"Boy's powerless and ends up with two useless sticks," one Dominor whispered, followed by a round of snickers from the group at his table.
"How unlucky," someone else chimed in.
The cafeteria buzzed with low chatter. All the Dominors were seated for breakfast, waiting for the Head Marshal to announce the next schedule. One rule had already been made clear: they were to carry their newly assigned weapons at all times.
A group huddled near the back of the hall continued their hushed mockery.
"I hate seeing him," one of them muttered, stabbing his eggs with unnecessary force. "I don't know why, but every time he walks past, my blood just boils."
"Oh! You feel that too?" another said, leaning in. "Yeah, his presence just makes me want to tie him up and punch the silence out of him. There's something about him I can't stand."
"Ha! That boy must be cursed or something," someone laughed. "He walks in and it's like a fire lights up in my chest—and not the good kind."
Across the room, Cael sat at the far end of a long table, alone.
He could hear all of it. Every word. The whispers weren't even that quiet anymore. And to be honest, they weren't wrong.
He stared down at the pair of arnis sticks resting beside his tray. His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched. Out of all the weapons in that dome—guns, swords, elemental blades—he got this?
He gritted his teeth. Useless.
At that moment, Lucen sat across from him.
It was the first time they'd spoken all week.
"You got a cool weapon," Lucen said, his voice low and even.
Cael snapped his head up. "Huh?! Are you mocking me?"
Lucen paused mid-bite, his spoon hanging in the air. He blinked once, then slowly set his spoon down and met Cael's eyes. His expression didn't change—it was calm, unreadable as always.
"No," Lucen said. "No matter how cool a weapon looks... if you lack the skill to wield it, it's useless. Those sticks they're laughing at? They're plain, sure. Not flashy. But in the hands of someone trained, they become one of the deadliest weapons in existence."
Cael scoffed, his tone bitter. "Deadliest, huh? You think I can kill a monster with sticks?"
Lucen didn't reply.
Cael leaned back in his seat. His voice dropped, heavy and sharp. "Powerless people—our power is our weapon. And these stupid sticks? They're as powerless as me."
He stood abruptly, grabbing his tray. The arnis bag slung over his back like a burden. He didn't look back.
Lucen ate quickly, shoveling food into his mouth with a blank expression. He didn't even taste it—he was simply finishing it out of habit. His grandmother had raised him with one strict rule that never left his mind: "You do not waste food."
Once his tray was clean, he rose without a word, slid it into the cleaning rack, and quietly followed Cael, who had already stormed out of the cafeteria.
He trailed behind him at a distance, silent and unnoticed.
Just as the two rounded the corner, a static crackle echoed across the base.
"To all Dominors," Marshal Davor's voice came through the overhead speakers, clear and commanding, "today is your first day of mastering your weapon. To guide you through this, we've called professionals—warriors who wield the same or similar weapons—to help hone your skills."
A pause. And then, "Please proceed to the Dome immediately. Your Night Watcher awaits. Good luck."
The announcement ended with a soft beep, but the cafeteria had already exploded into noise.
"Did he say... Night Watcher?" someone said, eyes wide with disbelief.
"No way! Our trainers are Night Watchers?!"
"Oh, I hope I get Ms. Ravika," one whispered dreamily.
"You simp," his friend groaned.
"Hey, is Ms. Rhosyn training too?" another asked, eyes lighting up with hope.
"Boy, stop dreaming," someone laughed, nudging him. "Ms. Rhosyn is one of the Pillars. She's not gonna waste her time on rookies like us."
The cafeteria buzzed with wild speculation. Some faces lit with hope. Others with fear.
The Night Watchers—the elite. The enforcers of impossible missions. The shadows in war. Having one of them as a trainer was terrifying... and exhilarating.
But Cael didn't care.
He had already turned away the moment the announcement ended. His steps were heavy, weapon bag clacking softly against his back. He didn't glance at anyone, didn't stop to chat, didn't wonder who his trainer might be.
Whatever.
He just walked toward the Dome, as Marshal Davor had instructed.
Slowly, the Dominors gathered inside the Dome.
The air was thick with tension and anticipation.
And there—standing before them—were the Night Watchers.
Eyes widened. Mouths parted. A wave of awe rippled through the crowd.
Some of the trainees looked up at them with amazement, others with quiet admiration... and a few? Utter intimidation.
There were unfamiliar faces—stern, unreadable—but many were instantly recognizable. Veterans of the A and B rankings. Warriors who had survived countless missions. The second and third-best ranks of the Night Watchers—just beneath the elusive S-class.
Whispers broke out across the line.
"W-wow... now I'm scared," someone muttered, their voice barely above a breath.
"I hope I don't get that bulky man. He looks like he eats rocks," another said, eyeing one of the Watchers with a build like a walking fortress.
But the chatter ended the moment the bulky man stepped forward. His heavy boots echoed on the Dome floor. In his hand, a folded paper.
He opened it, cleared his throat, and called the first name.
"Alden Voss."
Heads turned. Silence followed.
Then, from the back, a single voice: "No way..."
Alden's face drained of color.
His friends turned to him, one of them biting his lip hard, trying not to laugh as he gave Alden a firm pat on the back. "Tough luck, brother."
Alden's shoulders slumped in defeat as he dragged himself forward toward the bulky man—Dante—who crossed his arms and stared down at him like a disappointed wall.
One by one, the Night Watchers stepped forward into the center of the Dome.
Each called out a name.
Each trainee stepped out of the line, dread or thrill in their eyes, as fate handed them their mentors.
Slowly, the Dominors found their mentors—each pairing off, forming lines to the side of the Dome.
Cael didn't even notice he was the only one left... not until the silence around him grew heavy, and he felt the weight of every eye turning toward him.
He blinked, cleared his throat, and stepped forward—forgetting he hadn't even been called.
But the moment he moved, he froze.
His eyes locked with the only Night Watcher left standing across the Dome. And for a second—his heart stopped.
Nyra Morwyn.
Cold. Composed. Bored out of her mind.
An S-class Night Watcher.
No way, Cael thought, barely able to breathe. Was this real? Was he seriously getting mentored by Nyra Morwyn?
A small, rare flicker of hope sparked in his chest.
But just as quickly—it died.
A hand landed on his shoulder. Firm. Familiar.
Cael turned—and his soul nearly left his body.
Lucen Ravyn.
"I'll be your mentor," Lucen said flatly.
Cael's shoulders slumped like a deflated balloon.
A quiet sigh of resignation escaped him.
Of course. Of course it wasn't Nyra.
Maybe he was just born unlucky.
And how was this guy always around him? Every time. Every place. It was starting to feel like some twisted curse.
But he didn't complain. Complaining only made things worse.
So he said nothing, adjusted the strap of his arnis bag, and followed Lucen to the far side of the Dome—his footsteps dragging as the training finally began.
Four hours into the training, the Dome was a scene of exhaustion.
Dominors were drenched in sweat—some lying on the ground, others wiping their faces with towels, chugging water from their bottles like it was the first drink in days.
Cael sat on the floor, chest heaving, arms limp on his knees. His clothes clung to his skin, soaked. Across from him, Lucen stood, barely winded, though his face glistened with sweat.
Cael had managed to learn fast—he'd picked up the twelve basic strikes, the proper footwork, and the core blocks. But disarming techniques? Still sloppy. Timing during Sinawali drills? Off. Range awareness? Needs work.
"See you all tomorrow. Thank you for your hard work," Dante announced, clapping once.
The Dominors, despite their exhaustion, lined up. Like soldiers.
Their right hands clenched over their chests, heads bowed slightly.
"Thank you for your patience and hard work!" they said in unison.
The Night Watchers smiled, waved... and vanished, disappearing from the Dome one by one.
All except one.
Nyra Morwyn.
She hadn't moved.
She stood at a distance, unmoving, eyes locked on Cael.
He felt it.
Confusion stirred in his gut. Why... was she looking at him?
Had she been watching this whole time?
And then—without a word—she turned and walked away, following the path the other Watchers had taken.
Still silent. Still unreadable.
Before he could think further, a hand landed on his shoulder. Again.
"Take a rest," Lucen said.
His voice was low, almost soft. And just like that, he turned and followed after Nyra.
Cael's eyes narrowed, unease gnawing at him.
What just happened?
Why was she watching him?
Did... did he do something wrong?
Outside...
Lucen's strides grew longer, quickening as he called out, "Ms. Nyra!"
She stopped in her tracks and turned, brows slightly raised. "Nyra. Just Nyra. You're older than me."
Lucen hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Right... sorry."
"What is it? Got something to say?" she asked, arms crossing loosely as she faced him.
"I'm just... curious why you were at the Dome," Lucen said, careful with his words.
"Am I not allowed?" Nyra replied with a tilt of her head.
"N-No, that's not what I meant, I just—"
"Him." Her voice cut him off. Calm. Certain.
Lucen blinked.
"I wanted to see the boy the Pillars keep whispering about," she added. "Curiosity, I guess."
"He looks harmless." Nyra glanced once more toward the dome, then turned her back, ready to leave. The sky above was already beginning to darken.
Monsters would begin to stir soon.
Their shift as Night Watchers had only just begun.
She paused, casting a glance back at Lucen still standing in place.
"What are you doing?" she asked, brow furrowed. "Aren't you a Night Watcher? Or are you planning to become a full-time babysitter?"
Lucen flinched. "Y-You're right."
He pulled his navy scarf up to cover his mouth—a habit he always did when flustered or thinking deeply.
Without another word, the two of them disappeared into the coming twilight, just like the others.
The mentors who had guided the Dominors by day were now returning to their true calling—guardians of the night, silent saviors of a fragile country.
Of course, not before making a quick stop.
Rhosyn.
The only one who could return their broken bodies and drained energy to full strength. Without her, even Night Watchers wouldn't survive for long.