*CHAPTER 6: Marks of Time*
Time in Argentis held a strange quality. Days followed one another with hypnotic regularity: artificial light cycles in residential sectors, work shifts in factories and labs, patrols changing guard at the perimeter walls. A routine designed to preserve collective sanity, to craft an illusion of normalcy against the backdrop of an eternal war raging beyond. But beneath that ordered surface, time left its marks—subtle yet indelible, especially on those who waited or carried secrets.
Nearly a year had passed since the transit station incident. Kai and Cloe were now sixteen, trapped in that final year before the true forks in their lives became inevitable.
For Kai, the year had been a mix of pent-up frustration and obsessive preparation. The wait until seventeen felt like a slow, torturous countdown. Every report of skirmishes at the perimeter, every Aegis-armored soldier he saw patrolling, was a sharp reminder that he remained sidelined. He channeled his stifled energy into the only outlet he had: training.
He had become a familiar figure at pre-military centers. He pushed simulation limits, tackling difficulty levels few cadets attempted, mastering virtual combat not just through aggression but with tactical cunning born from analyzing failures. His physique was honed to perfection; grueling strength and agility circuits had sculpted lean muscle. His technical knowledge of military gear rivaled that of first-year recruits, thanks to extra hours spent at Depot RM-7, absorbing every detail, every fragmented conversation.
Liam remained his most constant training partner—a rival and, grudgingly, his closest friend in that environment. Their dynamic blended fierce competition and camaraderie forged through shared effort. They often competed in virtual firing ranges (Liam usually won in pure precision, Kai in tactical reaction speed) or debated heatedly over optimal Aegis sensor modifications.
"You're still too tense, Kai," Liam remarked one afternoon after a simulated hand-to-hand session where Kai, though effective, had taken multiple virtual hits for overexposing himself. "You fixate on the finishing strike. You need to flow more, use the suit's momentum, not fight it."
"You're too reckless," Kai shot back, wiping simulated sweat from his brow. "You rely on agility and leave openings."
"Openings I close before some slimy bug can exploit them," Liam grinned. But both knew the critiques were valid. They pushed each other to improve, aware their lives would soon depend on these polished skills.
Meanwhile, Cloe navigated a very different path. After the shock of the transit station incident, Marcus had secured her a cautious "evaluation and development" approach, as promised. She wasn't sent to the main Aegis Academy—at least not yet. Instead, her sessions unfolded in a discreet wing of the Scientific Research Complex under the direct supervision of Dr. Aris Thorne.
Dr. Thorne exuded deep calm. A survivor of the first generation of Crucible scientists, her role had been more theoretical and ethical. Now nearing seventy but sharp-minded, she focused on understanding Second Generation powers.
With Cloe, her approach was patient, almost meditative. No combat simulators or tactical drills—just visualization exercises, meditation, and controlled small-scale experiments. Cloe learned to sense the energy within, recognize subtle patterns preceding a successful manifestation (or failure). She discovered her control improved dramatically when calm and focused, while fear or anxiety made it erratic, even dangerous.
"Don't focus on creating a whole object, Cloe," Dr. Thorne instructed during a session as Cloe tried forming a simple metal sphere. "Focus on intent. What do you want the sphere to *do*? Be solid? Reflect light? Contain something? Your power responds to fundamental intent, not just form."
Under this guidance, Cloe made incremental progress. She crafted simple geometric shapes, stabilizing them for seconds, even minutes with intense focus. Materials with familiar molecular structures came easier—a quartz crystal was nearly perfect, but complex alloys remained challenging. The energy cost still drained her, yet the budding sense of control fueled cautious confidence.
Outside the lab, she clung to normalcy. She continued advanced studies, excelling in theoretical physics and materials science, applying lessons to her power. She saw Kai when schedules allowed, but their conversations now carried a rift: he spoke of combat protocols and armor specs; she discussed quantum resonance and molecular stability. Their affection remained, deep and unspoken, but an experiential gap was widening.
The wider world spun on. News trickled in from other Bastions: Obsidian repelling an attack with new underground tactics; Veridian's hydroponic crops plagued by blight; Zenith's energy research breakthroughs. Constant reports of insectoid activity at all perimeters. The war simmered, a low-grade fever threatening to erupt.
One day, as Cloe helped Dr. Thorne calibrate a quantum field sensor, the scientist paused. "Do you ever wonder, Cloe, where your energy truly comes from?"
The question startled her. "You said... from the vacuum, fluctuations..."
"That's the leading theory," Dr. Thorne nodded. "But it's just that—a theory. Others exist. Some... more unsettling." She let the words hang, a seed of mystery, before resuming work. Cloe pressed, but the doctor deflected, leaving her with new questions. What darker theories lurked? Why mention them now?
Kai's life, though militarized, held its own complexities. Depot RM-7 exposed him to war's logistics: scarce resources, weeks-long supply delays, the grind of repair over replacement. He saw the tangible cost of every bullet fired, every energy cell drained, every damaged Aegis suit—a stark contrast to Liam's cavalier attitude.
"Another false alarm," Liam grumbled one evening as they cleaned spent rifle chargers. "An hour in freezing rain for a faulty sensor. Could've been sleeping."
"Drills are necessary," Kai said, inspecting a charger. "Complacency kills."
"I know," Liam sighed. "But sometimes it feels like we're prepping to prep. When do we *act*?"
"Soon," Kai replied, the word hollow. "Just a year left."
"A year where a thousand things could go wrong," Liam muttered. "My uncle lost two men near the Old Observatory last week. Said the Stalkers were... different. Smarter."
The idea chilled Kai. Higher insectoid castes were known for intelligence, but coordinated tactics suggested evolution—or intensified Nexus control. He stored the intel, another piece of his growing unease.
Cloe found solace in Dr. Thorne's lab, a sanctuary to explore her duality. The doctor became an unexpected confidante, discussing science, pre-invasion history, and Cloe's fears.
"I feel like I'm failing my father," Cloe confessed after botching a complex molecular structure. "He's so strong, so controlled. And I... can barely do this."
"Marcus Valerius was forged in extraordinary times," Dr. Thorne replied. "But your path needn't mirror his. Your power is different—subtler, with potential even he may not grasp. Strength isn't always destruction. Sometimes it's creation, protection, *sustaining*." She eyed the failed structure. "Control will come. Don't compare. Find your balance."
These talks helped, but external pressures loomed. Occasional visits from Security Command officers or scientists—polite yet probing—reminded her she was a asset to be honed. The High Command's interest was a constant shadow.
The year brought subtle shifts: tighter energy rationing, frequent evacuation drills. A palpable sense that the calm was fraying. Reports of insectoid activity elsewhere grew, though official channels maintained controlled confidence.
For Kai and Cloe, this final year felt like the tense calm before a storm. He sharpened skills and resolve, counting days. She explored her power's depths, seeking control as expectations closed in. They remained anchors for each other, yet their paths diverged, time's marks pushing them toward their true trials.