---
(1 day time skip later…. Story for later chapters)
Dawn found them already moving. The road into the Black Jungle staging ground began as a hardpack and became a guess. The trees ahead weren't technically black. They were green with a dignity that black wears when it wants attention without admitting it. Vines clung to trunks like ideas that refused to be shaken off. The air went damp and clever.
A field had been cleared at the edge — tents lined in rows, cook smoke asking the sky's permission, a tall frame holding a board where names were collected like brave insects. A proctor tent studied the chaos with the patience of old paper. Already, groups of students milled with that specific panic of young soldiers before the first marching order: enthusiastic, under-informed, beautiful in their ignorance.
