As morning broke, golden light spilled into Freya's dorm, catching on the edge of her half-packed bag. She sat on the bed, staring at it in silence. Her decision was made hours ago—long before the sun showed up to judge her.
A knock at the door.
She hesitated, then opened it.
One of the assistants stood there, stiff as protocol demanded. In his hands—a simple black bag.
"Levi sent this," he said, handing it over.
She didn't respond. Just took it, nodded, and closed the door.
Back on the bed, she unzipped the bag.
Her cadet uniform and her training gear.
Folded crisp. New. A fresh start.
Freya stared at it a moment longer before letting the bag drop to the floor, untouched.
"Come to think of it," she murmured, "I never even got the chance to decide if I wanted to stay here."
No goodbyes. No explanations. Just like Daisy.
She swung her own bag over her shoulder and walked out.
The path to the main gates cut directly through the open-air training ground. Morning drills had already begun.
Cadets moved in synchronized strikes, barking in rhythm. Some sparred, their motions crisp and sharp—clearly seasoned. Others stumbled, off-beat, wiping sweat from their brows. Weak ones. Strong ones. All training like they had something to prove.
Freya lingered a moment longer, despite having already made up her mind to leave. Her gaze landed on Alice—sweating, red-faced, but throwing her weight into the drill with surprising force. As heavy as she is, Freya thought, if she can do it... maybe I can pull it off too.
In the middle of her routine, Alice caught sight of Freya. She raised a hand mid-motion and gestured toward her—Talk to you after this. Freya offered a small wave in return, half goodbye, half apology. There was a trace of guilt in it.
Freya kept walking.
She looked down at the bag hanging by her side.
Not the uniform bag. That one stayed behind—crumpled on the dorm floor like the decision she almost made.
This was her own bag. Packed and ready. Still heavy on her shoulder.
"Too late," she whispered.
Then—shouts.
Freya turned just as a military cart screeched into the yard, its wheels kicking up dust. A stretcher came out first. A body.
Derek. Pale and unmoving.
Behind him—Desmond and Luis, both wrapped in bandages, supported by soldiers.
Freya's eyes widened. Luis. The smug, annoying cadet from earlier… now bloodied and slumped, barely conscious.
Her feet moved on their own.
Then she saw her.
Daisy.
Exhausted, hair disheveled, her hands trembling as Ace and Marie helped her limp from the cart. Andrew followed behind, face unreadable, a trinket dangling from his wrist.
"Daisy!" Freya called out, running toward her.
The moment Daisy saw her, she collapsed into Freya's arms, crying.
"Oh Freya," she choked out. "I thought I'd fail this mission. I thought—"
Freya held her tighter, stunned by the rawness of it all. No sarcasm. No polish. Just pain.
She looked up, locking eyes briefly with Ace, then Marie, then Andrew. New faces. Different energies. And then her gaze shifted to Luis and Desmond again—battle-worn and changed.
Something in the air felt different now.
Daisy, wiping her tears, noticed the bag slung over Freya's shoulder.
"Where are you about to go?" she asked, softly.
But she didn't wait for an answer.
She already knew.
Daisy collapsed against Freya again, her knees buckling.
"Daisy—!"
Ace rushed forward, catching one of her arms, while Marie moved to the other side, her face pale.
"She's too exhausted," Ace said quickly, his voice urgent but controlled. "Her heart rate's elevated, her pupils aren't focusing."
"She's past her limit," Marie added, biting her lip. "We need to get her to the medical wing—now."
They moved fast. No delays. Freya barely kept pace as they half-carried Daisy across the campus. Her limbs hung heavy, skin clammy, eyes half-lidded as she mumbled something incoherent.
By the time they burst through the doors of the medical facility, the sterile scent of antiseptics and herbs hit them like a wave.
Reyna Carlton looked up from a chart—then froze.
One glance was all it took. Her calm composure cracked.
"What happened to them?" she snapped, storming toward them.
Desmond and Luis were barely conscious, wrapped in crude field bandages. Derek hadn't moved since the stretcher was lifted.
"Get Derek on that bed—now!" she barked. "Full scans, vitals, stabilizers. Someone prep the surgical rig—he's crashing!"
Assistants scrambled.
"Desmond and Luis—run diagnostics and begin treatment protocols immediately."
Then her eyes landed on Daisy.
And something shifted.
"She used her aether," Ace said before she could ask. "Too much."
Reyna's lips pressed into a tight, angry line. She marched over to Daisy, scanned her state, then turned her head away with a sharp breath.
"You don't collapse," she muttered, voice low and razor-edged. "You're a medical aether. If you collapse, you stop being a support. You start being dead weight. Do you understand me?"
No one answered.
But it wasn't really a question.
"Take her too," she ordered sharply, pointing at Daisy without looking at anyone else. "I want her stabilized and monitored. She's not to move until I clear it."
Freya, Ace, Marie, and Andrew sank onto the bench outside the treatment room, adrenaline bleeding off like steam from cooling metal.
Marie's hands trembled in her lap. Andrew looked dazed, a far-off glaze in his eyes.
Freya's voice broke the silence. "What happened out there?"
Ace ran a hand through his hair. "We found them in terrible condition. I don't know what hit them, but whatever it was... it hit hard."
Marie and Andrew didn't speak. They just looked exhausted—pale, slouched, barely upright.
Ace noticed.
"Go home," he told them softly. "Both of you. You've done enough."
Marie nodded without protest. Andrew followed, slow and wordless.
Freya turned to Ace. "You should go too."
Ace didn't argue.
But before he walked off, he looked back once—through the glass at Daisy's unconscious figure.
Then he left.
Freya remained seated, watching over the girl in the bed who had nearly given everything.
And for the first time, she wasn't sure if walking away was still an option.
A few hours passed.
Word spread like wildfire.
The med wing, once calm and clinical, now buzzed with tension—whispers from cadets, faculty pacing, the occasional nurse rushing down halls.
Alice came running in, breathless. "What happened?"
Freya didn't turn her head. Just kept staring at the closed door in front of her.
"Exhausted from using too much aether," she said quietly.
Alice followed her gaze, then sank down beside her on the bench. No questions. No comments. Just silent, anxious waiting.
Then the door opened.
Reyna Carlton stepped out—surgical gloves off, expression back to its usual cold, unreadable slate. Like none of it had touched her.
She walked right past them.
No pause. No words. Not even a glance.
Freya and Alice didn't even get the chance to ask.
But the silence that followed… felt heavier than any answer they could've gotten.
Moments later, footsteps echoed down the corridor—sharp and purposeful.
Violet Schneider.
With Anya Vess at her side.
She didn't slow. Didn't greet anyone. Just stormed straight into Reyna's office.
The door flung open.
"How are they?" she demanded.
Reyna didn't flinch. "Out of danger."
"Any of them awake? Able to talk?"
"Desmond and Luis," Reyna replied calmly.
Violet exhaled—half relief, half tension—and turned on her heel to leave, already formulating her next step.
And that's when the hallway darkened just slightly—two shadows appearing at the end of the corridor.
Edmund D. Smith.
And Fredrick Ross.
The moment Edmund entered, conversations quieted. Fredrick's usual energy was dimmed—serious for once.
A girl seated on the waiting bench leaned toward another and whispered, "Look… the illegitimate prince of the new ruler…"
Edmund heard it. The silence made everything louder.
So did Freya. Her eyes flicked toward the girls, then up at Edmund—tense. Wondering what he'd do.
He turned his head toward the whisperer with a stare so cold, the girl instantly shut her mouth and lowered her gaze.
Then Edmund looked at Freya. One brow raised curiously.
What are you doing here?
Freya couldn't meet his eyes. She lowered her gaze too. He was too intimidating.
Edmund didn't linger. "Fredrick. Clear the hallway. Whoever has no business here—send them off."
Fredrick nodded and stepped forward. "People, please don't crowd here. Everything is under control."
The idle onlookers slowly dispersed.
Then, with the sharpness of soldiers reporting for war, they approached Violet.
"We're here for the post-mission report," Edmund said, voice cool and unreadable.
Violet didn't respond right away. Her eyes scanned over them, as if weighing what she could ask, what she could risk saying aloud.
Finally, she nodded.
"Come with me."
They entered the room where Desmond and Luis rested in their hospital beds, the door clicking shut behind them.
Freya leaned back against the wall outside, closing her eyes for a moment.
Daisy collapsing in her arms.
Luis, barely breathing.
Desmond, bloodied.
Derek, unconscious.
A team that left strong… came back broken.
She sighed and started toward Daisy's room, glancing in through the small glass window to see if she was awake. But she had to pass the room where the others were first.
That's when a word stopped her.
Desmond: "They were from the Abyss."
Freya froze, zoning out slightly.
The Abyss…
Where have I heard that before?
Then it hit her—Dolphin had mentioned it once. Just the word had made her uneasy, and now it returned like ice down her spine. She broke into a cold sweat.
Alice's voice calling her name pulled her back to the present.
Freya quickly replied, "Let's come back tomorrow."
Inside the room:
Violet sat on a stool, and Anya Vess stood beside her, jotting notes.
Fredrick leaned casually near the window.
Edmund stood with a hand in his pocket, gaze unreadable.
Luis lay in a hospital bed—bandages over his eyes to protect others from his aether. The wrap was thin enough that he could see other people's eyes, but not the other way around. Plasters lined his arms, and IV tubes snaked out from his wrists.
Desmond had bandages across his chest and head. Both wore standard hospital blue.
There was no curtain between them—just bruises and silence.
Violet's voice broke it. "What happened there?"
Desmond's voice was heavy with pain and guilt. "We took down three of them with ease…"
He hesitated before adding, "And one of them—the one Luis fought—kept saying, 'The Abyss will come for me.'"
Edmund spoke seriously, his gaze sharp. "Do any of you remember their faces?"
Desmond nodded. "The one acting as a leader—yeah. The rest? Irrelevant now."
Edmund tilted his head slightly, curious. "Why?"
Desmond's reply was flat. "We had to kill them."
Edmund scratched his eyebrow, the gesture casual—but his eyes said otherwise. He could smell the lies, the half-truths, the bullshit. Clear as day.
"If Derek oversteps again, he's suspended," he added coldly.
Desmond's eyes flicked sideways for a split second, and Luis raised a brow—How the hell did he know?
The thought barely finished forming before they both mentally scoffed at themselves. Of course he knew. This was Edmund. Thinking they could keep anything from him was downright stupid.
Luis—who made others shrink with a glance—felt something different around Edmund. Fear. And the fun part? It wasn't an illusion. It was real. Very real.
Edmund's voice cut in again, quieter this time, but razor-sharp:
"So?"
Earlier that day…
Luis, Desmond, and Derek stood ready.
The cloaked man before them held the scroll—the likely leader.
Luis cracked his knuckles.
Desmond rolled his neck, shoulders tense.
Derek, fired up, growled under his breath, fingers twitching with anticipation.
Desmond was first to move. He weaved hand signs, "I bend what stands" then raised both of his hands—two walls of rock erupted upward, boxing the enemy in on both sides.
The cloaked man stepped forward and elbowed both walls apart with ease. They shattered on impact.
Desmond didn't flinch. He weaved again, "I bend what stands" lifted his hands, then brought his palms together in a prayer-like motion. Two massive slabs aimed to crush the target inward.
But before they could close in, the man hurled his fists outward and obliterated the slabs—as if they were made of sand.
The cloak tore from the shockwave, revealing the brute beneath.
A monstrous man, dark-skinned, easily eight feet tall, blue paint smeared beneath his eyes. He was bare-chested, wearing only black harem pants and thick wraps around his wrists and ankles.
Luis charged. The man caught him mid-air by the throat, lifting him clean off the ground.
Luis kicked, struggling, then ripped the cloth from his eyes, releasing his aether. "Gaze into fear."
The brute's expression changed—eyes widening in what looked like fear.
Luis smirked, sensing the advantage—
And the man smirked right back.
"Boo."
And slammed his fist into Luis's gut, crushing his organs. Luis coughed blood, his body crashing meters away.
Derek, eyes flaring with rage, shouted "change what is" and charged. His claws extended, aimed for the kill.
The brute caught one arm—then the other—and wrenched them wide, as if trying to rip him apart.
Derek screamed in agony, his arms dislocating.
He was thrown to the ground. The man stomped on his neck, and though Derek gripped his ankle, he had no strength left to fight.
Desmond launched in to save him, fist raised—
The man swatted him mid-air, sending him flying.
Desmond crashed against a tree, blood flowing from a head wound, ribs broken.
The enemy sighed, picked up the trembling ally who had dropped the scroll… and walked away, dragging him like dead weight.
They were left—bleeding, broken, and defeated.
Now, outside the medical facility…
Freya sat on the stairs alone, dusk settling around her. She had stayed back, told Alice she had a few things to take care of. But really… she had questions.
The conversation she overheard confirmed it—Edmund knew about Dolphin. He knew about The Abyss.
And he was the only one who knew what really happened in Mevelior.
And if that was true… did that mean he was the one who brought her here?
How did she end up in Stovia?
She didn't know. But Edmund did.
And tonight—she needed answers.
Footsteps emerged from the hospital doors.
Fredrick and Edmund exited together.
Freya stood, collecting all her strength to speak to him.
As they reached the bottom of the steps, Edmund pulled out a cigarette.
Fredrick snatched one from the same pack.
"Oh, I need a smoke," Fredrick muttered.
Edmund narrowed his eyes. "Now you want to steal my cigarettes?"
Fredrick grinned. "You still smoke this trash?"
Edmund exhaled slowly. "Smoke your own."
Their dynamic—sharp jabs, old comfort.
But then—
"Wait!" Freya's voice broke through. "Edmund!"
They both turned.
Edmund's eyes narrowed. "My, my. You really need to learn manners while you're here."
Freya looked around nervously, then stepped closer, lowering her voice.
She met his gaze. It took effort.
"…Why am I here?"
Silence.
"Who brought me to Stovia?"
Fredrick and Edmund exchanged a subtle glance.
Edmund's voice dropped, sharp and quiet.
"Keep your voice low, girl. Whatever happened in Mevelior… if people find out you're from there, you'll be hanged."
Fredrick opened his mouth to speak, but Edmund cut him off.
"I'm surprised you didn't leave already."
Freya blinked. "How…?"
Edmund gestured lazily toward the bag she'd packed.
"If this place isn't for you… then leave."
He turned to go.
Fredrick hesitated—but followed.
Freya shouted after them, "What happened in Mevelior?! Who killed my people?! Was it the Abyss?!"
Edmund stopped mid-step. Turned slightly. Looked once at Fredrick.
Freya pressed, "Dolphin… he was from the Abyss too."
Edmund turned his head back to her, expression unreadable.
"So we're eavesdropping now?"
She stepped forward. "I need to know."
He faced her fully this time, and with a voice like cold steel:
"Then find it out yourself."
He walked away, shadows swallowing him.
Freya stood on the steps, heart pounding, as the night settled in.
And the questions—still unanswered—burned hotter than ever.
The cold air bit at her cheeks as she stood outside the facility gates, bag slung over one shoulder.
Freya looked down the road stretching into the dark.
Empty.
Just like the plan she thought she had.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.
Her ears rang with Edmund's words:
"If this place isn't for you… then leave."
Leave?
For a second, her breath caught.
She hadn't even considered that was an option.
She thought… she couldn't.
Then another memory surged forward:
"Keep your voice low, girl. Whatever happened in Mevelior… if people find out you're from there, you'll be hanged."
Freya's mind spun. Was he threatening her… or protecting her?
Is he helping me?
What is happening?
Her pulse raced, the weight of it all finally sinking in.
She let out a breath—shaky, but steadying.
"Screw it," she muttered, turning back toward the gates.
"If I'm stuck here… I might as well start digging."