Cadets. In truth, that's all they were. Nothing more, nothing less.
Nyx knew this. Still, a sinking feeling managed to dig into his chest. His heart felt unreasonably heavy — like a tightening grip of steel squeezing against his fleshy innards, rivalling his own organs for a place inside his body.
For the first time in a while, he could feel his own mortality. Something he could've gone his whole life without feeling again, or at the very least not until death was about to actually take him.
But he felt it nonetheless. Weak and frail.
Every Phantom, both full soldiers and the trainees under them, by now had already formed decent rows and columns, a clear gap between each individual Unit with their respective Phantoms taking the forefront. Their arms were firmly crossed behind their backs, posture strong and heads failing to slouch. Each and every one of them attempted to hold a calm expression, but their nerves managed to penetrate through their training. The result was an amalgamation — not quite scared, not quite calm. Some didn't even attempt to hide their terror. Some, mostly official Phantoms and a handful of cadets, seemed almost indifferent.
The air felt unreasonably dense, lost voices caught inside of their mouths and unwilling to break the seal. They waited anxiously, no time set for the supposed announcement other than what was told to them this morning…
...And Nyx hated it. To occupy his mind, he naturally found his gaze started to wander amidst the other cadets, a not-so-subtle attempt to gauge each of their reactions.
Or that's how he justified it to himself, anyways.
In truth, only one reaction actually managed to pique his interest… he was curious about Silas.
Nyx only had to give a fleeting glance to his right, Silas holding by his side an unwavering stance. It was clear he was concerned, a light sweat twisting down the edges of his face, but he refused to let it control him. In fact, that was possibly one of his most endearing qualities: Even during the most stressful moments, he'd manage his way into an induced state of artificial calm.
He never let anything touch his mind except for his own will.
Nyx, on the other hand, looked almost painfully uninterested. Not because he wasn't worried, but because he'd learned to never show his true emotions.
Since that day, it'd been forced upon him.
Nevertheless, regardless of how anyone presented themselves against the circumstances, the sudden pounding of footsteps sent a quick shiver down everyone's spine.
The meeting had begun.
Without further question, any who dared to show dissonance from calm were quick to whip themselves back into shape, mere moments before the commander actually took the stage.
Of course, to them and everyone living within the confines of the wall, the commander was a man who needed no introduction. Sir Vaelis, 34th Regiment Leader of the Phantoms. His oath, and the same for all that came before, was the futile task of extermination. Kill or be killed. Hunt or be hunted. It should be met with no shame that he failed where his predecessors have as well, yet on the same coin, it shouldn't be a job at which they fail in the first place.
Perhaps that was why, when faced under the obvious scrutiny and praise of his own cadets, he chose to tell them...
He was a man who didn't look the friendly type — clearly older in age with thick wrinkles stretching across his face, paired with an almost permanent frown stuck to his creased and withered jaw. His head was completely shaved, beard and all, as if an attempt to further exemplify his odious expression.
Much to everyone's surprise, however, his voice wasn't of rage or anger, but rather a cold, almost rugged sense of seriousness yet understanding. Firm, yet an unexpected lingering of kindness.
He only muttered his first words a few loathsome seconds after taking center-stage, starting his address with a simple yet direct statement: "Neodera has fallen."
His voice was deep and coarse, delivered like gravel yet slipped into their minds like smooth butter against a heated blade.
"They hunt us, but we'll devour them," the commander's voice boomed, "I said that, yes? Maintaining that speech has been... difficult, to say the least. That truth is easy to slip away from me, no matter how hard I choose to grasp."
Not a soul present carried a hint of surprise; The real shock being him so willing to announce his own failures. Not a fault carried by his own volition, to be sure, as it's been a decline set in motion from years prior to his lead. It's more to do with the principle of the matter. Leaders don't show weakness, they kill it.
"Phantoms Kade and Nerys of Omicron are already on-scene. Epsilon will be sent as support, their only role to secure the remains of the city and safely evacuate any potential civilians if any remain. If they are dead, do not recover."
The room was silent, only sound being the permeating echo of his voice booming throughout the hall. "It's currently believed that, due to Phantom ascendants being present, most threats have already been neutralized. Thus, to further decrease the workload and burden of the Epsilon Unit, their cadets will also be in attendance for the search and rescue operation…"
Nyx could immediately feel his heart drop.
"…Combat is not permitted for cadets unless a requirement for survival, and protection over cadets is placed in the hands of their Unit superiors. You will meet at the rift in approximately two hours from now. Everyone else, resume normal activity until further instructions are given..."
And, just as abruptly as the gathering had begun, it had ended just the same: "Steel your hearts and hearten your resolve," he spoke for a final time, scowling eyes preying over their heads, "and be sure to exercise caution. You'll need it."
* * *
He could barely breathe.
In truth, he was unsure if it was the stress or the dirt that was asphyxiating him, though in his mind, he blamed it entirely on the former.
Only a few minutes had passed since the meeting had been adjourned, a few odd glances Nyx managed to pick up from passing cadets — perhaps out of envy, or perhaps nothing but pity.
Either way, he hated it. Right now, he practically hated everything...
His mind was a cesspool of agony, terror, and turmoil. His heart was beating like a thousand war drums, just over the horizon being the imminent battle of death. It was venomous, depressing, and gut-wrenching to the core. Underneath his own legs could he start to feel the very foundation of his body begin to crumple under the thought.
It was a sudden outburst of fear which, at first, seemed almost unfounded at a glance, though the nature of Sir Vaelis' speech meant a lot more to these cadets than most would seem to realize.
People don't just see a Terror and remain the same. They tend to effect the very root of one's conscience. One's entire being.
They had heard the stories as a kid; Creatures of night which ate and devoured until nothing but bone remained. If unlucky, not even those would survive. Creatures that would warp reality around them, creatures which would burn your face off to the touch, creatures which would rip you limb from limb, purely out of the enjoyment of watching you bleed. To see a Terror is to see the hand of death, and to fight one, even more so. You don't see a Terror and tend to survive.
Even the Phantoms, if stripped of their powers, would likely be nothing but stepping stones in their wake- the morbid irony being how they obtained those powers in the first place.
Cadets, trained yet untested, have been asked to face death and die if unlucky. It didn't help that Vaelis ended his speech with the uncertainty of even meeting one. Imagination can be a dangerous place, and now it had just gripped the minds of everyone present — none more so than the Epsilon cadets. None more so than the jade-eyed.
Should they see a Terror and be forced to face one head-on, they already knew their chances.
With every prayer in existence, they hoped that wouldn't occur.
Whereas the commander was known by all, a lowly cadet with not much of a name earned for himself was typical to fly under the radar. He was only a soldier. A tool for war. A trainee in death. Even among his peers, nothing substantial stood out to give him a leg-up. He was fueled by a past which he felt no one could relate to, yet he was only a commoner. Average.
Still, it's always the average who keeps the world spinning.
He would be sent to Neodera. He would be sent with the uncertainty of death.
And should a Terror be present... he would surely die.
- | Text taken from "Guise of the Phantoms" written by Elian Vostrelle | -[1]
The Phantoms are divided into twenty-four subdivisions named after the Greek alphabet, known as Units/Houses. Nearly three hundred years after the organization's founding, only eight Units still remain in active duty, while four are kept in reserve.
Each active Unit has their own core of Phantoms, as well a cadet group every year to train before they 'Ascend' to become a Phantom themselves. It's also known that each Unit tends to have differing functions and assignments between them, though with the ever dwindling population and lack of people willing to join as new recruits, the workload tends to be immense, and is perhaps the reason for their many blunders as a faction within the recent waning years.
[1] "Guise of the Phantoms," written by Elian Vostrelle, was a work created to inform the general public about the operating functions and outer front of the Phantoms. Specifically, it was penned and published after the immense outrage that followed a specific event, known as The Black Pyre. The excerpt that follows is from that very text.