Dinner arrived before anyone noticed.
Soldiers trickled into the mess hall—those not on assignment, at least—filling the space with the low rumble of boots and tired chatter. The scent of stew and scorched meat lingered in the air.
Tarrin stepped into line, eyes flicking toward the auxiliary units sweating behind the kitchen counters.
'Soldiers turned cooks… or cooks pretending to be soldiers?' he mused, accepting his tray with a nod and making his way to an empty table.
His group followed in his wake, chairs scraping the floor as they settled in beside him. All conversation faded as the doors clanked shut and a woman stepped into view near the entrance.
Colonel Dio. Irene's aunt.
She stood tall, hands behind her back, waiting for silence. When the last murmur died out, she cleared her throat.
"Now that everyone's here, I'll begin."
The groans were subtle—barely audible sighs from the older ranks, likely veterans of this same speech, reheated every quarter.
Still, she pushed on, voice clipped and direct.
"The situation in Stonewake Heights is deteriorating. In the past six months, we've lost more troops than in the entire year before. Scarbanes are appearing in greater numbers. Entire new races are claiming territory in this region. We don't know why, not yet. But I believe something bigger is coming—something we're not prepared for."
A few recruits shifted in their seats. No one spoke.
Her tone hardened. "Our most immediate concern is the mines. With this influx of Scarbanes, our defenses are stretched thin. We're barely managing to hold the active extraction sites."
She continued—breaking down locations, loss counts, terrain updates. But Tarrin's attention drifted.
'So we're dying so some noble's mining business can stay afloat. Fair trade, I suppose. If I had a vein of crystal under my land, I'd want it guarded too.'
Then her next words snapped him back.
"There's one more thing. This region isn't empty. A native tribe lives nearby—several hundred strong. Their village lies not far from the western perimeter. If you encounter one of their members during a mission, do not engage unless provoked. But if they attack…"
she paused, letting the words settle, "end them. No hesitation."
"And with that, I conclude this meeting. Also—new Privates, prepare to be deployed soon. Your first mission will come within the week."
The Colonel gave a simple nod and turned on her heel. The room rose to their feet in unison.
"Colonel." The salute echoed like ritual, and then she was gone.
Silence settled—brief, brittle.
"Well, that's certainly something," Riko muttered, breaking it. His tone carried the usual lazy swagger, but there was an edge beneath it. A sliver of grim tension, barely masked.
"So in conclusion… we're cooked." Lena leaned back, stretching until her shoulders popped, gaze locked on the questionable pile of beige sludge pretending to be dinner.
Jayden chimed in, voice a little too loud for the mood. "It does sound bad. What did she say? We've only got a thousand soldiers covering this entire region? That can't be right."
A few older soldiers shot him pointed glares—the kind that said, Don't ruin morale if you want your teeth.
Tarrin didn't respond. He chewed in silence, eyes distant, mind already spinning through angles, options, exits.
How to turn this hellhole into something usable—leverage allies, secure influence, survive long enough to matter.
But everything led to dead ends. Except maybe the Dio Clan. They had weight here. Weight he might need.
Lucas, who'd been quiet through the whole meeting, finally spoke—deadpan and precise, like he'd been waiting for someone to ask.
"Technically, the region's size would warrant at least fifteen hundred soldiers. With the influx from the western front, two thousand would be optimal. We're not even close."
He reached for the bridge of his nose out of habit—then stopped mid-gesture.
Contacts now. No glasses to adjust. With a soft sigh, he dug into his food, grimacing after every reluctant bite.
Dinner carried on. The younger privates gagged with every spoonful.
The veterans? They ate like it was a five-star meal, savoring the warm blandness. Peace was peace, even if it tasted like boiled regret.
When he finished, Tarrin stood, stretching lazily. "I'm going to walk a bit. Wanna join?"
Lena groaned, already halfway to sleep. "Nah, I'm crashing. Stretches can wait for morning."
Lucas and Jayden followed her lead, muttering something about sore legs and cold air.
"Pussies," Tarrin muttered with a grin, tossing his tray and heading for the door.
Outside, the sky had begun its slow crawl into night. The walls of the base stood tall and solid in the last light, the shift-change likely just beginning.
'If I'm lucky, I'll catch a few loose-lipped guards on night shift.'
Behind him, boots crunched over gravel.
Riko.
"So," he said, arms swinging loosely by his sides. "You wanna spar? Or shall the princess demonstrate some of her legendary moves?"
He flashed Celith a teasing grin. She stared back, face flat and unimpressed.
Tarrin's eyes caught the last glint of light. He exhaled, voice calm. "How about a conversation first?"
Riko threw up his hands. "Sure, sure—bossman."
After settling onto one of the benches outside, Tarrin stood again, facing the two of them with an expression far more serious than usual.
"Alright. What I'm about to say doesn't leave this group. I'm trusting you both—only you. Clear?"
Celith gave a slight nod, as calm and unreadable as ever. Riko, catching the weight in Tarrin's voice, dropped his usual smirk and mirrored the seriousness.
"So. First thing—Celith, pay attention. When I stepped out earlier, I overheard two higher-ups talking. Couldn't catch names, but the conversation was… specific. They mentioned you. Something about you probably being a target."
Her gaze sharpened—not in shock, but calculation. She scanned his face, as if trying to find the crack in the story. But after a pause, she nodded. Trust, or at least enough of it, won out.
'Did she buy it? Or is she just playing along?' Tarrin thought as he locked eyes with her.
"Targeted for assassination, most likely," she said flatly.
"After my grandfather privatized the Thunder Armada, the army's been itching to take it back. Now that he's old, I'm the only thing standing in the way."
Tarrin's jaw tensed. 'Shit. I'm supposed to steer her closer to the army, not make her dig her heels in deeper.'
He pivoted quickly. "Any other guesses? Anyone else who might want you gone?"
Celith tilted her head, then shrugged. "Aside from most of Lumina's political elites? Probably the Blood Watchers."
She said it like it was nothing. Like she was commenting on the weather, not listing people who wanted her dead.
"The Blood Watchers?" Riko asked, frowning. "Who the hell are they?"
Tarrin wondered the same. The name didn't ring any bells.
Celith hesitated. Just a second. Maybe she considered brushing it off. But something between them—whatever fragile trust had formed in the past month—pushed her forward.
She sighed. "They're a Void-bound cult. My grandfather nearly wiped them out a century ago. They haven't done anything big since, but their hatred runs deep. Revenge is likely still on their agenda."
A brief silence followed. But Tarrin didn't miss it—Riko flinched. A small, sharp movement, instinctive. Subtle, but there.
Tarrin narrowed his eyes. "Riko? You know them?"
The question was asked lightly, like it was idle curiosity. But the tone beneath it probed, waiting.
Riko's answer came quick, a little too smooth. "Yeah. Ran into one like them when I was a kid. Nothing major."
Tarrin watched him closely. Micro-reactions. Pace of breath. Tone.
'A lie. Why lie about that? Trauma? Something worse?'
He didn't press, not yet. But the question lingered, unanswered in the air between them.
Tarrin exhaled, breaking the tension with a single question. "Alright, one more thing—what exactly is a Void-bound?"
Both of them looked at him like he'd asked if the void was real. But after a beat, realization dawned. Of course. He wouldn't know.
Riko was the first to speak. "Guess that makes sense. The government wouldn't let something that ugly make the news, not even by accident."
He leaned back slightly, voice dipping lower.
"Void-bound are people who make pacts with Void-spawn. Real monsters. And I don't mean the kind we train to fight. I mean ancient, thinking things—twisted gods or parasites, depends on who you ask. In exchange for power, the Void-bound obey. Most of them gather in cults or shadow factions. Secret societies. All that conspiracy theory crap—but it's real."
Tarrin smirked. The heaviness of the conversation lightened just a touch. "Thanks for the lecture, Professor."
Riko let out a dry chuckle, but his eyes didn't match the sound. They stayed dark—haunted. Like he'd brushed up against something he wished he hadn't.
Tarrin noticed, of course he did. He always noticed. But Riko just flashed another grin, like nothing had happened. Like the shadows behind his smile weren't real.
Then Tarrin's voice dropped to a whisper. "Point is, keep your eyes open. Back, front, side—doesn't matter. Watch for signs. If something feels off, pull out. Fast."
Both of them frowned. But it was Riko who pushed back.
"And why exactly shouldn't we tell the others?" His tone sharpened, just a little. "You don't trust them?"
It was a fair question. The kind only someone paying close attention would ask.
Tarrin scratched his cheek, feigning a hint of awkwardness. "This kind of thing... it needs people who can think smart. And kill smarter. The others? They're not there yet."
His voice turned cold by the last word. Not loud. Just final.
Riko didn't respond. Neither did Celith. But the silence said enough.