— CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR —

  Autumn

  \Davi/

  Constellation Park in Celestia Grand was a wilderness reserve in the middle of the city. Part of it was calm and pretty and touristy, and part was set aside for use in class quests - Druid, Ranger, Herbology, and so on. Where I went was deep into the wild section of the forest.

  A narrow dirt path wound between maples and oaks dressed in their fiery reds and golds of fall. Leaves crunched beneath my boots as I followed the trail. In the distance, cracks of gunfire went off under barking shouts.

  The path curved around a massive oak, its trunk wider than I was tall, and suddenly the forest opened into a clearing.

  The Bedlam training camp sprawled before me, raw and utilitarian. The central area had been trampled into hard-packed dirt, muddy in places from recent rain. Surrounding it was an obstacle course that twisted through the surrounding trees - log structures rising from pits of thick, brown mud, climbing ropes strung between trees, balance beams suspended over more mud, and walls of rough-hewn timber studded with stone handholds.

  Off to one side, a shooting range had been set up, targets arranged at various distances. The crack I'd heard earlier came from there, where a line of people were practicing with pistols while an instructor paced behind them. Nearby, fenced sand pits held pairs of combatants circling each other with weapons or fists, their movements supervised by more Bedlam members.

  In the far corner stood a collection of simple wooden bunkhouses. Canvas tents dotted the spaces between them, expanding the camp's capacity beyond what the permanent structures could hold.

  People were everywhere. Most had the guild tags of the World Guard or Shake Spear sweating through training rotations. They ran laps, climbed walls, sparred in rings, and fired weapons. A smaller number were Bedlam, issuing commands and corrections.

  This was it. This was what would make me a better person. This was what would ensure I never froze up again.

  I squared my shoulders and held my breath as I approached the edge of the clearing.

  Before I could reach the main area, a tall man in a dark t-shirt stepped into my path. He would have been muscular in his youth, but now that he was older - in his sixties or seventies - he had withered to a leaner build. Despite that, be stood perfectly straight, hard as steel. A whistle hung from a cord around his neck. His silver-grey hair was cropped in a military crew cut, and his face was shriveled into an angular and stern frown. He looked down on me, making me feel even tinier. Colonel, his nameplate read.

  "Are you lost, young lady?" His voice was like gravel being crushed underfoot.

  I stiffened automatically, my spine straightening in response to his posture. "N-no... sir!" I managed to stammer. "I want to be stronger!"

  Colonel looked me up and down with a blank frown, his eyes assessing every inch of me in a single sweep. "..." He paused, his silence somehow more intimidating than any words could have been. "Then you've come to the right place." He turned slightly and pointed back up the trail I'd come down. "The exit's that way when you need it."

  Without waiting for my response, he turned and began walking toward the camp. I scrambled to keep up with his long strides.

  "Speak to the quartermaster." Colonel jerked his chin toward one of the bunkhouses. "Get changed. Report back here in five minutes."

  ---

  I stood at the start of the obstacle course in a white t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. The November wind cut through the thin fabric like it wasn't even there, raising goosebumps on my exposed arms and legs. I bounced on the balls of my feet, trying to generate some warmth as I stared at the first obstacle.

  A climbing wall made of rough logs rose before me, with jagged stones protruding from its surface to serve as handholds. It was at least twelve feet tall, and from my position, I couldn't see anything beyond it. The dirt around its base was churned into mud from countless feet.

  About twenty of us stood in a loose line. Most wore expressions that mixed determination with apprehension.

  Colonel paced in front of us, hands clasped behind his back. "Today's session is simple. Four laps around the course. You fall, you get back up. You quit, you leave." His eyes passed over each of us, lingering a second longer on me. "You want warmth? Then get those muscles moving! Go!"

  His whistle pierced the air with a shrill blast.

  The line surged forward. Those who'd clearly done this before attacked the wall without hesitation, finding handholds and footholds and hauling themselves upward. I ran forward with the rest but skidded to a stop at the base of the wall.

  It looked even more intimidating up close. The stones jutting from the wood weren't smooth climbing holds like you'd find in a gym - they were rough, irregular chunks with sharp edges and points. I reached out and touched one, testing its stability. It didn't budge.

  I grabbed it with both hands and tried to pull myself up, searching for somewhere to place my feet. The stone bit into my palms, its rough surface immediately uncomfortable. I found a foothold and pushed up, then reached for another handhold.

  The sharp edge of a stone scraped against my forearm as I moved, leaving a stinging blue wireframe scar. I gasped and lost my grip, sliding back down to the ground. The fall was short, but I landed awkwardly, mud splashing up my legs.

  "I told you where the exit is, didn't I?" Colonel's voice came from right behind me.

  I swallowed hard and looked back at the wall. Then I reached out and grabbed one of the stone handholds again, deliberately pressing my palm against its sharpest edge. The rough surface bit into my skin, a small wireframe cut opening across my hand.

  Pain. That's all this was. Just pain. And pain couldn't hurt me - not really. Not here.

  I gripped the stone tightly, feeling the sting intensify. This pain was nothing compared to what I'd already survived. Nothing compared to what I'd have to face if I ever met Razorto again.

  With new determination, I hauled myself up, finding footholds and ignoring the scrape of rough stone against my bare legs. Each time a sharp edge caught my skin, I pushed through it, using the pain to fuel my climb.

  My arms burned by the time I reached the top. I hooked my elbows over the uppermost log and tried to pull the rest of my body up after them. My legs scrambled against the wall, seeking leverage, but I couldn't quite get the momentum I needed to clear the top.

  "What is this, a fish market?" Colonel shouted from below. "Stop flopping and climb!"

  With a grunt of effort, I threw one leg up and over, then managed to roll my body over the top of the wall. I tried to turn myself around to climb down feet-first, but my sweaty hands slipped on the top log. Before I could catch myself, I tumbled forward, falling headfirst into the mud below.

  I hit with a wet splat, my face plunging into cold muck. The impact stunned me, and for a terrifying moment, I couldn't tell which way was up. Mud filled my mouth and nose, and I pushed my hands against what I hoped was the ground, raising my face above the surface with a sucking slurp and desperate gasp.

  Thick, cold mud coated every inch of me. I spat repeatedly, trying to clear my mouth of the earthy taste as I blinked mud from my eyes. My head spun, and I found myself on hands and knees, trying to reorient.

  "You couldn't catch a snail at that pace - get a move on!" Colonel shouted.

  I forced myself to my feet, swaying slightly. Other trainees were already moving on to the next obstacle - a series of logs suspended by chains swinging like pendulums above a narrow balance beam over a muddy pit.

  But what was another dip in the mud?

  ---

  In a sparring pit, I was handed a gladius. Not a practice weapon or wooden stand-in, but an actual short sword. On the other side of the ring was a Shake Spear kid - a kinda skinny guy. His white t-shirt was plastered with layers of mud and dirt. Blue wireframe scratches crisscrossed his arms and face, some fresh and glowing, others faded to almost nothing. His eyes had the hollow, thousand-yard stare of someone who'd spent the day being broken down.

  Just as pathetic as I was.

  I raised the gladius awkwardly, not sure what to do with my other arm. My opponent mirrored my stance, his blade trembling slightly in his grip. We circled each other, the sand shifting under our feet.

  I jabbed half-heartedly. He parried, the blades making a dull clank. He thrust; I sidestepped.

  "Come on, children!" Colonel shouted. "A fight was never won by standing there! This isn't ballroom dancing!"

  My opponent's eyes darted to Colonel, then back to me. He swung his gladius in a wide arc that I managed to block. The impact sent vibrations up my arm, my wrist bending back painfully.

  We pressed our blades together. He pushed forward while I tried to maintain my ground, but he had several inches and probably twenty pounds on me. I felt my arms trembling, my sneakers sliding back through the sand as he forced me to give ground.

  "What are you waiting for?!" Colonel barked. "Your weapon is one part of your body! This is life or death - put your soul into it!"

  With a desperate grunt, I tried to kick at my opponent's shin, but he simply adjusted his stance, stepping just out of range while keeping pressure on our locked blades.

  My back bumped against the rope. Cornered.

  "Grab his blade!" Colonel shouted. "Take control! The only thing you have to lose is your hand! Remember - your body is a resource; it'll all regrow!"

  The sharp edge of his gladius was inches from my face, reflecting the afternoon sun into my eyes. I tried to reach out and grab it, but... I couldn’t. I couldn’t take my hands off my own sword, and I couldn’t will myself to grab the steel.

  Before I could react, my opponent’s left hand shot out and grabbed my blade. With a sharp twist, he tried to wrench the gladius from my grip. Pure instinct took over. I yanked back, pulling the blade through his grasp. There was a moment of resistance, then suddenly none at all. The sword came free, and three of his fingers dropped into the sand. Blue wireframe stumps remained where they had been.

  My opponent stared at his maimed hand in shock. I stared, too.

  Colonel's whistle pierced the air.

  "That was not the time to take that gambit!" he bellowed at my opponent. "You threw away your advantage! Another lap on the obstacle course, both of you!"

  ---

  "Do you know the difference between these?" Colonel asked, setting two guns on the wooden table in front of me. One was a pistol, a simple steel revolver. The other was a rifle, longer with a wooden stock.

  "Um, the rifle is more powerful?"

  "What does that mean?"

  "It does more damage?" The statement came out as a question.

  "And when do you need that?"

  "When... you're fighting a tougher opponent?"

  "No." Colonel picked up the pistol, checking the cylinder with habitual motions. "You only need damage when you're fighting mobs. In a fight with another human, your safest and fastest ways of fighting is to disable them - either cut their hands off or knock them out with a blow to the head."

  He set the pistol down and tapped each weapon in turn. "Both of these will do that job just fine. The only advantage the rifle offers is range and armor penetration - it's better for prepared attacks on difficult targets. Ideally that is where most fights will end."

  He picked up the pistol again. "The pistol has the same shot capacity but is more maneuverable and frees one hand slot - it is better suited to close fighting." He set it down with a decisive click. "But neither will do you any good if you can't get a clean headshot."

  Colonel pushed the rifle toward me. "Start with the rifle and take your time - see if you can hit the target."

  I picked up the rifle, surprised by its weight. Down the range, paper targets shaped like humanoid silhouettes hung at various distances. Colonel guided me through the weapon, explaining reload times, the safety, and demonstrating the proper stance.

  "Remember," he said, stepping back, "in here, there's no bullet drop to account for, no wind resistance. The game makes it easier than real life. Line up your shot and squeeze the trigger - don't pull, and don’t flinch."

  I raised the rifle, pressing the stock against my shoulder as he'd shown me. The nearest target was maybe thirty feet away, a black outline against white paper. I squinted down the barrel, aligned the sights, and took a deep breath.

  The rifle kicked against my shoulder as I fired. The shot went wide, missing the target entirely.

  "Again." Colonel said, his voice betraying no emotion.

  I readjusted, aimed, and fired. This time the bullet clipped the edge of the target's shoulder.

  "Better. Again."

  I fired round after round at the targets. Gradually, my shots found their mark more consistently, though rarely in the critical headshot zone.

  "In real combat, you won't have time to line up the perfect shot. Your body needs to remember how to do this without your mind getting in the way. Now, back to the obstacle course. One more lap before dinner."

  ---

  I crawled out from under a tangle of brambles, tugging myself loose from a thorny vine that had latched onto my clothes. It dragged a line of wireframe out of my leg as it snapped free, adding one more glowing wound to the dozens already crisscrossing my body.

  My body had gone beyond pain, beyond exhaustion, to a place of complete numbness. Every inch of me was covered in mud and scratches. My once-white shirt and shorts were now a uniform brown, torn in multiple places. I fumbled to stand and staggered forward toward the obstacle course's finish line, the world tilting and swaying around me.

  I crossed the line and immediately tripped over my own feet, falling to my knees in the mud. A pair of muddy boots appeared in my field of vision.

  "Done already?" Colonel asked "One more lap. Prove to me you're not a waste of time." The shrill blast of his whistle cut through the fog in my mind.

  I pushed myself up, dragging my body back to the starting line. The sun was setting now, turning the sky orange and the forest black. Torchlight flickered along the course, casting shadows that made the obstacles look even more menacing.

  The training ground had emptied out. The other recruits had gone to dinner or to their bunks to recover from the day's torment. Only Colonel remained, watching my solitary struggle with arms crossed and face impassive.

  I forced my spine straight, ignoring the protests of every muscle in my body. All it is is pain, I reminded myself. There is no real damage to my body. This is a game and nothing more.

  At Colonel's whistle, I threw myself forward, running toward the first obstacle - the climbing wall. This time, I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the jagged stone handholds and hauled myself upward, ignoring the sharp edges cutting into my palms.

  I reached the top of the wall and swung my legs over, too numb to even attempt a controlled descent. I fell, faceplanting in the mud on the other side. But instead of lying there, I sprang right back up, my body moving on autopilot now, and ran for the swinging logs.

  As I navigated the course, Colonel followed along the side, watching with a frown and crossed arms. The torchlight cast harsh shadows across his weathered face, making him look like the judge of the underworld.

  "You think this is hard?" he called out as I struggled across a balance beam. "Wait until someone's trying to cut your head off while you do it!"

  I didn't respond, saving my breath for the next obstacle. One by one, I conquered them - the mud pit, the cargo net, the rope swing. Each one took a toll, each one left new scars, but I kept moving forward.

  As I approached the final obstacle - the thorn-filled crawl space I'd just emerged from minutes before - I heard Colonel mutter, "Might make it after all."

  I dropped to my hands and knees and plunged into the darkness beneath the brambles, feeling the thorns immediately catch at my clothes and skin. But I was beyond caring about the pain now. I crawled forward, single-minded in my determination to finish, to prove that I wasn't a waste of time.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The thorns tore at me, leaving glowing blue trails across my arms and back, but I pushed through, emerging on the other side covered in mud and wireframe scars. With the last of my strength, I staggered across the finish line and collapsed.

  This time, when Colonel's boots appeared in front of me, I heard something different in his voice.

  "Not bad." he said with the faintest hint of approval. "Get some food and rest. Tomorrow will be worse."

  I looked up at him, mud caked on my face, and managed a nod. Tomorrow would be worse, but I would be stronger. That was the point of all this, wasn't it? To be stronger than I was yesterday. To never freeze again.

  The pain hadn't broken me; it had stripped away everything unnecessary, leaving only determination behind.

  ---

  ?Flora?

  The training camp assaulted my senses the moment I reached the edge of the clearing. Shouts, grunts, and the occasional cry of pain punctuated the otherwise peaceful forest afternoon. Bodies, caked in mud and glowing with blue wireframe wounds, hurled themselves at wooden walls, crawled under barbed wire, and grappled with each other in muddy pits. It wasn't a training ground so much as a canvas for self-inflicted suffering, and I couldn't understand why anyone would choose this.

  "Pain builds character!" a drill instructor barked at a trainee who'd fallen from a climbing wall. The poor soul's arms glittered with wireframe cuts where rough-hewn stone handholds had their torn skin. "Get back up there before I decide you need more character!"

  I kept to the tree line, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. The gift box in my hands suddenly felt frivolous, its cheerful ribbon absurdly out of place among all this deliberate misery.

  To my right, in one of several circular pits, two trainees circled each other with knives. One lunged forward, missed, and received a slash across their forearm for the trouble. A puff of blue dust spilled from the wound like luminescent blood. The instructor watching them didn't even flinch, just shouted something about "committing to the attack."

  What was the point of all this? This wasn't real muscle they were building. Their physical bodies, slumped in VR rigs in the real world, weren't getting stronger or faster or more skilled. The game didn't work that way. There was no physical conditioning to maintain. It was just... suffering. Voluntarily. Repeatedly.

  I shook my head and continued toward the bunkhouses clustered at the far side of the camp. ‘Bunkhouses’ was a generous term for what were essentially long, wooden sheds with minimal protection from the elements. The rough-hewn planks that formed their walls weren't even properly sealed - I could see daylight between some of the boards.

  I paused at the doorway of the bunkhouse where I'd been told I'd find Davi. The interior was dim after the bright sunlight outside, but as my eyes adjusted, I took in the spartan conditions. Two rows of narrow cots lined the walls, each accompanied by a simple footlocker. No privacy curtains, no personal touches, no comfort whatsoever. The floor was bare wood, worn smooth in the walkways from countless boots. A few scattered personal items - a book here, a water bottle there - were the only signs that actual people lived in this space.

  And there she was, sitting on a cot toward the back, her hair cut short with a knife, hunched over her hands. Davi was dressed in a plain white t-shirt and shorts and was wrapping strips of cloth around her palms and fingers. Her exposed arms and legs were a map of healing wireframe cuts in various stages of fading. Some were fresh and bright; others had dimmed to almost nothing.

  I approached, my footsteps loud on the wooden floor. "Hello, Davi!" I managed a bright smile. "What are the bandages for? Did you get hurt?"

  Davi didn't look up. "Once your hand texture has rubbed away, these give better grip." Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact.

  I glanced around the bleak room again. "This place is more... raw than I imagined."

  "We're not here to be comfortable." Davi finished one hand and started on the other, pulling the bandage tight with her teeth.

  "Well..." I held out the gift box, its ribbon a cheerful splash of color in the drab surroundings. "I brought you a little care package! Some things from the city you might be missing! Some chocolate bars, and, uh..."

  Davi finally looked up, but only to shake her head and push the box away. "No external supplies - camp rules."

  Her expression was unreadable, closed off in a way I'd never seen before. This wasn't the shy, nervous Davi I knew.

  "Oh, come on!" A young man's voice called from across the room. "No one listens to those rules!"

  A World Guard peacekeeper in training clothes identical to Davi's approached us with an easy smile. His nameplate read 'Jax'. He was handsome in a boyish way, with an open face that suggested he found humor in most situations.

  "The rules are in place for a reason." Davi said firmly, returning to her bandaging.

  Jax waved her off and leaned toward me. "Yeah, she's being a real stickler. I can hold onto that until she wants to indulge a little."

  I hesitated, looking between them, then handed Jax the box. He winked and took it over to another bunk, lifting the lid of his footlocker.

  "Everyone's got something stashed away." he explained, placing the box inside with care. "They check the inventory, but not what's actually inside. The trick is to prop it against the left wall - there's a hole in the hitbox that prevents the item from being automatically absorbed into the locker's inventory." He arranged the box precisely, then closed the lid. "The staff have to know, but they let it slide. Even they don't care that much. It’s... part of the game, I guess you could say - they want us to work together to outsmart them; pass on our tricks. Build comradery, you know?"

  Jax stood back up and looked at Davi, who had moved on to wrapping bandages around her knees, her focus absolute.

  "She's very... intense about this place." he said. "She's out there more than anyone. First up, last down. But don't worry - we're looking out for her."

  I returned to Davi's cot and sat beside her, the thin mattress barely yielding under my weight. I tried to touch her arm, but she flinched away as if my fingers were hot coals.

  "Is this really... what you want to do, Davi?" I asked gently. The girl before me seemed so far removed from the Davi I knew - the shy, uncertain, but kind-hearted person who struggled to find her place. "What happened to Clark-"

  "Don't." Davi's voice cut through the air like a knife, sharp and final. Her hands stilled on the bandages. "This is the only way I can fix it."

  The pain in her voice was raw. I... the only thing I could give her was time.

  I stood up, smoothing down my skirt. "I should go. I just wanted to check on you. And if you need anything, you know my door’s always open."

  Davi nodded but didn't look up, didn't offer any farewell. She had already turned inward again, focused on her preparations for whatever fresh hell awaited her outside.

  I walked slowly to the door, lingering in the frame. Looking back, I saw Davi sitting motionless, staring at the floor.

  Jax caught my eye from across the room. He gave me a thumbs-up and winked again, mouthing "We've got her back!" His cheerful confidence should have been reassuring, but somehow it only heightened my concern.

  "Don't forget who you are." I called softly to Davi.

  She looked up then, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that startled me.

  "I know exactly who I am."

  ---

  \Davi/

  The Twilight Forest lived up to its name in the most literal sense. Despite the clock on my HUD showing 2:14 PM, the sky above was stuck in permanent dusk. Black-barked trees towered around us, their gnarled branches reaching like arthritic fingers across the narrow path we followed. Leaves in shades from shadow-green to burning orange rustled in a breeze I couldn't feel at ground level, where fog swirled thick around our boots.

  I kept my rifle at the ready, scanning the forest for movement. Because of my marksmanship results, I had been assigned as our squad’s gunner and given a scoped rifle, but I felt naked. It wasn’t going to do me any good in a forest where visibility rarely went beyond 30 yards.

  "Keep your spacing, people!" Rho barked from the front of our formation. The sergeant kept his pistol drawn and held low at his side. His eyes never stopped moving. "Never position yourself so close you can both get hit with a single attack."

  The five of us adjusted, spreading out along the path. Jax took position on my right, his usual easy smile replaced by alert focus. His sword remained sheathed, but his hand rested on the hilt, ready to draw. To our left, Jorgenson and Tamika took the other flank, Jorgenson with his mace and Tamika with her bow.

  It was a level 61 to 65 zone, but it was also a known area of Fringe activity. Speculation was they were using the unpopulated area as a headquarters or staging ground for raids into the Stonehearth Plains to the east. The World Guard were too afraid to patrol the roads between the cities, and that’s why we were there - a training patrol in full combat gear.

  Something rustled in the underbrush to our left. We all froze, weapons trained on the sound. After a moment, a small fox-like creature with six legs darted across the path and disappeared into the fog on the other side.

  "Good response, but don't let that make you complacent." Rho said. "If the Fringe is operating here, they'll have scouts watching the paths."

  "Sarge." I called, keeping my voice low. "Should we move off the path? We're exposed here."

  Rho considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "Negative. The underbrush provides too much cover for ambushes. At least on the path we don’t have to deal with the mobs."

  We continued forward. The forest grew thicker, the canopy overhead more dense, casting the path in deeper shadow. The fog swirled higher, nearly to our knees now, glowing faintly with an inner phosphorescence that made the entire forest floor look like it was submerged in ghostly water.

  A branch snapped somewhere to our right, loud enough that we all heard it. We froze again, weapons ready.

  "Another mob?" Tamika whispered.

  "Never assume that." Rho said. "Tamika, Davi - cover our flanks. Everyone else, watch for movement."

  I raised my rifle, scanning the treeline. The scope was dead useless, so I took a moment to pull it off - the iron sights would keep my field of vision wider.

  And I chose the worst moment for it.

  Bolts of fiery magic streaked out of the underbrush, exploding against the ground in our midst. Dirt and smoke erupted in a blinding cloud. Through the chaos, I heard shouts - voices crying out in triumph as dark figures charged through the smokescreen.

  "Contact left!" Rho bellowed, spinning toward the attack. "Form up!"

  I tried to aim through the smoke, but it was impossible to distinguish friend from foe in the swirling mist. Bandits materialized from the haze, black cloths wrapped around their heads to hide their faces and nameplates. One of them loosed an arrow that caught Tamika in the head. She collapsed with a yelp, her bow clattering to the ground beside her.

  Rho thrust his free hand forward, and a sheet of ice blossomed through the fog, spreading across the ground toward the charging bandits. Three of them were caught in it, their feet frozen in place as the ice crawled up their legs.

  "Fire in the hole!" A bandit voice shouted from behind the attackers. A moment later, a concentrated ball of flame shot into the midst of the frozen bandits and hit the ice. The magical frost shattered in a plume of steam, freeing the trapped attackers. But the brief delay had given us precious seconds to orient ourselves.

  "Spread out!" Rho ordered, his arcane sword condensing into his free hand. "Davi, get the mage!"

  I tried to sight the enemy spellcaster through the lingering smoke. I caught glimpses of Jax exchanging sword blows with one bandit while Jorgenson swung his mace in wide arcs to keep two more at bay.

  The rifle was just too clumsy for this range. Every time I thought I had the mage in my sights, someone would move through my field of vision, or the mage would dart behind a tree. I needed space.

  I backed away from the main fight, trying to find a better angle. The path curved slightly, and I moved until I could see past the melee. There - a robed figure with flickering flames around his shoulders, preparing another spell. I raised the rifle and began to squeeze the trigger.

  "Behind you!" Jorgenson shouted.

  I spun just as a bandit burst from the underbrush beside the path, dual axes raised high above his head. He howled, froth flying from his mouth beneath the face-wrap as he leaped toward me.

  Pure instinct took over. I sidestepped left, the axes whistling past my ear. As the bandit's momentum carried him forward, I reversed my grip on the rifle and swung the butt like a club. The stock connected with the back of his head with a solid crack.

  The bandit staggered, hunching forward in pain. I didn't hesitate. I brought the rifle butt down again, harder this time, aiming for the vulnerable spot where the neck meets the skull. The impact drove him face-first into the dirt path. While he was down, I flipped the rifle around, pressed the barrel against the back of his head, and fired.

  The shot rang out, deafening in the close quarters of the forest. The bandit's body went instantly limp, a blue wireframe wound blossoming where the bullet had entered his skull. He wasn't getting up anytime soon.

  I turned back to the main fight, but in those few seconds, everything had changed.

  The Fringe mage had cast an ice spell - copying Rho’s move to trap my squadmates. Jorgenson was frozen from the waist down, struggling uselessly against the magical ice. Rho had managed to avoid the worst of it, but one of his legs was caught and he was too busy fending off a bandit to counter with a fire spell.

  And Jax... a bandit had tackled him to the ground. They wrestled briefly, but the bandit gained the upper hand, pinning Jax with a knee on his chest. The bandit's blade flashed, sawing across Jax's neck. Jax's body instantly dissolved into a cloud of glowing blue motes that scattered across the forest floor, swirling in the fog before settling.

  I'd seen it before. It wasn't the first time I'd watched someone die. But something had changed in me. Where once I might have frozen in horror, now I felt... nothing. Just a cold, analytical clarity. It was typical Fringe behavior. Expected. And I had a job to do.

  I raised the rifle and drew a bead on the mage, who was now focused on Rho. This time, I didn't let anything distract me.

  The rifle bucked, and I saw the mage's head snap back. He collapsed into the mist.

  Without their magical support, the tide began to turn. But the bandit who had killed Jax was now charging toward Rho's blind side, sword raised for a killing blow.

  I didn't think. I simply acted. I tossed the rifle aside - too slow, too cumbersome for what needed to be done - and sprinted forward. As I ran, I passed over the glowing motes that had been Jax. I kicked at them, triggering the looting interface. In mid-stride, I selected his sword and equipped it.

  The blade materialized in my hand, its weight and balance instantly familiar from countless hours of training. The bandit never saw me coming. I stepped into his path and swung in a single, fluid motion.

  The sword passed through his neck with almost no resistance. There was no blood, no visceral feedback, and it was all gone in an instant - just a momentary sensation like cutting through a slightly firm loaf of bread. Then his head separated from his body, and both dissolved into blue motes before they hit the ground.

  It felt... empty. Hollow.

  I had no time to reflect on this. Another bandit was circling around, trying to flank Rho while he fought the bandit in front of him. Without hesitation, I lunged into the bandit's path, driving the blade forward in a thrust that caught him in the throat. Before he could react, I twisted and pulled upward, separating head from body. Another cloud of blue motes, swirling away in the forest fog.

  "They're falling back!" Rho shouted, finally freeing his leg from the remnants of the ice.

  The remaining bandits were melting back into the forest. One fired a crossbow bolt that whistled past my ear, and another loosed a final arrow that thudded into a tree trunk beside Jorgenson, but their hearts weren't in it anymore. Within seconds, they had disappeared into the underbrush and fog.

  I took a step to pursue, sword still in hand.

  "Hold the line!" Rho barked. "Regroup!"

  I hesitated, but complied. I returned to where Rho stood.

  "Status?" he demanded.

  "Jax is dead." I reported, my voice flat. "Tamika's unconscious. I took down two bandits."

  Jorgenson limped over to us, the last of the magical ice finally melting from his legs. "I got one before they froze me." he said, his breathing labored. "Four down total, I think."

  Rho nodded, scanning the battlefield. "Four dead Fringe, and one of ours. Four more Fringe unconscious, including the mage." He looked back toward the forest, where the bandits had disappeared. "I don't like this place - I'm not comfortable waiting here for support."

  "Then let's kill the Fringe and be done with it." I said.

  Rho's eyes narrowed. "We aren't the Fringe, trainee - we don't kill helpless people."

  "They're just going to come back and hurt more innocent people!"

  "We are not going to kill them." Rho said. "That is the end of this conversation." He pointed at Tamika's unconscious form. "Davi, help Tamika."

  I wanted to argue further, but the look in Rho's eyes stopped me. I gritted my teeth and sheathed Jax's sword at my hip, then moved to where Tamika lay, not fully unconscious, but not able to move on her own. I draped one of her arms over my shoulder to help her along.

  Rho and Jorgenson gathered up the unconscious Fringe mage and one of the other bandits. The remaining two unconscious bandits were left where they lay, along with the scattered possessions of the dead that we couldn't carry.

  "The Guard patrol will be at the rendezvous point in twenty minutes." Rho said, checking his message interface. "We move out now."

  As we started down the path, I glanced back at the abandoned bandits. They would wake up eventually. They would rejoin their comrades. And they would kill again.

  ---

  The next week, my session at the training camp was over. The graduation party was held in a bar in a deserted corner of the far eastern Constellation District. It was a rickety old place, a bit rough and worn down. Inside, the air hung thick with smoke, laughter, and the yeasty reek of beer. Bedlam and claimed it as their clubhouse. And tonight, they'd dragged us in to celebrate.

  I stood with my back pressed against the wall, half-hidden behind a stack of empty barrels, observing more than participating. Social situations weren’t really my thing. Bodies packed the main room, spilling drinks as they jostled each other. Some sat on upturned barrels, others on mismatched stools, while the rest simply stood shoulder to shoulder. The floorboards beneath them shuddered with each roar of laughter.

  At the center of the room, Rho had climbed atop a wobbly stool. His face glowed red from exertion and alcohol as he regaled the crowd with tales from our training.

  "And then-" he gasped, barely able to contain his laughter, "- then Jorgenson tried to climb over the wall, but his pants caught on a nail!" Rho mimed the action, pretending to haul himself up an invisible wall before freezing in place with an exaggerated look of horror. "The whole back seam just-" He made a ripping motion with his hands. "SPLIT! Right down the middle!"

  The crowd howled. Jorgenson, three steins in and past caring, raised his drink in acknowledgment, his face nearly as red as Rho's.

  "Poor bastard dangled there with his ass hanging out." Rho continued, wiping tears from his eyes. "I've never seen Colonel move so fast in my life to get a towel!"

  "But wait, wait-" Rho held up his hands, gradually bringing the laughter down. "You think that's bad? Let me tell you about our friend Tamika here-"

  Tamika groaned audibly, trying to hide her face.

  "This genius decides that the best way to tackle the vaulting horse is to get a running start from twenty yards back. Full sprint! I've never seen someone so confident. She's flying across the field, arms pumping, and then-"

  Rho paused for dramatic effect.

  "- trips over her own feet, face-plants in the mud, and slides all the way to the horse without ever leaving the ground! Looked like a human toboggan!"

  The room's laughter built to a crescendo. I watched as Tamika shook her head, her smile sheepish but good-natured as she raised his drink toward Rho.

  After the laughter subsided, Rho's demeanor changed. The smile remained, but something in his eyes shifted. He straightened on his perch, and the room sensed the change, the conversations dying down to whispers, then to silence.

  "Oh, this next one. Now, every training session has its moments." Rho said, his voice dropping to a more serious register. "The falls, the fails, the moments we'd all rather forget. But every batch also has something else. Every batch has one standout. Someone who rises above the rest. Someone that's not just here for training - someone with the grit and tenacity to ?join our numbers."

  A hushed anticipation fell over the room. Even the bartender stopped polishing glasses to listen.

  "This time," Rho continued, deliberately drawing out each word, "I don’t think anyone’s surprised at who that person is. We’ve all had to hold her back at some point." His eyes found mine across the room, and I felt a sudden, uncomfortable weight of attention. "It’s Davi!"

  The room exploded into cheers and whistles. A few of the Bedlam veterans pulled me away from the wall toward the center of the room. Someone thrust a heavy stein into my hand, sloshing beer onto my wrist.

  "Now this lady - let me tell you!" Rho's voice boomed over the cheers as I was pushed into the center of the circle. "When I found her, she was a scared little puppy - victim of a Fringe attack on a gathering party."

  The memory of Clark dissolving into blue motes flashed behind my eyes. I tightened my grip on the stein.

  "Never did I suspect she would have what it takes." Rho continued, "But I have never been more glad to be wrong!" He jumped down from the stool and pushed through the gathered Bedlam members until he stood before me. "Just last week she saved my life out in the Twilight Forest. Took down a Fringe mage that had me pinned, then dispatched two more bandits ?without blinking an eye!"

  "So three cheers for our newest member of Bedlam!" Rho raised his stein high.

  "Hip hip, HOORAY!" The crowd's response was deafening.

  "Hip hip, HOORAY!"

  "Hip hip, HOORAY!"

  I managed a polite smile, but couldn't summon anything more genuine.

  "Every milestone deserves recognition." Rho said, pulling out a small wooden box. He opened the box to reveal three small objects nestled in black velvet.

  "First," Rho said, lifting out a simple bronze medal stamped with the image of the obstacle course, "the graduation medal. Everyone here has earned one of these. It means you survived."

  He pinned it to the lapel of my jacket.

  "Second," he continued, removing a silver emblem shaped like a shield with a stylized ‘B’ at its center, "the badge of Bedlam membership. This isn't given lightly. It means you're one of us now. It means when you call, we come running, and we expect the same from you."

  The pin clicked as he attached it next to the graduation medal.

  "And third," Rho said as he removed a simple strip of red cloth with two small star pins affixed to it, "this is your red stripe. One star for each Fringe bandit removed from endangering civilians."

  He pinned it carefully to my sleeve, just below the shoulder.

  "Wear it with pride. Someday, you'll be handing these out."

  "Thank you." I managed to say.

  Rho nodded, then clapped me on the shoulder. "Welcome to Bedlam, kid. Keep your friends close, and your bandits closer."

  With that, he was swept back into the crowd, immediately surrounded by veterans clapping him on the back and shoving fresh drinks into his hands. The party continued around me as if I were a stone in a stream. I drifted back toward the wall.

  Three medals, and I hadn't accomplished anything yet. I'd merely taken my first step.

  Somewhere out there, Razorto was walking free. He was breathing, laughing, perhaps even drinking with his comrades just as these people were doing now. He might even be planning his next attack, his next murder.

  But not for long.

  I would find him. And I would see justice done.