"What do you think the test will be?" Ferry asked as soon as we entered the room.
"You're the leader, you should know," Barnett teased, a smug grin on her face.
"Seriously? I won fairly!" Ferry snapped, his pride clearly stung.
"When did I say it was unfair?" Barnett tilted her head. "I just said you should know."
"Guys, relax," I stepped between them. "It's going to be a group exercise—probably a mock operation. But…" I smirked at Ferry, "…Barnett's right. You should know."
Ferry's jaw dropped. "Unbelievable."
He shook his head and sat down. "Fine. Roles. Martin—you're the sniper and the strategist. Barnett, you'll scout for me and Martin, and guide Alfred and Valkin. Alfred and Valkin, you're our attackers. I'll command and fly the drone."
"Okay, sir," Alfred said with fake obedience, then promptly lay down.
"We just woke up!" Valkin cried, baffled.
"Which means I need more sleep," Alfred replied, and within a minute, he was snoring.
The rest of the day drifted by—eating, napping, doing light drills.
By morning, Ferry shook us awake, jittery with nerves. After breakfast, we gathered at the training grounds where Captain Pierson waited, arms crossed.
"Well, well, well," he said. "Today is your final test. Out there in the woods, thirty wooden targets are hidden. Your mission: take them all out and capture the flag on the far side. You'll have twenty minutes."
"Yes, sir!" we barked together.
"You've got ten minutes to prepare," the Captain added, settling into his chair.
Ferry unrolled a map. "Alright, Martin. You're the strategist. What's the plan?"
I studied it quickly. "Ferry, stay outside with the drone. Give overwatch. Alfred and Valkin—move fast, deep inside, clear as much as you can. Barnett—you're with me. You'll scout and give me targets."
Ferry nodded. "Good. Objections?"
No one spoke. We gathered our gear.
"Sir, we're ready," Ferry reported.
"Then get in position. Begin when ready," Pierson said, slipping on his headset.
We entered the artificial forest. Even though it was man-made, the canopy swallowed the light, plunging us into a shadowy green haze.
"This is Ferry. Beginning the test," he said into comms.
"Alright. Test starts… now!" Pierson's voice cracked in our ears.
We scattered into roles. Ferry stayed at the treeline, launching his drone skyward. Alfred and Valkin sprinted deeper. Barnett and I climbed to high ground. I went prone, adjusted my scope, while Barnett scanned with binoculars.
"Two targets. Fifty meters. Dead ahead," she whispered.
Crack—crack. Both fell.
Deeper in the woods, MP-5 bursts echoed.
"Four down," Valkin reported.
"Three down," Alfred added.
"Two down," I confirmed.
"Nine down. Twenty-one left. Eighteen minutes remaining," Ferry relayed.
Barnett pointed again. "Four targets—sixty meters. Two at two o'clock, one dead ahead, one just right."
Crack—crack—crack—crack. All dropped.
Ten minutes in, Ferry updated: "Eight minutes left. Five targets remain."
Alfred's weapon rattled. "Three down. Flag close."
We searched for the last three, but time bled away.
"I've searched every corner," Ferry muttered. "No sign."
"Same here," we all replied.
"Let's move. Change positions," I said, standing. I took a drink from my bottle—then froze. A glint caught my eye high in the trees. I dropped the bottle and raised my scope. Two targets, tucked in the treetop, sunlight flashing off them.
"You found them?" Barnett asked, already lifting her binoculars.
"Yes. Twelve to one o'clock. Hundred and fifty meters. Fifteen meters high."
"Got them. Perfect angle. You could line up a double."
"That's the plan."
I shifted a few steps left, brought both into my crosshairs. One behind the other. I steadied my breath, heart hammering. Inhale. Exhale. Crack.
Both dropped.
"Two down," Barnett confirmed.
"I've got the flag," Alfred's voice came through.
Barnett and I blinked at each other. "That fast?"
"We'd already located it," Alfred explained calmly. "Valkin went searching, I stayed."
"Well done, all of you," Pierson's voice boomed through comms. "Targets cleared. Flag captured. You've passed."
Relief crashed over us. We returned to the field, greeted by Pierson and Sergeant Malkhin.
"Congratulations," the Captain said, clapping. His eyes glowed with pride.
We went back to our rooms, exhausted but relieved.
"That plan was solid, Martin. You really are a strategist," Ferry said, clapping my shoulder. Then he turned to Valkin. "And you, man, you were way better than before. All of us have leveled up." He was grinning, almost childlike, but I could hear the pride in his voice.
A little later, Captain Pierson walked in with folded uniforms in his arms. His face was serious, but his eyes carried warmth.
"Your group is the first to pass out of this academy. Which means…" he paused, sighing, "…you'll also be the first deployed to the war."
The words hit like cold steel.
He placed the uniforms down gently, almost like they were sacred.
"Here. Change into these and report to Colonel Yornus." He turned to the door, then stopped and looked back at us. "Well done, all of you. I'm proud. Truly proud." And then he left.
"The Captain's… different now," Barnett said softly, once the door closed.
We changed into the uniforms. The fabric wasn't anything special, but when I looked down at the Crescent Army badge on my chest, my heart thumped differently. For the first time, I felt less like a boy…and more like a soldier.
Soon after, we stood outside Colonel Yornus's office. Ferry knocked. Silence.
"The Colonel isn't in," a voice came from behind. Major Ralich. He gave us a quick look. "You're Pierson's team, right? Go in and wait. He'll be here soon."
Inside, the Colonel's office felt heavy, like history itself lingered in the air. Medals, portraits, battle maps. The kind of room where decisions were made that changed lives. We sat quietly in the row of chairs, waiting.
"He really is as important as they say," Valkin whispered, eyes on the medals.
"Of course," Ferry replied. "He's one of Arkania's best."
The door opened, and Colonel Yornus walked in. We shot up instinctively, but he motioned for us to sit.
"No need. This 'Colonel' title—it's just a role. At the end of the day, you and I are the same." He sat, shuffled through some papers, then looked at us.
"I've read your results. Out of all the groups in this batch, you performed the best. Pierson says you're ready for deployment. I trust his judgment."
He closed the file and leaned forward. His voice lowered.
"You're so young. You should be chasing dreams, not carrying rifles. I hate signing these papers, knowing it makes you soldiers instead of children." He went quiet, his words heavy.
But then his eyes sharpened.
"This war was forced upon us. They think we're weak—because of our weapons, our broken infrastructure, and our scars. But they're wrong. We'll stand, not for kings or elites, but for every child whose dreams deserve to live. For every mother who prays that her child survives. For every father who believes his son or daughter can make a difference. That's why we fight."
His voice carried no lies. This wasn't Michaela's hollow speeches—this was real. The Yornus the Arkanians trusted.
He stood and opened a case of badges. One by one, he pinned them onto our uniforms, his hands steady.
"I want a promise. Fight—not for me, not for the Crescent Army. Fight for the Arkanians whose hopes rest on you. Don't fall…unless God Himself wills it."
We rose, saluted, and shouted as one:
"YES, SIR!"
He saluted us back. "May God's blessing guide you to victory."
The air in the room shifted. We were no longer just cadets. We carried the weight of a nation.
Then his gaze landed on me.
"Martin. Stay. The rest of you may go."
My friends glanced back with concern before leaving.
The Colonel leaned back, his eyes softer now. "Your brother…he was the bravest child I've ever known. I was there when he chose to sacrifice himself. I tried to stop him. He didn't listen." He exhaled heavily. "He never killed anyone needlessly. Always spared those who surrendered. That kindness…maybe it rubbed off on me."
He pulled open a drawer and brought out a knife. The steel was worn, the handle scratched, but it gleamed under the light.
"This was his. He gave it to me. Now…it belongs to you."
I took it in my hands. Dusty. Cold. Beautiful. My throat tightened.
"Malkin was like a younger brother to me. And so are you."
"Fight your way, and save Arkania your way. I believe you will surpass both me and your brother." His voice softened. "Martin Arkila… may God bless you with victory."
Those words sank deep into my chest. They weren't just encouragement—they were a torch being passed to me. From that moment on, I no longer hated the war itself. I only hated the enemy who forced it upon us.
Father. Brother. Narkit. Colonel. I will not let your hopes die. I swear on my life…I will win.
I went back to the barracks, packed my things in silence. The others were waiting. Together, we went to see Captain Pierson one last time. His eyes carried both pride and sorrow.
"I taught you all I could," he said, forcing a small smile. "The rest…it's up to you now."
Something about his voice felt different—softer, warmer. We stepped forward, and before any of us knew it, we were hugging him. For the first time, the Captain—our strict, unshakable Captain—hugged us back.
"Barnett Alexim. Ferry Ferling. Valkin Versel. Martin Arkila. And…" his eyes lingered on Alfred, "…Alfred Zenisk."
Alfred straightened, his chin lifted.
"…May you never face defeat," Pierson said, and his salute was firm, unwavering.
We returned the salute. For the first time, it felt like we had truly earned it.
Then we picked up our bags. Heavy with supplies. Heavier with expectations. Step by step, we walked toward the truck waiting at the gates.
We were no longer just children. No longer the useless brats who once hid from war.
We were soldiers of Arkania.
And beyond those gates… awaited Hell—a place built only for death.
The stage was set. The curtain is about to rise.
And now…the performers were ready.