The training room was a cavernous hall lined with mirrored panels and padded flooring, lit by harsh white strips that made every movement feel under a microscope. The distant thud of boots and clang of metal echoed as Kenton and Myra faced each other, weapons in hand.
Kenton gripped an Archivist Lance with too much care, fingers twitching awkwardly along its crystalline shaft. "I've studied the theory," he said, voice tense. "But putting it into practice is... difficult."
Myra nodded, adjusting her grip on a Refractor Blade—a weapon she favored for its balance of offense and defense. "Theory's nothing if you can't adapt mid-fight."
They circled, eyes locked. Kenton's first attempt was a hesitant jab with the lance, lacking force or precision. Myra sidestepped smoothly, her blade flicking with practiced grace to parry and press the advantage.
"Slow," she said softly, barely smiling. "You're letting it set the pace."
"Remember," Dani called out with a smirk, "Kenton, the lance writes over the target, not pokes it like a stick."
Kenton flushed but nodded, stepping forward cautiously. His first thrust was slow, almost hesitant, and Myra sidestepped smoothly, countering with a quick slash that barely grazed his arm.
"Better," she said without condescension, "but you're moving like you're afraid you'll break something."
Kenton's jaw clenched. He stepped back, then lunged again—this time with more confidence. The lance's tip flared briefly, a faint shimmer trailing behind it. Myra barely blinked but caught the subtle glow—like frost blooming for a heartbeat along the weapon's edge.
Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly. The air between them seemed to chill for a moment.
Kenton stumbled, frustrated by his own hesitance. "I don't understand why it's so unstable. It's like the lance itself is... reacting."
Myra pressed, blade tip grazing his shoulder in a non-threatening tap. "Or maybe it's you who's reacting."
Kenton's eyes darted away, fingers twitching to suppress the shimmer of crystallized patterns spreading faintly from his wrist down the lance's haft.
Myra's expression tightened, but she said nothing. Instead, she shifted stance, moving faster now, testing him with a series of controlled strikes.
Kenton tried to keep up, but each contact made his lance vibrate oddly—once, a shard of crystal flickered free and dissolved midair.
"You're drawing on something," Myra said quietly, stepping back. "Something that's not just training or tech."
He swallowed, heat rising to his cheeks. "It's... part of the power I've been exploring."
Her gaze held his steady, searching but not accusing. "It's dangerous, isn't it?"
He nodded, voice low. "If I can't control it, I might... become what I'm fighting."
The weight of that admission settled between them. Myra didn't speak, but her eyes reflected concern—pragmatic, measured, and deeply aware of the cost.
Kenton lowered the lance, breathing hard. "I'm sorry for dragging this into training."
Myra shook her head slowly. "You're not alone in this. But you have to be careful. If Sector Delta knew..."
She left the threat unspoken.
Dani's voice interrupted, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Hey, quit mooning. You two coming, or what? I've got enough firepower for an army right here."
Kenton managed a weak smile as Myra sheathed her blade. The sparring might have ended, but the undercurrent of mistrust and unspoken truths lingered, sharper than any weapon in the room.
The clang of steel rang sharp through the cavernous training hall as squads moved with choreographed urgency. Around them, Sector Delta pulsed like a living organism—soldiers drilling, technicians adjusting equipment, voices crackling over comms. Every corner echoed with the tension and unspoken stakes of their looming mission.
Dani led the way, boots steady on the polished floor. She caught sight of Voss, a grizzled veteran with a missing fingertip, barking orders as a squad ran a Klyne Disruptor firing drill. "Remember! Predictability is weakness—force their future branches to snap before they know what hit 'em!"
One soldier staggered, his rifle's burst failing to catch the shifting target. Voss grunted and barked again, "No hesitation! Think ahead!"
Nearby, a group of Archivist Lance wielders engaged in close-quarter sparring, their crystalline tips slicing arcs of shimmering light. A young recruit nicknamed Reese stumbled, and a grinning sergeant smacked him on the back. "Lances aren't just weapons—they're your mind and your soul. Don't let one overwrite the other, rookie."
Dani caught Myra's eye and nodded toward the exchange. "Watch yourself with those. I've seen a few trainees turn into ghost stories from misuse."
Myra's gaze sharpened. "The stakes don't allow mistakes."
Kenton hovered near a workstation where tech specialist Orin was calibrating a batch of Memory Flares. Orin glanced up, dark eyes flicking over Kenton's nervous posture. "Those little beauties can rewrite whole scenes of reality, but misuse one and you might forget your own name. Heard you're the new anomaly specialist?"
Kenton swallowed. "Trying to be."
Orin smirked. "Good luck. They don't call it the 'memory trap' for nothing."
The distant thrum of heavy crossbow bolts launching echoed as another squad practiced tethering exercises. A lanky soldier called Jensen fumbled his Tether Bolt, the spike sailing wide and clattering against the far wall. "Damn it, Jensen! Aim's everything!"
A laugh broke out among the trainees. Dani smiled, momentarily relaxing. "Sector Delta's less an armory and more a circus sometimes."
She gestured toward a pair of resonant armor suits being tested by a stoic corporal named Silas. The suit hissed softly as its frequency matched the wearer's pulse, locking out ambient conceptual interference. Silas brow furrowed as he flexed stiffly inside the suit, then nodded approvingly.
"Those are nightmares to wear," Dani muttered, "but if you want to keep your head without losing your memories, they're worth it."
Kenton's fingers traced the edge of an Archivist Lance rack, eyes flickering nervously. Nearby, Myra squared her shoulders and picked up a Refractor Blade from a rack labeled "For close-range clearance only."
Reese sidled up to Dani. "Hey, Dani. You ever worry the weapons we use are almost as dangerous as the anomalies?"
Dani chuckled dryly. "Every damn day, kid. But in this line of work, danger's just another fact of life."
The armory buzzed with a nervous energy—final checks, last-minute adjustments, footsteps echoing on steel grates. Dani leaned against a weapon rack, watching Reese fumble nervously with a Refractor Blade. The kid's eyes kept darting toward her like she was some legend in the room.
"You really think I'm that good?" Dani teased, flashing a rare, genuine smile. "Trust me, kid, when I get back, I'll teach you a thing or two. But don't hold your breath—these skills take a lifetime to mess up properly."
Reese grinned, a mix of relief and admiration. "Looking forward to it. Just don't get yourself killed, okay?"
Dani punched his shoulder lightly. "No promises."
Nearby, Myra and Kenton moved toward the gear racks. Their selections were precise, almost ritualistic.
Myra picked up a Klyne Disruptor, the rifle-sized energy projector humming faintly in her hands. "Compressed bursts of possibility collapse," she muttered, testing its weight. "Good for narrowing future branches. But if the anomaly's stubborn... less useful."
Kenton eyed an Archivist Lance, its crystalline tip catching the overhead lights. "Writes over the anomaly's conceptual frequency," he said, voice tinged with awe and a flicker of unease. "Close range. Dangerous if identity unstable."
She nodded, slipping the lance onto her back. "Means you have to be sure of yourself, or risk rewriting you instead."
Kenton winced, fingers brushing the lance's shaft carefully. "Noted."
They each secured Memory Flares and Tether Bolts onto their belts.
Myra hefted a grenade-like canister. "This will overwrite collective memory in a radius. Collapses existence if they rely on observation. But misuse can erase allies' memories."
Kenton nodded, tightening a strap.
She then grabbed a Refractor Blade, the machete-length weapon shimmering faintly. "Phases through most matter. Can pull you into the anomaly's layer if you lose focus."
Kenton checked his own blade, lips tight.
Lastly, they both inspected the Null Casings—sleek pods that promised permanent containment but no return.
"Final armor?" Myra asked, pulling a Resonant Armor suit from a rack.
"Yeah," Kenton said, watching her. "Adapts frequency to reject conceptual contamination... but heavy. Drains emotions if worn too long."
She slid into the armor smoothly, taking a breath.
Kenton followed suit, the weight settling on his shoulders like a promise and a warning.
Outside the armory, Dani waited, arms crossed, eyes scanning the corridor. The familiar ache of responsibility pressed down on her chest, but beneath it was a fragile thread of hope—the kind that only comes before stepping into the unknown.
Myra and Kenton emerged, fully geared, faces set but eyes holding unspoken tension.
Dani nodded once. "Let's move."
The train lurched forward, metal grinding against metal, and Sector Delta's insignia flashed in the windows as they pulled away from the station. Inside, the carriage smelled faintly of oil and steel polish, its narrow aisles crowded with uniformed personnel murmuring over folders, datapads, and the occasional flask of bitter-smelling coffee.
Dani sat opposite Kenton, one elbow braced against the window, her gaze unfocused. She was smiling faintly at something—probably nothing—but her eyes had that restless, unfixed quality she got when Lance's face kept flickering in her head. Not Lance exactly… the other one. The phantom who looked like him but didn't carry the same weight in his eyes. Sometimes the two shapes merged in her mind, and she didn't even realize until she caught herself trying to recall a voice she'd never actually heard.
She masked it like she always did—dry humor.
"Train ride to Western Kazakhstan," she muttered, leaning back. "If we're lucky, the seats recline all the way, and we'll wake up without a spine."
Myra chuckled, shifting the rifle case at her feet. "You joke, but these things rattle like coffins. Don't think I'll sleep a wink."
Across from them, Kenton wasn't listening—or maybe he was, but in a way that folded their words into something else entirely. Sector Delta's officers spoke about needing to requisition heavier munitions once they reached the Western Line. Myra even asked him if he planned to check in with the quartermaster when they arrived.
He smiled politely but didn't answer. Weapons were for people who needed force to shape the world. He had no need for that. His mind was sharper than any rifle, more precise than any drone-guided missile.
It was happening more often now—he would state something with quiet certainty, and minutes later, the room would seem to accept it as if it had always been true. Earlier, in the station, he'd mentioned that the briefing had included a schematic of the Western Line—though he was fairly certain it hadn't. Yet when Myra later pulled up her datapad, the schematic was there, complete with the exact details he had described.
He didn't recall lying. He simply knew it should be there, so it was.
Kenton's gaze slid past Dani, her brow furrowing slightly as she searched for a punchline she hadn't actually spoken aloud. Maybe she thought she'd said it. Maybe she would remember she had.
The hum of the train filled the silence for a moment.
Dani sighed, then smirked again, softer this time. "Hope the place we're headed is more welcoming than the last one. I'm getting tired of watching people scream at shadows."
"Shadows can be reasoned with," Kenton said calmly.Dani blinked. She could have sworn he'd said something else a moment ago.