Chapter 3 -

  Another Poor Soul; Broken & Damaged

  In a forsaken and desolate corner of the lands of Llyin, ensconced within the vast and merciless embrace of an endless desert, lay the hidden village of Freyglen. A lonely oasis, verdant and defiant against the cruel encroachment of the sands, it stood as a fragile sanctuary where life persisted in solemn simplicity. Each day was a battle against the elements, where the farmers tilled the sun-hardened earth, and children played in the dust-laden streets, their laughter fleeting echoes against the oppressive silence of the dunes.

  Among them was a peculiar child, a girl of inquisitive nature and untamed spirit. Rilzi was her name, and she was marked by long, flowing tresses of vivid pink—an oddity amidst the muted tones of her people. Her ears, ever so slightly pointed, lent her an impish air, as though she belonged to a world unseen by ordinary folk. She was a wanderer, a dreamer, forever pressing against the bounds of her small world, her relentless questions a ceaseless vexation to her mother.

  One such evening, as the sun sank behind the dunes in a dying blaze of amber and crimson, Rilzi tugged insistently at her mother’s hand, her young voice brimming with curiosity.

  "Mama, what lies beyond?" she inquired, wide-eyed, staring into the vast unknown.

  Her mother, a woman of tall and stately presence, hesitated, her composed countenance betraying the faintest shadow of unease. "I do not know, child," she murmured, casting a wary glance toward the horizon. "It is not safe beyond these sands. We do not venture where the wind does not know our names." And so, the village remained her world. Though humble and unremarkable, it was home. Warmth nestled in the laughter of children, in the scent of stew wafting through open windows, in the calloused hands of farmers returning from toil. Hardship was their constant companion, yet so too was love.

  "Where is Papa?" Rilzi asked, her voice touched by an unfamiliar uncertainty.

  "In the fields, my love," her mother answered gently. "He shall return when the sun has had its fill of the sky."

  That night, as the villagers gathered in their homes to take their meager repast, an unnatural tremor seized the earth. A dreadful rumbling, as though the sands themselves had come alive. The walls shuddered, bowls and spoons clattering upon their wooden table. Rilzi's father, always steady in the face of calamity, rose swiftly, his expression darkened with concern. "Stay here," he commanded, his voice like tempered steel. "I shall return shortly."

  He stepped into the night, his silhouette swallowed by the trembling darkness.

  Moments passed. Then a gasp from her mother, a sound so raw, so strangled, that it sent a chill through Rilzi's small frame. She turned to the window, peering out into the twilight—only to witness a nightmare unraveling before her.

  The very land had ruptured, a great chasm yawning hungrily where once the crops had stood. Sand poured into the abyss like the lifeblood of a wounded beast. Scattered amidst the ruin lay fragments of homes, of lives once whole. And then, from the depths, it emerged.

  A monstrous thing, vast and glistening, its segmented form slick with mucus and the remnants of the fallen. Its grotesque mandibles twitched, and within their grasp— No.

  It was not possible.

  Her father.

  His body, broken, dangled limply from the creature's jaws, limbs twisted unnaturally, his once strong hands now lifeless. A scream clawed at Rilzi’s throat, but no sound escaped. Her mother, hands clasped over her mouth and an insatiable amount of flowing tears, could only watch as the beast slithered back into the earth, dragging with it the remains of those it had claimed.

  That night, the village was silent. Too silent.

  The warmth that once filled their home had been smothered, their meal untouched, their hearts burdened with an unspeakable grief. Rilzi’s mother no longer spoke, her eyes hollow, her hands trembling as she combed absent fingers through Rilzi’s hair. Dawn brought no solace. Only the low murmur of her mother's voice in the kitchen, tense and hushed. Rilzi stepped forth, her small form unnoticed until she cleared her throat. Her mother turned sharply, as though caught in the act of something forbidden. Her face, once youthful, now bore the weight of years in a single night. Lines of sorrow etched themselves deep, her eyes rimmed red from tears long since spent.

  And then came the sound.

  A droning hum, mechanical and unnatural, reverberated through the air, rattling the very bones of the village. It was a sound unlike any Rilzi had ever known—piercing, otherworldly, as if the air itself had been carved apart.

  Her mother moved swiftly, peering through the door’s small orifice, her breath hitching in her throat. Rilzi followed suit, pressing close, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  Figures stood in the village square, clad in radiant armor of gleaming metal, the sunlight splintering off their faceless helms. Their movements were too precise, too calculated—like specters forged in steel. A voice, distorted and void of humanity, echoed through the air. “We come for the advancement of knowledge. You plebeians will comply.”

  The remaining villagers clutched at one another, whispering their confusion, their fear. A man—a farmer, his resolve hardened by years of toil—stepped forth, his pitchfork gripped tight. He had lost much already. He would not surrender further.

  But before his defiance could find voice, the leader of the metal-clad figures lifted a hand, pressing a device upon his arm.

  A blinding flash. And then—silence.

  The villagers collapsed, their bodies falling as though their very souls had been plucked from them. Her mother gasped, clutching Rilzi close, but it was too late.

  She, too, fell.

  Lifeless.

  Rilzi, frozen in horror, reached out, trembling, pressing her hands to her mother’s still-warm skin. But there was no breath. No heartbeat. The figures turned their gaze to the children unhurt from the inconceivable presence of light.

  “Seize them. They will serve as suitable subjects.”

  Hands—cold, unyielding—grasped Rilzi’s arms, tearing her from her home, from all that she had known. The days that followed blurred into one another, swallowed by torment and steel. Beneath the earth, within the confines of an unholy laboratory, they were remade—stripped of flesh, of self, of soul. Augmented beyond recognition, transformed into something neither human nor machine. Rilzi—rather mere subject fifty-four—could no longer recall the sound of her own laughter, nor the warmth of her mother’s embrace.

  Yet, beneath the plating and circuitry, within the depths of her metal-clad chest, her heart still beat. A whisper against malicious intent. Until one night, when the walls trembled once more—this time not from their captors, but from something else entirely.

  An explosion. A rupture in the very foundations of her prison.

  And for the first time in years, she dared to hope.

  Drones enclosed the place, their red flashes showing through the hole every so often; her capturers yet reduced in number, still vigilant, still commanding.

  A gaping wound in Cewei. That was all the explosion had been and will be– a single, violent rupture, setting her free. Yet, as Rilzi staggered into the weary night, barely more than a ghost in the shifting sands, she wondered if she had truly escaped at all.

  The cold, chilling wind howled, low in tone; a mournful wail sweeping through the desert’s expansive body. Llyin stretched before her, seemingly endless and insistently unrelenting, a wasteland of dunes that swallowed the moonlight whole. Her legs trembled beneath her, at least in her imagination, raw and unsteady, but she could not stop. Not yet.

  The scent of pungent metal adhered to her nimble frame, the weight of her own breath heavy in her chest.

  She had to run.

  Each step was bitter agony. The augmentations they carved and etched into her body should have made her stronger, faster– but they were failing her. Her left arm seized, jerking uselessly at her side. And the pain– deeper than bone, deeper than thought– gnawing at her insides like a wild beast.

  The sand no better. It shifted and pulled beneath her bare feet, stealing what little balance she had. The cold cut through her skin, slicing through the heat of exertion, chiling her from the inside out. She stumbled. Caught herself. Stumbled again. Over and over.

  She had no direction. No plan. Only the desperate primal instinct to flee.

  Then came an all too familiar sound.

  A low, mechanical whine, distant but closing in. The hunters.

  Her breath caught.

  She forced herself forward, dragging her broken body across the desert. The weight of exhaustion clawed at her ribs, but terror sharpened her senses. They would not take her back. She would not return to the machines, to the cold, sterile hands that stole everything from her.

  The wind carried whispers– no, voices. Commanding. Calculated. The drones had locked on to her path.

  Not enough time. Not enough strength.

  Rilzi threw herself behind a rise in the dunes, pressing her body into the cold sand, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. Her fingers clenched against the grains, fists clenched yet trembling. The voices drew nearer, distorted through their mechanical comms.

  “...trail ends here.”

  “Impossible. The subject cannot have vanished.”

  A pause. The soft hum of a scanner slicing through the air.

  “She’s close.”

  Her lungs burned. Her limbs ached. But she did not move.

  Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. The cold seeped into her bones, wrapping around her like a shroud. At last, the voices faded, the hum of pursuit growing distant. She did not dare to move until the wind silenced her every step, her every breath. Only then did she push herself upright, her body protesting with every motion.

  She ran.

  By the time the sun clawed its way above the horizon, her strength had nearly abandoned her. Hunger had set in hours ago, sharp and unyielding. Her stomach twisted on itself, empty and desperate. The enhancements they had forced upon her did not make her immune to starvation. If anything, they had made her body require more—more sustenance, more energy. And she had nothing.

  The sun was merciless. The desert, once freezing, now burned. Sand clung to the sweat on her skin, coating her in a fine layer of dust. Her mouth was dry, her throat raw. Every breath felt like swallowing embers.

  She pressed on. She had no choice.

  Then, in the distance—ruins.

  At first, she thought it was another mirage, another cruel trick of the heat. But as she drew closer, she saw the remnants of wooden frames, shattered wheels buried in the sand. A caravan, long since abandoned.

  Relief surged through her, weak and fragile.

  She collapsed beside the wreckage, trembling hands grasping at the scattered remains. A leather waterskin—cracked, but still holding liquid. She fumbled with it, spilling drops onto her parched lips. The taste was bitter, metallic, but she drank greedily.

  Her stomach lurched.

  A sudden, violent sickness overtook her, and she doubled over, retching onto the sand. Poison. It was poisoned. She gasped, choking on the realization, on the bile burning her throat. Her vision swam. The world tilted. She clawed at the sand, desperation overriding logic. No. No, she couldn’t die here.

  She curled in on herself, shaking, as the sickness passed. The water had given her nothing but pain. The hunger remained, the thirst deeper than ever. She pressed her forehead into the sand, biting back a sob– not like she could have in the first place.

  No one was coming for her.

  No one would save her.

  She was alone.

  By the third day, she had stopped feeling her body.

  She was more machine than flesh now—not in the way they had intended, but in the way that all her senses had dulled to nothing but the motion of putting one foot in front of the other.

  The wind screamed across the dunes.

  A storm.

  She had heard of desert storms before. The way they could flay skin from bone, bury entire villages in a matter of hours. There was no shelter here. No escape. The first gust struck her with the force of a blow, knocking her to her knees. Sand whipped at her face, stinging her eyes, filling her mouth with grit.

  She stumbled forward, blind, deaf, lost in the chaos. Then—voices. No, hallucinations. She saw them. Shadows in the storm. Her mother, standing just beyond reach, her arms open, her face soft with the promise of safety. Her father, calling her name, his voice barely more than a whisper beneath the howling wind.

  She reached for them. Her fingers closed on empty air. She fell.

  The storm consumed her.

  She did not know how long she lay there, buried beneath the weight of sand and time. When the storm finally passed, and she forced herself upright, she was met with the cold gleam of metal. A hunter stood over her.

  Tall. Faceless. A specter of steel. It reached for her. Something in her snapped. She lunged. There was no grace, no skill. Only raw, animalistic survival. She struck with fists, with nails, with teeth. The hunter fought back, precise and efficient. She did not feel the pain of its blows, only the desperation, the fury, the need to live. She found a weak point in its armor. Drove her mechanical fingers deep. It crumpled. She was left kneeling in the sand, panting, blood-streaked and trembling. The body at her feet did not move. Her hands, slick with oil and something darker, would not stop shaking. She had killed. The thought did not settle. It did not need to.

  She took the hunter’s supplies—water, rations, a tattered cloak to shield her from the sun.

  She kept moving.

  By the time she reached an encampment, she was barely alive.

  A collection of makeshift tents and rusted-out husks of old ships stood before her, the last haven before the sea. Figures loomed in the firelight, watching her approach with wary eyes. She collapsed before their feet. Laughter, rough and hollow, greeted her.

  “Thought she was one of them,” a voice murmured. “She ain’t.” A pause. Then—

  “She might be worse.”

  A hand lifted her chin. A man, face hidden beneath a hood, studied her with calculating eyes. “Looking for passage?” She swallowed, her throat raw.

  “Yes.”

  A smirk. “It’ll cost you.”She had nothing left to give. But she would find a way.

  She would reach a better land, somewhere far away, a place where she could restart.

  Or she would die trying.

  Rilzi had no idea how long she had been unconscious. When she awoke, the world was swaying. A harsh creaking groaned through the air, and the scent of salt and rust clung to her skin. The tent she had collapsed in was gone. The desert was gone. Water. Endless water.

  Her vision was slow to focus, her limbs sluggish as she pushed herself upright. The deck beneath her was damp, the wood warped from years of abuse. A ship.

  The smuggler had taken her on board. She barely remembered the deal. Had there even been one? A shadow fell over her.

  "You're awake," a voice muttered. The same voice from the encampment.

  She turned her head. The man from before—her so-called savior. Or her captor.

  "You got a name?" he asked, crouching beside her.

  Her throat burned. Her body ached. But she forced the word out. "Rilzi." He nodded, as if he already knew.

  "I'm Arkav." His eyes, sharp and shrewd, flicked over her, taking stock of every injury, every augmentation. "You’re lucky I don’t sell machines for scrap. Could’ve made a fortune off you."

  She stiffened.

  A smirk tugged at his lips. "Relax. Not my trade. But you still owe me."

  Owe him? She forced herself upright, fighting the dizziness that threatened to pull her under. "I don’t—" "You do now," he cut in. "That spot on my ship wasn’t free."

  She clenched her fists. "I have nothing."

  "You have hands, don’t you?" His meaning was clear. Work. Labor. Whatever it took to earn her place here. It was a better price than the one she had expected.

  "Fine."

  Arkav chuckled. "Good girl. Try not to die before we reach Kohesia."

  The sea was a world unlike any Rilzi had ever known. For days, the ship carved its way through rolling waves, its crew a mix of vagabonds, outlaws, and those with nowhere else to go. They did not trust her. They did not speak to her beyond what was necessary.

  It was better that way.

  Her tasks were menial—scrubbing the deck, hauling supplies, tightening ropes with hands that still ached from the desert’s cruelty. Every movement sent sharp pain through her battered body, but she endured. She always endured.

  At night, she lay beneath the open sky, listening to the creak of the hull and the murmurs of men who still watched her with suspicion. One evening, Arkav sat beside her, resting a flask on his knee.

  "You’re different," he mused.

  She didn’t answer.

  "You don’t ask questions. You don’t complain." He took a swig. "Makes me wonder what the hell you went through before I found you."

  She stared at the stars.

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  "Nothing I want to remember."

  Arkav didn’t push. But the silence between them felt heavier than before.

  On the seventh day, the storm came.A violent, howling tempest, waves rising like the hands of giants to drag them under. Rilzi fought alongside the crew, tying down loose cargo, securing sails that threatened to rip free. The rain was blinding, the deck slick beneath her feet. Then—

  A hand shoved her.

  She barely had time to react before she was overboard. The world became water. Cold. Suffocating. She thrashed, the weight of her augmentations dragging her down. Panic clawed at her chest. No. Not like this. Not after everything. Her hands found purchase on something—a net, still trailing from the ship. She clung to it, gasping as she breached the surface.

  Above, she saw him.

  One of the crew. Staring down at her with contempt. "Freak," he spat. "We don’t need your kind." He raised a knife. Before he could sever the net, before he could doom her to the abyss—

  Arkav’s fist collided with his jaw. The man staggered, the knife clattering to the deck. Arkav loomed over him, eyes burning with fury. "You throw away my cargo," he growled, "and you throw away your life."

  A gunshot cracked through the storm. The traitor fell.

  Dead.

  Arkav leaned over the railing, extending a hand toward Rilzi.

  "Still breathing?" A slight smirk glamored over his face. She took his hand. He pulled her back onto the ship, onto the deck slick with blood and rain. He met her gaze.

  "Don’t let me regret that."

  She wouldn’t. She never would.

  The storm passed. By dawn, the sea had calmed, and on the horizon, a new shape emerged.

  Land. Kohesia.

  The sight should have filled her with relief. With something close to hope.

  But she felt nothing. She had survived the desert. The sea. Betrayal. But the fight was far from over. The only respite was that, for now, she was still alive.

  The moment Rilzi set foot on solid ground, her body nearly gave out beneath her. The ship’s rough planks had been kinder than the uneven stone pier beneath her boots. Kohesia’s air was thick with the scent of brine and spice, the sky a slate gray as the sun struggled to break through the morning haze. Arkav and his crew didn’t wait for her. They had business. She had nothing. She didn’t care.

  The smuggler had already made it clear—she had paid her debt with labor, and now, she was on her own. The city loomed beyond the docks, past the ramshackle sprawl of warehouses and taverns where sailors spent their coin. Towering spires, marble domes, and winding streets built upon one another in an intricate web of wealth and squalor. Kohesia—the kingdom and the city both—was a place of contradictions. The rich watched from their ivory balconies, while the destitute roamed the lower levels, scavenging for a future they might never have.

  Rilzi moved.

  No plan. No destination. Only the quiet certainty that standing still meant being swallowed whole.

  She drifted through narrow alleyways, past vendors hawking spiced meat skewers and merchants calling out false promises of prosperity. She was no stranger to hunger, but her body needed more than the scraps she could afford to steal.

  By the time night fell, the streets had changed. The colors of the market gave way to dim-lit corridors, where figures lurked in the periphery, watching, waiting. Here, the air reeked of sweat and iron, of desperation and the forgotten. Rilzi wasn’t afraid. There was no emotion left in her to fear.

  She found a place to rest in the husk of a ruined temple, its walls cracked with time, its statues long since eroded by neglect. A forgotten god’s hollow eyes stared down at her as she sat in the dust, her back pressed against cold stone.

  Her mind wandered. Not to the past—never to the past. But to what came next.

  The kingdom was vast, full of people like her. Survivors. Ghosts still bound to flesh. She just had to find them. Find those who understood what it meant to lose everything. To feel anger and nothingness in the same breath. And then? Then she would decide what to do with what little remained of her soul.

  As the night longed on, she heard approaching chatter, friendly and light-hearted. Still, she backed away into an untouched corner, dark and well hidden.

  “...Kaito, have you always been so enthusiastic about anything? You may have opened up to me but you still feel so dull.” A lovely woman's voice broke out amongst the silence of the temple.

  “I'm not dull… and I quite like the smell of blooming flowers. That an answer suitable for your curious mind Temyi?”

  They kept walking until they reached the center of the weathered temple, kneeling before the gods eyes and praying. They sat there for a good while, but eventually they stood up and called out loud to the open air. “Whoever’s in here, I can smell your awful stench… come out.” The man's voice shouted. Rilzi remained still, pressed against the cold stone. The darkness of the temple clung to her like a second skin, but the man—Kaito— had already sensed her. Her scent. Was it truly that wretched?

  Her mind raced, yet her body refused to move. She had survived too much to lose it all now, to a single misstep. If they wanted to hurt her, they would have done so already. A sigh cut through the silence.

  “Not coming out?” Kaito muttered. “Fine.” He turned to leave, his voice slightly edged with irritation. “Let’s go, Temyi.” He finished with another sigh.

  “Wait” Temyi interjected softly. She turned her head, scanning the shadows with kind but searching eyes. “You don’t have to hide. We aren’t here to hurt you.”

  Rilzi hesitated. But what choice did she have? She stepped forward, slow and cautious, revealing herself in the dim moonlight that fluttered through the slim cracks in the broken ceiling. Kaito’s sharp eyes locked onto her immediately. He was young, still a lot older than her, but his expression was almost devoid of warmth, his presence heavy with something unsaid. His gaze flicked over her, taking in the worn state of her body, the augmentations barely concealed beneath tattered clothing, the almost hollow look in her eyes. Temyi, in contrast, was light itself, though a beastmen, she almost radiated pure light. Where Kaito stood rigid, she exuded warmth. They were like the perfect pair, one to bolster and one to stand firm. She was a woman of soft features, a beast woman to be more literal, wrapped in flowing fabrics that billowed slightly with the cool night’s breeze.

  Rilzi braced herself for whatever came next, not like she could do much in her current condition however.

  Temyi’s expression softened further, as though she could see every ounce of pain Rilzi carried. “You poor thing,” she murmured. She took a slow step forward, hands raised to show she meant no harm. Rilzi flinched.

  Kaito exhaled sharply. “She’s like us.” Rilzi’s eyes snapped up to meet his. The words lingered between them.

  Like us.

  She studied them now, truly taking them in. The way Kaito carried himself—not just cold, but exhausted. The way Temyi’s kindness felt less like naivety and more like a conscious choice to be gentle despite everything. These were not your ordinary people.

  Kaito turned away, hands shoved into his pockets. “If you plan to rot in this temple, that’s your problem.” His tone was indifferent, but there was something else beneath it. A challenge. A test. Temyi smiled gently. “But if you want to come with us… we’ll make sure you don’t have to be alone anymore.” Rilzi stood there, caught between the echoes of her past and the unknown before her.

  For the first time since she had clawed her way out of that laboratory, she was being given a choice. And for the first time, she wasn’t sure what to do.

  Rilzi hesitated only for a moment longer before finally stepping forward, her footsteps whispering against the cold stone floor. Temyi smiled in encouragement, while Kaito barely spared her another glance. The night outside the temple was cold, the scent of damp stone and rust lingering in the air. The city beyond pulsed with distant life– low murmurs from inns, the occasional clatter of hooves against cobblestone.

  “We’ll find someone to fix you up,” Temyi said, her voice as soft as the fabric draped over her body. “You and your body must be exhausted, especially for someone as young as you.”

  Rilzi said nothing. Her augmentations were still intact, but they were failing– joints stiff with sand, circuitry flickering with every movement. It wouldn’t be long before she collapsed under her own weight. Kaito led the way, silent but sure-footed, navigating the narrow alleyways with ease. He moved like someone who knew this city well, cutting through the shadows without hesitation.

  “...Where are we going?” Rilzi finally asked.

  “A place that deals in repairs,” Kaito muttered. “Not the cleanest shop, but for our purpose it’ll do.”

  They walked for what felt like an eternity through winding streets, past shutters stalls and stray dogs picking at discarded scraps. The deeper they went, the more the city changed. The scent of metal and oil thickened, and flickering lamps revealed workshops stacked against one another, their interiors cluttered with half-built machines.

  Kaito stopped in front of a small, rusted door. He rapped against it twice before stepping back. For a moment, there was silence. Then, the door groaned open, revealing a hunched figure bathed in a dim light.

  “Back again so soon?” The voice was rough, belonging to an older man with a tang of white sprayed in his grey hair and grease-stained fingers. His gaze flickered past Kaito landing on Rilzi.

  “And who might this be?”

  Kaito didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped aside, allowing Rilzi to enter first. The shop was cramped, filled with gears, wires, and unfinished contraptions. Lanterns flickered against rusted walls, illuminating an old forge that had long since been repurposed for more mechanical work.

  “She needs repairs,” Kaito finally said.

  The old man– whom Temyi referred to as “Mawn” with a smile– sighed, rubbing his face in his greasy hands. “I don’t work for free.”

  “She doesn’t have coin,” Kaito said flatly.

  “Then she’s out of luck.”

  Rilzi clenched her fists. She had nothing left to offer. Nothing but—

  “I’ll work.” The words left her before she could think. “Whatever you need.” Garren raised a brow, then snorted. “You can barely stand. What use are you to me?”

  “She’ll owe you,” Temyi said gently. “And Kaito and I will help with anything extra.”

  Garren studied them for a long moment, then grumbled under his breath. “Fine. Get on the table, girl. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.” Rilzi did as she was told, hoisting herself onto the metal workbench. Garren pried back sections of her plating, his fingers surprisingly deft for their age.

  “Shoddy work,” he muttered. “Whoever put you together didn’t care about longevity.” Rilzi didn’t respond. The truth was a lot worse than that.

  “Some parts are salvageable,” Garren continued. “I can fix the worst of it, but anything more… you’ll need better tech than what I have.”

  “Just do what you can,” Rilzi murmured.

  The repairs were rough, painful. Sparks bit into her skin as wires were adjusted, joints forced back into place. By the time Garren finished, her body felt both lighter and heavier—more functional, yet still broken. She slid off the table, testing her movements. Better. Not perfect, but better.

  Kaito was already near the door. “We’re done here.” Rilzi turned to Garren. “…Thank you.” He only grunted, already turning his focus back to his other projects.

  The trio left, stepping into the cool night air.

  “Now what?” Rilzi asked. Kaito’s answer was blunt. “Now we make sure you don’t fall apart again.” Temyi smiled. “By fighting.” Rilzi frowned. “Fighting what?”

  Temyi gestured toward the outskirts of the city. “The kingdom is always under threat from the creatures beyond the walls. There’s coin to be made, and strength to be gained.” “We don’t have coin,” Kaito added. “So we take jobs that deal with monsters.” Rilzi exhaled. The idea of fighting wasn’t new to her. She had survived the desert, the laboratory, the pain of augmentation. She could survive this, too.

  “…Fine.”

  Temyi beamed. “Then let’s get started.”

  They found work quickly—small hunts posted on tattered boards near the barracks. The first was simple: a beast had been stalking the lower streets, feeding on whatever it could find. The three of them tracked it to the ruins beyond the city’s edge. It was waiting for them. The creature lurked in the remains of a collapsed watchtower, its form shifting between shadows. A beast made of sinew and rot, its maw twisted into something too human to be natural.

  The creature’s twisted maw split open, exhaling a guttural snarl. It moved faster than she expected, its sinewy limbs dragging it forward in a hunched sprint.

  She should have reacted. Should have struck. Instead, she simply stepped aside, moving without thought. The beast slammed past her, skidding against loose stone before rounding back with a wet, choking growl.

  “Move.” Kaito was already there, intercepting. His blade caught the moonlight before sinking into flesh. The beast let out a hideous shriek, twisting its body unnaturally to evade the follow-up.

  Rilzi stood motionless. Not frozen, not hesitant—simply watching. Her mind understood the fight, the movements, the logic of it. But her body—her mechanical, unfamiliar body—felt distant, as if it weren’t hers to command.

  “Rilzi!” Temyi’s voice rang sharp, but it lacked fear—only insistence. A warning.

  The creature had switched targets. It pounced. And still, she didn’t panic.

  Her arms moved, out of reflex more than decision. Metal met flesh with a sickening crunch. Something tore, something broke. Rilzi blinked, glancing down at her own hands, slick with something dark. The creature twitched at her feet, its jaw unhinged, body writhing in its last moments.

  She had killed it.

  Not with skill. Not with precision. Just sheer, mechanical force. A second passed. Then another.

  “…You hesitated.” Kaito’s voice cut through the air. Not accusing. Just stating fact. Rilzi wiped her hands against her tattered clothes. “I didn’t hesitate.”

  Kaito’s gaze narrowed slightly, his cold eyes unreadable. Temyi exhaled, stepping between them. “You’ve never fought before, have you?”

  Rilzi tilted her head. “No.” Not with people. Not with weapons. Not with purpose.

  Temyi smiled, slow and warm. “Then we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” She turned, nudging Kaito toward the city. “Let’s go. We’ll get paid for this, and then… well, it looks like we’ve got some training to do.” Kaito didn’t argue, though his gaze lingered on Rilzi for a beat longer before he followed. Rilzi glanced at the creature’s corpse once more before turning away.

  Training.

  She supposed it made sense. She had survived the desert. Survived the pain of augmentation. Now, she needed to learn how to use it.

  Not for survival.

  But for something else entirely. And maybe—just maybe—she would figure out what that something was.

  As night stared its cold eyes down upon their shackle, they reached an inn. The Golden Lion. They breached the doors in a calm fashion, though the shift in atmosphere was immediate. The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the cool night air, thick with the scent of roasted meat and cheap ale. Laughter rumbled from a distant table, the kinds that belonged to men deep in their cups, while a bard strummed a broken melody in the corner.

  It was loud. Livelier than the streets outside.

  Rilzi didn’t flinch, but she took in the surroundings with quiet scrutiny. She was so unfamiliar with the sight and scent of places like this.

  Temyi, on the other hand, seemed to breathe in the air with ease. “Well,” she hummed, stepping toward the counter, “I think we’ve earned something warm for once.” Kaito followed wordlessly, his presence a sharp contrast to Temyi’s easy going nature. He moved with a quiet weight, an awareness of the room that Rilzi noticed. The way his hand rested near the hilt of his extravagant blade. The way his gaze flicked toward movement at the edges of his vision. Not tense, not aggressive– just ready.

  Rilzi filed it away as another thing to note. Another thing to learn.

  Temyi leaned against the bar, flashing the innkeeper a smile. “Three rooms.”

  The man barely glanced up. “Two silvers each.”

  “Two rooms then,” Kaito interjected before Temyi could protest. “One for the two of us. One for her.”

  Rilzi tilted her head. She supposed she should be grateful for the consideration, though she didn’t particularly care. The innkeeper’s gaze landed on her, and she felt the weight of it. There was something wary in his expression, something hesitant. He just stared for a while, saying almost nothing till he finally muttered something unintelligible under his breath and then simply accepted the coins and passed them the keys. Kaito took them without a word, moving toward the stairs. Temyi hesitated, giving Rilzi a glance that was difficult to decipher.

  “Hungry?”

  Rilzi considered. She should be. Yet, she wasn’t.

  “...No.”

  Temyi sighed but didn’t press. Instead, she gestured toward the stairs. “Come on, then. Might as well get some rest.”

  The room was small. Plain. A single bed, a wooden chair, a basin of water in the corner. Rilzi stood in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind her. The silence settled in quickly. She had grown accustomed to it however. She reached up to press her fingers against the base of her neck where cold metal met warm skin. The repairs had made her movements smoother, but she was still learning. Still adjusting. She flexed her fingers, watching the way the light caught against them. She had survived thus far, pain seeped through layers and layers of deep emotion, though nothing could ever be felt. It was a strange realization.

  She sat down on the bed, its soft mattress pressed under her, back straight, unmoving.

  She did not feel tired.

  She did not feel anything.

  But she waited. Because that was what people did wasn’t it? They rested. And maybe if she waited long enough– maybe she would learn what that meant.

  The morning came with the heavy scent of rain. Rilzi stepped out of the inn to find Kaito and Temyi already waiting. Kaito was sharpening his sword, slow and methodical, while Temyi leaned against the stone wall, her arms crossed in amusement.

  “We’re heading to the knight training,” Kaito stated without preamble. He didn’t look up from his blade. “If you're going to fight, you need to learn how.

  Rilzi blinked at him. “I have fought.”

  “No.” Kaito sheathed his weapon, standing to face her. “You’ve survived.”

  She considered that for a moment. He wasn’t wrong at all. Temyi clapped a hand on Rilzi’s shoulder, grinning. “Come on. It’ll be good for you.” Rilzi didn’t know what good meant anymore, but she followed them regardless.

  The training grounds were not what she expected. The building they entered was cold, its grandiose stone walls lined with deep green banners bearing the sigil of Kohesia– the symbol of an angel with two swords on either side of it; a place of power and authority, radiating a sense of order and discipline. The air smelled of parchment and steel, voices echoing off the high ceilings as men and women stood in line before long wooden desks. Proctors sat behind them, scribbling on scrolls, their expressions unreadable as they took the names of hopeful participants.

  Kaito guided them to the nearest desk. “Three for the trials.” The proctor barely glanced up, not noticing the captain of his country's army standing before him, nor the best healer in their entire city. “Names?”

  “Kaito.”

  “Temyi.”

  Rilzi hesitated. She hadn’t spoken her name in a long time. It felt foreign on her tongue. “Rilzi.” The proctor raised an eyebrow but said nothing, scratching the name onto the parchment before pushing forward a set of tokens. “You’ll be assigned to an instructor. The first half of the day is training. The second is mock combat.”

  Kaito took the tokens and handed one to Rilzi. “Let's go.”

  The training yard was alive with movement. Rows of recruits– some barely more than teens, others seasoned veterans testing their skills– stood before instructors clad in worn armor, their hands gripping wooden training blades. Rilzi felt the weight of the sword placed in her hand. It was unfamiliar. Heavier than she expected, but not unbearable.

  The instructor, a grizzled man with a scar running down his temple, observed her with scrutiny. “Ever held a sword before?”

  Rilzi shifted her grip experimentally. “...No.” “Hmph. Then you’ll learn fast or break faster.” He chuckled slightly after his slight antimetabole.

  She wasn’t sure if it was meant as a threat or a promise. They began with footwork. Stance. The proper way to hold a blade– not just with strength, but with control.

  Rilzi absorbed it all. She memorized the way Kaito moved when he demonstrated, the way the others adjusted their posture. Her body was built to adapt. She would adapt to this too.

  The afternoon sun hung low, casting long and obtrusive shadows over the training yard as the instructors called the trainees into a loose circle. The time for their mock duels had come.

  Rilzi stood among the other participants, her wooden sword gripped loosely in her hand. Her body still felt wrong with the weapon– too deliberate, too foreign– but she had learned enough to move with it. The scarred instructor strode with long resounding strides into the center. “Some of you learned the basics. Now it's time to test them.” His sharp eyes swept across the gathered trainees. “Remember– this is training, not a blood sport. First to land a decisive blow wins. Step forward when your name is called.”

  The duels had begun.

  Kaito made immediate short work of his opponent, leaving him unconscious for a few days, only using one precise and efficient strike, not even breaking a sweat. Temyi danced around hers, laughing as she dodged strikes before landing a clean hit to the ribs. The fights continued, some drawn out, others over in mere seconds.

  Then–

  “Rilzi.”

  She stepped forward, facing a tall, broad shouldered trainee with a confident smirk. He twirled his wooden blade, tilting his head. “Didn’t think they let half-dead things in.”

  Rilzi stayed silent.

  The instructor signaled the start of the fight with a swift slice through the air. Her opponent lunged forward immediately. She saw his strike before it landed, the way his muscles tensed, the arc of his blade as it swung downward. But knowing and reacting were two different things.

  Her body hesitated.

  The blow struck her shoulder, jarring but not painful. A shallow hit.

  “Dead already?” he taunted, stepping back.

  This time, when he moved, she responded– as if it were almost a natural instinct, a force driving her. Her joints shifted, compensating for the weight of the blade. She sidestepped his next attack, feeling the air rush past as his strike missed. She had a glare in her eyes, though slightly suppressed, gave off an aura of fear, almost bringing her opponent to his knees if not for his high confidence. The glowed bright green and black, an unusual color but they were enchanting.

  She countered his attack. A simple thrust, nothing elegant. But it hit.

  Her opponent grunted as the tip of her wooden sword struck his ribs, though she had no force behind it at all, on contact it shattered most of his ribs, leaving him almost dead.

  The instructor raised a hand. “Point. Winner: Rilzi.”

  The murmurs that followed were a mix of curiosity and unease. Her opponent coughing up blood and wheezing, yet somehow standing up, “Lucky… hit. That’s all….” Not even a few seconds later he passed out.

  It wasn’t lucky at all though. She was learning, even if the process was slow.

  Her name match came quickly after. Yet this opponent was far different. Smaller, quicker. No taunts, no hesitation. Their fight was a series of sharp exchanges– strike, block, reposition. Rilzi moved smoother now, her body adjusting with each clash. She could feel it.

  The dull mechanical reactions had become something more refined, something a little more controllable.

  But her opponent was far better. She took a strike to the leg, though it didn’t knock her down, in quick succession another blow came hurling towards her shoulder.

  “Point. Match over.”

  In a swift movement, a counter purely based on primal instinct. Her sword was at her opponent's neck. It was so fast, not even Rilzi herself understood what she had just done.

  By the end of the training, the stiffness in her movements had lessened. Her fingers no longer fumbled on the hilt. The instructor watched her as the participants dispersed. “You’re an odd one.”

  She met his gaze but said nothing.

  “Hmph.” He turned away. “Come back tomorrow. We’ll see if you can keep up.”

  As she walked away, she caught Kaito watching her. His expression was unreadable, but when he spoke, it was with quiet approval.

  “You’re starting to move like a fighter.”

  Not just a survivor.

  A fighter.

  And maybe, one day, something more.