The sun filtered through the slats of the training hall roof, casting stripes of light across the evaluation floor. Jinn stood with a clipboard in hand, coat buttoned, hair pulled back, and expression calm.
It was her third group of the day.
Three rookies stood in front of her: two boys with wide smiles and cocky shoulders, and a quiet girl who kept her eyes low but held her staff firmly. Their uniforms were clean, new. Their boots barely worn.
"State your names," Jinn said.
"Teren, ma'am!" said the taller boy, slamming a fist to his chest.
"Gail," the shorter one chimed in with a wink.
The girl hesitated. "Lysa."
Jinn scanned their papers. All first-timers. Good health. Standard sword proficiency. Basic healing spell from Lysa. Low-level flame affinity from Teren. All barely passable. But nothing alarming.
Teren grinned. "Heard you were the new officer. You don't look like a scary examiner."
"I don't have to," Jinn replied. "The field will do that for me."
They laughed. Lysa didn't.
The assessment began. Teren and Gail moved like they'd practiced together—messy, but confident. Lysa stayed back, her spells slow but stable. She hesitated often, double-checking her aim.
Jinn watched. Noted the rhythm. The sync.
Nothing amazing. Nothing disqualifying.
Just... bright. Energetic. Alive.
Too alive.
> They're not ready. But... maybe they'll grow.
She looked again at Lysa.
> She hesitated, but maybe it's nerves. First-day nerves.
She signed the paper. "Approved."
Teren cheered. Gail fist-pumped. Lysa bowed.
"Don't die," Jinn said flatly.
---
Two days later, she sat in the report room when a runner barged in.
A tag had been returned.
Bloodied.
One rookie dead.
Teren.
Her ears rang. She took the scroll. Read the words.
Ambushed by cave lurkers. Poor formation. Lysa survived with burns. Gail escaped half-conscious.
> They weren't ready. I knew it.
---
The ceremonial pyre burned bright in the square.
Jinn stood in silence, hands at her sides.
Lysa stared ahead. Her face pale. One arm wrapped in bandages.
Gail leaned on a cane.
Neither spoke to her.
Lavirra stood beside her, jaw tense.
"Come with me."
At the guild—right after the report of death:
Lavirra storms in, slams her hand on Jinn's desk.
"Do you know who just died?!"
Her voice cuts through the room.
Jinn stands, pale. "...They just said an accident—"
"You call that an accident? He died because of your decision."
Lavirra's eyes burn. "I failed them once. And you—you passed them on a smile and good posture."
"I—I thought they—"
"You thought wrong!" Lavirra points straight at her chest.
"This isn't a school, Jinn. You don't hope they're ready. You know."
Jinn's hands tremble. "...I didn't mean for—"
"I don't care what you meant."
A pause.
"I failed that same trio last month," Lavirra said. "Said they were reckless. Teren charged a practice dummy with his eyes closed. Gail treats injuries like jokes. And Lysa panics when things get loud."
Jinn stayed quiet.
"You let charm blind you. You thought kindness meant capability."
"You passed a dead man, Jinn."
"Hope doesn't bring bodies home."
And then she turns—furious, disgusted, hurt—and slams the door behind her with full force.
SLAM!
---
That night, Jinn sat in her room. The candle burned low.
Teren's name was still on the scroll.
She hadn't crossed it out.
She pressed her thumb over the ink.
> I thought I was doing the right thing. Giving them a chance.
> But I gave them too much. And took too little time.
That night, she sat alone at her desk.
One hand pressed to her chest.
It hurt. Not from wounds—but weight.
Outside, clouds thickened. The sky darkened.
Then came the rain.
Soft at first.
Then steady.
Just like the tears that hit her desk—one by one.
Cold. Quiet.
The world didn't stop for sorrow.
But it remembered.
And so would she.
> "Passing someone isn't mercy... if it walks them to their grave."
> No more like this. Never again.