In the sprawling slums known as the Quarter, strangers were common enough as new arrivals were dumped here regularly, courtesy of the Empire¡¯s silent decisions. But this one¡ she was too small. A girl, no more than six or seven, wearing a grimy shift that draped off her tiny frame. She huddled near a sagging signpost, shoulders hitching as she cried into her sleeves.
Mattius paused in the narrow lane, stilled by the sight. The Quarter¡¯s morning light was flat and gray, as if filtered through layers of soot and old regrets. He could smell the usual mix: stale cooking oil, rotten produce from the half-collapsed market stalls nearby, and the tang of rusted metal that lined the old scaffolding overhead. Buildings loomed on either side, patched with scrap plating and cloth awnings, creating a canyon of rubble. The air wasn¡¯t toxic or anything¡ªthis planet was certainly ¡°inhabitable¡±¡ªbut the atmosphere felt heavy just the same, weighed down by poverty and neglect.
It had been years since Mattius himself had arrived in the Quarter, alone and terrified. He still remembered the hunger and the hopelessness that followed him every waking moment. Compassion in a place like this wasn¡¯t just rare; it could be dangerous. Offering a helping hand was like painting a target on your back. Yet here he was, lingering, heart twisting at the sight of this crying child.
He took a step closer, then stopped. Helping her meant involving Old Karvel. The tavern keeper had his hands full already. Over the years, Karvel had sheltered a handful of strays¡ªkids who got dumped here by the Empire or abandoned by desperate parents. Mattius had been one of them once upon a time. Karvel was no saint, but he¡¯d kept Mattius from starving, given him a dry mat to sleep on, and taught him basic survival trades. In return, Mattius foraged scraps, ran errands, and never complained too loudly. It was a delicate balance. Could Karvel take another kid?
The practical part of Mattius said no. The Dented Flask¡ªKarvel¡¯s run-down tavern¡ªwas already stretched thin. Rationing was tight. Another child would mean less for everyone, and Karvel didn¡¯t have infinite patience. Lately, the old man was more short-tempered than ever, worrying about supply deals and the encroachment of local toughs who might decide his half-rotten bar was worth shaking down. Mattius thought of the girl¡¯s hungry eyes, the inevitable complaints. And yet¡
The memory of his own arrival burned in his mind. He¡¯d been just a boy¡ªolder than this one, but still too young to handle life here. Karvel had grumbled, sure, but ultimately let Mattius stay. Without that kindness, Mattius might have ended up dead in a gutter or working for some petty warlord who controlled a few blocks of the Quarter. He owed Karvel a debt. Would Karvel extend that same grudging mercy to another terrified child?
Mattius chewed the inside of his cheek, uncertainty gnawing at him. He tried to imagine turning away, leaving the girl sobbing against the fence. If he just walked off now, who would help her? In a place like this, isolation was a death sentence, especially for a kid. If predators didn¡¯t find her, starvation would. And the Quarter had no shortage of predators¡ªhuman and otherwise.
She sobbed again, a thin, desperate sound. He looked around, scanning the rooftops. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling of being watched. Sure enough, there they were: two cloaked silhouettes perched atop a crooked balcony railing on the opposite side of the street. He¡¯d seen them before, or at least he thought he had¡ªodd watchers who never approached, never spoke. They always stood too far away to identify their faces. Were they following him? Observing his choices?
Mattius¡¯s spine prickled. If he helped the girl, would that draw unwanted attention from these strangers? If he didn¡¯t, would they judge him somehow? He realized how absurd that was¡ªthey didn¡¯t owe him anything, and he certainly didn¡¯t owe them an explanation. But their presence felt¡ guiding, somehow, as if they were waiting to see what he would do.
To hell with them, he thought. He wasn¡¯t going to let a pair of eerie onlookers dictate his choices. The only question that mattered now was whether his conscience could live with abandoning a child in need. His conscience won out.
¡°Hey,¡± Mattius said softly, taking a step forward. The girl flinched, wiping her face with a grubby sleeve as if trying to appear less vulnerable. ¡°Are you¡ all right?¡± Of course she wasn¡¯t. What a stupid question.
She shook her head, biting her lip. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks streaked with grime. She looked around, confused, frightened. ¡°Where¡ª¡± Her voice cracked. ¡°Where am I?¡±
¡°The Quarter,¡± Mattius said. ¡°They put you through that big old gate, didn¡¯t they?¡± The Empire was fond of these gates. They used them to cast out the ones they didn¡¯t want¡ªpeople without Talent or value. It had happened to him, too. He still dreamed about that moment, about how it felt to have the door slam behind him.
Her silence was answer enough. She didn¡¯t know the rules here, how everything cost something, how trust was scarce. Mattius offered her a hand, slowly, so as not to scare her. ¡°Look,¡± he said gently, ¡°I can take you somewhere safer than this street. It¡¯s not much, but there¡¯s a tavern¡ªOld Karvel¡¯s place. He might have a corner for you.¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Her eyes searched his, tears welling again. She wanted to believe him, but this was a world stripped of comfort. ¡°You promise?¡± she whispered.
Mattius¡¯s chest tightened. He couldn¡¯t promise Karvel would be thrilled, but he could promise to try. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best,¡± he said. ¡°I can¡¯t take you back¡ wherever you came from. But I can at least make sure you¡¯re not out here alone.¡±
The girl hesitated, then reached out, and Mattius felt her small, cold fingers close around his. He helped her to her feet. She was so light, so fragile it seemed a strong wind might blow her away. When he looked up at the rooftops again, the watchers hadn¡¯t moved. They stood there, silent observers, as if evaluating his compassion. He tried to ignore the unease they inspired.
Leading the girl through the Quarter was no simple task. The narrow alleys were a patchwork of rusted fences, broken railings, and puddles of murky water. Loose stones and debris made every step uncertain. People loitered in corners, sizing each other up. A trio of adolescents eyed the girl and Mattius as they passed, but did nothing. In some corners, a few children rummaged through trash bins, looking for anything remotely edible. This was life here¡ªscrounge or starve.
As they neared the Dented Flask, Mattius tried to sort out what to say to Karvel. The old man would scowl for sure. The last time Mattius brought someone for help, Karvel lectured him about finite resources and hard choices. Karvel made it clear that Mattius¡¯s welcome was contingent on not pushing him too far. Could Karvel say no this time? Possibly. Then Mattius would have to figure out another solution. He had a few acquaintances in these twisting backstreets, but none as reliable as Karvel.
What if Karvel refuses? The thought haunted him. He pictured the girl¡¯s face if he had to lead her right back outside into the dusty streets. No, he wouldn¡¯t allow that. He¡¯d do whatever it took¡ªtrade his morning¡¯s salvage for an extra ration, sweep the floors double-time, anything to convince Karvel this was manageable. He was older now, stronger, and could work harder to compensate. Surely that would sway the old man.
The tavern appeared ahead. If you didn¡¯t know its name, you might miss it entirely. The Dented Flask was just another patched-up building with a half-torn awning and a scorched wall where someone had tried to burn it down years ago. The sign out front was a piece of bent metal vaguely shaped like a flask, hammered into the doorframe with uneven nails. Inside, a single lamp usually provided the only decent light. It wasn¡¯t inviting, exactly, but it was safer than most corners of the Quarter.
Mattius pushed the door open, careful to keep the girl behind him. The smell of old grain and yeast hit him at once. Karvel stood behind his makeshift bar: a few planks laid across stacked crates. He was sorting through a basket of wilted greens, muttering curses under his breath. He didn¡¯t look up immediately, too focused on his inventory.
Mattius cleared his throat. ¡°Karvel,¡± he said softly.
The old man raised his gaze, and his eyes narrowed on the girl standing partially behind Mattius, clutching his jacket. Karvel¡¯s brow furrowed. He set down a handful of greens, cracked his knuckles, and then folded his arms. ¡°Mattius,¡± he said, voice low and gravelly, ¡°who¡¯s this?¡±
Mattius stepped aside to let Karvel see her better. The girl trembled slightly, trying to make herself smaller. ¡°Found her crying near the fence,¡± Mattius said. ¡°Just pushed through the gate, I think. She¡¯s got nowhere to go.¡±
Karvel let out a long breath through his nose. ¡°I¡¯m not running an orphanage,¡± he growled. ¡°You know rations are tight. I can barely keep you fed, boy, let alone another mouth.¡±
¡°I know,¡± Mattius said quickly. He glanced at the girl¡¯s terrified face, then back to Karvel. ¡°I¡¯ll make it worth your while. I¡¯ll find more salvage, do more chores. Just¡ she can¡¯t stay out there alone. Not a kid this young.¡±
Karvel¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced at the girl, then at Mattius. There was an unspoken understanding in the old man¡¯s gaze¡ªhe remembered that Mattius had once stood in that same doorway, desperate and hungry. Finally, Karvel sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. ¡°All right,¡± he said, voice rough. ¡°She can sleep in the back room with the others.¡±
The girl¡¯s eyes lit with relief, tears threatening to spill again. She dipped her head, whispering something too quiet to hear. Mattius exhaled slowly. He¡¯d known Karvel would come through, gruff as he was. A man didn¡¯t keep his door open this long in the Quarter without having at least a sliver of conscience.
¡°Thank you,¡± Mattius said. He knelt to give the girl a reassuring nod. ¡°Go on, through that curtain,¡± he said, pointing to a tattered cloth hanging in a doorframe at the rear. ¡°There are others back there, kids like you.¡±
She hesitated, then scampered toward the curtain. Mattius watched her go, listening as her footsteps faded into the quieter murmur of the back room. The tension in his chest eased.
Karvel grunted and returned to sorting his greens. ¡°Don¡¯t think this means I¡¯ve gone soft,¡± he warned. ¡°You owe me, and I¡¯ll collect. Make sure you pull your weight.¡±
¡°I will,¡± Mattius promised, placing a hand on the bar¡¯s edge. He could feel the old man¡¯s frustration¡ªthe Quarter demanded constant negotiation and sacrifice. ¡°I¡¯ll get more salvage today. Whatever I can find.¡±
¡°Hmph,¡± Karvel replied. ¡°You¡¯d better.¡±
Mattius stood there a moment longer, taking in the dimly lit tavern, the smell of old wood and stale beer. He had acted on compassion, and it had worked, at least for now. Outside those walls, the Quarter still sprawled¡ªa labyrinth of broken lives and twisted hopes. But here, there was a small, fragile pocket of respite.
Before stepping out again to hunt for something valuable, Mattius allowed himself a brief look through the door. The watchers were gone. No silhouettes on the rooftops. Had they approved of his choice, or merely lost interest? He knew better than to dwell on that now. He had made his decision, and that was enough.
He pulled the door shut behind him and ventured back into the Quarter¡¯s streets, wondering what tomorrow would bring, and how many more choices like this he would have to make before fate took notice.
Chapter 2: Rumors, Legends, and Tests
Morning drifted softly into the Quarter, bringing a thin wash of light over cluttered alleys and crooked rooftops. Inside the Dented Flask¡ª¡°the Dent¡± to those familiar with its dim interior¡ªan aging lamp buzzed and flickered, illuminating a world that knew too many hungry days and bitter nights.
Mattius crouched near a wobbly table, fingers sifting through yesterday¡¯s salvage: a few inches of copper wire, a half-functional data-chit, a cracked power cell that might still hold a weak charge. It wasn¡¯t much, but ¡°not much¡± was often the difference between gnawing hunger and a meager meal.
Old Karvel stood behind his makeshift bar, scowling at shriveled tubers as though he might glare them back into plumpness. A faint sigh escaped the older man¡¯s lips as he tossed aside a blackened root. He sensed Mattius¡¯s gaze and looked up, eyes narrowed, jaw set.
¡°Drafting Tests soon,¡± Karvel said, voice low and rough. ¡°Every last one of you of age will be scanned. Don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s looking forward to it.¡±
Mattius nodded, slipping the data-chit into his pocket. He tried to ignore the hollow twist in his gut. ¡°No one is,¡± he agreed. ¡°The Watch has been crawling around like ants, setting up checkpoints.¡± He didn¡¯t add that he¡¯d seen them eyeing the alley kids more closely, as if measuring each for some hidden worth.
Karvel lifted another tuber, shook his head, and tossed it aside. ¡°You know what it means if they find something in you, right? Warrior, Mage, Psionic¡ªit won¡¯t matter. They¡¯ll drag you out of here. No questions, no bargaining.¡±
A knot tightened in Mattius¡¯s throat. He forced a swallow. ¡°I know the stories,¡± he managed. ¡°Warriors¡ they pilot exosuits, link with machines. I¡¯ve heard rumors, but never knew what was true.¡±
Karvel let out a humorless laugh. ¡°True enough. A real Warrior doesn¡¯t just pilot a suit; they fuse with it. I¡¯ve heard of one who rerouted a whole fleet¡¯s navigation systems mid-battle, turning enemy ships against each other. Warriors bring whole star-cruisers to heel. Picture that, boy¡ªsomeone walking into a cockpit and bending it to their will like a musician playing strings.¡±
Mattius tried to imagine it: raw mechanical power at your fingertips, saving or destroying hundreds of lives with a glance. He shifted his weight. ¡°And Mages?¡± he asked quietly. ¡°They build and power reactors, right?¡±
Karvel grunted, rubbing a hand over his bald scalp. ¡°Mages keep the Empire¡¯s heart beating. They forge and fuel those FTL reactors so ships can hop across star systems in a blink. Once heard a tale about a Mage who stabilized an entire colony¡¯s reactor grid on the brink of meltdown. Just did it and drifted off, no applause, no thanks. They¡¯re too far above it all to bother with the likes of us.¡±
Mattius tried to picture that, too: holding the fate of entire worlds in your hands, folding and twisting energies as easily as smoothing cloth. He felt very small, standing in the Dent, with only a few wires and a busted power cell to his name.
He lowered his voice further. ¡°And Psionics¡ they can read minds. Influence people, right?¡±
Karvel¡¯s gaze drifted toward the curtain shielding the back room, where a few children slept. ¡°They do more than rummage in heads,¡± he said softly. ¡°A Psionic can end a war by making enemies understand each other¡¯s nightmares and hopes. They calm riots, heal rifts, shift the balance of history just by nudging minds. One Psionic ended a decades-old feud simply by linking two warlords¡¯ minds so they couldn¡¯t ignore each other¡¯s pain. No blood spilled that day¡ªjust understanding.¡±
The silence that followed weighed heavily. Mattius¡¯s chest felt tight. Warriors, Mages, Psionics¡ªmythic figures who shaped empires, while he struggled to feed a handful of hungry kids. If the Tests found something in him, would he leave the Quarter behind? Would he regret it?
Karvel broke the silence with a weary sigh. ¡°These Tests aren¡¯t about justice, boy. They¡¯re about the Empire¡¯s needs. If you¡¯ve got Talent, they¡¯ll make you their tool. If not, you stay here and scrape by for the rest of your days.¡±
Mattius set his jaw, heart fluttering. ¡°Neither path sounds like freedom,¡± he said, voice barely above a whisper. He thought of the girl he¡¯d brought here yesterday, how she¡¯d looked at him like he was her lifeline. If Mattius was taken away, who would stand between her and the night?
Karvel grunted and jerked his chin toward the door. ¡°If you¡¯re heading out to trade, best do it now,¡± he said. ¡°Crowds get thicker soon, and desperate folks get meaner.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Mattius rose and gathered his salvage into a threadbare pouch. He knew a few traders who might accept his junk for something edible. The Dent¡¯s supplies were thin, and every scrap of nourishment could mean the difference between a child going hungry or getting a half-meal. He nodded at Karvel, pushing away the gnawing thoughts of the Tests. He needed to focus on today¡¯s survival.
Outside, the Quarter¡¯s streets were waking. Filtered sunlight caught on dangling metal strips and shredded banners. Vendors dragged carts into place, some coughing in the dust, others shouting half-hearted greetings to attract early customers. Mattius stepped into the lane, shoulders hunched. He recognized a few figures: Gral, who sold bitter greens from a cracked crate; Icen, a tinkerer with a face like old leather, who might want his data-chit; and Fenlo, a nervous man rumored to have weak connections with black-market smugglers.
Mattius weaved through the throng, mind churning. The Tests. Talent. These legends Karvel spoke of felt like distant stars¡ªbright, unreachable. Meanwhile, hunger prowled these alleys, and no mythical warrior or serene mage cared to fix that. He reached Icen¡¯s stall, a splintered table covered with old circuit boards and salvaged plating.
Icen eyed him. ¡°Whatcha got today?¡± he asked, voice muffled by the cloth mask he wore against the dust.
Mattius produced the data-chit and wire. ¡°This chit might still hold some encrypted schematics. The wire¡¯s copper¡ªdecent quality if you strip it.¡± He tried to sound confident. Confidence made for better trades.
Icen grunted, holding the chit up to the light as if he could see through it. ¡°I can give you some dried root chunks and a handful of salted kernels.¡± He tapped the wire. ¡°Might be able to melt this down. Won¡¯t give you more than that, though.¡±
Mattius weighed his options. Dried root wasn¡¯t tasty, but it was filling. The kernels were a treat¡ªif a bit stale. They¡¯d keep Karvel¡¯s wards from grumbling too hard before nightfall. ¡°Deal,¡± he said quietly.
They exchanged goods with quick, practiced motions. Across the alley, Gral was trying to hawk vegetables. Most looked half-rotten. Fenlo stood at a corner, glancing around like he expected someone to grab him by the throat. The Quarter didn¡¯t encourage trust.
Mattius turned back toward the Dent, clutching his trade. On the way, he heard whispers swirling among neighbors:
¡°¡heard they¡¯re bringing in extra scanners. Psionics too, to read anyone who tries to fake it.¡±
¡°¡Warriors are short on recruits after that last front. They¡¯ll be looking hard, real hard.¡±
¡°¡Mages don¡¯t care what¡¯s down here. As long as they get their fresh minds to shape, right?¡±
Every snippet of gossip tightened the coil in Mattius¡¯s chest. He passed a side street where two armed thugs argued, shoving each other over who had rights to a broken solar panel. Mattius kept his head down. No sense drawing attention. He already had enough worries.
Approaching the Dent, he remembered the silent watchers he¡¯d glimpsed before¡ªthe mysterious figures perched atop roofs. He glanced up now, searching for silhouettes against the patchwork skyline. Nothing there. Maybe they were gone, or maybe they blended too well for him to notice. Had they been watching him for the Tests? For Talent? He tried not to dwell on it.
The tavern¡¯s door creaked as he pushed it open. Inside, Karvel was still sorting his meager stores, muttering curses at the poor quality of available produce. The place smelled faintly of yeast and metal dust. Mattius set the dried root and kernels on the counter.
Karvel raised an eyebrow. ¡°That all you got?¡±
Mattius shrugged. ¡°It¡¯ll hold us over. Better than nothing.¡± He didn¡¯t mention that it was getting harder to find good salvage to trade. The city¡¯s scavengers were many, and the scraps were few.
From behind the curtain, a child coughed softly. The new girl might be awake, or maybe one of the older boys stirring. Mattius wondered if they¡¯d ask about the Tests soon. Rumors drifted easily. He¡¯d have to reassure them, pretend he knew what he was doing. He was no parent, but he couldn¡¯t leave them adrift in fear.
Karvel nodded grudgingly. ¡°All right. Divide it up. A few pieces for the kids, one for you. I¡¯ll take a bite if there¡¯s spare.¡± He said it without meeting Mattius¡¯s gaze, as if embarrassed to rely on a boy¡¯s scavenging. Pride was a tricky thing in the Quarter.
Mattius unpacked the meager haul. The roots were hard and tasted like old bark, but they¡¯d quiet empty bellies. The kernels might even coax a reluctant smile. He arranged them in small piles. Overhead, the lamp buzzed again, threatening to flicker out. Mattius made a mental note: try to find a spare filament someday.
As he worked, his mind drifted back to Karvel¡¯s words. Warriors who command ships. Mages who stabilize worlds. Psionics who end wars with whispered empathy. Meanwhile, he knelt on a cracked floor, dividing scraps of food among children who might never know a world beyond this cramped tavern and its lean rations.
If the scanners found something in him¡ªif he were whisked off to live among legends¡ªwould it be worth leaving this behind? Could he ever return, and if he did, would he even recognize himself?
He shook his head. Speculation wouldn¡¯t fill their bellies. Today he had a few roots and kernels, and that was real enough. He laid a piece of root in front of Karvel. The old man grunted in acknowledgment, eyes distant.
The Dent settled into a quiet lull as the outside murmur rose and fell. Mattius realized how fragile the peace was. Soon the Tests would come, and with them, the question of his future. For now, he¡¯d done what he set out to do: trade salvage for sustenance, buy another day in which to breathe and think. Talent or not, life went on.
He stepped back toward the door, stealing a glance at Karvel, who was rotating a shriveled tuber as though imagining it plump and fresh. Mattius said nothing, just let the silence speak. Tomorrow, or the next day, the Tests would loom larger. Until then, he had what he had, and that would have to be enough.
Outside, the Quarter was still there, grim and persistent. Inside the Dent, they might just endure a little longer.
Chapter 3: A Change of Plans
Dawn arrived with an uneasy hush. The Quarter¡¯s narrow alleys felt tighter than ever, as if the crooked structures leaned in to listen. Overnight, tension had settled like fine dust over every battered walkway and sagging rooftop, and now the first hints of light revealed a city on edge. The Drafting Tests were today, and no one in Mattius¡¯s age group would escape them.
He stood by the tavern¡¯s warped doorway, heart thrumming in his chest. Inside, Old Karvel rummaged quietly through crates, pretending to be busy while throwing occasional, furtive glances over his shoulder. Behind the tattered curtain, children whispered and stirred, sensing some great event unfolding just beyond their comprehension. One of them coughed, a small sound that echoed in the charged silence.
Mattius had slept poorly, haunted by images of yesterday¡¯s conversation with Karvel and the trade run that yielded only meager roots and kernels. Now those concerns seemed trivial compared to the ordeal awaiting him. He wanted to delay leaving, but time pressed on. If he tried to hide, they¡¯d find him. Rumors said the Watch employed Psionics who could sense fear and reluctance, who could drag you into the light no matter where you cowered.
Karvel¡¯s voice broke the stillness. ¡°You should go,¡± he said quietly, not turning around. He rearranged a few shriveled vegetables on the counter, as if that might distract him from the boy¡¯s departure. ¡°Better to face it straight on than have them hunt you down.¡±
Mattius nodded, though Karvel couldn¡¯t see it. There was no point in arguing. The longer he lingered, the worse it would look.
He stepped into the street and pulled the door shut. The Dent¡¯s dim glow faded behind him as he navigated the early morning gloom. The Quarter¡¯s people were up, and many were already on the move. He joined a trickle of adolescents heading east, where the Watch had cordoned off a long, narrow intersection for the Tests.
The air tasted of metal and old regret. Vendors who dared to open early sold stale bread ends and watery broth to anxious parents. Others remained shuttered, hoping to vanish from notice. On a corner, Mattius saw a woman weeping softly, her shoulders shaking as a lanky boy¡ªher son, perhaps¡ªsquared his shoulders and marched away without looking back.
At the next cross-street, barricades loomed. The Watch had improvised a testing area at the Quarter¡¯s ragged edge, near a broken thoroughfare that once led into a better district. Mattius¡¯s stomach tightened. He expected to see just a few officers, maybe a scanning device or two. Instead, he found a small armory¡¯s worth of armored enforcers and drones. Each wore reflective visors and carried weapons designed for crowd control. Towering behind them were machines bristling with antennae, glowing conduits, and sensor arrays that hummed ominously.
A line of youths stretched forward, some shuffling quietly, others standing rigid with fear. Mattius took a place at the end, trying to appear calm. He glanced upward out of instinct. Yesterday, he¡¯d looked for watchers¡ªthose silent, cloaked figures who had tracked him. This morning, he spotted them again: a pair of silhouettes perched atop a half-collapsed roof two blocks away. They resembled gargoyles, still and inscrutable. Did they guide him here, or merely bear witness? Whatever their purpose, they remained silent observers.
Nervous chatter drifted through the line. To Mattius¡¯s left, a heavyset boy wrung his hands until his knuckles whitened. To his right, a tall girl kept running fingers through her hair, murmuring something like a prayer. Mattius shut his eyes for a moment and breathed slowly. He tried to focus on something else¡ªthe memory of the child he¡¯d saved, now safe behind the Dent¡¯s curtain, or Old Karvel¡¯s grudging kindness. He tried not to imagine tomorrow or next week. Just survive this moment.
The line moved forward in increments. At the front stood a series of devices manned by technicians in gray uniforms. The first machine looked like a metal arch flanked by panels that thrummed with energy. Another device had a cylindrical core, its surface etched with spiraling runes and embedded crystals that glowed in shifting hues. Beyond them, a figure in sleek attire watched intently. Even from a distance, Mattius could guess: a Psionic examiner, one whose presence clung to the air like static electricity.
A commotion erupted ahead. A boy tried to bolt, pushing sideways through the crowd. The Watch reacted instantly. An officer lunged forward, catching the boy by the arm. Another officer pressed something against his shoulder. With a crackle, he yelped and crumpled. The line pressed back, a ripple of shock. The Watch dragged the would-be runaway to the front, ignoring his pleas. The lesson was clear: no one would escape.
Mattius¡¯s pulse hammered. He forced himself to remain still, to keep fear from twisting his face. Psionics could pick up on panic, or so he¡¯d heard. Did he have reason to panic? He wasn¡¯t expecting any Talent. Wasn¡¯t that why he lived in the Quarter, after all? His parents had never returned for him; the system had deemed him unremarkable. He¡¯d survived on scraps and wit, not innate gifts. Probability suggested he¡¯d stand under the scanner and be found ordinary. They¡¯d let him go¡ªwouldn¡¯t they?
The line advanced slowly. Mattius drew closer to the machines, close enough now to see details. The first scanner was an intricate construct of rods and panels that emitted soft hums. It probably tested for Warrior compatibility, scanning neural patterns to detect if a brain could harmonize with mechanical interfaces. The second scanner had a subtle shimmer around it, perhaps related to energy fields that Mages manipulate. The final test station was staffed by a Psionic, a tall, wiry figure with a featureless black visor. Under that visor, a pair of eyes would be reading not just faces, but minds.
Mattius¡¯s throat went dry. He noticed a handful of youths being marched aside by Watch officers after testing positive for something. Not many, just two or three. One sobbed openly, another seemed numb with shock. Those found Talentless stumbled back into the Quarter with hollow relief, as if they¡¯d escaped some silent beast¡¯s maw.
Now he stood only one or two places away from the front. The hum of machinery rattled in his ears. Someone ahead of him, a wiry kid with close-cropped hair, stepped into the Warrior scanner¡¯s light. The machine clicked and whirred, then flashed green. The technicians murmured, and the boy was pushed along to the next station. Mattius couldn¡¯t catch what happened after that because an officer waved him forward.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Mattius took his place beneath the first scanner. He tried to hold still as the device bathed him in a soft, violet glow. A technician tapped on a handheld console, frowning. ¡°Strange readings,¡± the technician muttered, adjusting a knob. The machine whined, then stuttered. Mattius¡¯s heart climbed into his throat. Strange readings? He must have misheard. He forced himself not to flinch.
An officer prodded him. ¡°Move to the next station.¡±
The next device hummed differently, its glow a pale blue. Mattius stepped forward, and the blue intensified around him like a haze. The technician here shook their head, confused. He heard them say something about ¡°high resonance,¡± though it sounded distant and unreal. High resonance? That had to be a glitch. He¡¯d never shown any magical aptitude. He barely understood what Mages even did beyond Karvel¡¯s stories.
¡°Next,¡± said a stern voice, gesturing him toward the Psionic examiner.
Mattius¡¯s legs felt like lead. The Psionic stood behind a compact machine ringed with delicate fibers that fluttered in an unseen breeze. The examiner didn¡¯t speak. Instead, the visor seemed to tilt, as if peering right through Mattius¡¯s skull.
His skin prickled. Suddenly he felt¡ exposed, as if a thousand tiny needles of thought were prying into his mind. He tried to hold steady, thinking of mundane things: the cracked floorboards in the Dent, the stale smell of old grain, the half-rotten tubers Karvel sorted each morning. Anything but fear. Anything but the anxiety pulsing in his chest.
Something crackled in the air. The Psionic examiner stepped back sharply, nearly stumbling. The technicians rushed forward. The officer nearby barked, ¡°What is it? What¡¯s wrong?¡±
The Psionic¡¯s voice emerged, muffled by the visor: ¡°He resonates with all patterns.¡± The examiner sounded stunned, uncertain. ¡°This boy¡ I sense Warrior potential, Mage harmonics, Psionic wavelengths¡ªimpossible¡¡±
¡°Impossible?¡± repeated the officer, incredulous. ¡°Check again.¡±
They did. The machines hummed louder, lights dancing over Mattius¡¯s body. He felt dizzy, as if the world had tilted. He caught snatches of words: ¡°Triple reading,¡± ¡°Never recorded,¡± ¡°Must inform the Council.¡±
The crowd had gone quiet, as if everyone held their breath. The officer grabbed Mattius¡¯s arm, hard enough to bruise. ¡°Come with us,¡± he growled. This wasn¡¯t a polite request. Guards converged, forming a ring of armor and weapons. Mattius¡¯s protest died in his throat. He had no idea what was happening. Three Talents in one person? He¡¯d never even manifested a spark of skill. Yet these experts sounded utterly convinced.
They dragged him away from the testing line. Mattius¡¯s feet scraped the pavement as he tried to keep balance. He glanced around, searching for a familiar face. None of the Quarter residents dared approach. They stood back, stunned and fearful. Some shook their heads as if witnessing a bad omen. Others just stared, wide-eyed.
He thought of Karvel¡¯s warning: If Talent was found, you¡¯d be shaped into whatever the Empire needed. If you resisted, you risked the Empire¡¯s wrath. Mattius had no clue what they¡¯d do with someone who had all three Talents. That must make him priceless¡ªor a threat.
As the Watch led him toward a waiting transport, he caught a flicker of movement on a distant rooftop. One of those cloaked watchers leaned forward, then vanished behind a broken antenna. Were they satisfied? Alarmed? He¡¯d never know. He only knew that, in a matter of minutes, his life had pivoted in a direction he couldn¡¯t fathom.
They pushed him toward a squat, armored vehicle parked behind an old freight container. Its hull bore the Empire¡¯s insignia: a stylized star and gear entwined. Inside, it would be cramped and secure¡ªno chance of running. Mattius¡¯s pulse pounded in his ears.
A technician jogged up, still holding the scanning device. ¡°We need to keep him sedated or at least monitored,¡± the technician told the officer. ¡°The Council will want a full evaluation.¡±
The officer nodded, signaling two guards, who grabbed Mattius¡¯s wrists and clamped cold restraints onto him. Mattius winced. He¡¯d done nothing wrong, yet they treated him like contraband. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words refused to form. What could he say? They wouldn¡¯t release him. He could feel the weight of their discovery bearing down on him. He¡¯d become a commodity, a living anomaly.
The small crowd began to disperse, some drifting away quietly, others hurrying home with a new rumor to spread. Mattius wished he could see Karvel¡¯s face now. Would the old man regret ever feeding him, ever letting him stay? Or would he feel pride, fear, sorrow? Mattius imagined Karvel cursing under his breath, knowing the Empire¡¯s grip would tighten on this precious find.
They shoved Mattius into the vehicle. The interior smelled of machine oil and leather. Two guards took seats across from him, rifles resting on their knees. Another stood by the door, tapping a code into a panel. The transport¡¯s engine whirred, lifting slightly off the ground¡ªsome kind of hover function, perhaps. Mattius had never ridden in such a machine. He felt nauseous.
Through a narrow viewport, he caught a final glimpse of the Quarter¡¯s alleys. He saw a cluster of children gawking, a few adults muttering behind cupped hands. He tried to commit their faces to memory, unsure if he¡¯d ever see them again. Would he return someday, changed beyond recognition? Or would the Empire swallow him whole, leaving only a memory behind?
The vehicle rose higher, clearing debris and heading toward smoother avenues that led away from the Quarter¡¯s center. The hum of its engines resonated in his bones. Mattius struggled to find calm. He couldn¡¯t alter what had happened. He¡¯d never asked for any Talent, let alone three. Yet fate had decided otherwise, and now the Empire would wield him like a blade, a tool, a key to mysteries he hadn¡¯t known existed.
He let out a shaky breath. In the silence of the transport, he thought again of the legends Karvel recited: Warriors shaping battles, Mages forging reactors, Psionics healing fractures in society. He held all these potentials, if what the Tests revealed was true. What did that make him, truly? A savior, a weapon, a pawn?
The guards said nothing. They didn¡¯t need to. Their grim faces spoke volumes: he was valuable, and therefore he must be contained. He caught sight of the restraints on his wrists, reflecting dull light. The future stretched before him as a series of unknown corridors and locked doors.
As the transport glided toward the distant skyline, leaving the Quarter¡¯s rusted silhouettes behind, Mattius wondered if he would ever again taste the gritty air of his old life. He closed his eyes, recalling the Dent¡¯s flickering lamp, the smell of dried root, the frightened girl peering from behind a curtain. Those memories were all he had left of his former self, now overshadowed by the Empire¡¯s looming expectations.
Somewhere behind him, the watchers might still linger on rooftops, whispering silent judgments to themselves. Ahead lay new dangers and complexities he couldn¡¯t imagine. The Quarter, the Dent, Karvel, those children, he left them all behind in a haze of confusion and fear, strapped inside a vehicle of the regime that had just claimed him as its newest, most improbable resource.
The transport picked up speed. Mattius steadied his breathing, preparing to face whatever waited beyond the Quarter¡¯s borders. He had no other choice.
Chapter 4: To VR or Not to VR.
The transport glided through districts Mattius had only imagined. Peering through its small viewport, he caught glimpses of a world so unlike the Quarter it might as well have belonged to another planet. Gone were the rusted walkways and makeshift barricades. In their place rose sleek towers with mirrored surfaces that caught the morning sun, neat rows of streetlamps that hummed softly, and winding pedestrian walkways adorned with carefully trimmed shrubbery. He saw automated drones hovering quietly, directing orderly flows of traffic below. Everything looked engineered for comfort and order.
The vehicle descended, pivoting gracefully toward a wide structure that sprawled half above ground, half below. Its upper portion reflected a pale blue sky; its lower half, visible through transparent paneling, was clearly subterranean. Security fences traced its perimeter, humming with faint energy. Armed guards patrolled walkways, their armor far cleaner and more advanced than anything the Watch used in the Quarter. Beyond them, sealed blast doors and reinforced glass partitions hinted at layers of protection and secrecy.
Mattius¡¯s stomach tightened. He¡¯d known he was being taken somewhere controlled by the Empire, but this looked more like a fortress than a mere facility. With a gentle thrum, the transport settled onto a landing platform. The guards inside nudged him forward. Outside, a squad of sentries in dark uniforms stood at attention. As soon as Mattius stepped down, he felt the subtle pressure of eyes on him, everyone here knew who he was, or at least knew he was something unusual.
They guided him through a short corridor leading into the complex¡¯s interior. The walls were pristine white, broken by occasional panels of brushed metal. Soft lighting eliminated any shadows. The air smelled faintly of antiseptics and ozone, a clean, manufactured scent. If the Quarter had been a place of grime and scarcity, this was a world of enforced sterility and precision. He felt smaller than ever, as if he¡¯d stepped into a giant laboratory rather than a place where human beings lived and worked.
At the first checkpoint, he was halted by a drone that hovered at eye level. It shined a scanning beam across his face and body before emitting a chirp of approval. Doors slid open with a whisper. The guards¡ªtwo on each side¡ªsteered him into a larger hall. Here he found more complex security: overlapping fields of translucent energy, each deactivating only when the proper code was entered on a wall-mounted console.
Through a final set of doors, he arrived in a sparse reception area. A single desk curved elegantly near one wall, behind it a figure stood waiting. This person wore a subtle uniform, not as martial as the guards, but crisp and official. Their attire bore the Empire¡¯s insignia: a stylized star and gear entwined. She had calm, intelligent features and pale eyes that regarded Mattius with polite interest. When they smiled, it was professional rather than warm.
¡°Greetings,¡± she said, voice low and measured. ¡°I am Serone, Psionic Adviser to the Talent Acquisition Division. I¡¯ve been expecting you.¡± Serone¡¯s gaze flicked over Mattius¡¯s appearance: his threadbare clothes from the Quarter, the dirt under his nails, the confusion in his eyes. If Serone judged him, she didn¡¯t show it. Instead, she inclined their head slightly. ¡°You must have many questions.¡±
Mattius¡¯s throat felt tight. Questions? He had thousands, but he wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d get any honest answers. ¡°Where am I?¡± he managed, voice rough. ¡°Why am I here?¡±
Serone raised a slender hand, palm outward in a placating gesture. ¡°This is a secure evaluation facility. We have brought you here because your Drafting Test results were¡ unprecedented. Our protocols require careful assessment.¡± She paused, as if considering what to say next. ¡°You need not fear for your well-being. We will ensure you are treated with appropriate care.¡±
Mattius tried to steady himself. He looked around: no windows, just sealed doors and subtle surveillance nodes recessed into the ceiling. He doubted ¡°appropriate care¡± meant what he thought it should. ¡°I never asked for this,¡± he said, voice shaking slightly despite his attempts to sound calm.
Serone¡¯s expression did not change. ¡°We understand that, but circumstances are what they are. Cooperation will benefit you. Resistance would be unwise.¡±
The guards behind him stiffened, as if to underscore that point. Mattius nodded numbly. He felt as if he stood on shifting sands, with no firm ground to grasp. The Quarter, for all its hardships, had been familiar. This place was too bright, too controlled, too controlled. His heart ached with a sudden longing for Karvel¡¯s gruff voice, the Dent¡¯s dim lamp, and even the stale taste of old grain.
Serone stepped from behind the desk and gestured to a side corridor. ¡°We¡¯ve prepared temporary accommodations for you. Until we complete our initial evaluations, you must remain in isolation.¡± She said it gently, but Mattius heard the steel beneath the courtesy.
He followed Serone and the guards through another maze of identical halls, each intersection marked by small alphanumeric codes that meant nothing to him. After several turns, they stopped at a sealed chamber with a reinforced door. One guard tapped a code into a panel, and with a pneumatic hiss, the door slid aside.
Inside was a small room, almost spartan. A cot bolted to the floor. A small sink with mirrored panel above it. Soft overhead lighting that buzzed faintly. No personal items, no blankets more than what was absolutely necessary, and no chair other than a low stool built into the wall. The camera set high in one corner blinked red, reminding him he would never be alone here.
¡°Please, make yourself comfortable,¡± Serone said, as if this were a guest suite. ¡°You will be notified when testing begins.¡± Without waiting for a response, they stepped back, and the door closed with a crisp finality.
Mattius took a hesitant step forward and sat on the cot. The mattress was thin but clean, far better than the makeshift bedding he¡¯d known in the Quarter¡¯s alleys. He rubbed his wrists where restraints had pinched him earlier. His entire journey here had been a blur of fear and confusion, and he felt no closer to understanding why he was so special, why this Empire had turned him into a prize.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Silence pressed in. The only sound was the gentle hum of ventilation. He wondered who else might be in this facility. Other Talents? People who, like him, were plucked from their homes to serve the Empire¡¯s inscrutable purposes? Perhaps somewhere down these sterile halls, others were locked in similar cells, waiting, wondering.
Time passed slowly. Without windows, he had no sense of how long he¡¯d been sitting there. He tried distracting himself: counting the grooves in the wall, recalling every detail of the Dent¡¯s interior, imagining Old Karvel¡¯s reaction if he could see this place. None of it soothed the knot in his chest.
Eventually, a neutral, mechanical voice crackled from a speaker above the door: ¡°Subject 00178A. Prepare for initial evaluation in one hour. Remain compliant. Disobedience will not be tolerated.¡±
The voice cut off as abruptly as it began. Mattius¡¯s heart sank. They reduced him to a subject number. He closed his eyes and pressed his palms against them, trying to keep panic at bay. Fear wouldn¡¯t help him now. He needed clarity.
What did compliance mean here? Obeying their commands while they poked and prodded him like a lab creature? He remembered the wild tales about Warriors, Mages, and Psionics¡ªhow they shaped the Empire¡¯s destiny. Now he bore all three gifts, if the Tests were correct. That made him important, but it also made him a captive to their agenda.
He allowed himself a whisper: ¡°I¡¯m not a tool.¡± His voice sounded hollow against the sterile walls.
If anyone heard, they offered no reply. The camera¡¯s red light remained steady, indifferent.
Minutes crawled by. Mattius stood, stretched, paced the narrow floor. He stopped at the mirror above the sink, studying his reflection. He looked the same as always: lank hair, tired eyes, a skinny frame from too many lean meals. Nothing about that face hinted at hidden powers. He tried to see what the Empire saw¡ªa resource of unlimited potential¡ªbut he saw only a scared boy who missed home.
More muffled footsteps echoed somewhere beyond the corridor. He strained to listen, but the sound faded. No clues, no comfort.
As he rested against the wall, the events of the past few days replayed in his mind: rescuing the girl from the Quarter¡¯s street, the watchers on the rooftops, Karvel¡¯s grave warnings, the brutal Drafting Tests, and the shocking revelation that set him apart. He wondered if the watchers still kept track of him, or if they cared now that he was caged like a rare animal. He doubted they would help him.
The hum of ventilation shifted subtly as if the facility were exhaling. Mattius felt the vibration beneath his feet, imagining the complex¡¯s hidden depths¡ªlabs, training halls, storage bays, all arranged for the Empire¡¯s purpose. A place designed to mold him into something he¡¯d never chosen to be.
He clenched his fists. Fear still lurked, but now simmered with anger. He never asked for Talent or glory. Yet here he was, stripped of freedom, on the brink of a future he couldn¡¯t control. Could he bend this fate to his advantage, or was he trapped in a perfect machine that would grind him down into obedience?
As the hour crawled onward, no answers came. Only the same stark walls and the silent scrutiny of the camera¡¯s unblinking eye.
In the last minutes before the promised evaluation, he resolved to face whatever tests they inflicted on him with open eyes. He¡¯d learn what he could about this place, about his abilities, about those who held the leash. If he ever got a chance, he¡¯d need knowledge to escape this gilded prison.
A chime rang softly. The door lock clicked. Someone would be coming soon. Mattius drew a shaky breath and steeled himself. He might be trapped, but he was alive, and he¡¯d hold on to that sliver of identity no matter what.
The corridor smelled faintly of ionized air and antiseptic. As Mattius followed the guards and the technician with silver-rimmed spectacles, he kept trying to catalog details: the pattern of lights overhead, the subtle numbers etched into each doorframe, the muted hum of distant machinery. He wanted something, anything, that could help him understand this place. But everything was pristine, symmetrical, and maddeningly anonymous.
They halted before a set of reinforced doors marked only by a single emblem: a stylized star entwined with a gear¡ªthe Empire¡¯s seal. The technician tapped a code into a recessed panel, and the doors glided apart without a whisper.
Inside, Mattius expected to see another white-walled lab. Instead, he stepped into a cavernous space bathed in low, bluish light. Rows upon rows of cylindrical pods stretched out like soldiers standing at attention. Each pod was roughly human-sized, a metal and glass capsule balanced on a slender base, cables snaking up to the ceiling. The air buzzed with energy, and monitors flickered on consoles arranged along walkways, manned by silent technicians in uniform gray attire.
The technician turned to Mattius. ¡°We will run your evaluation in here,¡± they said. Their voice echoed slightly in the vast chamber. ¡°It is more¡ integrated than separate tests. More efficient.¡±
Mattius¡¯s heart tightened. He¡¯d imagined being poked with instruments or forced to perform feats under close scrutiny, but this scene felt more ominous. The pods reminded him of hives, each containing who-knew-what kind of simulation. He glanced around, searching for Serone or someone he recognized, but all he saw were strangers with impassive faces.
Two guards escorted him down a narrow aisle between pods. He passed sealed capsules glowing softly from within. Some were empty, their glass dark. Others showed only frosted interiors. He guessed this was a testing ground¡ªone that merged Warrior, Mage, and Psionic evaluations into a single immersive trial. The thought of having his mind plunged into some artificial scenario made him shiver.
Finally, they stopped beside an open pod. It stood upright, its interior padded with a strange, gel-like lining. Translucent cables draped inside, and at the base, a small cradle for his feet. A set of delicate sensors dangled from above. The pod¡¯s curved glass door waited to seal him in.
¡°Step inside,¡± said the technician, adjusting their spectacles. ¡°Do not resist the systems. They will guide you through several scenarios designed to test your aptitudes.¡±
Mattius hesitated. ¡°Scenarios? What do you mean?¡±
The technician¡¯s tone remained flat. ¡°A virtual environment. You¡¯ll face certain challenges tailored to Warrior, Mage, and Psionic traits. The system monitors your responses, neural patterns, and emotional states. It is thorough¡ªand painless if you cooperate.¡±
Painless if he cooperated. Mattius didn¡¯t miss the implication. He had no choice. His eyes flicked to the guards, their stances rigid, weapons in hand. He stepped up, placing one foot into the pod, then the other. The gel lining was cool against his back as he leaned in. The sensors adjusted automatically, brushing against his temples with spider-like delicacy. The technician tapped a command into a console on the nearby station.
With a soft hiss, the glass door slid shut, sealing Mattius inside. The world outside became muffled. He could still see the chamber¡¯s dim blue lighting through the tinted glass, the silhouettes of technicians moving along walkways. Then the pod¡¯s interior lights brightened, and a gentle hum filled his ears. He felt pressure around his limbs, as if gentle hands were holding him in place.
A whisper sounded in his ear, the same neutral, artificial voice he¡¯d heard before: ¡°Initiating VR sequence. Remain calm. Resistance is futile¡±
Mattius opened his mouth to protest, but the world went dark.
Chapter 5: The Drone and I
Darkness gave way to dim, smoky twilight. Mattius found himself standing knee-deep in tangled reeds along the bank of a wide, silent lake. The sudden shift unsettled him; moments ago he¡¯d been inside the sterile testing facility, sealed in that gel-lined pod. Now he stood in this strange landscape that felt too real to be an illusion. The damp chill of the air, the slick reeds brushing his legs, the faint rot of moss and stagnant water¡ªall of it worked together to convince his senses that this was no mere simulation.
But he knew better. Somewhere beyond these horizons of code and light, the Empire¡¯s observers monitored his every reaction. This was the Warrior test, their attempt to measure his aptitude for interfacing with machines and managing them under stress. He tried to recall the technician¡¯s words: a virtual environment, tailored scenarios testing Warrior, Mage, and Psionic traits. This must be the first challenge.
He glanced around, taking in the surroundings. Overhead, tattered clouds drifted across a pale lavender sky. Gnarled trees stood in crooked silhouettes, their branches knotted like arthritic fingers. The horizon¡¯s gloom weighed heavily, and the hush of the landscape felt ominous. Mattius sensed danger lurking behind the silence, as if this world was holding its breath, waiting for him to act.
A faint crackle of electricity pulled his attention to a metallic shape half-submerged in the muck a few paces away. He waded through the reeds to reach it, heart pounding. Squatting down, he brushed aside wet leaves and discovered a small drone about the size of a large pack, its plating scuffed and bent out of shape. One of its limbs hung limp, wiring exposed. Tiny sparks flickered from a cracked panel, and its sensor array drooped lifelessly.
Repair the downed scout drone. That had been the gist of his pre-programmed instructions before the world went dark and re-formed. He¡¯d have to fix it somehow. Without tools or guidance, he wondered how. The concept of ¡°Warrior interfacing¡± was still new to him, a skill he barely understood. Yet he remembered the earlier, briefer tests: a subtle mental reach, a sense of wiring and code that bent to his will.
He placed a trembling hand on the drone¡¯s casing. The metal felt clammy and inert. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, trying to conjure that inner voice which had let him speak to machines before. At first, he sensed nothing beyond his own fear. He pressed harder, focusing on the idea of not just touching the drone but connecting with it. He pictured threads of thought extending from his mind into the drone¡¯s systems.
A sting of static made him flinch. Gritting his teeth, he pushed past the discomfort. Fragments of schematic images flickered at the edges of his awareness: crisscrossed circuits, damaged linkages, unstable power feeds. The drone¡¯s internal architecture was like a puzzle scattered by an explosion. He needed to reorder it.
He tried guiding energy flows, willing circuits to redirect. A spark leapt from an exposed filament, and he nearly pulled away. Instead, he concentrated harder, imagining stable configurations. The drone resisted¡ªits systems flared with erratic impulses, as if the machine¡¯s artificial nerves were screaming in pain. Mattius¡¯s arm tingled, as if dozens of tiny needles pricked his skin.
¡°Come on,¡± he murmured through clenched teeth. He visualized new paths for the signals to follow, working around damaged components. He found a cracked data node and tried to create a bypass in his mind, patching its logic through secondary couplings. This was no neat lab demonstration; it was like performing delicate surgery on a wounded animal with nothing but his bare hands and imagination.
Gradually, the spark-shower lessened. The drone¡¯s internal chaos subsided into faint static murmurs. He sensed a tenuous order forming. The limb twitched, then rose, as if testing its range. Its sensor array flickered a soft glow. Encouraged, Mattius continued refining the makeshift connections until the drone hovered slightly, albeit unsteadily, above the water.
The soft hum of its thrusters reassured him that at least one thing in this strange world now answered to him. Yet no signal appeared to mark his success¡ªno shift in the pale lavender sky, no whispered prompt of further instructions.
A chill breeze rustled the reeds at his ankles, stirring the stagnant scent of damp earth and mossy decay. He tested his footing, lifting each leg slowly out of the muck and stepping onto firmer ground just beyond the water¡¯s edge. The drone drifted a few centimeters above the surface, sensor array swiveling to track his movements. It seemed curious, or as curious as a machine could seem, with that faint mechanical chirp echoing in the hush.
Mattius waited, heart pounding, for something new to happen. Silence pressed in. The simulation had thrown him into a crisis¡ªrepair the drone or fail¡ªand he¡¯d managed it. Now the test offered no further clues. Did they want him to wait until he froze, or perhaps flail helplessly, calling out for mercy? He wouldn¡¯t give them that satisfaction.
If this test measured Warrior aptitude, maybe it wasn¡¯t just about mending broken machinery. Warriors, as he understood, were both technicians and tacticians. They adapted to changing conditions and made use of whatever resources they had. Here he stood in a swampy clearing with no hint of rescue. The world felt authentic enough: a cold wind, moisture in the air, and no guarantee of comfort. Perhaps he needed to show he could endure, take initiative, survive.
He scanned the area. The lake stretched behind him, its dark surface reflecting tattered clouds. Ahead, tangled vegetation and stunted trees formed a ragged coastline of roots and mud. He spotted a slight rise in the land where the ground looked less waterlogged. That might serve as a suitable place to build some form of shelter. He was damp, tired, and the air carried a biting chill. Even if pain or discomfort here were illusions, the test¡¯s realism suggested they wanted to see how he¡¯d handle adversity.
He reached out with his mind, finding that slender mental thread that linked him to the drone. He didn¡¯t have words to give it orders, but he discovered he didn¡¯t need them. A gentle push of intent would suffice: Scan that area for solid footing. Help me find materials. The drone responded with a quiet beep, drifting closer to him, then gliding inland as if sensing his purpose.
Wading through reeds and slippery mud, Mattius followed. The drone hovered ahead, shining a faint beam of light from a repaired sensor node. The beam slid over twisted roots and low ferns, revealing patches of dry ground scattered among soggy depressions. He guided it gently toward a slight knoll, imagining what he needed: a stable base for a lean-to, something to keep the damp chill at bay.
At the foot of a gnarled tree, he tested the soil with his boot. Firmer than the lakeside muck. Good. Mattius knelt, brushing leaves aside. He needed tools¡ªbranches, reeds, stones. He had no rope, no blade. Everything he did would have to be improvised.
He studied the trees. They were crooked and stunted, but their branches might be flexible enough to bend or break. He tugged at one low branch. It snapped off with a crack, leaving splinters in his hand. He bit back a curse and tried again, choosing thinner branches that he could pull free more easily. The drone drifted near him, chirping softly as if uncertain. He conveyed reassurance through their link: This is what I need¡ªlong branches, sturdy reeds, something to create a frame.
The drone tilted its sensor array, then moved off to one side. Moments later, it hovered over a clump of tall stalks. Mattius pushed through the undergrowth and found slender reeds rising chest-high, their fibrous surfaces rough but pliant. Perfect for weaving. He snapped off several, bundling them by twisting the fibers together. The drone extended its manipulator limb¡ªstill bent, but workable¡ªto steady the bundle as he tied it with a strip peeled from another reed.
Step by step, he assembled a crude collection of materials. The drone occasionally nudged a suitable branch toward him or hovered over a spot that concealed flat stones he could use as anchors. He marveled at how responsive it was to his silent suggestions. Through the mental link, he conveyed purpose and direction without fumbling for spoken words. Together, they worked as a team, forging something out of the hostile landscape.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Back at the knoll, he constructed a simple framework: two forked branches wedged into the earth and a crossbar balanced atop them. Anchoring it with stones took several tries¡ªmud and leaves made the footing precarious. The drone hovered close, shining its light so he could see where the branches fit best. When the crossbar seemed stable, he layered smaller sticks across it, forming a crude lattice. Over this, he draped long reeds, tucking their ends under the crossbar and weighing them down with more stones until he had something resembling a sloped roof.
It wasn¡¯t pretty. Gaps remained where rain or wind could sneak through, and the shelter was barely tall enough for him to sit upright underneath. But it was more than nothing¡ªa place to rest, to huddle against the chill. The drone circled the structure, scanning, and Mattius imagined it evaluating his handiwork.
As he settled beneath the canopy, the reeds rustled gently, forming a soothing whisper against his ear. He wiped sweat from his forehead, surprised at how strenuous the work felt. Simulation or not, his body ached, his hands sore from snapping branches and tugging reeds. He drew his knees up, hugging them for warmth, and sighed.
A flicker caught his eye¡ªjust the reflection of the drone¡¯s sensor light against a wet leaf. Still, every movement set his nerves on edge. He realized this environment, for all its quiet, demanded vigilance. The test might still be ongoing. There could be more challenges¡ªa sudden storm, a predator lurking in the shadows. But he¡¯d prepared as best he could. The drone hovered near the entrance, a silent sentinel. He tried to convey gratitude through their link: Thank you for helping.
The drone emitted a soft, musical hum. Mattius smiled. For a moment, he felt almost safe, as if he¡¯d forged a small island of order in a chaotic world. This had to be what they wanted to see: not just his ability to fix a machine but to use it creatively, to solve a problem with limited resources. If the Warrior talent was about synergy with machinery, then he had shown that synergy extended beyond simple repairs. He¡¯d taken a broken drone and crafted with it¡ªa shelter, a brief haven.
Leaning back, he listened to the distant croak of unseen creatures. Night seemed to deepen, or what passed for night in this simulation. The sky¡¯s lavender hue darkened toward indigo, stars timidly flickering into view. He wondered if the Empire¡¯s observers watched him still, noting every decision. Let them watch. He had proven he wouldn¡¯t crumble, wouldn¡¯t drift passively or break down.
In the quiet that followed, Mattius¡¯s thoughts wandered to the Quarter, to Karvel and the others. Would he ever see them again? The Empire had plucked him from that life as if it were nothing. But now he knew he could think, adapt, and build¡ªboth in reality and illusion. He would remember that. If they believed him a passive subject, they were mistaken.
He pressed a hand against the shelter¡¯s frame, feeling the reed fibers flex slightly. Even here, he had managed to create a measure of security from the raw materials at hand.
Dawn came with a sickly, pale glow across the lavender sky. Mattius stirred beneath the crude shelter, stiff and hungry. Rising slowly, he glanced at the drone hovering near the entrance. Its sensor array tilted in greeting. While he had succeeded in bringing it back to life yesterday, he was unable to bring its pulsed energy emitter back online.
He wiped sweat from his brow. If he wanted to eat, he had to find another way. The drone remained his one advantage. Although it couldn¡¯t shoot beams anymore, it could still hover and manipulate small objects. He needed a different kind of weapon¡ªsomething sturdier than brittle reeds, something with a real cutting edge or blunt force.
Mattius stepped beyond the shelter, scanning the environment. The shallow lake and marshy edges might hide something he could use. Stones, perhaps, could be shaped or at least used as simple bludgeons. Or if he could find a hard piece of bark or bone, he might craft a makeshift knife. He set off carefully along the shoreline, the drone shadowing him quietly.
The mud sucked at his ankles, slowing his progress. After a while, he found a patch of drier ground where tree roots knotted above the soil. He pried at a crooked root and discovered scattered pebbles and stones beneath. Selecting a fist-sized rock with a somewhat sharp ridge, he tried scraping it against another stone. Tiny flakes chipped off¡ªcrude, but maybe he could fashion a rough edge by methodically chipping at it. The drone hovered close, as if curious.
Setting to work, Mattius tapped one stone against another, rotating them in his hands. He¡¯d seen scavengers in the Quarter use broken glass or metal shards for knives, but here he had only stone and wood. After several minutes of careful strikes, he managed to grind one stone¡¯s edge into a ragged, sharp surface. It wasn¡¯t pretty, but it could cut if pressed hard enough.
Next, he needed something to secure this ¡°blade¡± so the drone could wield it. He considered the drone¡¯s manipulator limb¡ªbent but still functional. If he could attach a stone blade to that limb, the drone might strike with it or wedge it into a target. But how to attach it without cords or reeds that break too easily?
He cast his gaze around for tougher material. After some searching, he found a stunted tree with thick, fibrous bark. He peeled long, sinewy strips of it, testing their strength by pulling hard. They resisted, not snapping like reeds. This would have to do.
Working patiently, he positioned the chipped stone against the drone¡¯s manipulator claw. Through their mental link, he guided the drone to hold steady and not jerk away. Then he wound the bark strips tightly around claw and stone, knotting them as best he could. The result was crude: a makeshift axe-like attachment at the end of the drone¡¯s limb. He stepped back to admire his handiwork¡ªodd and primitive, but perhaps effective enough to stun or even cut small animals.
To test it, he had the drone tap the improvised blade against a log. The blade bit into the bark with a dull thunk. Not perfect, but better than bare hands and broken reeds. Now he had a weapon¡ªand one he didn¡¯t have to wield himself. The drone could strike quickly from above, surprising prey before it could escape.
With that settled, he turned to the question of finding food. Knowing that life tended to be around water, h
e motioned for the drone to follow and moved along the edge of the water, scanning for movement. The drone drifted silently, its new blade attachment glinting when a stray beam of light caught the stone¡¯s edge. After several minutes of trudging, Mattius glimpsed ripples along the lakeshore. He slowed, crouching behind a clump of brush.
There, nibbling on wet moss, was a lean, long-tailed rodent-like creature with slick fur and sharp whiskers.Its ears twitched, and it turned its head, beady eyes scanning the area. Mattius froze. If he rushed it himself, the creature would dart away before he got close. The drone¡¯s advantage was speed and surprise.
He communicated a plan through their mental link: Rise above it, wait until it¡¯s distracted, then strike fast and pin it. The drone drifted upward, silent, while Mattius watched from behind the brush.
The rodent-thing sniffed the air and returned to nibbling. Perfect. He sent a mental nudge: Now. The drone dropped swiftly, stone-blade raised. The creature squeaked in alarm, trying to scurry away. The drone¡¯s improvised blade struck its flank, not a clean kill but a sharp enough blow to knock it off balance. It tried to twist free, kicking with hind legs, but the drone hovered, pressing the blade down again in a series of quick jabs. The creature emitted shrill noises, then fell still, its body limp.
Mattius rushed forward, heart pounding. He hated the brutality, but he must eat. Kneeling beside the kill, he felt the creature¡¯s warm body. He retrieved another sharp stone to carefully remove the fur. The drone hovered, watching, as if curious about this next step in survival.
He worked as gently as he could, though the process was messy. Stripping the hide and cutting strips of flesh took time. He reminded himself that none of this was truly real¡ªbut it felt real enough to matter. Once he¡¯d harvested enough meat, he carried it back toward his shelter, wary of attracting predators. The drone followed, blade-arm darkened with smears of blood. He¡¯d need to wash that later in the lake.
At the shelter, he realized another challenge: starting a fire. Without the emitter, he had to rely on friction or sparks from stones. He sighed, determined not to fail now. He gathered dry tinder and loose bark. Striking stones together, he tried to produce a spark. It took longer than he¡¯d hoped, but eventually a tiny ember caught. He blew softly, cradling it, feeding it minuscule bits of dry material until a small flame flickered to life. He would only later realize how lucky a section of "stone" he had.
The drone hovered close as he roasted strips of the creature¡¯s flesh on a sharpened stick. The smell was pungent but not as bitter as the frog-meat had been. He tried a bite¡ªchewy, gamey, but it calmed the gnawing hunger inside him. He ate slowly, mindful that too fast a feast might upset his stomach.
He looked at the drone, at the improvised blade secured to its manipulator. Together, they had brought down a creature far faster than he could¡¯ve caught alone. They could likely do it again if needed. As night was approaching he went back into his shelter to head to sleep.
Chapter 6: Conscripted by the Patrol
Mattius woke to the quiet hiss of water draining away from his ankles, and for a moment he thought he was still in the swamp. He opened his eyes¡ªand froze. It was no longer night. His makeshift shelter of reeds and branches was gone. Where the soggy ground should have been, he felt instead the coarse grit of compacted dirt beneath his palms. Cold sunlight baked his shoulder blades, and when he lifted his head, he stared at an empty, wind-swept expanse extending as far as he could see.
He blinked hard, trying to recall the final moments before sleep. He remembered nestling into the crude lean-to with the repaired drone hovering nearby, its sensor array flickering. He¡¯d drifted off listening to the water lapping at the swamp bank. And now¡he was here, in an entirely different landscape, dry and desolate. No reeds, no muddy shallows, no sign of the drone. The air smelled of dust rather than moss and stagnant water. A faint tang of oil stung his nostrils, making him cough.
He staggered to his feet. The haze of confusion weighed on him like a physical burden. Could this be another part of the same swamp? It was possible, he thought, if the simulation had drastically changed. But this was no simple shift in scenery¡ªhe was in a place of rusted metal scraps, half-buried in sand, and squat prefab buildings looming on the horizon. The sky above was slate gray streaked with pale yellow, the sun muted behind smoky clouds. If the last scenario had tested his resourcefulness in an isolated environment, this new stage looked harsher and more industrial, like a war-torn frontier.
A gentle breeze stirred the dust, sending it swirling around his ankles. Mattius took a breath and exhaled slowly. He reminded himself that this was all still VR¡ªsome elaborate simulation the Empire was running to assess his abilities. Yet it felt disturbingly real. Even the dryness of the air and the hot wind scouring his cheeks seemed too tangible to be an illusion.
He glanced around, half expecting to find a new drone or a device telling him what to do. Instead, a dull ache tightened his stomach. He was alone in this wide-open desert, and the same question circled in his mind: Why can¡¯t they just pull me out? Haven¡¯t I done enough?
He trudged forward. Ahead, a cluster of metal huts hunched behind a perimeter fence. It looked like an outpost or a camp of some kind. No lights shone, no signboards. Just the distant shape of tall structures with battered walls.
As he approached, he heard voices¡ªat first indistinct, then sharper. They sounded human enough. Peering around a mound of sand-crusted rubble, Mattius saw them: half a dozen figures in ragged body armor, rifles slung over their backs or gripped in gauntleted hands. They gathered around a sputtering generator that coughed black exhaust into the sky. Their vehicles¡ªwheeled transports with battered plating¡ªlined a makeshift parking area.
Mattius stiffened. These men and women looked tough, their grimy faces set with wariness. The insignias on their armor resembled stylized swords or lightning bolts, though they were so scratched and faded it was hard to tell. They had the posture of soldiers¡ªor mercenaries. In the Quarter, he¡¯d seen that same wariness in the eyes of gangs. But these people moved with discipline, a sense of unity amid the desert bleakness.
He glanced down at his own clothing. He still wore the same threadbare outfit from the swamp scenario, caked with old mud and dried leaves. He had no real weapon¡ªonly the makeshift belt he¡¯d fashioned from reeds. He felt as if he were stepping onto a stage without a script. This must be part of the VR test, he told himself, some new puzzle or challenge they want me to solve.
A swirl of dust made him squint. Without warning, one of the soldiers spotted him, whipped around, and shouted, ¡°Over there!¡±
In an instant, three rifles swung in his direction. Mattius tensed, raising his hands half in surrender. He forced himself to stay calm. If he panicked, the simulation might treat him as hostile. Then again, maybe that was exactly what they wanted.
¡°Hold it!¡± barked a tall, angular woman with a shaved head and a nasty scar curving across her right cheek. Her armor was as battered as the rest, but she carried herself with the authority of a leader.
Mattius froze, arms slightly raised. ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª I¡¯m not armed,¡± he managed.
¡°Then you¡¯re either very foolish or very lost,¡± snapped the tall woman. She gestured with her rifle, indicating he should come closer.
He approached with slow, deliberate steps, heart pounding. Up close, he could see the cracks in her armor, the grime layered over it. Her nameplate was scratched out, leaving only a single letter, I, visible. She had the bearing of a sergeant or someone in command.
A shorter, broad-shouldered soldier behind her spat in the dust. ¡°Another stray, Sergeant Illar? Thought we had more than enough mouths to feed.¡±
Illar¡ªso that must be her name¡ªlet out a curt laugh. ¡°Shut it, Tarl. Don¡¯t see any supplies on this one.¡± She kept her rifle pointed at Mattius¡¯s chest. ¡°You, step forward. Slowly.¡±
Mattius obeyed, swallowing hard. He could practically feel the tension in the group. They were one spark away from opening fire. He tried to remember the lessons from the Quarter: speak calmly, show no threat, but also do not display weakness or they¡¯ll devour you.
Illar¡¯s eyes flicked over his scrawny form. ¡°Where¡¯d you come from?¡±
He hesitated. ¡°I¡ woke up out there.¡± He gestured toward the desert, unsure how to explain VR illusions to a simulated soldier. ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know how I got here.¡±
His answer made some of the troops exchange skeptical glances. ¡°You got a squad? A unit? Some protective gear?¡± demanded a soldier with a sallow face and a missing ear.
¡°None,¡± Mattius admitted, forcing himself to keep his voice even. ¡°I¡¯m alone.¡±
Illar huffed and lowered her rifle a fraction. ¡°You must¡¯ve heard the blasts last night. We¡¯re locked in a fight with raiders. HQ¡¯s sending us scraps for reinforcements. But you don¡¯t look like any soldier I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±
Another soldier, younger, looked at Mattius suspiciously. ¡°He might be a deserter from a losing side, or a spy.¡±
Illar shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ll find out soon enough.¡± She stared hard at Mattius, evaluating him. ¡°We¡¯re short on bodies¡ªand you¡¯ve just volunteered.¡±
He blinked. ¡°Volunteered?¡±
Her tone was steely. ¡°That¡¯s right. We lost five good folks in the last skirmish. The next assault comes at dawn tomorrow, rumor says. You can either come with us and fight, or we¡¯ll leave you here in the dust for the carrion birds.¡± Her grim expression made it clear: this was no bluff.
Mattius tried to keep his voice from trembling. ¡°I¡¯m not a soldier. I wouldn¡¯t even know¡ª¡±
¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Illar snapped. ¡°We need warm bodies.¡± She nodded at the patrol behind her. ¡°This is my squad. You follow orders, we might keep you alive. Step out of line, we¡¯ll put you down faster than you can blink.¡±
A bitter taste lodged in Mattius¡¯s throat. He glanced at the half-dozen soldiers watching him. Their eyes were a mix of guarded distrust and something else¡ªdesperation. They truly were short-handed. The simulation, he realized, was orchestrating an environment where he¡¯d be forcibly conscripted. The Empire wants to see how I handle group dynamics under threat, he thought. They¡¯re layering another test on top of everything else.
He swallowed hard. ¡°Fine,¡± he mumbled, glancing around. ¡°I¡¯ll¡ join you. But I¡¯ve never been trained.¡±
Illar¡¯s humorless smile was a grim line across her face. ¡°Better learn quick,¡± she said. Then she turned to the others. ¡°Get him a canteen and a sidearm¡ªassuming we can spare it. We move out in ten.¡±
A wiry soldier with a shaved head and bright eyes shoved a battered metal canteen into Mattius¡¯s hand. Another soldier, stony-faced, placed an old pistol in Mattius¡¯s palm. The weight of it surprised him; it felt real, heavy, lethal. The Quarter had its share of homemade guns, but he¡¯d rarely held one. It¡¯s VR, it¡¯s not real, he reminded himself, trying to stifle the wave of unease. Yet the anxiety coursing through him felt entirely genuine.
Illar gestured for him to walk with her. As they strode across the dusty yard, she gave quick, clipped instructions: ¡°Point, click, pull the trigger, don¡¯t shoot your allies in the back. That¡¯s all the training you get.¡±
He clutched the pistol awkwardly. ¡°What exactly is happening here?¡±
¡°We¡¯re posted on the outskirts of contested territory. Raiders come in from the south, looking to snatch supplies. They¡¯ve got speeders, sometimes old Imperial tech. We¡¯re stuck defending the supply routes.¡± She paused, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. ¡°Not that you need to know the bigger picture. You just need to fight.¡±
Mattius nodded, fighting the swirl of confusion. It¡¯s a scenario, he reminded himself. A test. But it felt so real that his chest tightened with apprehension. If he ¡°died¡± in this VR environment, would that force him out? Or would the system punish him somehow? The earlier swirl of dread in the swamp had been bad enough, but at least there he only contended with a savage environment. Here, bullets and blasts could rip him apart. And the Empire¡¯s definitely measuring my reactions.
They reached a small cluster of shabby tents pitched along the camp¡¯s periphery. A battered comm tower, partially collapsed, rested at an angle overhead. Sparks fizzled from a severed cable. A young mechanic in a grease-stained jumpsuit tinkered with it, muttering curses under their breath. Illar ignored the scene, leading Mattius deeper into the row of tents. Soldiers milled about, some cleaning weapons, others patching wounds, all under a cloud of fatigue and tension.
¡°Find an empty cot,¡± Illar said. ¡°We march out to the forward defense line at dawn. That¡¯s less than eighteen hours from now.¡± She eyed him up and down. ¡°If you¡¯re still alive by daybreak, maybe we¡¯ll talk about your future. Until then, you belong to my squad.¡±
Mattius nodded stiffly, not sure what else to do. As Illar turned on her heel and marched away, he sank onto the nearest vacant cot, a crude metal frame with a threadbare blanket. A wave of dust drifted in as the wind kicked up again. He tried to gather his thoughts. The dryness in his mouth made him realize just how thirsty he was, so he took a swig from the canteen. The water was lukewarm and faintly bitter, but it soothed his parched throat.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
All around him, soldiers bustled with an air of stoic acceptance. They checked ammunition, rummaged through supply crates that rattled with empty ration cans, or argued in hushed voices about the next battle. Mattius watched them, feeling a pang of sympathy. Even if they were just VR constructs, they seemed too genuine to dismiss. Their dirt-streaked faces, the scars, the thousand-yard stares¡ªthese were test or not, illusions or not, the simulation was drawing from real experiences.
He wondered if the outcome here mattered. If he refused to fight, would the scenario freeze? If he tried to run, would the environment corner him again, or spawn new dangers to funnel him back? Likely yes, he thought. So the only way to move forward was to cooperate or to find some cunning path through the scenario. And that meant obeying Illar¡¯s orders, at least for now.
The day crawled by in slow increments. The sun overhead traced a lazy arc across the grimy sky, the light filtered through hazy smoke that gave the entire desert an apocalyptic hue. Periodically, a sharp gust of wind kicked up grit, forcing Mattius to pull a ragged bandana around his mouth and nose. He used the afternoon to wander the camp, hoping to glean more about what the scenario demanded.
No one offered him a warm welcome. Most soldiers responded with a curt nod, if that. A few glared openly, like they resented an untrained stranger among them. Mattius got the sense that behind their hostility lay deep fear¡ªfear that this next conflict would claim more lives. Perhaps they worried he¡¯d be a liability or that he¡¯d run at the first sign of trouble.
At one point, he paused by a stack of crates where a pair of troopers named Tarl and Ainnel sorted battered canisters. Tarl was the broad-shouldered soldier who¡¯d spat earlier, while Ainnel was shorter, younger, with wide eyes that flickered nervously. Ainnel looked up, startled.
Tarl scowled. ¡°What d¡¯you want?¡±
Mattius raised a cautious hand. ¡°Nothing. Just¡ wanted to help.¡±
¡°Huh.¡± Tarl shoved a crate closer. ¡°Grab that corner, then,¡± he muttered. ¡°Can¡¯t believe Sarge is letting a green nobody on the line.¡±
Mattius tried to remain polite. ¡°I don¡¯t plan on dragging you down.¡±
¡°Better not,¡± Tarl grunted. He said no more, but at least he let Mattius help stack canisters without any further remarks.
Ainnel, on the other hand, watched Mattius with a mixture of curiosity and concern. At one point, she whispered, ¡°I¡ªI heard you just appeared out of the wastes this morning. That true?¡±
Mattius hesitated. ¡°Pretty much. I was alone. The patrol found me.¡±
She nodded slowly. ¡°We had a supply run ambushed out there last night. Surprised anything was left alive.¡±
He forced a little smile. ¡°Guess I¡¯m lucky.¡±
Ainnel¡¯s gaze darted around. ¡°Lucky isn¡¯t a word I¡¯d use for anyone stuck here.¡± Then she turned back to her work, clearly reluctant to say more.
Despite the disquieting mood, Mattius felt a tiny spark of accomplishment from helping them move supplies. It gave him a sense of purpose, even if it was all part of a programmed test. He¡¯d always done chores in the Dent, hauling salvage or trading scraps, so the menial work here felt oddly familiar. And maybe his willingness to pitch in lessened some of the hostility in the camp¡ªat least no one leveled a rifle at him again.
As dusk fell, the camp¡¯s tension thickened palpably. Sergeant Illar ordered everyone to assemble near a battered metal trailer that served as a briefing room. Inside, a flickering holo-projector cast a grainy map onto the wall, highlighting a wide, open canyon labeled ¡°Forward Defense Zone.¡± Illar laid out the plan for dawn: they¡¯d march at first light to reinforce the canyon pass, which was the main route raiders used to strike deeper into Imperial territory. Already, a few squads had tried to hold that choke point¡ªand died doing so. This was the last chance to stop the raiders, or so the scenario indicated.
With the plan explained, she dismissed them into the night. Soldiers drifted off in twos or threes, double-checking weapons and ammo. Mattius lingered in the trailer, eyeing the flickering holo-map. He tried to memorize the terrain details. If tomorrow¡¯s fight was anything like what he¡¯d just survived in the swamp or in the Quarter¡¯s backstreets, a little caution could save his life.
Eventually, Sergeant Illar caught him staring. ¡°Studying up?¡±
He gave a small nod. ¡°Trying to understand the layout.¡±
Her expression softened, just a hair. ¡°We¡¯ve lost half our force in the last month. If you want to survive, remember to stick with your unit. Solo heroes get cut down fast in real war.¡±
Something in her voice, a quiet sorrow, made Mattius think maybe she¡¯d lost friends in these battles¡ªfriends this simulated environment had conjured up, or perhaps the VR was drawing from real data. He realized how immersive this scenario was, how each virtual ¡°person¡± had their own illusions of history and relationships. The lines between real and fabricated felt dangerously blurred.
¡°I¡¯ll stay close,¡± he promised. Illar regarded him briefly, then gave a short nod and walked out.
Night in the desert was far colder than Mattius expected. The wind cut through his thin, muddy shirt. He hunched inside the flimsy tent he¡¯d claimed, clutching the threadbare blanket around his shoulders. Outside, the camp remained restless¡ªhe heard the low buzz of conversation, the squeak of gears, the occasional barked order. Machinery rumbled in the distance as troopers tested engines or loaded munitions onto trucks.
How can I possibly sleep, knowing tomorrow will bring a pitched battle? Mattius wondered. Yet he knew that if he showed up exhausted, he¡¯d be even more vulnerable. So he stretched out on the cot, forcing his eyes shut. Maybe the simulation would jump him forward in time again, as it had done earlier. But the minutes dragged, and reality refused to blur. Instead, the dryness in his throat and the ache in his arms made him painfully aware of how real it all felt.
I must remember, he reminded himself over and over, this is still a test. I¡¯m inside some advanced VR. The Empire wants to see how I behave. But that didn¡¯t quell the knot in his stomach.
He lay there, drifting in and out of half-sleep. Now and then, he dreamed of the Quarter¡ªKarvel¡¯s scowl, the cramped interior of the Dent, the frightened children huddled near the curtain. Then images shifted to the swamp¡¯s murky water, the drone¡¯s flickering lights. His mind churned. Is someone on the outside watching my every move right now? Are the watchers¡ªthose silent figures perched on rooftops¡ªseeing all of this?
Eventually, near midnight, a faint alarm sounded. Mattius jolted upright, heart pounding. It was only a routine perimeter check. Soldiers stirred to readiness, but no threat materialized. After the clamor died down, Sergeant Illar barked at everyone to get some sleep while they could. Dawn would come fast.
And indeed, when Mattius finally managed to doze off, dawn arrived in what felt like an instant. A commotion outside his tent woke him¡ªthe scrape of boots, the clang of metal. He stumbled out into the chilly morning air. The horizon glowed with the first hints of sunrise, painting the dusty sky in hues of orange and faint pink. The battered vehicles roared to life, belching clouds of dark exhaust. Soldiers checked their rifles, pulling on helmets and adjusting bandoliers.
Illar strode through the camp, mustering her squad. Her voice carried above the din. ¡°Move out in five minutes! We form up, then head straight for the canyon pass. Raiders are expected to strike within the hour!¡±
Mattius stuffed the blanket aside and snatched up his pistol. His hands trembled slightly, the nerves kicking in. He swallowed, steadying his breathing. This is it, he told himself, feeling a surge of adrenaline. The simulation¡¯s next trial. He hurried to fall in behind Tarl and Ainnel, who were loading onto the back of a half-track truck. Tarl glanced at him with grudging acceptance, while Ainnel offered a thin, worried smile.
As Mattius clambered aboard, the engines revved, the tires churning dust. Sergeant Illar hopped into the driver¡¯s seat of the lead truck. Her voice crackled over a short-range communicator pinned to her collar: ¡°We¡¯ll take the west ridge; the other squads will cover the east. Our job is to hold the line.¡±
With a lurch, the convoy rumbled out of camp, heading across the desert toward a faint line of cliffs in the distance. As the vehicles picked up speed, the wind whipped across Mattius¡¯s face. He stared ahead, dread and resolve warring in his chest. Whatever lay at that canyon pass, it would be a far cry from the stealthy survival trials of the swamp. This was open warfare, loud and brutal. And the VR system¡ªif this truly was VR¡ªseemed hell-bent on making him live it as though it were real.
He gripped the railing as the truck jostled over uneven terrain, dust billowing in their wake. Each bump sent jolts through his weary muscles. Around him, the soldiers checked gear, bracing for a fight. Tarl gritted his teeth and adjusted the scope on his rifle. Ainnel fiddled with a small device that looked like a sensor or rangefinder, her brow knitted with worry.
Mattius closed his eyes, just for a second. He tried to conjure calm. The Quarter had taught him how to survive. Could that help him here, in this simulated conflict? He had faced hunger, scrounged for scraps, trusted no one but himself. But these men and women were counting on him, or at least counting on the fraction of skill he could offer. That thought filled him with a peculiar determination.
He exhaled, opened his eyes, and watched the canyon¡¯s silhouette grow sharper. Dawn¡¯s light illuminated jagged rock walls streaked with centuries of erosion. If the raiders intended to break through, they¡¯d likely funnel in from that narrow gap between the cliffs. Illar was right¡ªthis was a choke point, a place to stand or fall.
High above, a distant starship trail glinted, leaving a white line across the sky. For a fleeting moment, Mattius wondered if that was the real Empire, outside this simulation, sending transport after transport across the cosmos. Were they watching him from orbit? Laughing at his struggle? Or praising his resilience? He shook the thought away; speculation wouldn¡¯t keep him alive.
Ahead, the lead truck slowed. Illar¡¯s voice crackled again: ¡°We¡¯re close. Weapons hot. This is not a drill.¡±
Mattius¡¯s pulse hammered in his ears. The truck rumbled to a stop beneath a rocky overhang that offered partial cover. The canyon stretched out before them like a gaping maw, and the hush of early morning seemed to hold its breath.
Soldiers leapt from the truck beds, forming a loose line behind boulders or the half-track¡¯s rusted plating. A low wind skimmed over the desert floor, swirling dust in graceful arcs that glowed in the rising sun. Mattius crouched behind a chunk of stone, clinging to the pistol. His heart thudded violently against his rib cage.
No sign of the enemy¡ªyet. But the tension was electric. He could almost taste the fear in the air. Sergeant Illar gestured for everyone to spread out, keep low, keep quiet. Tarl and Ainnel took positions to Mattius¡¯s left, scanning the horizon with narrowed eyes. The rest of the squad fanned out along the ridge, rifles trained on the canyon¡¯s mouth.
Time slowed. Every second felt like it might be the last moment of calm before chaos erupted. This is what the Empire wants, Mattius reminded himself. A test of how I act under fire, how I handle group combat. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his shirt.
Minutes passed, each one heavier than the last. Then, suddenly, a faint hum reached Mattius¡¯s ears¡ªan engine whining at high pitch. His stomach clenched. They¡¯re coming. He peered over the boulder, straining to see.
Just as the first raider vehicle crested a dune, the entire squad tensed. Engines roared louder, and dust plumes billowed behind a line of ramshackle trucks outfitted with stolen tech. The sun caught glints of metal plating welded haphazardly. Figures in tattered uniforms clung to the vehicles, armed to the teeth.
A hush fell across Mattius¡¯s mind. He thought of that battered drone he¡¯d commandeered in the prior scenario, how he had tapped into its systems with a single mental push. Warrior synergy. Would that even be possible here with a standard pistol? Probably not. But maybe the trucks¡ªmaybe the half-track or some other device.
Before he could think further, the lead raider truck opened fire. Automatic gunfire tore through the desert air, bullets ricocheting off rocks. Illar barked, ¡°Open fire!¡± and the squad answered with a deafening volley.
Mattius fired blindly over the boulder, then ducked down, heart in his throat. The recoil jarred his arm. The noise, the dust, the shouting¡ªevery part of it hammered his senses like a tidal wave. This is real enough, he thought in a daze. VR or not, I could die.
Across the canyon, the raiders advanced, gunfire lighting the early morning in staccato bursts. Illar¡¯s voice cut through the chaos: ¡°Keep them pinned! Watch the flanks!¡±
Mattius dared to peek again, mind racing. Bullets sparked off rocks, sending shards whizzing overhead. He glimpsed one of the half-track¡¯s mounted guns jammed by sand. If he could get to it, maybe he could ¡°interface¡± again. But that meant crossing open ground amid bullets. Impossible.
He swallowed hard. The patrol soldiers hunkered down, returning fire. The enemy vehicles spread out, forming a wedge. Tarl cursed as he reloaded, sweat beading on his brow. Ainnel covered him with frantic shots at the nearest truck.
The swirl of gunfire threatened to drown out every thought. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to breathe, in and out, in and out.
The morning sun rose higher, glinting off muzzle flashes. Dust clouds thickened, turning the canyon into a haze of swirling grit and noise. In that swirling haze, the next stage of Mattius¡¯s journey began¡ªone that would challenge not only his nerve but the very boundaries of this simulated reality. And he could only guess at what the Empire¡¯s watchers might learn from the choices he was about to make.
He steadied his pistol, heart pounding, and prepared to fight for his simulated life.