Survivors Assembled
The horn echoed once more through the broken woods, its cry like a call from another world. A deep, resonant sound that rolled over the charred trees, across streams dyed red with blood, and through the ragged hearts of the ones who had endured.
One by one, they came.
The survivors.
Twenty-five in all. Out of the hundreds that had once marched proudly into the trial, now only a thin thread of life remained.
They staggered into the clearing like shadows. Some limping with legs bound crudely by cloth strips. Others leaning heavily on comrades, dragging their weight as though each step threatened collapse. Their uniforms were unrecognizable—torn, burned, drenched in mud and blood until the very sight of them screamed of desperation.
Weapons—once symbols of pride—now hung like broken memories. A boy carried a spear, its shaft splintered in two. Another walked with a sword chipped down to a jagged edge. One girl clutched a dagger so worn it seemed more like a kitchen knife than a warrior's blade.
The air was heavy with silence. The silence of those who had lost too much to speak. The silence of grief unshared but understood.
Kaen's group entered together, though each of them bore wounds. Daren's shoulder dripped faintly, his bandages soaked crimson. Fin walked trembling, supported by Lyra, whose arm bled beneath the wrappings she had tied herself. Riku, though outwardly calm, limped faintly, his right knee stiff. And Kaen… Kaen's sword arm hung heavy at his side, muscles screaming from overuse, yet his eyes still burned.
(Camera pan across faces:)
—A boy missing an arm, his empty sleeve swaying in the wind, yet his gaze fierce and unbroken.
—A girl carrying her unconscious comrade across her back, refusing to let him fall.
—A pair of twins, one barely conscious, gripping the other's hand as though if they let go, the world would consume them.
Then, the contrast struck like lightning.
Across the clearing stood another group. Ten of them. Their uniforms untouched. Armor polished. Weapons gleaming as though freshly forged. Not a bruise, not a scratch, not a tremor of exhaustion. Their hair neatly tied, their expressions calm, collected—almost smug.
They looked less like survivors and more like conquerors.
Whispers stirred among the battered survivors.
"Not a single wound…"
"Impossible. Did they even fight?"
"What… are they?"
Kaen's gaze hardened as he watched them.
(Inner monologue – Kaen)
Not a scratch… How? We faced the same monsters, the same hunger, the same nightmarish nights. We bled, we screamed, we barely crawled through. Yet they… they stand as though untouched by the very trial that devoured us. What are they? Gods among us… or something else entirely?
The untouched group didn't speak. They didn't need to. Their very presence radiated superiority, a quiet claim that they were above the suffering that plagued the rest. Their stillness felt heavier than the sobs of the broken.
The horn's echo faded, leaving only the ragged breath of survivors and the uneasy silence between the wounded and the unscathed.
---
The Commander Appears
The mist that clung to the forest floor shifted. Slowly, deliberately, it parted.
A figure emerged.
Verya.
The instructor. The commander of the trial.
His steps were silent, yet every survivor felt his arrival like a weight pressing down upon their chest. He wore his black cloak like a shadow draped across the earth, its hem trailing in the dirt. His eyes—sharp, cold, unwavering—swept over the survivors with the precision of a blade.
The field fell still. Even the wounded held their breath.
Verya stopped at the center of the clearing. For a long moment, he said nothing. His gaze drifted from one face to another, as though measuring their worth, counting not just their number but their strength of spirit.
When he finally spoke, his voice was deep, resonant, carrying through the trees like the horn itself.
Verya:
"Out of hundreds… only twenty-five remain."
His words fell like hammers.
Verya (continuing):
"You have endured. You have bled. You have survived. You have proven you are no longer children—you are soldiers."
The battered bowed their heads, pride and pain warring in their hearts. Silent tears ran down cheeks. For a fleeting moment, there was triumph.
But Verya's tone hardened like steel striking steel.
Verya:
"But surviving the wilderness does not make you the best. The army will take you. You have passed the trial. But if you wish to stand at the top—if you wish to join the special squad—your trials are not over."
The phrase sent a ripple through the crowd. Special squad. The words were whispered like legend among recruits. A unit spoken of in hushed tones, said to stand above the army itself. Their deeds were myths, their strength beyond measure. Some said they were demons in human form, others said saviors destined to face what ordinary soldiers could not.
Eyes widened. Breaths quickened. Even Kaen felt the weight of it stir his heart.
(Inner monologue – Kaen)
The special squad… The unit of legends. To stand there would mean more than survival. It would mean power. Honor. To carry a name that history itself remembers. But… at what cost?
The exhausted trainees clenched fists, fire rising beneath their fatigue. The untouched group, however, smirked faintly, as though this announcement had been theirs to expect all along.
---
The Shocking Announcement
Verya's silence stretched like a drawn bow. Then, with deliberate weight, he spoke again.
Verya:
"The third test begins soon. It will not be against monsters. It will not be against the wild."
Every breath held.
Verya (voice deepening):
"It will be against each other."
The words slammed into the clearing like thunder.
Gasps erupted. Cries of disbelief. Some stumbled back, others shook their heads violently, refusing to accept it.
"Fight each other?!"
"After all this?!"
"We're allies—this is madness!"
But Verya's expression did not change.
Verya:
"You will fight. To prove your physical skills, your instincts, your will to dominate. The top ten… will be chosen for the special squad. Only the strongest, most unbreakable, will earn their place."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Dreams cracked like fragile glass.
Some clenched fists, determination igniting even through pain.
Others fell to their knees, realizing their nightmare had only deepened.
Kaen's group felt the storm within.
Fin trembled, his lips quivering.
Daren growled, his fists bleeding where nails dug into skin.
Lyra's eyes widened, fear battling with disbelief.
Riku narrowed his eyes, his silence colder than words.
Kaen's chest tightened, his heart pounding.
(Inner monologue – Kaen)
Fight… each other? After everything we endured, every bond forged, every comrade lost—we are to cut down the very ones who stood beside us? Ten chosen… fifteen left behind. Fifteen dreams shattered, crushed beneath this cruel trial. But… if I falter, my dream will die too.
The untouched group shifted, their leader smirking faintly, arms folded as though this was the moment they had awaited. They looked not horrified, but eager.
The survivors could feel it—the storm was no longer around them. It was within them.
---
The Aftermath
Verya's cloak swept across the dirt as he turned. His final words cut sharper than blades.
Verya:
"You have three days. Rest. Heal. Prepare yourselves. The battlefield you step into next… will not forgive hesitation."
His eyes, like fire behind glass, lingered briefly—on Kaen, and then on the untouched group.
Verya (final line):
"Show me… which of you deserves to stand above all others."
Then he was gone, swallowed by the light of the rising sun.
Silence remained. A silence thicker than the mist, heavier than the wounds.
Some survivors whispered frantically:
"Fight each other?!"
"Only ten… that means fifteen of us—!"
"I can't… I won't…"
Kaen's group gathered tightly.
Fin (trembling):
"Fight… our own friends? Is this really what it takes?"
Daren (gritting teeth):
"Tch. Figures. They don't just want survivors—they want killers."
Lyra (soft, conflicted):
"But… if we don't fight… we'll be left behind."
For a long moment, Riku remained silent. His eyes shadowed. Then he spoke, calm but heavy.
Riku:
"It doesn't matter what we think. This is the path laid before us. We either walk it… or we fall."
Kaen clenched his blade, his heart echoing like the horn that had guided them. His eyes shifted toward the untouched group, who stood tall, casting long shadows across the dawn, their smirks sharp as blades.
(Inner monologue – Kaen)
The test is no longer survival. It is domination. Three days. Three days until everything changes.
The camera pulls back:
Survivors scattered across the clearing—some crying, some sharpening blades, some lost in despair. The untouched group gleaming with unshaken confidence. Kaen's group, silent, bound together yet torn apart by the weight of choice.
The sun rises higher. Shadows lengthen. The storm brews unseen.
Fade to black.