《Jord's troubled life》 Chapter One To take a step. Then, to take another. That was Jord¡¯s mantra. It was already late ¨C ten to midnight ¨C sky dark and bleak with stars unseen. The day had already fled by the time Jord understood that His job prospect as a store clerk was just another honeypot of toxicity and exploitation ¨C worse than the last mansion that he fled. That morning he welded a small ember of hope, but now, now it laid smouldered in a crater of rage and hopelessness. His eyes wandered the familiar street he had walked countless times ¨C first for school, then for work. He had left school with bright eyes and brighter dreams, but now ¨C if someone pried deep enough ¨C they¡¯d find them buried alongside his hopes. How foolish now he felt, thinking that he could plot a path towards a better future. His skin crawled at the thought of grovelling before his old boss, begging to be taken back. Yet the thought of asking for help was no better. The walls seemed to close in as he weighed his options, each one felt heavier than the last, until the asphalt itself seemed to lunge at him to drown him and all his sorrows with it. A bout of vertigo hit him. He stopped near a lamppost and took a deep breath. The world, now back on its axis, stood still at last. The breath, however, carried the acrid scent of piss. He didn¡¯t know what to do ¨C whether to weep, to laugh, or perhaps to lose himself and do both at the same time. He felt drenched in exhaustion and emptiness, but still, a step had to be taken to be guaranteed reprieve from the harsh environment. Perhaps, if only in thought, a small crime could be committed to pass the day in the local jail ¨C something minor, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Vandalism, maybe. He glanced around but found no mark and no guard to share his exploits with. After all, easy targets like wooden benches had long been replaced by iron thrones, bolted into the cobblestones; The city hall, solemnly proclaimed through the gazette, insisted it was for the good of the environment ¨C wood rots, they said. But Jord, like most, knew better. Yet he tried anyway. The chairs didn¡¯t even budge. Frustration gnawed at him as he turned to the lamppost, but it too resisted his efforts. Finally, he pulled out his phone, flinging it at the glass of the lamp. It missed. Of course, it missed. Desperation surged as he tried to climb the lamppost instead, but his weary body betrayed him, sliding down after every futile attempt. Dejected, he retrieved his phone, checked for damages ¨C there were none ¨C and slipped it back into his pocket. With a heavy sigh, he began his long march home. Past the shuttered pharmacy, its neon cross dead. Past the playground, swings creaking in the wind like hanged men. His boots scuffed through pamphlets for a union rally two winters gone, ink bleached to ghosts. Somewhere, glass shattered. Laughter, sharp and mean, echoed off the carcass of the abandoned paper mill. A figure lurched from a doorway ¨C drunk and desperate, reeking of alcohol and defeat. Jord sidestepped, heart hammering, but the man just spat and crumpled against the wall. Now he clutched his head. ¡®What did go wrong?¡¯ He muttered to himself. Jord walked faster. The cold gnawed through his jacket. Halfway home, he passed the old bus depot, its timetable still advertising routes discontinued years ago. A feral cat yowled from the rafters of a building left to rot. By the time he reached his block ¨C a row of brownstones hunched like broken teeth ¨C the chill had seeped into his marrow. The key rasped in the lock, too loud in the stillness. Inside, the air hung thick with the sour musk of unwashed dishes and resentment. He crept forward, soles grazing the floorboards to mute their groan. Past his parents¡¯ door, its frame leaking a slit of blue TV light. Past his brother¡¯s room, where muffled snores rumbled like distant turning cogs. His own door yielded with a whine ¨C once again, he¡¯d forgotten to oil it. A plate of congealed stew waited on the table, its grease haloed under the desk-lamp''s glare. The sheets, though tucked with military precision, smelled faintly of mothballs and mildew. He shoveled the cold food into his mouth, barely tasting it, then collapsed onto the mattress. Sleep came swift and depth-less. It was well past first light, and nobody stirred to wake him his own fault, he thought; should¡¯ve set an alarm. He rose and shuffled into the kitchen, greeted only by blissful silence and the rumbling of outside traffic. He tore off a hunk of stale bread, drizzled it with honey, and washed it down with a mug of milk. he thought, crumbs scattering as he chewed. Munching, He pictured his family weekly pilgrimage: his father¡¯s work boots polished to a dull shine, his mother¡¯s hands rubbing her grandmother¡¯s ring, Elia standing tall beside them. They went for the communion of shared breath, not scripture ¨C his mother had told him so years ago, her voice rough from age and smoke. The church was a sanctuary, she¡¯d said, and for an hour each Sunday, they could pretend they weren¡¯t cogs in Thamburg¡¯s rusted machinery. Just bodies, warm and flawed: singing off-key, fumbling prayers, passing the collection plate like a beggar¡¯s bowl. For a moment, the weight of their lives didn¡¯t vanish ¨C it simple shifted. Jord hadn¡¯t crossed the threshold in years, but Elia still endured. Of course he did ¨C Elia had mastered the art of folding himself into whatever shape the moment demanded. The hymns dragged now, and the sermons trite for they recited the same hollow homilies about patience and piety. Yet Jord soul ached sometimes, phantom pains where the pew¡¯s wood once pressed into him, where his brother¡¯s elbow would nudge him to stand, to kneel, to perform. His gaze drifted to the fridge its door plastered with unpaid bills, a church calendar circling Sundays in red and reality slammed into him like punch in the gut. The first order of the morning was to set an agenda again: To plot a path. The question hungered at him like a starved wolf. Those old bastards had taken him for a fool, led him by the nose to abandon the old man employ. Now, to crawl back? Grovel before his old begging to be reinstated? Or try his luck with the Blackhand? But now he knew no one, and no one in the know knew him. And him him to turn backwards, and reopen a closed chapter? To disown his promise to Elia? Ha. Unthinkable. He snorted, rose stiffly, walked outside, closing the door behind him. The road greeted him with its usual pallor ¨C cracked tarmac, boarded shopfronts, the sour tang of neglect. A neglect that afflicted near a million souls. The cobbles beneath Jord¡¯s boots were uneven, their weathered grooves mapping generations of heavy tread. He walked without direction, letting the rhythm of his breath ¨C sharp inhales tinged with the acrid bite of the last distant foundries ¨C sync with his steps. The canal¡¯s murky water lapped at moss-slick stones, its surface oiled with rainbow sheens that shuddered in the wind. A fractured pane in a boarded-up warehouse caught the weak morning light, scattering prism shards across his path. He paused, tracking the dance of fractured colour over old cobblestone. For a moment, the city¡¯s growl ¨C the clatter of goods trains, the sawtooth shouts of hawkers ¨C fuzzed into white noise. His fingers brushed the cold iron of a rusted bollard, its pitted surface grounding him. In, out. He walked on, the knot in his chest de-spooling thread by thread. RESTORE ORDER. RECLAIM YOUR FUTURE. Citizens of Thamburg ¨C Times are hard. The streets grow lawless, your families unsafe. The so-called "unions" and "militias" peddle chaos, not bread. But there is another path. JOIN THE CITY GUARD Steady wages. Three meals a day. A bed off the streets. WE OFFER: ¡®I was starving, my children crying. The Guard gave me a rifle ¨C and a future.¡¯ ¨C Sergeant V. Harken, Former Dockworker THE CHOICE IS CLEAR: Report to the Citadel at your leisure. Bring your hands, your loyalty, and leave your grievances at the gate. THAMBURG STANDS STRONG WHEN ITS PEOPLE STAND TOGETHER. He stood frozen, the now smeared paper cold in his palm. To take it would solve everything ¨C now. But at what cost? What would Elia do? He frantically paced around. His teeth found the thumbnail again, gnawing at the frayed ridge. A terrible path of violence, once again, unrevealed before him, a path he knew like a mother tongue. His childhood hadn¡¯t been gentle, and the chaos that scorched the nation of Meridia had robbed most of its residents of their life-hood. Even now, he could taste the pang of hunger, the metallic tang of a muffed baton¡¯s kiss, the absurd thrill of sprinting from guards with friends who¡¯d later vanish in acrylic smoke. Yet, only Jord¡¯s parents lingered in his mind as they always had: voices sharpened to scalpels, eyes dissecting his every stumble. They tried, he¡¯d remind himself. Their love was a ledger ¨C rows of labour traded for meals, calloused hands gripping his brother¡¯s report cards like salvation deeds. They¡¯d bent their spine to the endless hard work, gifting their sons threadbare uniforms and a roof that dripped ambition. But he couldn¡¯t forget their lashings. ¡°Ungrateful,¡± his father would mutter, knuckles whitening around his belt. ¡°Your brother never ¨C¡± a refrain that often stung worse than the old man¡¯s cincture. It was the only choice that made sense to Jord a pragmatic surrender to the arithmetic of survival. By joining the city guard, Jord would trade his fraying morals for a uniform and a wage packet thick enough to staunch his family¡¯s bleeding coffers. No more skulking in the docks¡¯ shadows, no more rationing the food. The guard¡¯s coin, however tainted, would buy them medicine, silence the landlord¡¯s threats. Let Elia¡¯s gaze linger on the badge; let his father¡¯s jaw tighten at the compromise. Better a son in service to Thamburg¡¯s rot than another corpse in its gutters. And so, with resolve as hollow as the Mayors promises, Jord trudged towards the City¡¯s bureaucratic heart. The journey spanned an hour, each instant measured by the sound of the sloshing water. The Citadel fortification loomed ahead ¨C a relic of the Varicritian empire, its fractured walls now housing the city¡¯s bureaucratic heart. Two bridges punctuated the route, their arches sagging under the weight of silent histories. The first bridge bore scars of neglect: potholes patched with asphalt gone brittle, rusted railings. Beyond it, the streets tightened, buildings older with their height inflated by cyclic nature of construction. The second bridge, though no grander, wore its age with a veneer of care ¨C swept pavements, lamp-posts and walls free of graffiti, the polished surveillance cameras pivoting like watchful predators. Here, the Citadel¡¯s shadow stretched long. Its remaining grand walls, pocked with time, framed a compound of steel-clad annexes and flickering LED signage. The air thickened with the static of bureaucracy ¨C permits, quotas, fines. No opulence marked this seat of power, only the sterile efficiency of a system that had long since traded paper for spreadsheets. The bureaucracy heart was no stranger to Jord. More than once, he¡¯d scraped too close to the law¡¯s teeth ¨C petty thefts, bar scuffles, nights in cells that stank of ammonia. Thankfully, the clerks¡¯ digital ledgers had missed his worst crimes. But the ghosts lingered: a cautionary notice here, a sergeant¡¯s narrowed glare there. Now, with a prayer to whatever gods monitored the halls, he trudged forward, gambling that they misplaced his records. He walked until the lobby yawned before Jord, its vaulted ceiling strung with fluorescent lights that buzzed. The air hung thick with the smell of cheap disinfectant. At its end sat one of the clerk¡¯s desk ¨C made of frosted-glass and stainless-steel, its surface empty save for a computer and a stack of papers. To her back stretched halls. Jord took a glance, and quickly read: Before he could read the next hall the clerk surprised him, making him almost jump in surprise. ¡®State purpose.¡¯ She said. Her expression hovered between weariness and detached efficiency. A laminated name tag read ¡°M. Voss¡± in fading letters. When she spoke, her voice carried the monotone cadence of someone who¡¯d repeated ¡®Next in line, please¡¯ ten thousand times. ¡®Good-morrow. And, yes¡­ hm, yes. I would like to enquire about the city guard.¡¯ ¡®That¡¯s it?¡¯ Jord asked, thumb grazing the calluses webbing his palm. ¡® Jord hesitated, the prickling weight of indecision tightening his collar. Was the form meant for Public Records or the Guard? With a shrug, he tucked the single page into his jacket, its edges already damp with sweat, and trudged toward the City Guard¡¯s hall. After a pair of stairs and some wrong turns he found the entrance of the hall. Nothing major, just a sign above the door that stated what he already knew. Firmly, he opened the door. Inside he found a small group of people, by quick glance he numbered them to be about four, five with the clerk (who had bags under his eyes) sitting in front of a desk, he started to see a pattern here, all clerks seemed more dead than alive. Jord slumped into a seat, took out his phone, and launched into a mindless game, droning out the voices. He waited, thumb jabbing at the screen, until a glance upward revealed only one woman ahead. He slid the phone into his pocket, straightened, and feigned patience. The door creaked as the final applicant departed, Jord ears ringed with the clerk¡¯s robotic, ¡®Next, please.¡¯ Jord rose. ¡®Ah, yes. Good-morrow. I wish to enquire about the city guard position,¡¯ Jord said as he settled into the chair directly facing the clerk. ¡®Good-morrow. Name and place of residence?¡¯ The clerk asked. Jord took in the clerk''s tag, and it stated: A. Hargrave. ¡®Jord. Jord Whittaker. The Boltworks, number twenty-two.¡¯ The clerk leaned back. ¡®The ¡¯37 Dock strike,¡¯ he said, not looking up. ¡®You were detained under Commissioner Veld¡¯s tenure. A messy business.¡¯ Jord shifted, the wooden chair digging into his spine. ¡®What¡¯s that got to do with ¨C¡¯ ¡®Twenty-three percent.Hargrave cut him off. The glow of the screen gave his face an almost sickly pallor. ¡®Quarterly revenue drop. Pension fund shorted eight hundred grand marks.¡¯ His voice flattened, the way accountants recite funeral costs. ¡®They still let you sleep at night, those principles of yours?¡¯ ¡®Principles? I ¡­I-You Jord leaned forward, knuckles whitening on the desk¡¯s edge. ¡®You lot sent the dogs to crack skulls over a fucking spreadsheet¨C¡¯ ¡®Language, Mr Whittaker.¡¯ Hargrave tutted, pulling a form from his drawer. He slid it across the desk without breaking eye contact. ¡®Let¡¯s not dwell on the past. After-all the City isforgiving, provided one understands one¡¯s position on the totem pole.¡¯ Jord stared at the header: FORM 8-C: EMPLOYMENT WAIVER. The text swam ¨C renounce past affiliations, relinquish claims of complaint, comply with the public stature. ¡®Sign,¡¯ Hargrave said, ¡®and we¡¯ll pretend that your little mishaps over the years never happened. If you sign your record will be expunged, a clean state if you will.A fly buzzed against the window behind him, trapped. ¡®Or keep brooding about the past. See how that feeds you.¡¯ And Jord, for all the reluctance that he held, signed. Hargrave¡¯s lips curled into a faint, practised smile. ¡®Welcome aboard, Mr Whittaker. May your tenure be long, and your efforts serve the betterment of all.¡¯ With a swift motion, he retrieved the signed form, tucking it neatly into a file. Hargrave glanced at the clock on the wall before turning his attention back to Jord. ¡®You¡¯ll report to the Citadel Guard¡¯s department on Monday at 07:00 sharp. That¡¯s Building 3, east wing. Present yourself to Officer Lory at the reception desk.¡¯ Jord frowned. ¡®07:00? What happens if I¡¯m late?¡¯ Hargrave adjusted his glasses, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. ¡®You won¡¯t be late, Mr Whittaker. Tardiness suggests a lack of discipline, and the Ministry has no room for the undisciplined.¡¯ ¡®Right,¡¯ Jord muttered, his voice tight. ¡®You¡¯ll receive your training schedule upon arrival, along with your uniform and a copy of the Guard Code of Conduct. I¡¯d recommend familiarising yourself with it thoroughly.¡¯ Hargrave¡¯s tone shifted, more clipped. ¡®Failure to adhere to protocol won¡¯t just reflect poorly on you; it will be considered a breach of contract and thus require the payment of perceived damages in full.¡¯ Jord clenched his jaw but nodded. ¡®Got it.¡¯ He slid a business card across the desk. ¡®In case you have further questions. Though I suggest you don¡¯t.¡¯ ¡®I¡¯m sorry, but ¨C ¡¯ Jord was not sorry, ¡®I still have a paper that I signed at the receptionist, what should I do with it?¡¯ ¡®Submit it at the Hall of Public Records, along with a fee of ten marks,¡¯ Hargrave said. ¡®Farewell, Whittaker.¡¯ Jord stood, the weight of the moment hanging heavy. Without another word, he turned and exited the room, leaving the seat vacant for the next claimant. Leaving the clerk¡¯s room, submitting the paperwork to the public records hall, and finally exiting the citadel left Jord in a daze. The clerk had cornered him, plastering in his face the reason he¡¯d failed to climb the social ladder. Jord couldn¡¯t decide whether to seethe at the man¡¯s gall or begrudgingly admire his twisted pragmatism. For now, he started trudging home, shoulders slumped beneath the weight of it all. Chapter Two The tolling bells had just marked midday when Jord reached home, the heat pressed down like a damp rag. The house was quiet ¨C too quiet ¨C save for Elias hunched at the kitchen table, scribbling in a notebook. Jord kicked off his boots, squinted at the page Elias was bent over (linear algebra, Jord guessed), and jerked his chin at their parents¡¯ empty seats. ¡®Where¡¯re the heroes of the hour?¡¯ Elias didn¡¯t glance up. ¡®Soup kitchen. Again.¡¯ His pencil scratched louder. ¡®The Father needed volunteers to chop onions.¡¯ ¡®Volunteers?¡¯ Jord snorted, slumping into a chair that screeched against the floor. ¡®Or victims?¡¯ ¡®Dad said it¡¯s ¡°community duty¡±.¡¯ Elias¡¯s voice dripped with air quotes. ¡®Right. Duty.¡¯ Jord flicked a dried pea left on the table. It pinged against the wall, falling in the bin. ¡®Bet they¡¯ll still moan about us not ¡°pitching in¡±.¡¯ ¡®Already did.¡¯ Elias finally looked up, deadpan. ¡®Left us a list. Dishes. Laundry. Moral improvement.¡¯ Jord groaned. Jord then grinned as Elias continued to scribble. ¡®Oi. You eaten yet?¡¯ He gestured towards the window, where the smell of freshly baked pies wafted from. ¡®Or do you fancy a proper meal for once? Mrs Pelley¡¯s got mutton stew on.¡¯ Elias glanced up, mock-scowling. ¡®I had two whole biscuits and some peas. Practically a feast.¡¯ ¡®Two whole biscuits?¡¯ Jord snatched the notebook, dodging Elias¡¯s swipe. ¡®That¡¯s just crumbs with ambition. C¡¯mon ¨C my treat.¡¯ ¡®Your treat?¡¯ Elias raised a brow. ¡®Last time you ¡°treated¡± me, we split a sausage roll and you owe me two marks still.¡¯ Jord clutched his chest. ¡®Betrayed! And after I carried you home when you tripped over that cat¨C¡¯ ¡®You tripped over the cat!¡¯ ¡®Details.¡¯ Jord tossed him his coat. ¡®Stew¡¯s getting cold, Saint Elias. Move your sanctified feet.¡¯ Jord shouldered open the door to Tsacini ¨C a pub Mrs Pelley claimed was named after a Zyrian sailor she¡¯d loved decades ago (¡°Poetic, eh?¡± she¡¯d wink, though the faded sign still misspelled it as Tasinni). The bell clanged, slicing the clotted air of pipe smoke and drunken stupor. A half-dozen dockworkers hunched at the bar, their laughter as weighty as the crates they hauled. ¡®Two stews and beers,¡¯ Jord called to Mrs Pelley, who stood behind the counter polishing glasses. Elias interjected. ¡®Just a bottle of water, please. Mineral ¨C if there¡¯s any.¡¯ ¡®Right, boys ¨C two stews, a beer, and a mineral comin¡¯ up. Sit yourselves down.¡¯ Mrs Pelley said as she vanished behind the kitchen door . They¡¯d barely claimed their corner table ¨C its wood scarred with patron¡¯s initials ¨C when Mrs Pelley barged back in. She thumped down two bowls of greasy stew, a sloshing pint, and a glass of water. The stew¡¯s scent unfurled ¨C roasted marrow steeped in bone broth, woodsmoke-kissed thyme, and the earthy sweetness of carrots left to soften for hours. It clung to the air, thick as the crust of rye bread Mrs Pelley tossed onto the table. Humble, yes, but steeped in the kind of stubborn nourishment that kept making Jord coming back. ¡®Eat,¡¯ she grunted as she left. And eat they did ¨C heartily, with gusto. And It didn¡¯t take long for their spoons to scrape the bowls clean ¨C too quickly, really, the hollow clink of iron on ceramic betraying a hunger neither brother knew to have. ¡®Cheers,¡¯ said Jord, raising his glass and taking a hearty swig. ¡®Why¡¯d you skip the beer?¡¯ Elias swirled his glass, watching the whirl-pull settle. ¡®Someone¡¯s got to remember the way home. Last time you drank you mistook a lamppost for an alley.¡¯ He paused, thumbing on table¡¯s edge. ¡®Besides, beer tastes better when it¡¯s not paid by debt.¡¯ Jord had no retort. He let silence hang between them ¨C thick, guilty, sharp as the paper note crumpled in his pocket. Guilty, yes. The debt still gnawed at him: a yellowed scrap from Old Man Herrin¡¯s ledger of promises, stamped with his own sloppy signature. He¡¯d meant to repay it weeks ago. But like the rusted hinges on his bedroom door ¨C squealing, ignored ¨C he¡¯d let it linger. Now, with compounding interest, it would fester. ¡®I have joined the Guards,¡¯ said Jord, staring into his pint. Elias let the words hang, then froze. ¡®You mad? After what they¡¯ve done to y¨C¡¯ ¡®It¡¯s better than any gig I¡¯ve scrounged,¡¯ Jord shot back, tone hollow, almost haunted. ¡®And don¡¯t pretend you haven¡¯t seen the overdue bills pinned to our calendar. It¡¯s bleedin¡¯ red, Elias. And for how much I fancy the colour, I fancy it not enough to admire it in such papers.¡¯ Elias set his glass down with a clink sharp enough to almost cut the tavern¡¯s murmur. ¡®You¡¯ve got a mark on your record, Jord. The riot at the docks ¨C they¡¯ll toss your application into the shredder first glance.¡¯ ¡®Not if they¡¯re in badly need of hands.¡¯ Jord leaned forward, voice low. ¡®And, it turns out, they are. Get in front of some clerks, talk to them, and then you are in. Fastest job interview I ever had.¡¯ ¡®What!?¡¯ Elias spat out the word. ¡®So now you¡¯re their thug? A walking jackal?¡¯ ¡®If it gets me ¨C us ¨C money then yes, I will become anything required of me.¡¯ Elias stared at him, then barked a bitter laugh. He leaned in, voice fraying. ¡®They¡¯ll own you. You¡¯ll be running their debt collector¡¯s errands in that shiny badge.¡¯ Jord shrugged, but his jaw clenched ¨C a tell Elias knew too well. For a long moment, neither brother spoke. The tavern¡¯s clamour swelled around them: clinking glasses, slurred hymns, the thud of a drunk collapsing into his own plate. Finally, Elias dragged a hand down his face. ¡®Fine. Play their dog. But when they send you to kick in some poor man¡¯s door ¨C¡¯ he jabbed a finger at Jord¡¯s chest, ¡®¨C don¡¯t come whining to me about the fleas.¡¯ Jord nodded, hollow. ¡®Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡¯ Elias stood, chair screeching like the hinges back home. ¡®You¡¯re a fool.¡¯ ¡®Yeah.¡¯ Jord said but didn¡¯t look up. Elias hesitated at the door, hand braced against the frame, his expression fraying with unsaid words. The bell clattered in his wake. Jord stared at his own palm. He wondered if guilt had a compound rate too. ¨C¨C¨C When Jord stepped out of the pub, the sun still hung heavy ¨C a bloated, unrelenting eye that oozed eternity. To Jord, the day felt already wasted, its hours dissolving like a tingle of smoke in the breeze. The conversation gnawed at him, yet He held no power to sway anything. His life was labour, then more labour: stolen naps between shifts, calluses made for measly coin that vanished like steam. My sole accomplishment? Jord looked down. Not yet growing a labourer¡¯s gut. Perseverance hadn¡¯t saved him. It had only carved him hollow. Why wait for tomorrow¡¯s morning? Get the shit done today. He thought and then walked. The Citadel¡¯s halls echoed hollowly, The morning¡¯s clamour gone. Only the click-clack of Jord¡¯s boots on polished stone polluted the silence. No queues, no barked orders ¨C just his boots and his own shadow stretching thin under boring lights. Building Three, he repeated, passing vaulted archways until he found the East Wing. A dented door bore a plaque: Reception. Inside, a cramped closet more than a room. A woman behind a desk tapped at a terminal, her face lit blue by the screen. ¡®Good day. How can I help you, sir?¡¯ Her voice carried the monotone hum of a dial tone. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡®Morning. Are you, perchance, Officer Lory?¡¯ ¡®That¡¯s my colleague.¡¯ Her emerald eyes flicked to him, then back to the screen. ¡®If you¡¯re here for him, you must be a new recruit. Name?¡¯ ¡®Jord Whittaker.¡¯ She arched a brow as she typed, keys clacking. ¡®Your induction¡¯s tomorrow. You¡¯re¡­ early.¡¯ A smirk tugged at her lips. ¡®Ah. One of those.¡¯ ¡®One of¡­ what?¡¯ ¡®The eager ones.¡¯ She mimed air quotes, chipped nails glinting. ¡®Can¡¯t wait to toss yourself into the meat grinder. Think drowning in paperwork will smother your problems?¡¯ Jord held her gaze. ¡®Just here for the money.¡¯ She snorted. ¡®Sure,¡¯ she slid a form across the desk. ¡®Sign here. And here. Grinder chews quick, eager or not.¡¯ He scrawled his name, ignoring the tremor in his hand. ¡®Wait ¨C shouldn¡¯t I get something?¡¯ His voice was flat, worn smooth as the counter-top under his palms. ¡®A manual? Uniforms? Last clerk wasn¡¯t much help. Do I get more than one? Spares?¡¯ The clerk sighed ¨C a hiss of steam escaping a kettle ¨C and drummed the desk with her pen. ¡®Manuals are digital. Got a phone?¡¯ Jord nodded, ¡®Get a technician to sync it with the city network. Otherwise, if not working, we¡¯ll issue you a brick.¡¯ She lingered on the word. ¡®Uniforms ¨C two, to be precise ¨C issued post-orientation. Tomorrow.¡¯ She slid a key-card across the counter. ¡®Smart-cards, these. Synced to the network. Holds your basic details, service record. Report to the big grey-brick building on Milasii Lane ¨C can¡¯t miss it. Third floor for the newly minted. I¡¯m told lifts jam halfway. Stairs will save you time.¡¯ Jord pocketed the key-card. ¡®Anything else?¡¯ she asked, already turning back to her screen. ¡®Should I report to this office for tomorrow¡¯s orientation, or just head straight to the guard quarters?¡¯ The clerk ¨C Haelin M, according to her plaque ¨C tapped a command into her terminal. ¡®I¡¯ll notify headquarters. Meanwhile, you can head to the guard quarters on Milasii Lane. Familiarise yourself with the layout, the lockers, the lot.¡¯ She nodded toward the door. ¡®Might even meet a few kindred souls.¡¯ Jord hesitated. ¡®Now?¡¯ ¡®Unless you¡¯d prefer to stare at me all afternoon.¡¯ He cleared his throat, thumb brushing the edge of the smart-card. ¡®Suppose gazing stars are not the worst way to kill time.¡¯ The clerk¡¯s gaze lifted briefly, her sternness thawing by a fraction. ¡®Save the charm for your new co-workers, Whittaker. They¡¯ll need the morale.¡¯ She tapped her screen, voice quieter. ¡®Grinder chews faster if you¡¯re distracted. Head to the quarters ¨C ask for Mara at the desk. She¡¯ll show you the ropes.¡¯ A pause. ¡®And eat first. Canteen¡¯s grim, but the chicken stew¡¯s edible on Tuesdays.¡¯ Jord raised a brow. ¡®Today¡¯s Sunday, through.¡¯ ¡®Exactly.¡¯ Her lips twitched ¨C almost a smile ¨C before she nodded to the door. ¡®Go on. I¡¯ll ping HQ you¡¯re en route.¡¯ ¡®Good luck,¡¯ she added with a softer and kinder tone than he¡¯d expected. Jord lingered a beat, heart beating faster ¨C but his mouth clammed, then he turned. The clerk¡¯s terminal resumed its clatter as he stepped into the hallway. ¨C¨C¨C By the time Jord reached the grey-brick bulk of Milasii Lane¡¯s guard quarters, a feeble rain had turned into a needling drizzle, dusk leaching the colour from the streets. A man in sodden fatigues slouched under the archway connecting the compound with the outside, cigarette smoke curling upwards. He eyed Jord, snorted. ¡®Rookies¡¯ third floor. Better use the stairs ¨C unless you fancy getting stuck with yesterday¡¯s sandwich stink.¡¯ Jord nodded, passing the open gate. ¡®You are the first, you ¡®now?¡¯ The man ground his cigarette underfoot, smirk etched with a cynicism older than his face. ¡®Mara¡¯s on desk duty. She¡¯ll love you. Especially if you¡¯re here to lighten her filing.¡¯ The stairwell swallowed him whole, reeking of damp concrete and the burnt tang of stale coffee. Above, voices spiralled down ¨C a bark of laughter, the tinny blare of a radio static-drowned songs of protest. Jord climbed, and then climbed some more. Each step reverberated Healin¡¯s warning: Grinder chews quick. By the time he reached the third floor, sweat glued his collar to his neck. Another reception desk ¨C the last, he prayed ¨C loomed ahead, lit by the same sterile glare endemic to bureaucratic hellholes. A woman hunched over a terminal, her posture mirroring Haelin¡¯s, though her plaque read Mara V. ¡®Name?¡¯ she said, not glancing up. ¡®Jord Whittaker.¡¯ Jord said. She squinted at her screen. ¡®Whittaker¡­ Whittaker¡­ Ah. Early bird.¡¯ A flicker of a smirk. ¡®Well a late bird in this case. Regardless, sign here. And here. Orientation¡¯s tomorrow, but you¡¯ll need the pre-screening waiver.¡¯ She handled Jord a fountain pen. He scrawled his initials. ¡®How many more?¡¯ ¡®Patience, recruit.¡¯ Mara slid another form across the desk. ¡®Waiver first. Then the liability disclosure. Then the¨C¡¯ ¡®Gods. More?¡¯ She arched a brow. ¡®Institution¡¯s got rules, more for troublemakers.¡¯ Another chuckle. She knew, had gossip already poisoned the well? The hum of the printer machine grated like a dull blade. Jord stared at the flickering light above her desk. Signing, then more signing. ¡®Why didn¡¯t the other clerks let me do all these forms there?¡¯ ¡®Protocol.¡¯ ¡®But¡­ what¡¯s the point?¡¯ He leaned forward, pen held in his grip. ¡®Isn¡¯t this all just¨C¡¯ ¡®Meaningless? Wasteful? Yes and then yes. But this is the job and we do not make the rules.¡¯ Mara finished, finally looking up. Her eyes were grey, flat as the terminal screen. ¡®That¡¯s the job first lesson, Whittaker. Protocols must be followed.¡¯ A fresh sheet spat from the printer. She snagged it mid-air. ¡®Now. Non-disclosure agreement. Section 12.3: Unauthorised publications of critiques will void your pension and will dock your pay.¡¯ Jord snatched the pen. ¡®Bullshit.¡¯ ¡®Bullshit,¡¯ Mara agreed mildly, ¡®has its own subsection.¡¯ She leaned forward, grey eyes glinting with the quiet weariness of someone who¡¯d seen a hundred recruits cycle through. ¡®Whittaker, let you in on an open secret ¨C rules only bite if someone¡¯s watching. Do as you¡¯re told, keep your head down, and no one will bat an eye at minor¡­ missteps.¡¯ She tapped the form. ¡®But skip a step?¡¯ A shrug. ¡®You will meet the system teeth. And trust me ¨C it bites.¡¯ Jord stared at the non-disclosure agreement, its dense paragraphs swimming. ¡®And the pension?¡¯ ¡®What pension?¡¯ Mara deadpanned. ¡®Sign.¡¯ And He scrawled his name once again, ink smearing his palm. Jord flexed his hand, the ache in his knuckles a dull protest. ¡®Don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever signed this much in my entire life.¡¯ Mara shrugged, stacking the forms. ¡®Job second lesson, Whittaker. You¡¯ll sign your name till it stops feeling like yours.¡¯ Jord signed five more forms. ¡®Now what?¡¯ He pushed the stack back, ink smudging his thumb. ¡®You lot said I can¡¯t do squat before orientation. Can¡¯t you¡­ expedite somewhat?¡¯ Mara¡¯s smirk returned, sharper this time. ¡®Expedite. Cute.¡¯ She filed the forms into a drawer labelled Pending ¨C Low Priority. ¡®Tell you what ¨C head to the canteen. Kitchen staff¡¯s always short-handed. Peel spuds, scrub pans. Unofficially, of course.¡¯ ¡®Unofficially.¡¯ ¡®Grinder¡¯s third lesson, Whittaker.¡¯ She nodded to the flickering corridor light. ¡®No one cares what you do ¨C as long as you don¡¯t step on the wrong toes.¡¯ ¡®And if I refuse?¡¯ Mara¡¯s gaze drifted to her drawer. ¡®Then you¡¯ll sit here. And I¡¯ll find more forms.¡¯ Jord¡¯s phone buzzed ¨C a shrill, outdated alarm he¡¯d forgotten to remove. ¡®Problem?¡¯ ¡®Ah, yes. Almost forgot. Need to synchronize this ¨C ¡®He held up his phone,¡¯ ¨C with the network.¡¯ Jord said and then put his phone onto the table. ¡®Synchronization with a personal device require a form,¡¯ she said, sliding a triplicate form toward him. She nodded at the paperwork. ¡®Fill this. Section B needs your blood type and preferred font for alerts.¡¯ Jord scribbled answers, half-guessing. ¡®Why the font?¡¯ ¡®Guard¡¯s IT manual: ¡°Aesthetic cohesion mitigates cognitive dissonance in high-stress scenarios.¡± ¡¯ She quoted with her fingers. ¡®Or because the techs are pretentious twats.¡¯ Her lips twitched. He shoved the form back. ¡®How long?¡¯ ¡®Confirmation takes¡­¡¯ She squinted at the submission code. ¡®Anywhere between two hours and never. Depends if Robert is sober.¡¯ A notification pinged. ¡®Ah. Lucky day. He will ping you a login by the hour.¡¯ ¡®And if it doesn¡¯t work?¡¯ Mara shrugged. ¡®Then you¡¯re a brick carrier.¡¯ ¡®I think I will follow with your earlier suggestion.¡¯ Jord clawed at his collar, the damp fabric suctioned to his skin. ¡¯Where¡¯s the canteen?¡¯ ¡®Second floor then follow the smell of burnt gravy.¡¯ He left, the thrum of printers fading behind him. Somewhere ahead, a man barked orders. A voice swore. Jord walked faster. ¨C¨C¨C Mara¡¯s advice rang true: the stench of burnt gravy seared Jord¡¯s nostrils long before the canteen¡¯s double doors lurched into view. Ten steps down a flickering corridor, and there it sprawled ¨C a cavern of harsh fluorescents and stainless-steel counter-tops, the air thick with stench of industrial detergent. A mountain of unpeeled potatoes teetered beside a sink. Behind it, a wiry man in a grease-streaked apron barked into a handheld radio. ¡® ¨C said six crates, not bloody seven ¨C ¡¯ He spotted Jord, scowled. ¡®You lost, mate?¡¯ ¡®Mara sent me. Implied you¡¯re in dire need of hands.¡¯ The man ¨C Hesk, according to his name-tag ¨C snorted. ¡®Short-handed? We¡¯re short on sanity.¡¯ He lobbed a peeler at Jord. It clattered onto the counter. ¡®Knives are blunt. Spuds are sprouting. Knock yourself out.¡¯ Jord eyed the peeler, its blade nicked and dull. ¡®Pay?¡¯ Hesk grinned, revealing a chipped incisor. ¡®Pay¡¯s tomorrow. Today¡¯s volunteer. Rookie¡¯s law: Pre-contract labour accrues no fiscal obligation. Handy, innit?¡¯ He tossed a sprouting potato into a bucket. Grey¡¯s got a clause for everything.¡¯ Labour, then more labour. Jord rolled his sleeves, his phone digging into his thigh as he leaned into the sink. Damned angels. Forgot to ask for the handbook. Maybe Hesk will run me up. ¡®Have you read the manual?¡¯ Jord asked, peeling with deliberate slowness. ¡®Read it?¡¯ Hesk barked a laugh. ¡®Mate, I lived it. Twenty years scrubbing pans teaches you the Guard¡¯s three truths.¡¯ He held up grease-blackened fingers. ¡®One: Rules exist to hang you, not them. Two: ¡°Volunteer¡± means unpaid. Three: That brick they call a manual?¡¯ He jerked his chin at Jord¡¯s phone. ¡®It¡¯s got one useful line ¨C page 241. Oversights may be rectified retroactively. Means they¡¯ll dock your pay tomorrow for today¡¯s fuck-ups.¡¯ Jord¡¯s peeler slipped, gouging the potato. ¡®So why bother?¡¯ ¡®Because ¨C¡¯ Hesk lobbed another spud at him, ¡®¨C this job¡¯s simple. Head down, do what you¡¯re told, and you¡¯ll ¨C trust me ¨C survive the grind. Plus ¨C ¡¯ He paused, wiping grime off his apron. ¡®The uniform¡¯s good for one thing: catchin¡¯ eyes. Some very¡­ appreciative eyes.¡¯ A wink, sharp as a blade. ¡®If you¡¯re lucky.¡¯ He added, almost in afterthought. The sink filled with murky water. Jord¡¯s phone buzzed ¨C a notification from the city network, already syncing. Welcome to the Guard, it read. Chapter Three Jord peeled the last potato, fingers pruned and raw. Hesk tossed him a rag. ¡®Cheers for the company. If you¡¯re hungry, there¡¯s slop in the fridge. If not, piss off ¨C shift¡¯s over.¡¯ By the time Jord left the barracks, the drizzle had ceased, the street-lights casting flickering lights on the cobblestones. He trudged home, shoulders slumped under fatigue¡¯s weight. The house lay dark. No leftovers waited on the counter. No folded laundry. His room, usually tidied by Elia, remained as he¡¯d left it: clothes strewn, bed unmade. Jord set his alarm for 6:00 a.m., boots discarded beside the bed, and slept. ¨C¨C¨C The alarm blared. Jord grabbed a coffee ¨C sludge-black and sour, he¡¯d forgotten to buy sugar again ¨C and staggered to the shower. The boiler shuddered to life, groaned, then died mid-lather. ¡®Fuck¡¯s sake!¡¯ He hammered the valve. ¡®Elias! Boiler¡¯s gone!¡¯ ¡®Again?¡¯ Elias¡¯s voice drifted from the kitchen, edged with sarcasm. ¡®Shockin¡¯. Maybe if you hadn¡¯t tried to fix it last month with a butter k¨C¡¯ ¡®Just restart it!¡¯ ¡®With what? Your charisma?¡¯ Elia stomped to the boiler, jiggled the fuse box, and slammed it with his palm twice for good measure. The pipes clanked, sputtering lukewarm water for three seconds before dying. Jord scoffed. ¡®Brilliant.¡¯ ¡®You want it fixed? Pay a technician.¡¯ ¡®With what? Past vainglories?¡¯ Elias shrugged behind the door. Jord endured the bitter cold, scrubbing mechanically under the freezing onslaught. He emerged shivering, towel clutched to his chest. Elia leaned in the hallway, arms crossed. ¡®So? What happened? Yet to steal a child¡¯s treat?¡¯ ¡®Nah. Signed a lot of forms, and I mean a lot. So far, doesn¡¯t seem that bad. Probably will get training ¨C paired with other newbies, or maybe mock patrol? Still, no uniforms or badges, or anything official. Clerk¡¯s had a hard-on for procedures and got nothin¡¯ ¡®till orientation. Manual¡¯s not even downloaded.¡¯ Jord raked a hand through his damp hair. ¡®Want a copy?¡¯ Elias released a breath, posture loosening. ¡®Sure. But isn¡¯t that against the rules?¡¯ Jord stared at him, deadpan. ¡®Dunno.¡¯ ¡®Huh. Well, if you can ¨C why not?¡¯ Elias turned toward his room. ¡®Just don¡¯t sign anything that sells your soul.¡¯ Jord snorted. ¡®Wouldn¡¯t recognise it if I did.¡¯ Elia left Jord alone in the hallway. Jord then changed and left the house. His parents bid him a half-hearted farewell, too engrossed in their gossip to look up. ¨C¨C¨C The morning air clung thick with diesel fumes and the metallic tang of distant factories. Jord walked ¨C past bus stops slumped in disrepair, past the morning traffic ¨C until the compound¡¯s outer fence loomed ahead, barbed wire snarling against a grey sky. A checkpoint guard, not the same man as yesterday, squinted at Jord, then jabbed a thumb toward a side gate. ¡®New recruits queue at the east kiosk.¡¯ Jord flashed Mara¡¯s message on his phone, its screen glowing:
PROCEED TO TRACK 3 VIA SOUTH GATE. ¨C OFFICER MARA V.
The guard approached, read the message, and satisfied, waved him through. The compound sprawled west of the grey edifice ¨C a sprawling, utilitarian expanse of cracked concrete and rusted fencing. Open-air shooting ranges pockmarked the northern edge, their bullet-riddled targets swaying in the wind, while crumbling racing tracks coiled like neglected scars across the southern quadrant. Jord lingered at the perimeter. His gaze snagging on a cluster of figures in unmarked fatigues drilling near the armoury. They moved with a silent, lethal precision that clashed with what Jord recalled what the Guard were able to do. ¡®Who¡¯re they?¡¯ Jord muttered to a passing officer, nodding toward the figures in unmarked fatigues. The officer adjusted his cap, gaze sliding past Jord as if he were air. His boots crunched gravel, pace unbroken, until he vanished into a prefab hut. Jord stared after the officer, jaw tightening. Around him, the compound thrummed ¨C helicopters droning, recruits barking drills ¨C but his question hung unanswered. Arsehole, he thought, and marched towards Track 3, the grey edifice¡¯s shadow enveloping him. He checked his phone ¨C 07:43. Still early. The track stretched empty.. No rookies, no officers, not even a stray dog. So they¡¯ve reserved the entire field for us? Or are they so much understaffed? The thought curdled into a scoff. He glanced at his phone again, checking again Mara¡¯s earlier message:
AWAIT OFFICER JORY AT TRACK 3. HE WILL SHEPHERD YOUR GROUP.
No explanation, no timeline. Jord scowled. Shepherd. As if they were sheep to be corralled, not recruits. He sought shelter from the chill air, slumping against a fence post. The sun-warmed metal seeped heat into his back as his phone buzzed again ¨C another notification.
DELAYED. OFFICER JORY WILL ARRIVE 09:15. TERMINAL MALFUNCTION.
Jord¡¯s irritation flared, then died ¨C what was the point? The Guard¡¯s organizational ineptitude was being proven as reliable as the boiler back home. Time oozed past. Jord thumbed his phone, then shoved it away ¨C better to avoid looking unprofessional. He stretched, joints cracking, and surveyed the grounds: frost-stiffened grass, a weathered wooden hurdle slumped mid-track. On impulse, he broke into a sprint. His lungs burned instantly, legs leaden, but when he reached the hurdle, he hauled himself over with a grunt ¨C clumsy but decisive. There it was. Years of hauling crates had forged raw, utilitarian strength, not the lithe endurance he necessitated. Hope they don¡¯t make us run all day. I¡¯ll either faint or puke. Don¡¯t wanna make that bad of a impression ¨C not before the first payslip at least. Jord paced the track, worry gnawing at him. To kill time, he walked a lap, then jogged another, sweat pricking his neck despite the cold. The rhythm of his footsteps ¨C crunching gravel, laboured breaths ¨C eased the tension in his shoulders, if only slightly. By his third lap, a man approached. Short, wiry, with hair the colour of stale tea and a uniform frayed at the cuffs. He stood at the track¡¯s edge, arms crossed, watching Jord with a smirk that bordered on pity. ¡®Whittaker?¡¯ The man¡¯s voice was gravelly, like he¡¯d smoked his way through a decade of bureaucracy. ¡®Jory¡¯s stuck in a terminal blackout. You¡¯re with me now. Let¡¯s see if you can climb a wall without crying.¡¯ Jord stopped mid-stride and approached the man. ¡®Sorry, sir. You are?¡¯ he asked, squinting at the stranger¡¯s bare collar. ¡®Jory¡¯s partner¨C¡¯ The man thrust a thumb at his chest, ¡® ¨C Name¡¯s Lapo. Now clench your trap and follow.¡¯ He strode toward the obstacle course ¨C a mess of frayed ropes and sun-bleached walls ¨C without glancing back. At the base of a timber wall, Lapo jerked his chin upward. ¡®Climb over. Twice. Most can¡¯t.¡¯ Jord eyed the splintered wood, then gripped the ledge. His shoulders burned on the first haul, palms raw by the second. He dropped to the dirt, breath ragged. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Lapo stated simply, ¡®Functional. Not elegant.¡¯ Then he began to pace slowly as he continued: ¡®I¡¯ve seen you running ¨C your form is good, but could be better. Your endurance is shit, but that¡¯s life for you.¡¯ He halted, jabbing a finger at Jord¡¯s face. ¡®Worse yet, You don¡¯t hold a man¡¯s gaze. That¡¯s weak. You need to loom. Be solid, Whittaker. Like a brick wall. If someone runs into you, they don¡¯t get back up ¨C they spit out teeth and regret their choices because most of Guard¡¯s duty is theatre ¨C look solid, project professionalism. And if you can¡¯t?¡¯ He shrugged. ¡®Beg help from your collogues, it doesn¡¯t make you weak.¡¯ Jord¡¯s posture stiffened, his tone icy. ¡®What do you suggest I do?¡¯ Lapo leaned closer. ¡®Hard to say. Don¡¯t know yet if you¡¯re meek or just pretending to be. Either way ¨C¡¯ He stepped closer ¨C making Jord uncomfortable ¨C and lowered his voice. ¡®Grow a spine. Fake it. Build a mask. Don¡¯t care how, but if you can¡¯t?¡¯ He jabbed a finger at Jord¡¯s chest. ¡®The job will grind you into paste. You¡¯ll be the doormat everyone wipes their boots on.¡¯ ¡®Even this,¡¯ Lapo continued, circling a finger between them, ¡®the closeness ¨C it makes you twitchy, doesn¡¯t it?¡¯ Jord said nothing but nodded. Lapo took three deliberate steps back; the tension eased, but Jord¡¯s shoulders stayed rigid. ¡®I don¡¯t understand,¡¯ Jord said. ¡®Isn¡¯t this a bit¡­ too much? Threatening people ¨C isn¡¯t the job to guard, not¡­ not play these macabre mind games?¡¯ Lapo barked a laugh. ¡®I prefer to teach excellence. But if you¡¯d rather swim in a sea of mediocrity, accommodate yourself. Be my guest.¡¯ He spat into the dirt. ¡®And don¡¯t kid yourself ¨C merit¡¯s a myth. Half my call-outs are because some rookie didn¡¯t know how to glare at a drunk.¡¯ ¡®Aren''t you deliberately offloading your work onto me then?¡¯ Jord said, crossing his arms. ¡®Yes, what are you going to do about it?¡¯ Lapo sneered. ¡®Whine some more? Mark my words, boy. Those who don¡¯t bend break. Be a sponge, absorb everything and you will go far.¡¯ ¡®So,¡¯ Jord said, crossing his arms, ¡®you¡¯ll make me a training schedule? Follow me around? Dictate what I eat?¡¯ ¡®Gods, no.¡¯ Lapo¡¯s grin was razor-thin. ¡®I¡¯ll give you a list. Fail to meet it, and I¡¯ll double it. Fail again, and I¡¯ll see you discharged for incompetence.¡¯ He leaned in, close enough that Jord could count the flecks of grey in his stubble. ¡®But ¨C ¡¯ a pause, deliberate ¡® ¨C stick to my regime and I¡¯ll vouch for you with the old guard. Better pay. Better postings. Respect.¡¯ The word lingered, heavy as a gauntlet thrown at Jord¡¯s feet Then why are you here? Jord thought, but biting that off was wiser than inviting another tongue-lashing. Lapo, nonplussed, continued. ¡®You¡¯re slow, you¡¯re sloppy, and you¡¯re about as sturdy as wet cardboard. That changes now.¡¯ He checked his watch, then flicked his gaze back to Jord. ¡®Every morning, 8 kilometres. Full gear. You don¡¯t hit the mark? You start crawling. No shortcuts.¡¯ ¡®Let¡¯s start.¡¯ Lapo said, already breaking into a jog. Jord had barely made it past 3 kilometres before his legs turned to stone, breath ragged, sweat burning his eyes. He¡¯d slowed to a miserable trudge, boots dragging through track. Lapo didn¡¯t call for a stop. He simply jogged past, unfazed, and barked, ¡®Pick it up, or we¡¯re doing this all day.¡¯ Spitting and gasping for air, Jord finally made it, though not entirely by running. Along the way, the thought of begging crossed his mind, but he resisted the temptation. Lapo gestured to Jord¡¯s resting position with a look of pure boredom, as if the run hadn¡¯t drained his strength in the slightest. ¡®Now, combat drills, twice a day. Mornings, striking ¨C precision over power. You¡¯ll train until your muscles memorise the angles. Evenings, grappling. If you can¡¯t break a hold or slip a tackle, you¡¯re useless. Follow me.¡¯ Lapo demonstrated the basic stances, but then made Jord strike a worn-out sandbag. Jord¡¯s fists throbbed, knuckles raw from the relentless hits. His shoulders screamed with every movement, his form slipping as his punches grew slower and sloppier. When Lapo, with a casual shove, sent him sprawling, Jord barely managed to catch himself before crashing face-first into the ground. Lapo nudged a steel balance beam with his boot. ¡®Footwork¡¯s a joke. That ends today. You¡¯ll stand on this beam till your legs stop shaking. Stability drills ¨C stairs, gravel, wet surfaces, you name it. A fighter who can¡¯t stand isn¡¯t a fighter, he¡¯s a target. Fastest way to deny an opponent their advantage,¡¯ Lapo said coldly, ¡®is by making them fall.¡¯ Jord climbed onto the beam, knees locked stiff, arms flailing as he tried to balance. His boots wobbled on the rusted metal, every moment perilous. Halfway a minute, his ankle buckled, and he hit the ground hard. Lapo sighed. ¡®Pathetic. Again.¡¯ Jord repeated the exercise over and over, his body screaming in protest, until, at last, he reached a full minute mark. ¡®Congratulations.¡¯ A slow, knowing smirk plastered on Lapo¡¯s face. ¡®Now, strength training ¨C callisthenics, mostly. Weighted carries, sledgehammer swings, resistance work. You¡¯ll lift till your arms shake, then you¡¯ll lift some more. You will be faster, stronger, and meaner by the time I¡¯m done with you.¡¯ Jord¡¯s first swing shattered the stillness ¨C a clumsy arc that sent the sledgehammer¡¯s head thudding into the tractor tyre. Lapo watched, arms folded, as Jord repeated the motion: heave, pivot, strike. By the fifteenth rep, he heaved for breath. By the twentieth, his strength started failing him. ¡®Faster,¡¯ Lapo barked. ¡®You¡¯re not dead yet.¡¯ Jord¡¯s arms locked mid-swing, grip slack, the sledgehammer slipped from his grip to crash into the rubber ball. It bounced wildly, skittering through the dirt. He bent double, hands on his knees, breath sawing in and out as sweat dripped onto the parched ground. His vision blurred at the edges. Lapo crouched beside him, his voice low, mocking. ''Is that all you¡¯ve got?'' He stood, arms crossed, his shadow sharp against the sun-baked earth. ''Stick to this, and you won¡¯t just survive. You¡¯ll own every room you walk into.'' Jord looked up, hands trembling. The road ahead stretched endless, shimmering like heat haze. Lapo¡¯s gaze offered no choice ¨C only forward or failure. ¡®Something to drink¡­ please?¡¯ Jord begged. ¡®Sure.¡¯ Lapo tossed him a water bottle ¨C Jord hadn¡¯t even noticed when Lapo got himself a backpack. Jord reached for it, but his limbs felt like lead. The bottle thudded to the ground. Seriously? He glared at Lapo, then dragged himself to it and gulped it dry. ¡®How much longer till the others get here? We¡¯ve been here for ¨C ¡¯ He checked his phone. ¡® ¨C hours.¡¯ Lapo snorted. ¡®Time naps when we¡¯re having fun, eh? As for the others ¨C ¡¯ He jerked a thumb toward the northern track. ¡®Jory¡¯s herding them there. We¡¯re walking.¡¯ They walked ¨C though walked felt too generous for the leaden trudge Jord endured. His heart battered his ribs, vision tunnelling to a greyish blur. By the time they reached the track, the journey had dissolved into fragments ¨C a stumble over gravel, Lapo¡¯s barked commands, the metallic tang of gastric reflux in his throat. The track teemed with figures. His group, he assumed. Six of them, hunched and sweat-soaked, their postures mirroring his own exhaustion. Jord squinted at the group in the distance, his breath still ragged. ¡®That them?¡¯ he muttered. ¡®Unless you¡¯ve got another sorry lot wandering around,¡¯ Lapo said dryly. Jord exhaled sharply, trying to shake the numbness from his legs. ¡®I don¡¯t even¨C¡® He rasped for breath, ¡®¨Cknow if I can keep down breakfast.¡¯ Lapo didn¡¯t care for that for He slapped Jord¡¯s shoulder ¨C not hard, but enough to make his already burning muscles protest. ¡®Get used to it.¡¯ Jord shot him a look, then nodded toward the others. ¡®What are they doing?¡¯ ¡®Waiting.¡¯ Lapo stretched, rolling his shoulders. ¡®Jory¡¯s been running them through warm-ups, but now that you¡¯re here, we can really start.¡¯ Jord groaned, rubbing his face. ¡®Fantastic.¡¯ Lapo clapped his hands together, his grin all teeth. ¡®Good. Now go tell them what you learned so far.¡¯ Jord blinked. ¡®Learned what? I¡¯m barely surviving.¡¯ Lapo shrugged. ¡®Don¡¯t we all? Be honest, and tell them that.¡¯ Jord finally reached the group. He wasn¡¯t the tallest, nor the leanest, and certainly not the most striking. ¡®This¨C¡¯ An officer by the collar¡¯s emblem (Jory, he assumed, squinting through his haze) jabbed a finger at him, ¡®¨Cis your new colleague. Partner, if he lasts the week. Seems that Lapo already inducted you in the life. So, how do you feel in so far?¡¯ Jord glanced around. A woman watched him with pity, a man with quiet worry in his eyes, and two others who seemed indifferent, focused on their own business. None of them concerned him. What did was the small man standing apart from the rest ¨C lean, sharp-featured, glasses perched on his nose, a short crop of hair neat and controlled. He wasn¡¯t just looking at Jord ¨C he was staring, gaze heavy with something unreadable, something bordering on menace. Jord didn¡¯t know why, but he made a mental note of the guy. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was imagining it. But better safe than sorry. He¡¯d watch his back, especially if he ever got partnered with him. ¡®My name is Jord Whittaker, and as Officer Jory mentioned, I¡¯m your new colleague. Pleased to make your acquaintance.¡¯ Better to start on the right foot. Stay on their good side. Jory snorted. ¡®Hmph, yeah. Let me guess ¨C Lapo already ran you into the ground? Take it easy for now. You can join us when you¡¯ve got your legs back under you. No point in barfing first thing in the morning, right?¡¯ He glanced at one of the indifferent men from before, a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a heavy build and a shock of crimson hair. ¡®As I said earlier,¡¯ Jory continued, addressing the group, ¡®your role is more about presence than action. The fastest way to do the job is to act decisively, not get bogged down in nonsense.¡¯ Jord crossed his arms and nodded. Jory continued, ¡®Alright, let¡¯s go over a few situations. First one ¨C a drunk starts a brawl. What do you do?¡¯ One of them, a wiry man with a sharp look, spoke up. ¡®If we go by the manual, we de-escalate, escort the suspect to jail to cool off, then fine him for public nuisance.¡¯ ¡®Officially, yes,¡¯ Jory said, then let out a dry chuckle. ¡®In reality? Toss him in the street and call it a day. Don¡¯t waste time arguing with fools ¨C just use force when needed. And if you ever find yourself wondering whether violence is the answer, you¡¯re asking the wrong question. The real question is violence and the answer is yes.¡¯ Jory spoke in a tone that left no room for disagreement. The group dispersed into pairs, tasked with simulating a pub brawl under Jory¡¯s watch. Jord was paired with the sharp-featured man in glasses, whose nameplate read V. Krane. Up close, Krane¡¯s gaze felt surgical, dissecting Jord¡¯s every twitch. ¡®Rules?¡¯ Jord asked, rolling his stiff shoulders. ''No rules,¡¯ Jory called out. ''Just results.¡¯ Krane struck first ¨C a jab precise as a needle. Jord staggered, lip split. Heave, pivot, strike. Lapo¡¯s voice snarled in his memory. Jord swung wildly, missing Krane entirely but slamming his fist into open air. ''Pathetic,¡¯ Krane muttered, adjusting his glasses. ''You hit like a dockworker.¡¯ I am a dockworker, Jord thought, but lunged again, this time grappling Krane¡¯s waist. They crashed into the dirt, Jord¡¯s raw knuckles grinding gravel as Krane twisted free. ''Enough!¡¯ Jory barked. ''Whittaker ¨C you¡¯re dead. Krane ¨C you win.¡¯ Jord lay panting, soiled and humiliated, as Krane strode off, pristine save for a smudge on his sleeve. The woman who¡¯d watched him earlier tossed Jord a rag. ''You¡¯ll learn,¡¯ she said, not unkindly. At dusk, Jord limped past the special forces vacant training ground. A balaclava lay trampled in the mud ¨C black, unmarked. He pocketed it, a relic of the elite he¡¯d only hear in whispers. Lapo materialized beside the fence, smirking. ''Still standing?¡¯ ''Barely.¡¯ ''Good. Means you¡¯re able to bend.¡¯ Lapo tossed him a protein bar. ''Good work today. And keep that mask tight, Whittaker. It¡¯s starting to fit.¡¯ Jord bit into the bar. Ahead, Krane lingered at the compound gates, staring. Jord met his gaze until Krane looked away. Small victories. They¡¯d have to do. Chapter Four The first minute of his walk passed in numb silence. The second brought no clarity ¨C his mind slogged through sludge, muscles leaden, each step a battle against gravity. By the fourth minute, he noticed the shift change: workers streaming out of factories, replacements trudging in. Say something abut Thamburg, say that it never slept. Jord checked his phone ¨C 16:28 ¨C and marched on. By the tenth minute, his body fell into the city¡¯s rhythm. By the twentieth, halfway home, his thoughts turned inward ¨C to Elia, to their fractured silences. Is he home? Or off chasing that new girl again? Jord scoffed aloud. A faint smile surfaced, then faded. Hope she¡¯s worth it. His jaw tightened. Should I tail him? Make sure he¡¯s not ¨C He dismissed the idea. Elia isn¡¯t a kid. But¡­ ¨C A flicker of doubt. Since when does he hide his friends? Ashamed of me? Jord¡¯s throat constricted. Or am I just¡­ that much of a lout? He dragged in a sharp breath, the air scouring his lungs. Sorry, Elia. Big brother will do better. Maybe. But ¨C what needed fixing? His style? His vocabulary? The way he chewed too loud at dinner? Where do I even start? The questions piled up, higher and higher, until a sudden gust of wind sent the trembling tower tumbling down ¨C leaving Jord¡¯s mind blissfully free of the weight of thought. The door hung ajar. A shiver of panic prickled Jord¡¯s spine. He quickened his pace, limbs protesting, and slipped inside with clumsy stealth ¨C more lumbering bear than cat. The door clicked shut behind him, silent as a whisper. Voices drifted from the kitchen. Two metres ahead, then a sharp left. Jord crouched, joints screaming, and edged along the wall. ¡®¨CWhy would I ever do that?¡¯ Elia¡¯s voice, sharp with outrage. Jord exhaled ¨C a shaky breath he hadn¡¯t realised he¡¯d trapped ¨C and straightened slowly, back creaking like old floorboards. He stepped into the kitchen. ¡®Evening,¡¯ Jord said, with confidence that he did not wield. Elia stiffened, back still turned. At the table sat two boys: one with a patchy beard clinging to his jaw like moss, the other clean-shaven, hair ruthlessly combed. Opposite them, a girl ¨C unremarkable at first glance, in her long sleeves and brown boots ¨C turned. Her eyes locked onto Jord¡¯s, and he faltered. Crystalline. Depthless. A gaze that pinned him mid-stride. Elia turned, eyes narrowing the moment he saw Jord. ¡®Where the hell have you been?¡¯ Jord leaned against the door-frame, forcing a casual shrug despite the stiffness in his shoulders. ¡®Training.¡¯ He kept his tone neutral, avoiding the word Guard. In Thamburg, the institution¡¯s name made scrunching one''s nose a prerogative ¨C tainted by the Lavitii Occupation two decades prior, when the Guard had swapped their badges for invaders¡¯ colours, enforcing curfews and confiscating proprieties. Jord had been too young to understand then, the chaos filtered through whispers and half-remembered shouts. The bearded one snorted. ¡®Training ¨C or getting your arse handed to you?¡¯ Jord gave him a flat look. ¡®Both.¡¯ The clean-shaven boy smirked but stayed silent. The girl, however, studied him with quiet interest, fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup. Elia sighed, rubbing his glabella. ¡®Whatever. You¡¯re just in time. These two were about to start another pointless argument.¡¯ The bearded one ¨C Jord pegged him as the loud type ¨C leaned forward. ¡®It¡¯s not pointless. I¡¯m saying the rules don¡¯t matter when things get real. You don¡¯t stop to ask what¡¯s fair in a fight.¡¯ ¡®There¡¯s a difference between being practical and being reckless,¡¯ the other boy countered, voice smooth, measured. ¡®You¡¯re not useful if you¡¯re dead.¡¯ ¡®You¡¯re not useful if you¡¯re afraid to act either,¡¯ the bearded one shot back. Jord raised a brow. ¡®Should I even ask what this is about?¡¯ Elia groaned. ¡®No, because it¡¯s stupid.¡¯ The girl across from them finally spoke, her voice calm but firm. ¡®We were discussing how much force is necessary in our line of work. Whether following procedure always makes sense.¡¯ Line of work? The hell, Elia? Jord¡¯s lips twitched. ¡®Funny. I had almost the same conversation earlier.¡¯ The girl tilted her head slightly. ¡®And what do you think?¡¯ Jord hesitated. Her gaze was piercing ¨C not demanding, just expectant. Waiting. He exhaled and met her eyes with bravery . ¡®I think¡­ violence isn¡¯t an answer. But a question.¡¯ Jord quoted Jory, the words settling awkwardly in his mouth like borrowed clothing that didn''t quite fit the contours of his body. Damn, it sounds so much more stilted when I say it, he thought, the realisation carrying a peculiar sting. Why did it sound so natural, so resolute when the officer said it? The question unfurled in his mind, delicate and piercing as a thorn extracted from flesh. The bearded one grinned, as if he¡¯d just won the argument. The clean-shaven boy sighed. Elia just looked exhausted. The girl merely nodded. ¡®Interesting answer.¡¯ He took a moment to remember what he was going to say, then remembering: ¡®Elia, The door was open, forgot to close it?¡¯ Elia frowned, then ached an eyebrow. ¡®Fuck¡¯s sake Alvin, can¡¯t close a door behind you, can you?¡¯ he said towards the boy with patched beard. Alvin locked nonplussed, shrugged. ¡®Happens to the best of us, man.¡¯ ¡®Best of us my ass.¡¯ Muttered Elia, loud enough for the others to hear. ¡®Anyway, talk you later Elia.¡¯ Jord said, leaving for his room. Jord opened the door and a squeak stole his attention. The door, right. Forgot about that¡­ again, damn. Jord sighed, Now, what lubricant should I use? Kitchen¡¯ oil? Or should I trek to old tom¡¯s shop? He moved his mandible left and right, lost in thought. Money? He checked his pocket for his portfolio, found it, opened it, and found it almost empty save it for his identification papers. He mused: Should I get another loan? Mh¡­ Well now I¡¯m with the guard should be easier no? But I know no legal loaner ¨C Jord frowned ¨C only street sharks. An idea blitzed in Jord¡¯s mind, and a rictus grin now plastered his face. Should I go after them? No¡­ too soon, still don¡¯t have uniform nor any official seal. Hm, maybe I should make some friends before I do something so over-the-top. He shook his head. Getting ahead of myself. Inside the room, he kicked off his boots and flopped onto the bed, grabbing Treaty of the Seven Nations from the night-stand. Section Six: Antagonism Between Classes. After twenty or so pages, a thud echoed ¨C the front door closing. Jord padded back to the kitchen, finding Elia slumped at the table, staring at his hands. ¡®Elia? Still want the Guard manual? Or do you want to read it on my phone?¡¯ ¡®A copy.¡¯ Elia held out his phone. ¡®Cable?¡¯ ¡®Cable.¡¯ Jord linked their devices, transferring the file. ¡®Enjoy.¡¯ ¡®Enjoy? I¡¯ll skim it for you, you dumbass. Worst case scenario, I learn what to avoid.¡¯ ¡®Suit yourself.¡¯ Jord pocketed his phone. ¡®Any oil left?¡¯ ¡®First drawer on the left. Why the frown?¡¯ ¡®Just¡­ reminds me of Grandpa. He used to make oil, gave us cans as gifts. You were too young to remember.¡¯ Elia nodded. Jord disappeared, oiled the hinges ¨C upper first, teetering on his toes, then the lower, crouching ¨C before testing the door¡¯s silent swing. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Back in the kitchen, he tossed the oil into the drawer. ¡®So¡­¡¯ He dragged on. ¡®New friends? What happened to Jastion?¡¯ ¡®Fell in with a bad crowd.¡¯ Elia met Jord¡¯s gaze. ¡®Tried to talk him out of it. Didn¡¯t work. Alvin the one with the patchy beard, Luko¡¯s ¨C¡¯ he gestured where Luko was sited before he left. ¡®¨Cand Irena.¡¯ ¡®Irena,¡¯ Jord crowed, his voice carrying the reckless triumph of youth, that particular blend of affection and cruelty that exists only between those bound by shared history. ¡®The one who¡¯s got you on the clouds, and now made you redder than a chilli!¡¯ He snapped a photo of Elia¡¯s flushed face, the moment captured in digital permanence ¨C that particular shade of crimson spreading across his face like spilled wine on linen, a telling flush that spoke volumes where words dared not venture. The camera¡¯s click punctuated the air between them, a small sound that somehow managed to fill the entire room. Elia¡¯s eyes found the floorboards, suddenly fascinating in their weathered patterns, each groove and whorl a sanctuary from Jord¡¯s knowing gaze. His embarrassment was a tangible thing, delicate and raw as a newly opened wound, yet somehow precious in its vulnerability ¨C this unguarded glimpse of tender feeling normally kept tucked away beneath layers of carefully constructed nonchalance. Dusk¡¯s light filtering through half-drawn curtains caught dust motes dancing in the air, transforming the ordinary kitchen into something golden and suspended, a place where time seemed to slow its relentless march forward. Outside, spring was unfurling tender green fingers, coaxing reluctant buds from winter-hardened branches, mirroring the cautious blossoming of Elia¡¯s affections ¨C equally fragile, equally determined. ¡®You''re a proper menace, you know that?¡¯ Elia murmured, words directed at the floor rather than at Jord, his voice carrying notes of both irritation and something softer, more complex ¨C the reluctant fondness one reserves for those who see straight through our carefully constructed facades to the truths we hardly acknowledge to ourselves. But then Elia lunged for the phone, ¡®Delete it!¡¯ Jord held the phone aloft, a head taller. Elia continued his struggle to reach the offending machine, but nature was a cruel mistress and didn¡¯t gave the gift of height to him. So his efforts turned futile. ¡®Fine, fine.¡¯ Jord flashed the photo, then deleted it. ¡®Happy now?¡¯ Elia meekly nodded. ¡®I¡¯m gonna nap. The Guard¡¯s more a gymnasium than anything I¡¯d¡¯ve expected.¡¯ ¡®Gymnasium?¡¯ ¡®Yeah. Made me run, stand, grapple ¨C all that, all day.¡¯ ¡®Doesn¡¯t sound so bad. Exercise is good, you know?¡¯ ¡®Talk for yourself, you lout. Almost spat a lung. No end to their training ¨C one thing after another. Not a moment¡¯s rest, the devils! And I think I created some animosity between some colleague.¡¯ ¡®Already? The hell did you do? Did you cross him? Or is it a her? Like¡­ Did you stare at him or something?¡¯ ¡®Was a man, and I don¡¯t think so¡­ no, I was going with Lapo ¨C Man¡¯s a senior guard officer ¨C and like, I was new, right, first day and all that. And like, I got there, and there was nobody, received some messages ¨C¡® ¡®¨C Messages? Did you make a plan? With what they co¨C¡® ¡®¨C No-no, nothing of the like! I¡¯m on their network, it¡¯s linked with my profile and all that, and they can send me all sort of official messages.¡¯ Jord continued, Elia falling silent. ¡®It¡¯s how I received the manual, so again, I was there, the whole place was deserted save for some special forces, I think? Anyway, was alone on the track and, not wanting to be seen as a lazy, I started warming up. And after some running there comes a man. Comes from nowhere, almost got me a scare. And then he starts saying things, and, I kid you not, he starts that I need to ¡°loom¡±.¡¯ Elia raised a brow, ¡®Well, he¡¯s not wrong. You lack a bit of¡­ oomph, If I say so myself.¡¯ Elia finished. ¡®Right¡­¡¯ Jord narrowed his eyes at Elia. ¡®Sure, anyway. He¡¯s¡­ a bit¡­ peculiar, yes, peculiar.¡® Jord nodded to himself.¡¯ Made me almost throw up twice, the devil. So yes, done that, an hour or two passes and then I met the group. Rookies like me. And the other senior, the one I quoted before, What? Why are you frowning? The violence thing that I said before! What the hell are you suspicions for? Anyway, first sight and the guy was already glaring at me, I mean glaring, Elia. Can¡¯t mistake that. Anyway Jory ¨C The partner of Lapo ¨C made us start a mock fight, the cunt, for a cunt he is, made me pair with the other cunt ¨C His name is Krane, I saw it on his uniform. Still haven¡¯t got mine, by the way.¡¯ ¡®Sounds like he was pissed you skipped procedure.¡¯ ¡®Procedure? What procedure?¡¯ ¡®You read his name off his uniform. Others were in uniform too, yeah? He probably thinks you¡¯re cutting corners. Doesn¡¯t like that.¡¯ ¡®Huh. Spilled milk, then. I glared at him like Lapo said, and he looked away. Sorted.¡¯ Elia stared at Jord, incredulous. ¡®Congratulations, you fool. You turned a snub into a feud. Belittled him in public ¨C bloke¡¯s got pride. If he¡¯s got spine, he¡¯ll make you pay. Expect mockery.¡¯ ¡®Ain¡¯t that excessive? I just glared! And He already mopped the floor with me in a sparring!¡¯ ¡®Don¡¯t overlook wounded pride, Jord. Try to smooth it over. Doesn¡¯t have to be friendship ¨C just don¡¯t make rub salt in the wound.¡¯ ¡®Yeah, yeah. I¡¯ll think about it later.¡¯ Jord¡¯s eyelids were already drooping, each blink demanding more effort to keep him awake. Elia snorted and tossed him a threadbare towel. ¡®Take a shower first. You stink to high heaven and back.¡¯ ¡®Too late now.¡¯ Jord collapsed onto the sofa. ¡®If I snore, kick me.¡¯ He was out before Elia could even reply. ¨C¨C¨C The scrape of the front door stirred Jord from a half-dozing stupor. He blinked, disoriented ¨C senses jammed up by exhaustion ¨C as voices clattered down the hall. ¡®Again with the overtime?¡¯ His father¡¯s rasp, sandpaper-dry. ¡®Told ¡¯em union¡¯s threatening strike votes ¨C¡¯ ¡®And I told you, keep your head down,¡¯ his mother, Irena, snapped back. ¡® ¡°Family enterprise¡±, they call it. Means they¡¯ll gut you faster if you squawk.¡¯ Jord scowled into the sofa cushions. Family enterprise. The phrase came back like a tide wave in his memory. Twelve years at Pryor & Sons Textiles, his parents still came home stinking of dye vats and compliance. A gasp. ¡®Gods alive ¨C ¡¯ Irena¡¯s shadow loomed over him, sleeve pressed to her nose. ¡®You¡¯ve marinated in a pigsty!¡¯ ¡®Trained. Showered. Tried to,¡¯ Jord grunted, rolling upright. ¡®Boiler¡¯s still cursed.¡¯ ¡®Doubt that,¡¯ she huffed, though her glare softened. ¡®Go scrub proper. And air those rags!¡¯ The shower hissed to life, pipes groaning like rheumatic lungs. Jord braced as the first icy droplets struck ¨C then yelped when the water abruptly lurched to scalding. ¡®Heavens ¨C !¡¯ He fumbled the knob. By some miracle, the heat pacified and held. Jord slumped against the tiles, steam scouring the day¡¯s stench from his pores. Loom, Lapo had droned today. Learn to Loom. The words rang like a bell, reverberating in his mind. He dreamt of leaking pipes that night, and of Elia, silent at the kitchen table, carving something small and sharp from a block of birch wood under a sky that held no stars. ¨C¨C¨C Jord awoke to agony ¨C every muscle seized, locking his body in a rigid, cast-like stillness. He tried moving his hands; his biceps ignited with white-hot pain. Attempting to stretch his arms only wrenched fresh flares, forcing them back into a braced curl. He rolled sideways to sit up, but his quadriceps screamed in revolt, muscles spasmed uselessly. I¡¯m trapped. Pain wasn¡¯t new to him, but this ¨C this was a vice. Need to message Lapo. Can¡¯t bloody move. Gritting his teeth, he cursed through the ordeal, clawing for his phone. His thumb hovered over Lapo¡¯s contact. Call or text? Band-aid or sword hanging? He ripped the band-aid and called. ¡®Whittaker.¡¯ Lapo¡¯s voice crackled through, brisk. ¡®Sir ¨C body¡¯s done in. Can¡¯t move. Not joking.¡¯ A dry chuckle. ¡®Happens. Rest today. I will handle paperwork.¡¯ Then the line died. That¡¯s it? Jord slumped back, suspicion warring with relief. Second day, already sidelined. Brilliant. He drifted fitfully until Elia shouldered the door open. ¡®Sacked already?¡¯ ¡®Can¡¯t move. They gave me a pass.¡¯ ¡®They?¡¯ Asked Elia. ¡®Lapo, the officer that ran me through hell.¡¯ ¡®Devil¡¯s playing nice? Maybe he¡¯s not all bile and bite.¡¯ ¡®It¡¯s a trap,¡¯ Jord growled. ¡®Lull me before the storm.¡¯ Elia smirked. ¡®Or he¡¯s just¡­ decent?¡¯ ¡®Decent? May the heavens scrub his saintly soul,¡¯ Jord spat. ¡®Piss off.¡¯ ¡®Sir, yes sir!¡¯ Elia saluted mockingly, leaving the door ajar. Little shit. The day bled by. Jord devoured Treaty of the Seven Nations, his bladder gnawed at him for relief but the walk to the bathroom was a martyr¡¯s pilgrimage ¨C every shuffle a descent into purgatory, every step a prayer. And so he tried his hardest to optimize the voyage. When Elia returned with greasy takeaway, Jord devoured it wordlessly. Pride stifled his whimper as he levered upright; salt fat soothed the sting. ¡®Do you think this will be a black mark on your record?¡¯ Elia questioned, collecting the emptied container. Jord stared at a flower on the white wall-paper. ¡®So be it, not like I can do anything.¡¯ That day sleep came like a coup de grace. ¨C¨C¨C The second day was marginally better. His muscles still screamed, but now a dull roar rather than yesterday¡¯s cacophony. Jord flung himself into the shower, scalding water loosening the knots in his corded limbs ¨C until the morning chill seized him anew, stiffening every joint. Only the shuffle of the crowd steadied him, their rhythm lulling him into step despite the flares of pain. At the gate stood an unfamiliar officer. No uniform, no message from Mara ¨C Jord prickled with unease. He approached, shoulders squared. ¡®Sorry, erm¡­ rookie-in-training. Can I¡­ enter?¡¯ The woman arched a brow, scanning him head to toe. ¡®Name?¡¯ ¡®Jord Whittaker.¡¯ ¡®A moment.¡¯ She tapped her tablet, scrolling. ¡®Clear.¡¯ He slipped inside, adrift until instinct led him to Mara¡¯s desk. Empty. A clerk nearby snorted. ¡®Mara¡¯s off Tuesdays and Wednesday. What do you need?¡¯ ¡®Assigned to Lapo Polazit. Supposed to¡­ shadow him?¡¯ The clerk paused, assessing Jord. ¡®Six months under Polazit, then full guard status ¨C weapons, patrols, the lot. Understood?¡¯ ¡®Understood. Where¡¯s Lapo?¡¯ ¡®Track One.¡¯ Jord found Lapo mid-lap, sweat glinting under the pallid sun. The man slowed, grinning. ¡®All good today?¡¯ He knew. ¡®Some soreness, sir.¡¯ ¡®Warm-up will fix that.¡¯ Lapo set off at a brisk walk, pace quickening but never breaking into a jog. ¡®Does this happen every time?¡¯ Jord gestured to his aching limbs. ¡®Only at the start. Push too hard, pay the price.¡¯ Lapo shrugged. ¡®Train steady, and it dulls. Now ¨C keep up.¡¯ Jord struggled to keep up, the pain never fully receding ¨C only abating slightly. ¡®Sir, are there showers? I noticed people scrunching their noses when I left on Monday.¡¯ Lapo chuckled. ¡®Barracks have showers. Didn¡¯t cross your mind?¡¯ ¡®Didn¡¯t have the energy to think, no. And the uniform ¨C shouldn¡¯t I have received it by now?¡¯ ¡®Didn¡¯t I tell you?¡¯ ¡®No.¡¯ ¡®Ask Greg at the armoury. He¡¯ll issue you a standard uniform, a spare, a parade set, and a plastic ID card for the gate checkpoint. You¡¯ve got the smart-card, yes?¡¯ Jord tapped his breast pocket. ¡®Here.¡¯ ¡®Don¡¯t lose it. Replacement costs a quarter of your next payslip ¨C bonuses and overtime included. Policy¡¯s to discourage forgetting things. Same goes for your ID, uniform, everything. Lose your firearms, though, and you¡¯re in deep shit. Understood?¡¯ ¡®Yes, sir.¡¯ ¡®Damage or scratch anything, and you pay. No exceptions.¡¯ Jord frowned. ¡®Isn¡¯t that a bit¡­ cheap?¡¯ ¡®Yes, it is. Top brass won¡¯t give more than they can claw back.¡¯ Lapo¡¯s said, then his tone hardened. ¡®Smoke or drink, and you¡¯ll regret it ¨C not the Bureau they generally don¡¯t care, it¡¯s me. I expect the aches, the pains ¨C I¡¯ve been there. But self-sabotage?¡¯ He leaned closer. ¡®I¡¯ll make hell feel like a holiday. Clear?¡¯ ¡®Yes, sir. Understood,¡¯ Jord replied meekly. Why do you even care? Lapo slowed, clapping Jord¡¯s shoulder. ¡®Your mask ¨C it¡¯s slipping, lad.¡¯ ¡®Sorry, sir. I¡¯ll do better.¡¯ ¡®Good. It¡¯s your sort I like ¨C ones who listen and push.¡¯ Lapo¡¯s smile reached his creased eyes, fleeting but genuine. ¨C¨C¨C Jord limped toward the armoury, each step a fresh reminder of Lapo¡¯s "warm-up." The building loomed ahead. Inside, the air smelled of gun oil and chlorine. A grizzled man with a tattooed forearm leaned against the counter, picking at a sandwich. ¡®Greg?¡¯ Jord rasped. The man ¨C Greg ¨C glanced up, crumbs clinging to his beard. ¡®Rookie?¡¯ Jord nodded. ¡®Uniform then.¡¯ Said Greg. ¡®Yeah. Lapo sent me.¡¯ Greg snorted, wiping his hands on his trousers. ¡®Lapo, eh? Poor bastard. Still lost in the ghosts of the past.¡¯ He vanished into a back room, returning with a bundle of khaki fabric and a plastic ID card. ¡®Sign here. Damage it, you pay. Lose it, you pay double.¡¯ Jord scribbled his name, fingers trembling from training. The uniform felt coarse, the stitching uneven. ¡®Parade set?¡¯ ¡®Parade set.¡¯ Greg tossed a second bundle, this one crisp but yellowed at the seams. ¡®Last worn by some rook who quit mid-shift. Lucky you.¡¯ Jord hesitated. ¡®Firearm?¡¯ Greg¡¯s grin revealed a lot of missing teeth. ¡®Earn that first, sunshine.¡¯ Back at the track, Lapo watched Jord fumble with his new ID card. ¡®Man¡¯s seem friendly¡¯ Said Jord. Lapo smirked. ¡®He¡¯s a prick.¡¯ He nodded to the uniform. ¡®Change. Now.¡¯ In the cramped locker room, Jord peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes. The fabric scraped his raw skin, the boots pinching his blisters. When he emerged, Lapo circled him like a vulture. ¡®Sleeves rolled like a dock-hand. Fix it.¡¯ Jord obeyed, hands steady despite the ache. ¡®Better.¡¯ Lapo tossed him a rusted sledgehammer. ¡®Now ¨C swing till sunset.¡¯ ¡®But, sir¡­ In the uniform?¡¯ Jord gestured to his stiff, sweat-stained shirt. ¡®What¡¯s the point of finery if you don¡¯t sweat in it? Swing.¡¯ And swing Jord did ¨C sledgehammer thudding into tractor tyres until his palms blistered. Pull-ups ended in graceless drops; leg raises and squats left him trembling. After a lunch Lapo grudgingly paid for (a greasy sausage roll and tepid tea; it was outside the compound), Jord returned, grinding through lunges until the pain dulled to numb static. ¡®Was a good day, innit?¡¯ Lapo remarked, startling Jord as the sun dipped below the barracks¡¯ roofline. Jord blinked, surprised by the fading light. ¡®Y-yeah. Suppose.¡¯ ¡®Tomorrow, then.¡¯ With a curt nod, Lapo vanished into the dusk. Jord showered hastily, the barracks¡¯ lukewarm water sluicing grime into rusty drains. He changed into his spare uniform, the fabric rough against raw skin, and bundled his dirtied clothes underarm. Forgot to ask for a bag. No matter ¨C he trudged home, head high, the reek of sweat clinging to him like a second shadow. Chapter Five The twilight air bit Jord¡¯s cheeks as he walked, his muscles throbbing in sync with his footsteps. Near the canal bridge, a figure leaned against the railing ¨C Krane, crisp uniform untouched by the day¡¯s grind, polishing a knife with methodical strokes. Was the man awaiting for me? Or is this chance? ¡®Whittaker,¡¯ Krane didn¡¯t look up, the blade catching the last amber glow of dusk. ¡®Heard you survived Lapo.¡¯ Jord slowed but didn¡¯t stop. ¡®Hardly.¡¯ The blade gleamed as Krane tilted it toward Jord. ¡®Uniform suits you. Almost like you belong.¡¯ Jord¡¯s grip tightened on his soiled clothes. ¡®Almost.¡¯ Krane sheathed the knife, nodding. ¡®Almost.¡¯ His presence lingered as Jord crossed the bridge, the canal¡¯s black water swallowing Krane¡¯s shadow. He might¡¯ve trudged straight home, lost in the static of his own exhaustion, had a flicker of movement not snagged his attention. Irena stood wedged between a boarded-up newsagent and a flickering streetlamp, her silhouette sharp against the brick wall. A stack of pamphlets slumped in her arms, corners yellowed like old teeth.. ¡®¡­Enlighten the mind, challenge complacency,¡¯ she intoned to a passing labourer, her voice alloying warmth and provocation. The man waved her off without breaking stride. Jord hesitated ¨C then veered toward her, soiled uniform bundled underarm. ¡®One, please.¡¯ ¡®Certainly.¡¯ Irena began, mechanically extending a leaflet before freezing. Her gaze lifted, and those eerie, depthless eyes fixed on his Guardsman¡¯s collar pin. ¡®Ah. Elia¡¯s brother. Jord, yes?¡¯ Her smile didn¡¯t touch her eyes. ¡®Guilty,¡¯ he said, forcing a grin. ¡®Apologies for last time. Was¡­ adjusting. Got squeezed dry. You must be Irena, right?¡¯ ¡®Irena Valana.¡¯ She tilted her head. ¡®A handshake¡¯s traditional, but¡­¡¯ She lifted the stack in her arms, shrugging. ¡®You¡¯ve the look of a man circling Avrosi¡¯s drain.¡¯ Jord snorted. ¡®More right than you know.¡¯ ¡®Merely observant.¡¯ She said, the streetlamp catching the wire frames of her spectacles. ¡®Tell Elia I¡¯ve those erosion metrics he requested. Matters of¡­ public infrastructure.¡¯ A beat. Jord¡¯s smile stiffened. ¡®Will do.¡¯ ¡®Pleasure, Guardsman.¡¯ She turned back to the street. Jord walked faster than necessary, the pamphlet crumpling in his grip. Three streets later, he glanced down. Public trust in Southern Thamburg. He laughed, the sound brittle. The hell are you mixed up in, Elia? Jord arrived home at precisely 19:23, the evening air still clinging to his skin as he shut the door behind him. The scent of ink and paper thickened the air ¨C Elia hunched over his notebook again, utterly absorbed in whatever it was that occupied his restless mind. Jord, curiosity piqued, wandered over and peered over his younger brother¡¯s shoulder, noting a meticulously structured table filled with names and addresses. ¡®Should I be worried about this?¡¯ Jord asked dryly, his voice laced with playful suspicion. Elia, startled, snapped the notebook shut with an audible thud, blinking up at Jord as if he''d only just realised he wasn¡¯t alone. ¡®Bloody hell, you scared me! I didn¡¯t even hear you come in.¡¯ Jord smirked and tossed the pamphlet onto the table. ¡®You were too busy scribbling your secret schemes to notice. What¡¯s this all about, anyway? You planning a grand heist?¡¯ ¡®What? No!¡¯ Elia replied, before narrowing his eyes. ¡®Why are you home so late?¡¯ Jord rolled his shoulders and let out a weary sigh. ¡®Lapo. That devil of a man decided I hadn¡¯t suffered enough. Had me training and training and training, despite the fact I¡¯ve felt like I¡¯ve been hit by a car all day.¡¯ Elia shrugged, insufferably smug. ¡®Sounds like a you problem.¡¯ Jord scoffed. ¡®Says the man who¡¯d faint at five press-ups.¡¯ Elia simply shrugged, an insufferable smirk on his lips. But then his gaze drifted downwards, taking in Jord¡¯s attire. ¡®So you finally received the seal of approval, huh.¡¯ Jord said nothing but merely nodded in confirmation. Elia folded his arms. ¡®And what about weapons? Do they just hand you a gun and hope for the best?¡¯ Jord let out a short laugh. ¡®Not quite. I¡¯ll be issued one after six months of tutoring. Can¡¯t have me brandishing steel around like an idiot, can they?¡¯ ¡®Mmh. Suppose not.¡¯ Elia leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. ¡®Mum and Dad are home, by the way.¡¯ ¡®Good,¡¯ Jord replied, making his way towards the kitchen. His stomach had begun to protest quite violently, and he wasn¡¯t in the mood to argue with it. He rummaged through the cabinets, pulling together whatever ingredients he could scrounge up. ¡®You eaten yet?¡¯ Elia shook his head. ¡®Ate outside earlier. You¡¯re on your own.¡¯ Jord frowned as he opened the fridge, noting the lack of essentials. ¡®Great. My payslip can¡¯t come soon enough.¡¯ He muttered under his breath. After throwing together a quick meal, Jord ate in silence, fatigue weighing down on him like a lead blanket. When he was finished, he bid Elia a half-hearted goodnight before moving on to the tedious task of washing his clothes. He tossed them into the washer, then carried them outside, on the small garden his house come by, to hang them on the line, the cool night air biting at his skin. Morning arrived with no mercy. The aches from the previous day had settled into his bones, a continuous, nagging nuisance. He dragged himself into the shower, hoping the hot water would ease his discomfort ¨C only for the boiler to sputter and fail on him once again. ¡®Elia!¡¯ he bellowed, voice reverberating through the house. ¡®Restart the bloody boiler, will you?¡¯ A few moments later, it roared back to life. Jord sighed in relief, muttering a quiet ¡®finally¡¯ before finishing up and heading to the kitchen. He brewed himself a coffee, only to find their supply worryingly low. Grimacing, he tore a piece of paper from a notepad and scrawled a list of necessities. He¡¯d stop by the market later ¨C no sense in waiting until they were scraping the bottom of the barrel. With that, he downed his coffee, braced himself for another long day, and stepped out the door. The walk was, peculiar. Thamburg wore strangeness like a sodden overcoat. Newsagents bolted their grilles too early; pensioners clustered at tram stops with furtive glances. Even the stray dogs seemed hushed, tails tucked as if sensing artillery in the wind. Mara intercepted Jord at the garrison gates, her blouse straining at the seams. ¡®Morning, Whittaker. Got a whisper from the Ministry,¡¯ she murmured, breath clouding in the damp air. ¡®Lavitii¡¯s reforging their cannon foundries. Velmara is sending instructors to train.¡¯ Jord¡¯s gut soured. ¡®What¡¯s that to us?¡¯ To me. ¡®You¡¯re on reserve now ¨C "mobilisation", they called it. "Just in case".¡¯ Her smile could¡¯ve chiselled ice. ¡®Do yourself a favour and keep a low profile. Because if you slip up, it won¡¯t be the Guard¡¯s Bureau you¡¯ll have to fear ¨C it¡¯ll be the court-martial.¡¯ He thanked her, but the words felt ash in his throat. Lapo materialised at the training field, eyes lit with a zealot¡¯s fire. His fist closed around Jord¡¯s shoulder, calluses grating like gravel. ¡®Time to trade calluses for calibre,¡¯ he growled, thrusting a practice sabre into Jord¡¯s hands. Its grip felt alien, treacherous. A sword? The man rants about weapons, and he hands me this? Has the sun baked his brain? Jord cast Lapo a wary glance. Across the yard, Jory drilled recruits in bayonet work. Krane and Jord gazes met ¨C Jord braced for venom ¨C but the man merely dipped his chin, a curt nod acknowledging shared conscription to folly. By dusk, Jord¡¯s palms bloomed with blisters, each parry and thrust a fresh argument against existence. As he limped past Irena¡¯s pamphlet stall, her gaze hooked into him ¨C sharp, appraising. The uniform scrubbed his neck raw, its wool now a convict¡¯s brand. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Malkiri¡¯s shop smelled of spice, old wood, and the faint tang of cured meat. Jord placed a few essentials on the counter ¨C bread, milk, eggs, a small wedge of cheese, coffee, sugar. Malkiri, a stout man with greying hair and a nose like a hawk¡¯s beak, eyed the goods, then eyed Jord. ¡®On credit, is it?¡¯ he said, his Velmaran accent curling around the words. Jord exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡®Just till my payslip comes through.¡¯ Malkiri chuckled, shaking his head as he began bagging the items. ¡®Some things never change. I remember a scruffy lad who¡¯d dart in here, pockets empty, promising to pay me back ¡°soon¡±.¡¯ Jord smirked. ¡®And I always did.¡¯ ¡®Aye, eventually.¡¯ Malkiri slid the goods across the counter. ¡®Go on, then. Just don¡¯t make me chase you down, Guardsmen or not.¡¯ Jord grabbed the bag with a nod. ¡®Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡¯ ¡®Give your folks my regards. Have a good evening.¡¯ ¡®Will do. You too, Malk,¡¯ Jord said, lifting a hand in farewell before stepping out of the mini-market. The trudge home grew quieter still. Shuttered windows, hunched crowds ¨C Thamburg¡¯s streets had the air of a city counting coins in the dark. Jord sidestepped a telecoms van, its logo faded but legible: Velmar Networks ¨C Connecting Futures. A bitter joke. They¡¯d privatised the infrastructure, then priced its carcass beyond reach. Bandwidth taxed, copper wires left to corrode; only corporate bulletins and union-busting notices now slid through the cracks. For a while, folk had clung to black-market burner phones, but the tariffs strangled even those. And many still kept their televisions, relics of a more connected time, but the steady decay of infrastructure had made their use prohibitively expensive. Channels lurked behind layers of paywalls, each more demanding than the last. Even the public broadcast service, once the pride of all Meridia, had fallen to private interests, its formerly rich programming replaced by hollow messages and meaningless spectacle. The screens that had once united the nation now served only as dark mirrors in countless homes, reflecting the dimmed hopes of their owners. Now, only national papers held sway over the public opinion, their pages carefully curated to silence dissenting voices while trumpeting the supposed greatness of the National Party of Resistance and its dubious accomplishments. Jord remembered the day he''d started comparing newspapers, an idle habit that turned poisonous. Five different publications, five identical narratives but differing wording ¨C until he found that one aberrant copy. Its pages had dared to question Nasar''s grip on Thamburg''s power grid, backing claims with engineers'' testimonies and maintenance records. The paper made to vanish within days, its publishers buried under an avalanche of defamation suits. Their reputations were methodically dismantled, their families'' names dragged through carefully orchestrated mud. He''d watched it all unfold in the ''reputable'' press, each headline a fresh nail in truth''s coffin. That''s when the pattern revealed itself ¨C like noticing a crack in glass, impossible to miss. Every headline since carried the stench of boardroom approval, each story a sculpture of selective facts and patriotic flourishes. The morning papers carefully sent to bars and gazette alike, much like love letters from a liar, people couldn¡¯t do without, and Jord had learned to read between their pristine lines, tasting the artificial sweetness of each carefully crafted truth. The sight of his front door snapped Jord back to the present. He fumbled in his pockets for keys, the metal teeth biting into his palm as he turned the lock. Inside, darkness. No clatter of pans, no murmur of Elia¡¯s late-night theorising ¨C just the hum of the fridge. His parents always kept the hallway lamp lit. Always. ¡®Elia?¡¯ His voice echoed off the walls. Nothing. He paced back and forth in the cramped hallway, shadow warping grotesquely under the lone bulb he¡¯d flicked on. Their shift ended hours ago. They¡¯d never work this much overtime. His thumb hovered over his phone ¨C useless, with his prepaid credit drained ¨C until he remembered: Guard profiles get benefits (Lapo said in passing). The login screen taunted him with a spinning cog. Then, Access Granted. His father¡¯s line rang into the void. Elia¡¯s diverted to a robotic ¡®subscriber unavailable¡¯. Jord¡¯s pulse thrummed in his ears as he stabbed his mother¡¯s contact. One ring. Two ¨C ¡®Ah. Hello?¡¯ Her voice frayed at the edges, tinny through the speaker. ¡®Mum ¨C where are you? The house is¨C¡¯ ¡®¨CJord.¡¯ A pause. Rustling fabric, like she¡¯d cupped the mouthpiece. ¡®We¡¯re¡­ out. At the clinic. Your father¡¯s¡­ his hip again.¡¯ He froze. Liar. Dad¡¯s hip hadn¡¯t troubled him since the surgery. ¡®Which clinic? I¡¯ll come¨C¡¯ ¡®No!¡¯ The word cracked. A muffled exhale. ¡®They¡¯re ¨C they¡¯re discharging him now. We¡¯ll be home by half-ten.¡¯ ¡®Mum ¨C¡¯ ¡®Jord.¡¯ Her tone hardened, the one she¡¯d used when he¡¯d tracked mud through the kitchen as a boy. ¡®Don¡¯t fuss. It¡¯s sorted.¡¯ Static hissed between them. Beneath it, a distant clang ¨C metal on stone. Not a clinic. A warehouse echo. ¡®Put Dad on,¡¯ he demanded. ¡®He¡¯s¡­ resting. Can¡¯t talk.¡¯ ¡®Then Elia. Where¡¯s Elia?¡¯ A beat. ¡®With us.¡¯ Another fact that expanded the discrepancy. Elia hated clinics. ¡®Mum. Where are you really?¡¯ The line died. Jord¡¯s chest tightened ¨C his pulse spiked, breath quick and shallow. A wave of vertigo washed over him. He started pacing in circles, forcing himself to slow his breathing, to think. He needed answers. What could have happened? His mind raced. Is it because of me? The doubt slithered up his body like a viper coiling from his legs to his throat. Velmaran forces? No ¨C I''m just a lowly recruit. The system probably hasn¡¯t even registered me as of yet. So, probably not that. The Black Hand? No chance ¨C he¡¯d cut ties with them as a teen. Vliklian? Unlikely. The man was a petty bastard, but would he push things this far over a petty squabble that happened so long ago? Doubtful. His thoughts hit a wall. No clear answer presented itself. Then what the hell happened? She lying and they are all together. He exhaled slowly, wrestling his thoughts back into order. ¡®I¡¯m part of the state apparatus, now,¡¯ he reminded himself, the words steadying him like a hand on his shoulder. ¡®I¡¯m not alone in this.¡¯ With trembling fingers, he dialled Lapo''s number. ¡®Yes, Whittaker?¡¯ Lapo''s voice carried the weight of authority. Jord spilled everything ¨C the empty house, his mother''s strange response, his churning suspicions. Lapo, ever the professional, wasted no time. He had the department of investigations track the last call made from Jord¡¯s phone. The location traced back to a warehouse on Industriante Street, number 3. Officially, it belonged to a company known for manufacturing transmissions for heavy machinery. Lapo assembled a task force and instructed Jord to meet him at a nearby building. ¡®Move fast,¡¯ Lapo warned. ''On my way,'' Jord managed. The night air hit his face as he slipped out, each shadow on Thamburg''s streets now a potential watcher. He stuck to the smaller roads, avoiding the main thoroughfares. The building in question turned out to be a small half-abandoned office block, its windows dark except for a single light on the second floor. Lapo was waiting by the service entrance, accompanied by four other figures Jord didn''t recognise. Their body armour was matte black, without the usual military insignia that the guard sported. ¡®Your first lesson in the work, Whittaker,¡¯ Lapo said grimly as Jord approached. ¡®Sometimes being in the special forces paints a target on your back.¡¯ He gestured towards the warehouse across the street. ¡®That building¡¯s been on our radar for months. Officially, it¡¯s owned by Zoliar Manufacturing. Unofficially¡­'' He let the sentence hang. The ¡°special forces¡± The fuck he is talking about? Did I sign the wrong papers? Jord mentally freaked out. Then took a moment to drag his senses to the moment. ¡®Fascinating, truly,¡¯ Jord hissed, the words fraying at the edges. He stepped closer, the office¡¯s damp chill seeping through his uniform. ¡®But why drag my family into this?¡¯ Lapo¡¯s face tightened. ¡®Your father had any dealings with Velmar Networks?¡¯ ¡®No,¡¯ Jord shook his head, confusion creeping into his voice. ¡®He and my mother works at a textile mill. Pryor and Sons.¡¯ Lapo frowned, the lines around his eyes deepening. ¡®Seems our intel was lacking, they had another drop spot.'' He pulled out his data-pad, thumbing through reports. ¡®What?¡¯ Jord''s whisper took on an edge. ¡®You still didn¡¯t tell my they had to drag them in a warehouse, are they hostages?¡¯ Lapo glanced at the warehouse, then back at Jord. ¡®We¡¯ve been tracking a smuggling operation. Goods, military grade, ammunitions that can pierce our grade of plate with easy, hand bombs, and encrypted devices that held intel of our nation¡¯s critical infrastructure.¡¯ He paused, weighing his next words. ¡®Tonight was supposed to be a major operation. But if your father''s not with Velmar¡­ they must have spotted him browsing through something he wasn¡¯t supposed to.¡¯ ''And so they took my whole family?¡¯ Jord¡¯s hands clenched into fists. Lapo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ¡®You don''t grab an entire family just to send a message. That¡¯s too messy, draws too much attention. No...¡¯ He glanced at the warehouse. ¡®They¡¯re trying to figure out what your family saw exactly, who they might have told. Bribery only works if you know what you¡¯re buying silence about.¡¯ ¡®And Elia?¡¯ Jord pressed. ¡®Smart kid, your brother, isn¡¯t he?¡¯ Lapo''s expression darkened. ¡®Maybe they''re worried he saw something. Technical stuff that would¡¯ve gone over your parents¡¯ heads.¡¯ ''Listen, Whittaker,'' Lapo leaned closer, voice barely above a breath. ¡®In this city, people vanish without a trace. One day they¡¯re here, next day there¡¯s just whispers. No bodies, no evidence, not even a trail. Just empty houses and neighbours who suddenly can¡¯t remember a thing.¡¯ He checked his watch before continuing. ¡®Right now, your family¡¯s alive because these people need to know what they saw and who they¡¯ve told. Once they have those answers...'' He let the implication hang in the air. ¡®That call from your mother? That wasn''t just your mother talking. They were sending you a message, testing the waters. We wait, we risk them deciding your family knows too much or isn¡¯t worth the trouble any-more.¡¯ ¡®But surely they wouldn¡¯t ¨C¡¯Jord started. ¡®Three months ago,¡¯ Lapo cut in, ¡®a dock worker and his wife disappeared. Their crime? Spilling over the wrong crate. When contraband rolled out instead of supplies, they got scared and ran straight to their foreman. Thought they were doing the right thing.¡¯ He paused, jaw tightening. ¡®Two weeks later they vanished, their teenage son too. Some say the family left town for better opportunities. Others say they received an irresistible offer to relocate ¨C the kind you can¡¯t refuse. And when I mean ¡°they¡± ¨C¡¯ He accentuate the word. ¡®I mean me, I have been collecting piece by piece little remains that bloat from the docks.¡¯ Jord took a moment to take it all in, but stubborn hope refused to flee. ¡®We don¡¯t even know if it is the same group!¡¯ Jord said. ¡®So you say, but met a crime syndicate you met them all. Do you really base your belief on such shaky foundation to gamble your family lives?¡¯ Lapo said, stripping Jord¡¯s soul bare for the world to see. Jord¡¯s legs trembled as he slumped against the wall, the night¡¯s revelations pressing down on him, as if he had been thrust ten thousand leagues under the sea, desperate to gasp for air yet unable to draw a single flimsy breath. ¡®So what¡¯s the plan, sir?¡¯ The question came out hollow, fatigued, exhausted. Chapter Six The phone trembled against Jord¡¯s ear as his mother¡¯s voice crackled through, saccharine and strained. ¡®Thanks for worrying, son.¡¯ A pause, static hissing like a held breath. ¡®But we can manage the¡­ costs. They¡¯ve been¡­ reasonable.¡¯ Lapo¡¯s finger tapped the tablet screen ¨C a single typed word: CODE. ¡®Are you sure? I¡¯m with my new friends If you need us we can pitch something, you know that we always there for you.¡¯ Jord swallowed, tracking Lapo¡¯s glare. ¡®But¡­ If you say that you have everything under control so be it.¡¯ Silence stretched between them, brittle and uneasy. When she finally spoke, her words were precise, each syllable measured with deliberate cadence. ¡®No need, Jord. Everything¡¯s settled. We¡¯ll be home in an hour. Don¡¯t come by ¨C the clinic¡¯s closed.¡¯ Jord hesitated but he forced himself to play along. ¡®Alright¡­ be safe. If you¡¯re short on money, call me ¨C I¡¯ll come running.¡¯ A brief pause. Then, ¡®Thanks. See you soon.¡¯ The line went dead. Lapo scrawled ¡®DEADLINE ¨C 15 MIN¡¯ and snapped his fingers. The task force coalesced: Dila checking her sidearm¡¯s chamber; Sera coiling rope over her tactical vest; Fjorr hefting a sniper case with an air of surety of how to use the weapon inside. ¡®Right,¡¯ Lapo barked. ¡®Positions. Fjorr ¨C rooftop over-watch. Mas and Egil, front breach. Sera and Lastian, west side. Silent ascent. Dila ¨C back entrance. Hold unless shoots fired.¡¯ He pivoted to Jord, eyeing one of rifles on the table . ¡®You shadow Fjorr. Take the LR-37. Don¡¯t chamber a round unless Fjorr says so. You¡¯re eyes only. Clear?¡¯ Jord¡¯s nod was a marionette¡¯s jerk. The rifle¡¯s stock bit into his shoulder, its weight foreign. Fjorr shouldered past, voice a gravel-drawn whisper. ¡®Keep up, rook.¡¯ Fjorr moved with purpose, and Jord followed ¨C through a door, another door, up a flight of stairs, then another. At the top, a final door barred access to the rooftop. Fjorr tested the handle. Locked. Without hesitation, he crouched, retrieving a slim case from his pocket. Inside, a neatly arranged set of lock-picks gleamed under the dim light from the twin moons. In seconds, the lock gave way with a soft click, and Fjorr pushed the door open without issue. Stepping onto the rooftop, he moved to the parapet, settling into position with a clear view of the warehouse¡¯s main point of access ¨C able to see most of the edifice but just shy of the right entrance. Jord trailed behind him, clumsy in comparison, and placed his rifle down in the same manner Fjorr had. As Jord adjusted himself, he noticed Fjorr fiddling with his scope before retrieving a small, unfamiliar device. ¡®This,¡¯ Fjorr said, setting it down, ¡®measures wind strength ¨C essential for long-range shots. Overkill for now, but I like knowing nothing¡¯s messing with my aim.¡¯ He glanced at Jord, who was lying prone beside him, awkwardly adjusting his own scope. ¡®Problem?¡¯ Jord exhaled. ¡®Yeah¡­ first time handling a firearm.¡¯ Fjorr let out a quiet chuckle but didn¡¯t comment. Instead, he reached over and adjusted Jord¡¯s scope, walking him through the dials and their functions. Couldn¡¯t they have just given me a binocular? ¡®Thanks,¡¯ he muttered. ¡®You¡¯ll learn, rookie. Now, set up comms,¡¯ Fjorr said, tossing Jord a radio. ¡®Put it on speaker. Rightmost knob ¨C no, not that one, that one. Turn it clockwise once until you hear a tick. Now, the main knob in the centre ¨C adjust it until the screen shows frequency one-one-three-dot-one.¡¯ Jord followed the instructions, the device humming softly as he tuned it. Lapo¡¯s voice crackled through the speaker. ¡®What¡¯s the situation, Fjorr? Everything clear? Pass.¡¯ ¡®All clear. Pass,¡¯ Fjorr replied. His bi-pod already setted, now, he had to wait orders. Pass? Jord thought. Is that really necessary? But he kept the question to himself. The air was thick, and the last thing he wanted was to distract Fjorr. Jord lay prone, his breath shallow, eyes locked on the warehouse entrances through his scope. The city¡¯s distant hum barely registered ¨C the only thing that mattered was the main door. Time dragged, Jord¡¯s worry stretching thin like frayed rope. Where are they? No one exited. No calls came through. His pulse thrummed in his ears. Something¡¯s wrong. Then, after what felt like an eternity the main door creaked open. A figure stepped out. Elia. Then the rest of them, his father was limping. Jord¡¯s grip on the rifle slackened, his limbs suddenly heavy with exhaustion. The tension that had coiled so tightly within him that a single relaxed breath drained him of all energy. Lapo¡¯s voice crackled through the radio, steady and sharp. ¡®Jord, are those your family? Pass.¡¯ Jord swallowed. ¡®Yes. Pass.¡¯ ¡®Call them. Get a count ¨C how many inside, where they are. Be quick. Pass.¡¯ Jord¡¯s fingers fumbled over his phone. Through the scope, he saw his mother hesitate, glancing down at her pocket. Her shoulders, rigid with tension, loosened slightly when she saw his name on the screen. She answered, voice strained. ¡®Jord? We just left ¨C I was about to call you.¡¯ ¡®I know. Listen to me ¨C how many are inside, and where? Be precise.¡¯ ¡®What do you ¨C ? Jord, it¡¯s fine. Everything¡¯s settled. It just took longer than expected to convince your father about the bill ¨C you know how ¨C¡¯ ¡®Mum!¡¯ Jord cut in, voice tight. ¡®I know. Just tell me how many and where they are!¡¯ A pause. Then, a shuffle. He saw her pass the phone to Elia, who wore a look of utter confusion. ¡®Jord?¡¯ Elia¡¯s voice was smaller than usual. ¡®Yes, quick ¨C how many, where are they?¡¯ ten seconds had already ticked by, and Jord could feel Lapo¡¯s breath on his neck. ¡®Three men,¡¯ Elia said hurriedly. ¡®Two in an office ¨C one at the desk, one by the door. The third is in the back storeroom. They¡¯ve got¡­ guns, Jord. Not just pistols. Rifles.¡¯ Lapo had been listening ¨C the radio was right next to Jord¡¯s phone. He acted immediately. ¡®Breach teams, move. Mas, Egil ¨C eyes on the entrance. Dila, stay ¨C ¡¯ A metallic clang rang out below. Jord¡¯s scope jerked toward the sound. A side door had been thrown open. A hulking man stepped out, tattoos snaking up his neck, an automatic rifle in his hands. His weapon swung up ¨C aiming for the nearest target. Elia. ¡®Storeroom guy¡¯s outside!¡¯ Jord barked, fumbling to get his rifle into position. Lapo¡¯s voice came over the radio, cold as steel. ¡®Fjorr. Resolve it.¡¯ A single exhale. A shot. The tattooed man''s head jerked ¨C red mist blooming above his ear. He collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. ''One,'' Fjorr muttered, already reloading. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Jord''s parents ran, but Elia stood transfixed by the corpse. ''Elia, move!'' Jord screamed into the phone. His brother jolted alive, sprinting after their parents. ''Breach compromised!'' Lapo''s voice thundered. ''Dila ¨C smoke the rear! Sera, Lestian, in!'' A second man burst through the front door, dropping dead before he could take a step, His carcass hit the pavement, rifle clattering on the ground. Sera and Lestian breached through the glass. Not soon after the warehouse erupted in flashes and gunfire. A woman''s voice cut through: ''Hostile down, pass.'' ''Rooftop hold position. Dila inside, Mas, Egil breach front. Pass.'' A single shot cracked from the rear ¨C another hidden runner, taken down by Dila. ''Report. Pass.'' ''All clear. Two dead, one surrendered, one incapacitated. Pass.'' A male voice reported . Jord pressed the phone to his ear, voice tight. ¡®Elia, are you all right?¡¯ There was a pause, then Elia¡¯s voice, frayed at the edges. ¡®What?¡­ What happened?¡¯ ¡®I¡¯m on ¨C ¡¯ ¡®Don¡¯t reveal our position, rookie. Not yet,¡¯ Fjorr cut in sharply. Jord clenched his jaw. ¡®It doesn¡¯t matter now. Just¡­ just get to Mum and tell her everything¡¯s fine. Understood?¡¯ His tone wavered between askance and penance. ¡®We¡¯ll talk later.¡¯ He ended the call before Elia could protest. Through the scope, he watched his brother final trek towards their parents. They were all shaken, but Elia ¨C Jord could see it ¨C was trembling. His mother clutched at his father¡¯s sleeve, and his father, usually the stoic one, looked unsteady. The radio crackled. ¡®Good job, Whittaker. Go to your family. I¡¯ll debrief you tomorrow. Pass,¡¯ Lapo¡¯s voice came through, steady and firm. Jord exhaled slowly. His grip on the rifle lingered. Now what? Do I just leave this here? He glanced at Fjorr. ¡®Uh, sorry ¨C should I leave this here, or¡­?¡¯ Fjorr smirked, despite the grim aftermath still settling around them. ¡®Unless you fancy walking the streets armed with a face that would scare ghosts while wielding some serious firepower. It might raise a few brows and scare someone shitless, don¡¯t you think?¡¯ Jord let out a dry chuckle. ¡®Right. Thanks. Thanks for everything, truly.¡¯ Fjorr shrugged. ¡®You¡¯ll learn, rookie. In time. Now go ¨C enjoy your family while you still can.¡¯ He waved Jord off, already adjusting his scope for one last sweep. Jord didn¡¯t wait. He fled down on the flight of stairs. The run to his family took less than two minutes. It felt like an eternity. When he finally reached them, words failed him. His mind drew blank words that held blank sounds. They just stood there, breathing each other in, letting the moment settle. No one spoke. Then, his mother¡¯s composure cracked, and a choked sob escaped her. That was all it took. The dam broke. She wept, and his father pulled her close. Elia, still trembling, exhaled sharply, as if trying to hold it all in ¨C but then Jord gripped his shoulder, and that was it. The tension, the fear, the helplessness ¨C it all came spilling out. They stood there for what felt a long time, their silence filled with unspoken relief. Eventually, Jord found his voice, his conviction. ¡®Let¡¯s go home.¡¯ And home they went. The rest of the night passed in quiet company, clinging to the warmth of familiarity. They talked, not of what had happened, but of things from before. Old memories, good memories ¨C fragments of a life that, for a few hours, felt untouched by the night¡¯s violence. Like the time Elia got into a school-yard fight over a stolen lunch, only for Jord to storm in, all righteous fury, sleeves rolled up like he was about to take on a gang of criminals rather than a scrawny twelve-year-old. The sheer second-hand embarrassment had been enough to make Elia forget his bruised cheek and yell to Jord to stop. Or when Jord had snuck some alcohol to Elia for the city¡¯s annual festival. Then, letting him ride on his shoulders to watch the parade despite being way too old for it. ¡®You¡¯re too heavy for this,¡¯ Jord had grumbled, but he never put him down until the last float passed. Their father chuckled as he recalled the time Jord had broken his arm trying to impress some girl by climbing a scaffolding near the old patisserie. Their mother sighed, shaking her head. ¡®And then he lied about it, said he tripped over a dog,¡¯ she reminded him. ¡®To be fair, I did trip over a dog. After I fell,¡¯ Jord defended, eliciting the first genuine laughter of the night. The conversation meandered like that, weaving through the years ¨C Elia¡¯s disastrous attempt at baking that ended with a flour explosion in the kitchen, the time their father had nearly been banned from the market for aggressively haggling, their mother¡¯s failed attempt at keeping a pet despite being terribly allergic. For a little while, at least, the weight of the night felt a little lighter. ¨C¨C¨C The morning aches had not relented. Every muscle in Jord¡¯s body still protested as he dragged himself to the shower. Predictably, the boiler failed again, but he didn¡¯t want to wake anyone, so he endured the icy water in silence. He emerged, trembling, wrapping himself in blankets as though they could chase away the chill burrowed deep into his bones. Still shivering, he stepped into the courtyard and gathered his now slightly cold but clean guard¡¯s uniform from the drying line. He ran his fingers over the fabric absent-mindedly, but his mind was elsewhere ¨C turning over a question that had gnawed at him since the night before. He had applied to join the city guard, yet somehow, he had been pulled into something else. Why the secrecy? Why wasn¡¯t he told? It unsettled him. And yet, if it meant having the power to keep his family safe¡­ he would give them his obedience without hesitation. Now clean, freshly scented, and with a slightly jittering hand he couldn¡¯t quite steady, Jord stepped out of the house as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake anyone. The street glistened with a thin sheen of moisture from the morning mist. Thamburg had always been kind in its climate ¨C not too cold in winter, thanks to the harbour, nor unbearably hot, thanks to the northern winds. The only trouble was the occasional gale strong enough to steal a man¡¯s hat right off his head. As a child, he, Elia, and Kotian ¨C a childhood friend he had long lost contact with ¨C would run through these very streets with umbrellas open, laughing as they tried to let the wind carry them away. He could still hear the echoes of their laughter if he listened hard enough. A small smile tugged at his lips as he walked toward the compound. For a brief moment, he even considered taking one of the remaining working trams, but old habits held firm ¨C best to keep a healthy and cheap routine. Dawn had barely broken when he reached the gates. A guard stood at the checkpoint, tablet in hand. ¡®Identification?¡¯ ¡®Here.¡¯ Jord said as he handed his identification. The guard glanced at the screen, his face illuminated by its cold glow. After a second, he nodded, returned the card, and gestured Jord through. The lift was finally repaired, and as he stepped inside, he found himself face to face with Lapo. ¡®Whittaker,¡¯ Lapo greeted, eyeing him with scrutiny. ¡®Figured you¡¯d take a day off after last night¡¯s ordeal. Why didn¡¯t you?¡¯ Jord hesitated, knowing full well that Lapo had already noticed the slight tremor in his left hand. ¡®I¡­ wanted to thank the squad from last night. And I want some answers.¡¯ His voice was measured but firm. ¡®I don¡¯t understand how my family got mixed in such a situation, they are hard working folk. And, ¡¯ his brow furrowed, ¡®you said I joined some force, but I think I never signed anything on the matter. When I asked on of the clerks, They said that I worked for the Ministry of Interior, Thamburg District, Public Order and Safety. So what¡¯s going on?¡¯ Lapo was silent for a long moment, expression unreadable as the lift doors slid open on the third floor. ¡®Follow me,¡¯ he said at last. ¡®I¡¯ll explain.¡¯ Jord followed Lapo down the hallway until they reached a conference room. Inside, a table surrounded by office chairs sat beneath the dim hum of overhead lights. A television on a stand loomed in the corner. ¡®Close the door,¡¯ Lapo instructed as he took a seat. He gestured to the chair opposite him. ¡®Sit.¡¯ Jord did as told, his pulse steady but anticipation crawling up his spine. Lapo exhaled, rubbing his temples before speaking. ¡®Your family,¡¯ he began, ¡®were in the wrong place at the wrong time. That¡¯s what we got from interrogating the men from last night. A shipment arrived at the textile mill where they work ¨C one they weren¡¯t supposed to see. The family runs on a tight schedule to avoid such mishaps, but something, evidently, had gone wrong, and your parents opened the wrong container.¡¯ Jord stiffened. ¡®They were taken as leverage,¡¯ Lapo continued, ¡®to intimidate and bribe. Your brother was there too, likely because your mother called him for help. Instead of calling the authorities, your brother ran straight to them, and the crime family waited in an ambush, and took all three. White van. We found it inside the warehouse.¡¯ Jord clenched his fists. Why didn¡¯t she call me? ¡®The rest,¡¯ Lapo said, ¡®you already know.¡¯ He cleared his throat before shifting the conversation. ¡®As for your career path, listen carefully.¡¯ He leaned forward. ¡®Your assignment to the Thamburg platoon of Special Forces is confidential. Watch what you say ¨C to everyone, including your family.¡¯ Jord¡¯s brows knit together, but held his tongue. ¡®If you wonder of the motive, ¡¯ Lapo continued, ¡®It¡¯s Velmara.¡¯ His voice dipped into something close to distaste. ¡®They¡¯ve been sending instructors. We don¡¯t trust them. And there¡¯s more, but it¡¯s above your clearance. What you do need to know is this ¨C you¡¯re being trained to spy on their instructors. You¡¯ll go through the program like any other recruit, but you report to us, not them. Understood?¡¯ Jord frowned. ¡®But why me? Why not any other rookie?¡¯ Lapo arched an eyebrow. ¡®You were a dock-hand. You have a certain mannerism ¨C one that doesn¡¯t scream military. That makes you invisible to the trained eye. Unlike our existing officers, who have undergone years of conditioning and can spot one of their own from afar, you¡¯re fresh. You won¡¯t stand out. And that makes you valuable.¡¯ Jord tried to process it all. ¡®But you are sending other rookies?¡¯ ¡®Well, of course,¡¯ Lapo said matter-of-fact. ¡®But you? You report to me. Not the army. That¡¯s the difference.¡¯ Jord¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡®And¡­ what if I refuse?¡¯ Lapo smirked. ¡®You signed the papers, didn¡¯t ya?¡¯ The pen had felt heavy in his hand that day, its weight seeming to hold all his hopes and regrets. Jord had paused before signing, watching the ink pool at the nib ¨C dark and full of promise, like the night sky before dawn. A fresh start, he''d told himself, a chance to spurge the inked past. He remembered his father''s hands, calloused from the mill, and how they would rest heavy on his shoulder during their rare moments of connection. Always that same gesture, as if his father were trying to anchor him to something solid, something respectable. The signature would be a bridge between them, Jord had thought, a way to finally earn the pride he glimpsed so rarely in his father''s tired eyes. Late at night, when the house creaked with settling silence, he would sometimes find his mother at the kitchen table, her reading glasses perched low on her nose. Bills and papers would spread before her like fallen autumn leaves, each one carrying its own weight of worry. She would look up at him with that gentle smile that never quite reached her eyes, her fingers absently smoothing the corners of envelopes as if she could iron out their contents. In those moments, the yellow light of their old kitchen lamp would cast soft shadows across her face, hiding the lines that seemed to deepen with each passing month. Now, sitting in Lapo''s sterile conference room, Jord understood the true cost of promises. His mother''s careful hands on those bills, his father''s perpetual exhaustion, his own desperate hope for a better future ¨C all of it connected like threads in a tapestry he was only beginning to see. Some signatures, he realized, were like keys turning in locks you didn''t know existed, opening doors you never meant to pass through. Jord felt a knot tighten in his stomach. ¡®That¡¯s it, then?¡¯ he asked, voice edged with resignation. ¡®That¡¯s it,¡¯ Lapo confirmed. ¡®Welcome to the job, Whittaker.¡¯ Chapter Seven ¡®Take some time to digest this,¡¯ Lapo said, leaning forward across the conference table. His elbows settled into the polished surface, the gesture somehow both casual and deliberate, like a cat arranging itself before a pounce. ¡®And in the meantime ¨C are you ready for more training?¡¯ The question hung in the air between them, heavy as morning fog off the harbour. Jord felt his throat constrict, a familiar tightness that reminded him of childhood swimming lessons ¨C that moment before the plunge when fear and excitement became indistinguishable. Devil, he thought, the word rising unbidden like a prayer or curse. ¡®Y-yes,¡¯ he managed, the word catching slightly on its way out, like fabric snagging on a nail. Something in his response made Lapo smile ¨C not the sharp, predatory expression Jord had seen during the warehouse operation, but something softer, almost paternal. It reminded him, oddly, of the way his father used to look at him during their rare fishing trips, when Jord would insist on trying one more cast despite the gathering dark, despite the empty bucket that spoke of hours of failure. ¡®See, that¡¯s what I like,¡¯ Lapo said, his voice taking on a warmth that seemed to fill the sterile conference room, transforming it into something more intimate, more dangerous. That grit, that determination, the ability to overcome impossible odds. His words took on a rhythmic quality, like waves against the dock. ¡®The hunger for more, always bending to the world¡¯s whims till you master it.¡¯ The words washed over Jord like tidewater, their meaning slipping through his fingers even as their weight settled in his chest. He recognised in Lapo¡¯s rambling monologue an echo of his parents¡¯ late-night mutterings ¨C those hushed, weary conversations over the kitchen table, where the future was an unshaped thing, heavy with uncertainty. It was that same intensity, the same quiet desperation to try to shape an unyielding world into something concrete, manageable. The tremor in his left hand had stilled, he noticed distantly. ¡®Time awaits for no being ¨C let¡¯s start, then,¡¯ Lapo said, rising from the table with a grace that seemed at odds with his weathered appearance. The words hung in the air like morning mist, both invitation and command. The familiar exchange ¨C ¡®Track three?¡¯ ¡®Track three¡¯ ¨C carried the weight of ritual, as if they were priests preparing for morning devotions. The sky lightened still, the compound around them still wrapped in that peculiar stillness that comes before shift change. The buildings stood like sleeping giants, their windows dark and waiting, while skeleton crews moved through corridors like blood through drowsy veins. Soon the skin of night would be shed, and day shift would arrive with their coffee cups and conversation, but for now, the silence held. They began their warm-up, footfalls marking time like a metronome. The rhythm reminded Jord of early mornings at home, when he¡¯d hear his father¡¯s work boots on the stairs, heading out for the first shift at the mill. Elia at three years old, standing on a chair pulled up to the counter, determined to ¡°help¡± make breakfast. ¡®Early bird catches the worm!¡¯ he¡¯d chirp, parroting their mother¡¯s words while almost toppling a box of cereal. Jord, then eleven, had always kept one hand hovering behind his baby brother¡¯s back, ready to catch him if he fell. ¡®Sorry, sir,¡¯ Jord ventured, his breath visible in the cool air, ¡®but why do we train so early?¡¯ ¡®I like the coolness of the morning, and ¨C¡¯ He raised a hand to his ear, the gesture almost theatrical, yet somehow genuine. ¡®¨C if you listen good enough, you can hear the heart of the city start beating up, trains roaring to life, cars racing down the street.¡¯ His words carried the weight of long consideration, like stones polished smooth by years of turning them over. ¡®It always fascinated me, this state. A state of torpor, then, that of awakening. Always made me wonder what awaits us after all this. Maybe we will awaken again, maybe not.¡¯ He turned to Jord. ¡®Do you believe, Whittaker?¡¯ The question settled between them like morning dew. Jord thought of childhood Sundays, of wooden pews and whispered prayers, of trying to keep a squirming Elia quiet with silent games and smuggled candies while their mother¡¯s hands stayed folded neatly in her lap and their father¡¯s remained restless. ¡®I... I don¡¯t think so,¡¯ he admitted, each word carefully chosen. ¡®I¡¯ve pondered sometimes. Did the functions but never with conviction, much more like a worker with his shift. You understand?¡¯ The comparison felt right ¨C faith and work, both requiring attendance without guaranteeing belief. ¡®I... I was there, watched everything, trying it, but it never gripped me, that conviction, that solid conviction to believe that help will come regardless of one''s efforts. It¡¯s a bit complicated, sir.¡¯ Lapo''s huff carried neither judgment nor approval. ¡®What isn¡¯t?¡¯ ¡®But... I think I liked... a bit?¡¯ Jord added, the words falling soft as footsteps. ¡®I still don¡¯t know, sir.¡¯ Lapo¡¯s response was physical rather than verbal ¨C a subtle increase in pace that transformed their walk into an easy jog. Jord matched him stride for stride, their breathing falling into rhythm with each other and the awakening city around them. In that moment, beneath the lightening sky, the track felt less like training ground and more like a path to something Jord couldn¡¯t quite name. Eight kilometres left their mark in sweat and burning muscles, but it was the promise of what came next that made Jord''s heart quicken. Lapo''s pace slowed to a walk, his boots scuffing against the pavement. ¡®Today, no sabres,¡¯ Lapo said, voice gentle as morning itself. ¡®We''ll start with handguns. Up to the task, do you think?¡¯ The armoury carried its own particular silence. Greg¡¯s morning greeting hung in the air like early mist as Lapo made his request: ¡®The Ciretta and the CR-8; And a box of projectiles.¡¯ Jord watched Greg¡¯s practised movements, the way his hands cradled each weapon and form with familiar reverence. It reminded him of how his mother would handle Elia¡¯s first pair of glasses, cleaning them each night with careful, loving attention. They settled at a table in the adjacent building, morning light streaming through high windows to paint patterns across the dismantled weapons. Lapo¡¯s voice took on a different quality then, something between a teacher¡¯s patience and a father¡¯s concern. ¡®First, you must learn how a firearm works,¡¯ he began, his hands moving with deliberate grace. ¡®Treat every firearm as loaded,¡¯ Lapo emphasized, and Jord thought of Elia¡¯s old chemistry set, how their mother had insisted on proper safety protocols even with harmless solutions. The memory brought a faint smile to his lips ¨C some lessons, it seemed, carried across all sorts of boundaries. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. As Lapo began disassembling the weapons, his movements became almost meditative. ¡®One must be intimately familiar with one¡¯s tools,¡¯ he explained, ¡®if one wishes to get the most from them.¡¯ The words reverberated inside Jord¡¯s skull ¨C that man¡¯s fall, a puppet with its string cut. Lapo snapped his fingers dragging Jord¡¯s attention to the present. ¡®Lost yourself, Whittaker?¡¯ His voice softened, an unexpected fracture in his drillmaster demeanour. ¡®I know from experience yesterday¡¯s¡­ events unsettle the mind. If you need a day¡¯s grace, I¡¯ll grant it.¡¯ ¡®No. Please continue.¡¯ Jord¡¯s knee jogged beneath the table. ¡®I ¨C I drifted. Apologies, sir. But how¡­¡¯ He swallowed, the memory pooling metallic on his tongue. ¡®How can flesh ¨C life ¨C turn to nothing? Decades of breath and thought, erased by a trigger-squeeze. Doesn¡¯t that render every struggle¡­ meaningless, futile?¡¯ His gaze held Lapo¡¯s, defiance and desperation braided. The older man stilled. For a heartbeat, Jord glimpsed something behind his mentor¡¯s eyes ¨C a shadowed corridor lined with unspoken names. ¡®That¡­¡¯ Lapo wet his lips, the gesture uncharacteristically hesitant. ¡®¡­is a philosopher¡¯s riddle. And I?¡¯ A hollow chuckle. ¡®Just a soldier.¡¯ He leaned closer, the table¡¯s varnish creaking beneath his palms. ¡®But here¡¯s what war taught me: life¡¯s weight isn¡¯t in its duration. It¡¯s in what burns between people. Shared joys. Shared wounds.¡¯ His calloused thumb brushed the dismantled pistol between them. ¡®You want meaning? You shall Forge it. Now ¨C ¡¯ He lifted the firing pin, its steel glinting like a frog¡¯s well.¡® ¨C will you learn?¡¯ Jord nodded. ¡®Then mirror my movements.¡¯ The firearm¡¯s innards sprawled across the table ¨C springs and chambers laid bare as a surgeon¡¯s tableau. Jord¡¯s fingers trembled, tracing the lethal geometry. Lapo¡¯s hands moved with confessional slowness, each disassembly a lesson. Lapo¡¯s quiet pride warmed the air between them as Jord finally mastered the ritual ¨C disassemble, clean, reassemble ¨C his hands growing more confident with each cycle. Thirty-some attempts had carved the movements into muscle memory, like learning a dance where every step could mean the difference between life and death. ¡®Ready to give it voice?¡¯ Lapo asked, and Jord nodded, his throat too tight for words. ¡®We¡¯ve got an indoor range here,¡¯ Lapo continued, his voice carrying the patient cadence of a mentor. ¡®For the bigger toys ¨C long-range work, explosives ¨C we head outside city limits.¡¯ The indoor range welcomed them with the sharp perfume of cordite and the rhythmic percussion of another shooter''s practice. Paper targets hung like spectral witnesses at varying distances, their silhouettes waiting in judgment up to a hundred meters away. Lapo stepped up first, his movements fluid with the ease of long familiarity. The gun sang in his hands, each shot finding home in the centre-mass of the targets until only the two furthest remained untouched ¨C a deliberate demonstration of both skill and limitation. When Jord¡¯s turn came, the closest targets bore his marks like hesitant kisses, while the distant ones remained pristine, mocking his efforts with their unblemished faces. The last shell casing hit the floor with a sound like a falling tear. ¡®What have you learned?¡¯ Lapo''s question hung in the air. ¡®That I¡¯m no good at shooting?¡¯ Jord offered, his voice small in the vastness of the range. Lapo¡¯s chuckle was gentle, understanding. ¡®You¡¯ll learn.¡¯ His fingers found his eyebrow, scratching thoughtfully. ¡®But think back to yesterday''s lesson with the sabre. Did nothing there give you an idea? Nothing?¡¯ Jord shook his head. ¡®A sabre,¡¯ Lapo began, his words measured like carefully counted steps, ¡®demands intimacy with intent. You can''t dance between decisions when steel meets steel ¨C hesitation is an invitation to your own ending. Every stroke must flow from absolute clarity of purpose.¡¯ His eyes met Jord¡¯s, holding them with the weight of hard-won wisdom. ¡®A handgun¡¯s no different. You can spray bullets like seeds in the wind, but such desperate gardens rarely bloom.¡¯ The words struck Jord like a physical blow, settling deep in his chest where confusion met dawning realisation. He had dismissed yesterday''s event as mere jest, a fleeting moment of insignificance, but now Lapo''s wisdom penetrated his defences. Still, understanding lurked just beyond his grasp, like a shadow he couldn''t quite catch. ¡®But... how?¡¯ The words escaped him, barely more than a whisper. Lapo¡¯s eyes softened with the patience of a man who had walked this path before. ¡®It seems you need more intimate acquaintance with the sword. Your blindness to your own limitations is¡­ telling¡¯. He paused, a subtle weight of self-reproach in his voice. ¡®I¡¯ve neglected our sparring. Come, let¡¯s backtrack.¡¯ The ritual of retrieving weapons and completing forms carried its own quiet ceremony, each signature a promise of dedication to come. When they finally stood facing each other, the air between them hummed with anticipation. ¡®En garde!¡¯ ¡®En what?¡¯ Jord''s voice carried the tremor of uncertainty. ¡®Sorry, sir, I don¡¯t understand.¡¯ ¡®Follow my movements,¡¯ Lapo¡¯s voice gentled. ¡®I¡¯ll shape your form afterwards.¡¯ And so began the dance of master and novice. Jord shadowed Lapo¡¯s movements like a dutiful echo ¨C first a basic guard, then low, then high, each position a new language his body struggled to learn. When they moved to responses and attacks, Jord¡¯s forms dissolved at the first hint of resistance, his stance betraying every uncertainty within. Each point of contact revealed another weakness: here, where rigidity was needed there was none, there, where tension melted when it should have held firm. For two hours, they wove this pattern of instruction and correction. When Lapo finally detected improvement ¨C modest but noteworthy ¨C he called for their lunch respite. Yet after their meal, as they resumed their positions, Jord¡¯s movements had lost their earlier promise. His mind, weighted with the morning¡¯s lessons, had become as rigid as his earliest attempts, each gesture now carved from exhaustion rather than potential. And so the day led onward, Lapo driving Jord relentlessly towards that sacred exhaustion where mind and body find their tenuous peace. Like a sculptor chipping away at resistant stone, Lapo worked until Jord¡¯s defences crumbled, until his thoughts ¨C so persistently circular ¨C finally yielded to the simple truth of movement and breath. When Jord¡¯s limbs could bear no more, trembling like autumn leaves in a gentle breeze, Lapo called an end to their dance. The day had slipped away unnoticed, as days often do when one walks the path of transformation. Their farewell carried the weight of shared understanding, of barriers crossed and distances shortened. On the street, Jord lifted his weary gaze skyward, finding solace in the vast expanse above. The evening sky hung in that precious balance between day and night, still touched by the sun¡¯s farewell kisses, yet beginning to reveal its stellar secrets. Among the first brave stars, one celestial body shone with particular brilliance, standing apart from its dimmer companions like a singular truth amidst a sea of questions. The sight tugged at something within him, a recognition just beyond his grasp, but exhaustion had softened the edges of his curiosity into a gentle wonder. The walk home became a meditation of sorts, his tired body carrying him through familiar streets while his mind floated in that peculiar space between thought and absence. His soiled training clothes lay bundled in his backpack, each crease and stain a testament to the day''s lessons ¨C not just in swordplay, but in the art of surrender to learning itself. ¨C¨C¨C Home bloomed before him like a familiar embrace, the cramped kitchen transformed into a sanctuary of ordinary magic. His family had settled into their evening ritual with the comfortable precision of long practice: Elia bent over his book, pages whispering secrets; his father navigating the newspaper¡¯s labyrinth of puzzles; his mother orchestrating the evening meal with practised grace. Even in such close quarters, they had learned the delicate dance of coexistence, each claiming their space while remaining bound in the invisible web of family. Elia¡¯s head lifted at his entrance, his eyes bright with unspoken questions. ¡®So, how did it go?¡¯ ¡®All good¡¯, Jord managed, the words feeling inadequate against the weight of the day¡¯s revelations. ¡®I¡­ enquired about yesterday. It was bad chance, the commander said.¡¯ He paused, suddenly aware of how his muscles ached with new knowledge. ¡®Talk to you later, just give me a moment to change, and I¡¯ll tell you what I can.¡¯ The ritual of changing clothes became a quiet meditation, each movement a reminder of the day¡¯s lessons. When he returned to the kitchen''s warmth, the simple act of setting the kettle to flame felt like a bridge between two worlds. ¡®Tea?¡¯ His mother¡¯s decline left three cups to arrange, each placement deliberate as chess pieces on a board. The sugar bowl found its place at the centre, a silent offering of sweetness to temper whatever conversations might follow. ¡®Anyone curious about anything?¡¯ Jord¡¯s question hung in the air like morning mist, met with a silence that seemed to hold both everything and nothing. He couldn¡¯t decipher whether their quiet spoke of indifference or of care so profound it stole their voices. Turning to safer ground, he sought refuge in his brother''s day. ¡®So Elia, how did your day go?¡¯ ¡®Pretty meh¡¯, he offered, but his words carried the weight of untold stories. ¡®Helped old man Artivi a bit. Diagnosed a couple of cars. One was a luxury model ¨C quite nice, actually.¡¯ He paused, something flickering behind his eyes. ¡®Ah yes, helped some kids repair their bikes, too. One asked me to send their regards to you.¡¯ His gaze held something indefinable, a question wrapped in an observation. ¡®Did the kid say why?¡¯ ¡®No.¡¯ ¡®Huh.¡¯ The mystery settled in Jord¡¯s mind like a puzzle piece without a home. Why would some kids ask about me? The thought spiralled through possibilities, each one dissolving before it could fully form. Maybe an old classmate¡¯s child? But who would... perhaps Ralpanion''s kid? The kettle¡¯s cry pierced his reverie, a sharp note cutting through the gentle symphony of family sounds. He moved through the familiar motions of serving tea, each pour a meditation, each ceramic cup accepting its steeping charge with quiet dignity. The tea bags unfurled like thoughts seeking their own clarity in the gathering dusk of evening. And so the evening flowed onwards like a gentle stream, family banter weaving through the spaces between bites of their mother¡¯s cooking ¨C each morsel carrying the familiar comfort of home. When they finally retired to their rooms, the house settled into its nighttime whispers, creaking floorboards and distant sounds creating a lullaby of the ordinary. But the day¡¯s lessons pulsed behind his eyelids ¨C Lapo¡¯s sabre arcs transcribed into neural pathways, the handgun¡¯s recoil etched into muscle memory. A perverse alchemy: close-quarters fury had honed his aim. Steel and trigger, two languages fused at the root. He traced the paradox in the dark, fingertips brushing the bruise on his collarbone. How had he not seen it? The kinship between blade and bullet, both demanding surrender to momentum¡¯s cruel logic. And in the quiet darkness of his room, a peculiar peace settled over him regarding the misdirection that had shaped his path. The thought that his journey could have unfolded differently ¨C worse ¨C lingered at the edges of his consciousness like shadows at twilight. Yet he found himself strangely grateful for the very deception that had led him here, as if fate had conspired to protect him from bleaker possibilities. These were waters too deep to wade into tonight, currents of what-ifs that threatened to pull him under if he dwelt too long upon them. Chapter Eight The day erupted with mechanical protests, Elia¡¯s voice cutting through the morning peace like a hacksaw. The fucking boiler, Jord thought darkly, his knuckles whitening around the banister. I¡¯ll reduce it to scrap before sprint¡¯s end. ¡®I¡¯m coming!¡¯ He descended into the cellar¡¯s damp throat, hands moving with the cursed familiarity of a man tending an abusive lover. The panel groaned open; a twist, a thump, and the beast fell silent. Elia¡¯s ¡®Thanks!¡¯ ricocheted off cobwebbed walls, sharp with relief. Grumpiness clung to Jord like a second skin as he shuffled kitchen-ward. Light bloomed at his touch, revealing Irena¡¯s abandoned dough rising like a phantom under cloth. The coffee ritual began ¨C a daily libation to Toyan the Splendid, that mythic butcher-explorer whose colonial appetites had gifted Meridia this bitter sacrament. Jord raised his chipped mug in mock salute. To conquest and caffeine, he thought, swallowing tar-thick brew that tasted of ash and wakefulness. Addiction was too pretty a word ¨C this was survival, plain as the tremor in his arm. Once dressed, he considered stopping by the old man¡¯s mini-market, but the realisation hit ¨C he still hadn¡¯t asked when he¡¯d be paid. That killed that plan quickly. He sighed, shoved his hands into his pockets, and carried on. On his way, a couple of urchins lingered near the curb, eyes flitting between passers-by. ¡®Sir¡­ sir, got some spare?¡¯ One of them, a little boy, held out a cap that held few marks. Jord hesitated ¨C his own pockets weren¡¯t exactly deep. But he always kept a little set aside for moments like this. He remembered what it was like growing up, seeing friends fall through the cracks, some never climbing back out. Being in the red was one thing. Having nothing was another. ¡®Here.¡¯ He dropped a couple of marks into the boy¡¯s cap and ruffled his hair before moving on. Above, the stars lingered ¨C Stars winking through daylight¡¯s veil. Jord blinked, but the anomaly slipped his mind like water through a rusted sieve. At the gate, the usual procedures ¨C checkpoint, clearance, nods exchanged ¨C and then onto Track Three. Lapo was already there. Jord checked the time. Breaking even. ¡®You¡¯re timely,¡¯ he remarked, as though punctuality were a mild vice. Then he started pacing along the track. ¡®Sir ¨C why just the two of us?¡¯ Jord matched his stride. ¡®I personally requested special training dispensation from the Ministry. We¡¯ve got the month to ourselves. Need to polish you up before the delegation forms opinions about our department capability.¡¯ ¡®Am I to be presented as a guard unit?¡¯ Jord pressed, seeking clarity. ¡®To them, you¡¯ll be presented as one example of a mobilisation force. In the role of a pacificator, or know as military police. And if you wondered such activities will be compensated.¡¯ Lapo¡¯s pace quickened as he spoke. ¡®About the pay...¡¯ Jord ventured, ¡®when might I expect it? Nothing urgent, just planning ahead.¡¯ Lapo¡¯s raised eyebrow carried a tone. ¡®I can arrange something, Monday¡¯s the earliest. Bureaucracy moves at its own pace, powered by prayers and paperwork.¡¯ The day dissolved into sweat-slicked sacrament. Sabre drills became hims; target practice, a litany. By dusk, Jord¡¯s body screamed its heresies ¨C muscles apostate, lungs burning like censers. ¡®Adequate,¡¯ Lapo pronounced, departing without ceremony. Homeward, Jord reeled ¨C a drunkard journey. Above, the false stars multiplied, their light now a viscous glow that pooled in the cobblestone cracks. The brightest one swelled, a tumour on the sky¡¯s pale cheek. He paused, nausea rising ¨C not from exhaustion, but the wrongness of their arrangement, angles too acute, rhythms discordant. Like teeth, he thought wildly. Teeth in a jaw too wide to ¨C The epiphany shattered as metal screamed against brick. Jord wheeled toward the sound ¨C a car kissed the a building¡¯s wall. The stars dimmed. He approached in careful increments, gravel crunching like ancient vertebrae beneath his boots. The driver ¨C an elderly woman ¨C slumped against her seatbelt, unharmed save for the look of wildness in her eyes. No blood. No broken glass. Only the reek of scorched rubber and something sharper, metallic, that clung to the back of Jord¡¯s throat. ¡®Madam?¡¯ He eased the door open, hands raised in placation. Her gaze fixed not on him, but on the sky, pupils dilated to swallow the iris whole. ¡®¡­the angles,¡¯ she rasped, spittle glistening on chapped lips. ¡®Can¡¯t you see? The angles are all wrong ¨C¡¯ Her fingers clawed at the wind-shield, nails scraping against glass. ¡®¨C teeth in the dark, teeth in the dark ¨C¡¯ Jord stepped back, the woman¡¯s hysteria lapping at his resolve. He fumbled for his phone, the emergency operator¡¯s voice tinny through the receiver. ¡®Low-speed collision. Elderly driver. Delirious¡­ No, no visible injuries.¡¯ He waited, spine pressed to damp brickwork, as sirens wailed closer. The stars throbbed anew ¨C wrong, so wrong ¨C their light leaching colour from the wreck. The woman¡¯s ravings crescendoed: ¡®They¡¯re coming through the cracks ¨C !¡¯ Paramedics shouldered past, their uniforms blinding white against the gloom. Jord melted into the crowd, the woman¡¯s cries chasing him down the alley. ¡®You¡¯ll see! You¡¯ll all see when the sky splits ¨C !¡¯ He walked faster. Above, stars pulsed. The woman¡¯s screams followed Jord home. They coiled in his ears long after the paramedics¡¯ vans had vanished, slithering through his thoughts as he navigated Thamburg¡¯s labyrinthine alleys. Above, the false stars swelled ¨C a cluster of festering lights that twisted if stared at too long, their edges warping like smoke over flame. He walked faster. Almost bolting, exhausting be damned. The Boltworks loomed, it¡¯s balconies elongated like fangs. Jord¡¯s second shower scalded him raw, but the water couldn¡¯t sluice away the old woman¡¯s words. Teeth in the dark. He scrubbed until his skin blushed angry pink, her rasp echoing in the steam. You¡¯ll see when the sky splits. Downstairs, Feliko¡¯s newspaper rustled like dry insect wings. Irena hummed a folk tune out of key. Elia glanced up from his tinkering ¨C gears and springs spread like entrails across the table ¨C and froze. ¡®You look like you¡¯ve seen a wraith,¡¯ Elia said. Jord forced a laugh, brittle. ¡®Just a¡­ senile driver.¡¯ Elia¡¯s gaze lingered, sharp. ¡®Senile drivers don¡¯t leave you grey.¡¯ Supper passed in leaden silence. Jord pushed boiled meat around his plate, the woman¡¯s face superimposing itself over his mother¡¯s. The angles are wrong, she¡¯d hissed. Now the kitchen¡¯s geometry felt suspect ¨C walls leaning at impossible gradients, the ceiling¡¯s cracks mapping constellations he dared not name. Sleep, when it came, was a fevered thing. ¨C the car¡¯s yellow paint bleeds upward, becoming the ¨C ¨C the woman¡¯s fingers elongate, claws scraping glass that ¨C ¨C sky rips like fabric, revealing infinite ¨C Jord woke gagging, sweat pooling in the hollows of his collarbone. Dawn¡¯s first light seeped through the window, tinged greenish at the edges. The walls breathed. Jord reeled down the hallway, shoulder slamming in the walls in a staccato rhythm. His fingertips burned with freezer-ache cold, yet his arms left smears of phantom fire in the air ¨C contradictions that liquefied reason. A framed landscape crashed to the floor, glass shards blooming like frozen lightning. Why does the floor tilt? Why does the air taste of ¨C Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Irena appeared, fury first ¨C lips parted for reproach ¨C then horror. Her palm met his forehead, her expression grave. ¡®Gods burn, you¡¯re a furnace!¡¯ Her voice frayed at the edges. ¡®Sit. Now.¡¯ He stumbled after her, knees buckling in time with the floor¡¯s unnatural undulations. The kitchen tiles leached what little warmth remained in his bones. Then, with help, he was made to sit on a chair. ¡®Drink.¡¯ She thrust a glass into his trembling hands. Water slopped over the rim, droplets seemed to hiss as they hit his scorching skin. Pills followed ¨C chalky bitterness that stung his throat like an angry bee. The world stabilized, briefly, into something resembling coherence. ¡®You¡¯re in no state to ¨C ¡¯ ¡®I have to.¡¯ Jord¡¯s voice emerged raw. Irena¡¯s face contorted ¨C a mother¡¯s fear warring with decades of Meridian stoicism. ¡®Whatever devil¡¯s got its hooks in you, boy, it¡¯ll chew through your marrow before noon.¡¯ Jord stood, the chair screeching backward. His reflection in the window warped ¨C a fun-house mockery, limbs elongated, eyes smudged pits. Just the fever, he told himself. Just the ¨C A sound cut through the lie. Not a sound ¨C a vibration, felt in the molars. The same frequency as the woman¡¯s ravings. The same pitch as the stars¡¯ silent scream. The world dissolved in a cascade of static ¨C not darkness, but a sickly prismatic smear, as if the air itself had turned to oil. Jord¡¯s knees buckled. The floor rushed up, cold and unyielding as a mortuary slab. His temple struck tile with a wet crack, pain blooming fractal-bright behind his eyes. Irena¡¯s scream pierced the haze, warped and distant ¨C a voice wadding through mud. Mum, he tried to say, but his tongue lay leaden, metallic blood pooling beneath his cheek. Shadows writhed at the edges of his vision, not shadows but teeth, endless rows of them, gnashing in a rhythm that matched the throbbing in his skull. He felt false stars pressed down, their light syrupy and invasive. Jord¡¯s breath hitched, lungs fluttering like trapped moths. He tasted copper and something older, fouler ¨C a primordial rot that seeped from the cracks between time. Irena¡¯s hands gripped his shoulders, her voice splintering into fragments: ¡®¨C ambulance ¨C¡¯ ¡®¨C Gods, stay with me ¨C¡¯ ¡®¨C Elia! the phone, now ¨C¡¯ Jord¡¯s fingers twitched, carving feeble arcs in the spilled water. The vibrations returned ¨C deeper now, resonating in the marrow of his teeth. They¡¯re here, he thought, or perhaps the stars whispered it through him. The ceiling peeled back, revealing a maw of pulsating light, its edges serrated and hungry. Consciousness frayed, a thread snipped by cosmic shears. The last thing he heard was not his mother¡¯s cries, but the sound of the universe laughing ¨C a wet, gurgling chorus that defied all geometry. Time performed a peculiar sleight of hand ¨C one moment Jord lay crumpled on the kitchen floor, the next he found himself in a hospital room that had seen better days. Cracked windows told tales of deferred maintenance, missing panels spoke of limited resources, and a lone wooden chair stood sentinel for visitors. His eyes traced the room''s boundaries, finding himself alone behind a closed door with its glass panel. No call button presented itself, leaving him to wait anxiously, watching shadows beyond glass moving, until finally, a white-clad figure appeared. ¡®Ah, you¡¯re finally awake, just a moment¡¯. The man ¨C sporting a neat brown crop of hair ¨C consulted his notes until he found what he sought. ¡®Can you tell me your name, sir?¡¯ ¡®Jord... Jord Whittaker.¡¯ ¡®Good, very good. And the date?¡¯ ¡®Friday?¡¯ ¡®A bit more precise, month and year, if you can.¡¯ ¡®May of the one-hundred-thirty-seventh?¡¯ ¡®Good. Now, if you wish, I can call your family.¡¯ ¡®Yes, please.¡¯ The doctor returned with Elia, who practically flew to Jord¡¯s bedside. ¡®Oh, thank Gods!¡¯ ¡®Somewhat, it¡¯s just... strange?¡¯ Jord ventured, frowned. ¡®I¡¯m fine, truly. I think more than fine? But... what happened?¡¯ ¡®You were strange, delirious, then you collapsed. You were rambling, something about yellow, stars, and teeth.¡¯ The words sent ice through Jord¡¯s veins, as if he¡¯d been plunged into frozen waters. ¡®Please, please. Don''t say those things any-more.¡¯ His eyes went wild, arms wrapping around himself protectively. The doctor drew Elia aside, exchanging words beyond Jord''s hearing. After a brief conference, Elia returned to his bedside. Jord steadied himself with a deep breath. ¡®I¡¯m fine, truly. When can I go, good sir?¡¯ ¡®A day at most, don¡¯t worry, just routine to confirm you won¡¯t slip back.¡¯ The night passed peacefully ¨C no nightmares, no convulsions ¨C leading to his discharge with a curious warning about avoiding intermittent lights, and that if he felt anything amiss he should call for help. Jord thanked the staff and left. Back home, Elia prepared tea and biscuits in the kitchen, the siblings settling into chairs side by side. ¡®I¡¯m sorry, Jord. I¡­ know it was hard for you to join the guards¡­ and after all what happened. But¡­ I-I didn¡¯t think it would be so hard!¡¯ Tears traced paths down Elia¡¯s freckled face. Jord squeezed his younger brother¡¯s shoulder gently. ¡®Don¡¯t¡­ I think it¡¯s just the¡­ exhaustion,¡¯ he offered softly, carefully avoiding memories of recent events. ¡®I¡­ thought I could shoulder past it all, and... well, I couldn¡¯t. Seems I''m but a man.¡¯ They shared tea and biscuits in comfortable silence until Jord ventured softer talking points, ¡®So, what goes¡­ did you try to hit on that girl, Irena was it?¡¯ Elia''s cheeks flushed immediately. ¡®It¡¯s complicated,¡¯ Elia mumbled, studying the table intently. ¡®Oh?¡¯ Jord''s tone lifted teasingly. ¡®Not yet? How come? Seemed your type: Passionate, outspoken, intelligent... And that thing with the pamphlets? The¡­ ¡¯ he scrunched his face in theatrical remembrance, ¡®She asked to give you something about¡­ erosion?,'' he finished with conspiratorial emphasis. Jord then took a slow sip of tea, the picture of exaggerated innocence. He let the moment stretch before casually remarking, ¡®So¡­ did she finally let you catalogue her rock collection? Or are you still lingering at the sedimentary small talk stage?¡¯ Across from him, Elia flushed to the tips of his ears. ¡®It¡¯s not ¨C we¡¯re collaborating. Professionally.¡¯ Jord grinned, setting his cup down with a deliberate clink. ¡®Ah yes, the ol¡¯ ¡°professional collaboration¡± ruse. Worked wonders for Mum and Dad, didn¡¯t it? Feliko, could you please pass the tectonic wren ¨C ¡¯ A biscuit flew across the table, bouncing harmlessly off Jord¡¯s shoulder. ¡®Shut up!¡¯ Elia groaned. ¡®She¡¯s running a geology outreach stall. Needed help with¡­ diagrams.¡¯ Jord dodged another biscuit, laughing. ¡®Diagrams! Of course! Nothing says romance like cross-sectional stratigraphy. Darling, let me show you my bedrock ¨C¡¯ Elia buried his face in his hands. ¡®You¡¯re vile. I regret every childhood secret I ever entrusted to you.¡¯ Jord softened, nudging him. ¡®Come on. She¡¯s clever. She¡¯s got that¡­ intensity. Like when you used to take apart radios to ¡°see where the voices lived.¡± You¡¯re both mad in the same way.¡¯ Elia peeked at him through his fingers, reluctant but unable to hide the small, satisfied smile creeping onto his face. ¡®¡­She did lend me her annotated copy of Subterranean Meridia. Margin notes in three colours.¡¯ Jord mock-gasped. ¡®Three colours?! Proposal¡¯s overdue, then. Do you need a wingman? I¡¯ll wear my dress uniform, say you¡¯re a heroic civic engineer.¡¯ Elia snorted. ¡®You¡¯d combust within minutes. Last time you ¡°helped,¡± you told Valkan¡¯s sister I bred exotic snails.¡¯ Jord grinned, wholly unrepentant. ¡®And she bought it! You¡¯ve got that¡­ molluscan charm.¡¯ Elia shoved him, laughing. ¡®Piss off.¡¯ Jord chuckled but then fell quiet, his gaze drifting toward the window. Beyond the glass, the city lights flickered, stars pulsing faintly in the distance. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. ¡®¡­She¡¯s good for you. Better than¡­ all this.¡¯ He gestured vaguely, as if trying to encompass the weight of everything left unsaid. Elia followed his gaze, uneasy. ¡®Jord ¨C ¡¯ ¡®Pass the biscuits,¡¯ Jord interrupted briskly. ¡®If I¡¯m stuck here convalescing, I¡¯m eating all the sweets.¡¯ Through the aftershocks of his collapse, Jord¡¯s thoughts turned to something far more mundane ¨C the promised payslip. A glance at his phone revealed it was already Tuesday, a day past the scheduled payday. Missed calls from both Lapo and Mara cluttered his log, though their measured persistence suggested his hospitalisation had been duly noted. The matter of payment logistics nagged at him. In his previous role, Altrasto ¨C that cheerfully tippling paymaster ¨C had managed things with clockwork precision. What was it he always said? ¡°Day of pay, day of happiness¡±? The memory of Altrasto¡¯s fondness for drink brought a slight smile to Jord¡¯s lips; who was he to judge another¡¯s love affair? Shaking off the reminiscence, Jord dialled Mara¡¯s office number. ¡®Hello, is this Whittaker? Are you alright?¡¯ ¡®Yes. I¡¯m fine and well... more or less. I called to inquire about the provisional pay Lapo arranged ¨C and the bonus for the operation.¡¯ ¡®Didn''t I tell you?¡¯ Mara¡¯s words sent his heart leaping into his throat. ¡®No? Is there a problem regarding my absence?¡¯ His voice wavered ever so slightly. ¡®No, no ¨C we checked with your doctor and that¡¯s already resolved. Your pay-slip is loaded onto your smart-card. You can withdraw it at any bank connected with the Ministry ¨C practically all of them. Anything else?¡¯ ¡®Yes, is it alright if I come back tomorrow?¡¯ Jord ventured, earning a sharp look from Elia. ¡®So soon? Isn¡¯t that a bit... excessive?¡¯ Surprise tinged Mara¡¯s tone. I need the money, Jord thought. ¡®It¡¯s just how I am ¨C I prefer to be doing something. I can¡¯t, in good conscience, be seen as missing too much work.¡¯ ¡®Well, if you say so. My personal recommendation would be for you to rest. But you know better; your doctor cleared you. So, be my guest. If you wish, I¡¯ll inform Polazit.¡¯ ¡®Yes, thanks. Have a good day.¡¯ ¡®Good day. And do try to rest, though.¡¯ As the call ended, Elia¡¯s concern bubbled over immediately. ¡®You sure? Isn¡¯t that a bit... too soon?¡¯ ¡®I¡¯m sure, don¡¯t worry,¡¯ Jord replied, though inwardly he mused, and I need to ask Lapo what the hell is happening to me. The remainder of the day unfolded in gentler rhythms ¨C quiet reading, light-hearted banter with Elia, who¡¯d taken the day off, and a joint, albeit futile, attempt to coax the temperamental boiler back to life. Their combined technical knowledge proved insufficient, and a coin flip between self-education and professional help determined their course. Fate chose education, sending Elia out with Jord¡¯s smart-card to procure technical manuals that soon had both brothers squinting at diagrams and debating interpretations. Chapter Nine The day began, and Jord, in his bed, shivered ¨C not from the morning chill, but something deeper, burrowing into a part of himself he hadn¡¯t known he could feel. Panic clawed at him. He drew shallow breaths and flung himself beneath the blankets, seeking refuge in that dwindling ¡®safe haven¡¯. Then he counted backwards: 99¡­ 51¡­ 12. When he finished, he inhaled deeply, steadying his mind ¨C or at least mustering enough resolve to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and tug on his work uniform. He felt suspended between two abysses: one nameless, the other all too familiar. Poverty. Jord imagined himself on a tightrope, terrified his destination was no tangible place but a mirage ¨C one that lured him onward only to drown him in memories, all while shadows writhed below. They moaned, screamed, mocked. Unaware of his own trembling, he hugged himself. After coffee and the morning¡¯s rituals, he bid a muted farewell to the stirring household and stepped outside. The streets lay deserted save for the graveyard shifters, their hunched silhouettes more spectral than human. They shuffled, one foot dragged grudgingly after the other, eyes hollow as if they¡¯d clawed through the nine hells and back. Dawn had yet to break when Jord reached the security gate, nor when he arrived at Lapo¡¯s favoured track. ¡®Morning,¡¯ Jord said. ¡®Morning,¡¯ Lapo replied. ¡®You sure about¡­? Never mind. If you¡¯re here, you¡¯re fit enough.¡¯ He shrugged. ¡®Let¡¯s begin.¡¯ After warming up, Jord ventured, ¡®Haven¡¯t you noticed anything¡­ off lately? Like¡­ more violence?¡¯ Lapo stared in silence ¨C seconds stretched into small eternities. ¡®Violence? Suppose you¡¯re onto something. But the cat¡¯s out the bag, isn¡¯t it? Latvians. Folks are feeling the pressure, simmering ¡¯til they boil. So far, four kidnappings ¨C your family included ¨C two high-stakes robberies, a dozen petty squabbles. Like they¡¯ve forgotten the law exists. Settling scores face-to-face, as if we¡¯re back in some bloody fable.¡¯ ¡®No ¨C what I mean is something more¡­ unnatural.¡¯ Jord¡¯s gaze remained fixed ahead, muscles taut, heart pounding in his chest. He refused to succumb, deliberately forcing his eyes away from the stars that inexplicably shimmered in the daylight. Lapo arched an eyebrow. ¡®Unnatural? Ghosts? Monsters?¡¯ ¡®Yes¡­ something like that.¡¯ Jord¡¯s voice wavered. Lapo scoffed. ¡®In thirty-odd years with the forces, I¡¯ve never seen anything of the sort. Delirious men and women raving about the occult? Aye. Ghosts and their ilk? Never.¡¯ His voice hardened, though his gaze betrayed a flicker of concern. ¡®So, yes, I find your¡­ discourse troubling.¡¯ He leaned forward, birds chirping in the distance. ¡®Tell me ¨C you¡¯ve had palpitations, haven¡¯t you? Heart tremors? The doctors were vague about your condition. Could it be your faculties are¡­ impaired?¡¯ A pause, tactical. ¡®I¡¯ve handled lads in your state. If you¡¯d prefer, we¡¯ll reassign you. Strictly clerical roles. With time, you might regain your wits.¡¯ Jord swallowed the rebuke like a mouthful of ash. Maybe Lapo¡¯s right, he conceded, flexing his still-trembling hands. Maybe the warehouse night carved deeper than flesh. Yet his gaze remained stubbornly earthbound, refusing to acknowledge the swollen stars crowding the sky. ¡®Apologies, sir. We¡¯re all¡­ stretched thin. I¡¯m fit to continue.¡¯ Lapo studied him, eyes narrowing at the plural we. For a breath, Jord thought he glimpsed something behind his mentor¡¯s granite demeanour ¨C a fissure of doubt, perhaps even guilt. Then it vanished. ¡®Your funeral,¡¯ Lapo muttered, hefting a practice sabre ¨C one he had grabbed from a bag near the track. He rolled his shoulders, settling into a stance. ¡®En garde.¡¯ The drills unfolded with metronomic brutality. Jord¡¯s parries lacked their usual precision, his footwork leaden. Lapo¡¯s critiques grew barbed. ¡®Sir ¨C ¡¯ Jord panted between clashes, ¡® ¨C when do the foreign instructors arrive?¡¯ Lapo paused, blade tip grazing Jord¡¯s collarbone. ¡®Two weeks.¡¯ His free hand gestured skyward. Jord flinched. ¡®Ministry wants a show. Theatre for the attach¨¦s.¡¯ The stars, Jord thought wildly, he means the stars. But Lapo¡¯s finger merely jabbed at the compound¡¯s administrative spire. ¡®They¡¯ll want drills. Urban simulations.¡¯ The sabre flicked dismissively. ¡®Clean warfare ¨C no bloodstains for the diplomats¡¯ silk.¡¯ He paused. ¡®Or at least, that¡¯s what should happen. In reality, they¡¯re here as foreign spectators, observing and studying our military infrastructure.¡¯ His tone darkened. ¡®It¡¯s foolish to hand over this much intelligence to our adversaries, but the top brass believe themselves above such reproaches.¡¯ Lapo spat onto the ground. ¡®Fools, the lot of them,¡¯ he muttered. ¡®Clean warfare, sir?¡¯ The cold morning air carried a biting edge, swirling over the frost-laced track. Each breath came with a sharp chill, the kind that settled in the bones. Lapo stood at the centre, sabre in hand, its steel catching the weak dawn light as he idly rotated it in slow, deliberate circles. ¡®Means they think no white weapons should be involved ¨C bayonets, knives, that sort of thing,¡¯ he said, his tone edged with quiet scorn. A gust of wind sent a shiver through the grass. ¡®But, in my humble opinion, you should have the basics in all forms of combat. One never knows when such things will prove useful.¡¯ The sabre flicked outward, carving through the crisp morning air. ¡®Say you¡¯ve got a black weapon ¨C pistol, rifle. A man comes at you with a knife. Orders say no discharge. What then?¡¯ Jord parted his lips to answer, but Lapo was already moving, the sabre slicing phantom lines through the air. ¡®First ¨C awareness. What surrounds you? A crowd? A wall at your back? Are you cut off from your squad? Details shift the outcome.¡¯ He paced slowly, boots crunching on frost-bitten grass. ¡®Second ¨C assessment. Who¡¯s your assailant? A fit man? A woman? A frail old man? A child?¡¯ The blade stilled. ¡®Every scenario demands a different answer.¡¯ The track stretched emptily around them, the distant hum of city life still sluggish in the early hour. Jord exhaled, watching his breath coil in the cold. ¡®If an old man comes at you with a knife, don¡¯t scoff. Desperation rots reason.¡¯ The sabre¡¯s tip hovered near Jord¡¯s wrist, then flicked to his collarbone. ¡®A man past his prime can still drive steel between your ribs if fear makes you hesitate. Learn well, and you can disarm him. A child, though? A fit man? A trained woman?¡¯ Lapo shook his head. ¡®A different beast entirely.¡¯ That happened to him? Jord¡¯s thoughts snagged. What would drive an old man to wield a knife? Hopelessness? The idea unsettled him. Lapo continued, voice steady. ¡®If nothing else, training in white weapons sharpens your instincts. You¡¯ll see your enemy¡¯s next move before they make it. Their weight shifts ¨C tells you if they¡¯ll lunge or feint. Their grip tightens ¨C tells you if they¡¯re desperate enough to commit.¡¯ Jord nodded, resetting his stance. The sabre felt heavier now, its hilt slick with dawn¡¯s condensation. Mist curled across the training field like spectral fingers, the rising sun a jaundiced eye peering through skeletal trees. Lapo struck first, blade hissing. Jord parried, his footing steadier than the week prior, knees bent in the ready position Lapo had drilled into him. Progress, however slight. But when the older man feinted left, Jord overcommitted, ribs exposed. The practice blade cracked against his side, pain radiating like a struck bell. ¡®Focus, Whittaker.¡¯ Lapo circled, boots crushing frosted blades of grass. Dawn¡¯s pallid light etched his silhouette in jagged relief, the air thick with the tang of exertion. ¡®This isn¡¯t a duel. It¡¯s butchery. You conquer by any means ¨C exhaust his body, fracture his mind.¡¯ Jord adjusted his grip, sabre trembling. His breath fogged the air in ragged bursts. ¡®Make him question every instinct,¡¯ Lapo continued, blade flicking out to tap Jord¡¯s unprotected flank. ¡®Taunt his resolve. Sacrifice flesh if you must.¡¯ Steel kissed Jord¡¯s wrist ¨C a sting, not a cut. ¡®But never presume you¡¯ve won.¡¯ The older man¡¯s footwork was liquid, predatory. Jord tried to mirror him, but clumsy steps didn¡¯t help. ¡®Overconfidence is a rot,¡¯ Lapo hissed, feinting high before sweeping low. Jord barely blocked, the impact jarring his arm. ¡®It hollows you out. Makes you soft.¡¯ A pause. Lapo¡¯s gaze sharpened, boring into Jord as if peeling back layers of sinew and bone. ¡®You think this nebulous? Abstract?¡¯ Jord said nothing. But his throat burned with caged remarks. ¡®Good.¡¯ Lapo¡¯s blade arced suddenly, a silver blur. Jord parried, but the older man¡¯s free hand shot out, seizing his collar. ¡®Adapt.¡¯ They stood frozen, noses inches apart. Lapo¡¯s breath smelled of bitter coffee and something darker. ¡®You¡¯ll understand,¡¯ he murmured, ¡®when your first kill stares back at you. When you see the emptiness behind their eyes.¡¯ Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. He released Jord with a shove. ¡®Again.¡¯ The clang of steel resumed, each strike reverberating like a tolling bell. Jord¡¯s muscles screamed, but his footwork tightened, his blocks grew sharper. Lapo¡¯s shadow stretched impossibly long across the field, its edges fraying into tendrils that seemed to claw at the dirt. Just the light, Jord told himself. Jord lunged, sabre carving a silver arc. Lapo sidestepped effortlessly, his shadow stretching across the frost-glazed grass ¨C too long, too angular, as if dawn¡¯s light bent unnaturally around him. ¡®Better,¡¯ Lapo conceded, deflecting Jord¡¯s next strike. ¡®But your periphery¡¯s still blind.¡¯ A twitch of his wrist, and Jord¡¯s blade veered wide. Lapo¡¯s foot hooked behind Jord¡¯s ankle ¨C a move borrowed from back-alley brawlers, not military doctrine. Jord hit the ground hard, breath knocked loose. Above him, the sky swam, stars still visible at the edges of daylight, their light pinpricking his vision. ¡®And that¡¯s how you end up carrion.¡¯ Lapo loomed, silhouetted against the swollen sun. ¡®Presume every shadow hides a knife. Every bystander, a vulture.¡¯ Jord groaned, accepting the offered hand. Lapo¡¯s grip was iron, pulling him upright with a grunt. ¡®Need to put on weight, boy. A stiff breeze would fold you.¡¯ The jab stung less than the truth beneath it. Jord¡¯s uniform hung loose, collarbones sharp as sabre hilts. Weeks of sleepless nights and tireless shifts as a dock-hand had whittled him to bone and resolve. ¡®Again,¡¯ he rasped, raising his blade. Lapo¡¯s smirk was a blade of its own. ¡®Eager to taste dirt twice before breakfast?¡¯ The clang of steel resumed, echoing across the field. Jord¡¯s muscles burned, but his strikes grew tighter, instincts sharpening. Yet with every parry, the horizon seemed to pulse ¨C a subsonic hum vibrating in his molars. The stars watched, patient and pitiless, as if applauding the futility. Not long after, Jord all but begged for respite. He hadn¡¯t realised how much fighting would take from him ¨C how every strike, every parry, every desperate attempt to keep pace would drain him so utterly. His upper body burned, a lattice of stinging welts where Lapo¡¯s sabre had kissed flesh. The bursts of exertion had stolen his breath, the weight of fatigue settling deep into his limbs. His arms, once eager to lift, to block, to fight, now hung heavy at his sides, strength and vigour having long since abandoned him. Lapo studied him with a measured gaze, twirling his sabre idly. ¡®I was wondering how long you¡¯d last,¡¯ he mused, voice tinged with something just shy of disappointment. ¡®Seems¡­ average.¡¯ A pause. Then, with an exhale, he relented. ¡®But time will fix that. We¡¯ll carve something useful out of you yet. And meat ¨C¡¯ he gestured vaguely at Jord¡¯s frame, ¡®¨C we need to put some hard meat on those bones.¡¯ Jord barely had the energy to scoff. Lapo sheathed his sabre with a practised motion. ¡®Enough for now. No use training a corpse. Let¡¯s eat ¨C fuel up.¡¯ A semblance of a smirk graced his lips. ¡®Might even start seeing improvement, eh?¡¯ Jord didn¡¯t argue. At this point, he wasn¡¯t sure he had the strength. The canteen stood nearly empty, its fluorescent lights buzzing like trapped flies. Only Hesk stood behind the counter, ladle in hand, eyeing Jord with a mix of pity and amusement. Lapo had already claimed a corner table, shovelling vegetables into his mouth with mechanical efficiency. Jord approached the serving line, his tray gripped for he feared that he would go lax and drop it. ¡®So you¡¯ve paired with the daredevil,¡¯ Hesk muttered, slopping an extra ladle of gravy onto Jord¡¯s plate. ¡®Daredevil?¡¯ Jord croaked. ¡®Polazit.¡¯ Hesk wiped his hands on a rag that had seen better decades. ¡®Man¡¯s got a reputation. Trains rookies like he¡¯s sculpting cannon fodder.¡¯ He leaned closer, apron reeking of burnt fat. ¡®Thinks paperwork¡¯s beneath him. Uses you lot as an excuse to swing things all day.¡¯ Jord stared at the gravy pooling around his mash. ¡®Eat,¡¯ Hesk ordered. ¡®You¡¯ll need the ballast. Seen his type before ¨C worship the grind till it grinds you.¡¯ A potato landed on Jord¡¯s tray with a wet splat. ¡®Fail to keep up?¡¯ He mimed tossing scraps to the floor. ¡®Rag-dolled. Happened to a lad last winter. Never seen a man being so happy for doing latrine duty, truly.¡¯ Jord¡¯s fork hovered. ¡®Why is he still training recruits, then?¡¯ Hesk barked a laugh. ¡®Cause the brass love results. And Polazit? He¡¯s a bloody artisan of results.¡¯ The cook¡¯s gaze flicked to Lapo, now methodically dissecting a sausage. ¡®Heard you survived your first op. Congrats. Most puke their guts up after.¡¯ ¡®Thanks¡­ Hank.¡¯ ¡®Hesk.¡¯ The cook scowled. ¡®Get my name wrong again, I¡¯ll serve you tripe tomorrow.¡¯ Jord retreated to Lapo¡¯s table, trying to balance two trays one his and the other burdened with Hesk¡¯s so-called sympathy portion ¨C a mountain of buttery mash flanked by charred sausages. The officer barely looked up. ¡®Know him?¡¯ ¡®Somewhat.¡¯ And that was that. The mash tasted of salt and little else. Jord chewed mechanically, Hesk¡¯s warnings slithering through his thoughts like oil on water. Across the canteen, the cook lingered, arms folded, watching. Concerned for me? Or concerned he¡¯s just poisoned me? Jord wasn¡¯t sure which was more likely. With a mental shrug, he shovelled another bite into his mouth and decided not to think too hard about it. For some reason, after eating, Lapo dragged Jord out for a walk. To digest, he claimed. The compound was a hive of movement ¨C clerks rushing between offices, officers barking orders at trainees, visitors weaving through the crowd, and even dogs. Big dogs, all oddly friendly, their massive heads nudging at outstretched hands. Jord hadn''t expected that. And on and on they walked. It gave Jord time to think, to take stock of everything. He had joined the Guard expecting to kick down doors ¨C now he was mobilised for war. What a time to be alive. His grandfather had often said, ¡°We live in interesting times,¡± a phrase that, as a boy, Jord had never understood. ¡°And why is that a bad thing?¡± he had asked once, confused. ¡°Interesting times are fun! They¡¯re, well, interesting!¡± His grandfather had only lifted a bushy eyebrow in pity ¨C his one eyebrow, for it was so thick it refused to be divided ¨C before dissolving into laughter. Now, step by step, Lapo at his side, Jord finally understood. ¡®Good times?¡¯ Lapo asked, catching the faint smile on Jord¡¯s lips. ¡®Good times.¡¯ Jord nodded. ¡®My old grandpa, bless his soul, always talked about those ¡°interesting times.¡± I used to mock him for it, you see. Ah, how the turntables.¡¯ ¡®A man of wisdom.¡¯ ¡®Wisdom indeed. He was fond of scolding through lectures ¨C torture, if you asked my cousin Karla. The old man loved teaching, had a knack for it. But life had its way with him, and his dreams were carried off with the wind.¡¯ Lapo took a moment to respond, their pace unbroken. ¡®Happens. Life¡¯s like that. One moment, you¡¯re set on climbing the ladder ¨C then a gust of wind knocks you off, and suddenly you see it for what it is.¡¯ His voice was quiet, thoughtful. ¡®Just a ladder. Just something to distract yourself with. A way to sleepwalk through life. But when you hit the ground? When everything crumbles? You see things as they are. The breeze. The grass. The feel of the earth beneath your feet. That¡¯s existence.¡¯ Jord tilted his head. ¡®Didn¡¯t take you for a reflective type, sir.¡¯ Lapo chuckled. ¡®It¡¯s hard to live so long without picking up a few insights. Harder still to avoid thinking about them when you¡¯re surrounded by peril.¡¯ His gaze flicked skyward. ¡®I¡¯ve seen many things, Jord. But one of the most striking is a man final walk ¨C when he knows the end is near. You can see it in him. That shift. That sudden love for everything ¨C every blade of grass, every breath of wind, every living thing. It¡¯s¡­ liberating, in a way. Doom, I¡¯ve found, sets the mind free.¡¯ ¡®Free?¡¯ Jord echoed. Lapo¡¯s smile was unreadable. ¡®What¡¯s there to worry about when there¡¯s no tomorrow? No obligations. No expectations. Just you, alone in the world. A leaf in the wind ¨C shackles rusted to dust.¡¯ They basked in the light, bathed in the hum of the world around them, and shared a quiet, unspoken contentment. An hour passed before Lapo broke the stillness. ¡®Time to train you in the use of rifles. Are you up the task?¡¯ Jord nodded. The shooting range greeted them with the sharp tang of gunpowder and the staccato rhythm of gunfire. Paper silhouettes swayed slightly in the artificial breeze, waiting to be marked, judged, or spared by a shooter¡¯s hand. Lapo strode ahead with the ease of someone who had long since made peace with the weight of a rifle. Jord followed, his own weapon feeling heavier than it should have. ¡®First lesson: a rifle is not a magic wand. You don¡¯t just point and expect results.¡¯ He patted the LR-11¡¯s stock. ¡®It¡¯s a tool, and like any tool, it obeys its user only if the user knows what they¡¯re doing.¡¯ Jord nodded, fingers brushing the cool metal of the weapon. Lapo studied him for a moment before continuing. ¡®Start with stance. Feet shoulder-width apart. Rifle tucked into your shoulder, not resting against it ¨C you want control, not discomfort.¡¯ He demonstrated, moving with the precision of long practice. ¡®Good footing absorbs recoil. Bad footing gets you knocked flat on your arse.¡¯ Jord copied the stance, adjusting under Lapo¡¯s scrutinizing gaze. The older man nudged his elbow up, corrected the angle. ¡®Good. Now, breath control. Steady in, steady out. The moment you fire should feel like a continuation of your breath, not an interruption.¡¯ Jord inhaled deeply, the stock pressed firm against his shoulder. ¡®Trigger discipline. Finger rests outside the guard until you¡¯re ready to fire. No twitchy nerves, no impatient squeezing. The best shooters don¡¯t pull the trigger ¨C they let the shot break.¡¯ Jord swallowed, index finger following along the trigger¡¯s curve. Lapo stepped back. ¡®Now, aim. Your eyes, the sights, the target ¨C they must align. Focus not on the rifle, not on the target as a whole, but on the point you wish to hit.¡¯ Jord lined up the sights, breath slow, posture locked. His heartbeat thudded behind his ribs. ¡®Fire when ready.¡¯ He squeezed. The rifle cracked, a violent kick into his shoulder. The bullet tore into the target, but it veered left ¨C far from centre mass. Lapo sighed, but there was no real disappointment in it. ¡®You fought the rifle. It doesn¡¯t need to be manhandled, Whittaker. Again.¡¯ Jord readjusted, jaw tightening. The second shot was better, still off-centre but closer. ¡®Better,¡¯ Lapo admitted. ¡®But you need consistency.¡¯ And so it went ¨C shot after shot, correction after correction. Lapo drilled him on everything: trigger pull, follow-through, target reacquisition. When Jord started tightening his groupings at twenty meters, Lapo upped the challenge ¨C faster shooting, further targets. He introduced magazine changes, forcing Jord to reload under time pressure. He tested him on movement, making him fire from different positions ¨C standing, kneeling, prone. Hours passed. His arms ached. His fingers grew numb. The LR-11 was no longer just a rifle; it was an extension of himself, a conversation between muscle and metal. Jord exhaled, steadying his aim one last time. The rifle barked, the bullet striking true ¨C dead centre. Lapo let out a quiet huff of approval. ¡®You¡¯re learning, Whittaker.¡¯ He slung his own rifle over his shoulder. ¡®Now we see if you can keep learning. Tomorrow, we do this again. And the next day. And the next. Until it¡¯s instinct.¡¯ Jord nodded and took a step through the range door, riffle in hand ¨C and shivered. The world stilled. For the world had been eaten.