't need aether. You almost killed that girl." She nodded toward the training yard, trying to comfort Freya—even though the fight had ended... poorly.
Freya gave a deadpan expression "Really?"
Still, she took a chip.
Daisy grinned. "Yeah, you were fire."
"Instincts," Alice added with a wink.
Freya rolled her eyes. They were definitely messing with her.
Alice kept going. "Or maybe your body reacted to danger. Sometimes powers only show up under pressure."
Freya popped a chip into her mouth. "Then I need more pressure."
Daisy gave her a sharp side-eye and smirked. "Careful. Around here, stress shows up gift-wrapped—with blood and trauma."
Alice casually offered the bag to Daisy next.
Daisy wrinkled her nose in immediate horror. "No, thank you. Potatoes make people fat. And if you look fat, no one will marry you."
Alice paused mid-chew, looking her straight in the eye without an ounce of concern.
Freya groaned and rolled her eyes again.
Still, Alice extended the bag once more, undeterred.
Daisy hesitated... then reached out and took a single chip, nibbling like it was some forbidden ritual.
Alice crunched into another chip and muttered dryly, "If you keep being so nosy, no one'll marry you either."
Freya snorted—then cracked into uncontrollable laughter.
Daisy coughed on her chip, wheezing between giggles.
Meanwhile, at the Smith Estate—far from the clamor of cadets and dust-choked training fields—James D. Smith sat cloaked in the heavy silence of his study.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting sharp golden lines across the stone floor and making the surface of his polished desk gleam like glass. Stacks of documents loomed before him—royal court judgments, civilian petitions, regional reports—each a burden wrapped in parchment.
James leaned back in his chair, rolling his stiff shoulders with a grunt.
Their father, Darren Smith, had split the kingdom's responsibilities with almost surgical precision before departing for a neighboring country to finalize a peace treaty. He'd be back soon—and when he returned, James hoped the crown would finally be placed where it belonged. On his head. The rightful heir. Or so he told himself.
While Edmund managed the Cadet Corps and military affairs, James had been tasked with the royal court, domestic stability, and regional peacekeeping. On paper, it was a clean divide. In practice, it was anything but.
A brittle truce.
Darren's subtle attempt to foster brotherhood was, to James, more like pushing two wolves into the same den and hoping they'd somehow get along.
Because no matter how carefully roles were divided, James couldn't ignore what lingered underneath it all: Edmund's reputation. A bastard by birth, yet coldly effective. Strategic. Respected. Feared. The kind of man nobles whispered about in both awe and dread.
And for all his legitimacy, James felt the throne inching further away with each of Edmund's victories.
He exhaled sharply and turned his gaze to a worn parchment at the top of the stack.
A petition from District 1, signed by over a hundred desperate civilians.
"The river running through the western farmlands has been blocked for weeks. Livestock are dying. Crops wither. Scouts report unnatural structures upstream and sightings of cloaked figures at night. We beg for intervention before famine strikes."
James frowned, tapping the edge of the paper against his knuckles.
Unnatural structures? Cloaked figures?
"It's just a blocked river," he muttered, not fully believing it himself. "Any cadet worth their boots can clear it."
But District 1 wasn't just any district. It was Stovia's agricultural spine—and if the harvest failed, they'd face more than hunger. They'd face riots, black-market plagues, and enemies probing the cracks in the kingdom's walls.
He couldn't afford to blink.
He slid the parchment aside and reached for the next report. Smuggling of raw aether across the eastern border—paired with a veiled diplomatic threat. The next outlined a theft at a restricted aether repository, traced to black-market dealings in District 7. The third bore the crimson seal of the kingdom—urgent unrest brewing near the central mining territories.
James sat still for a moment, the weight of it all coiling in his gut.
Too many threats. Too many cracks forming at once.
He stacked the four sealed reports, then reached for the small silver bell beside him and rang it once.
A servant entered within moments, head bowed.
"Take these," James said, holding out the documents, "to Edmund. Immediately."
The servant bowed again and disappeared with the stack.
Left alone, James turned his gaze back to the District 1 petition. His jaw clenched as his thoughts churned.
If they waited too long… it wouldn't just be water drying up.
It would be blood.