Chapter song: What Once Was - Her's
Kenneth followed Xander out of Compound B, the low hum of voices blending with the rhythmic hiss vents and crackles of static from the neighbouring rooms. They breezed past the crowd of applicants waiting for their turns.
The station that was just up ahead was enormous. A gleaming structure of metal and glass that arched high above them like the inside of a cathedral. The air smelled faintly metallic, with the notes of sweat and the combined smells of people. But through everything, Kenneth could detect a whiff of something fruity and herby in the mix.
As they approached, he could see Anchors and Strikers from all corners of the city lining the registration kiosk, some talking quietly with instructors, and others looking just as lost as he felt.
His gaze drifted to a nearby platform, where a group of recruits already decked in their white uniforms, a white jumpsuits that hugged their well endowed bodies were testing out their resonance fields under the supervision of people dressed in light grey jumpsuits. Blue light rippled between them, flickering like heat waves before vanishing into thin air. The sound it made, a low hum that seemed to echo in his chest, sent a chill down his spine.
"It's a lot to take in, huh?" Xander said, half-smiling as he caught Kenneth watching.
"A bit," Kenneth admitted, though he didn't look the least bit overwhelmed. He really was just taking it all in. "Feels like I'm stepping into a different world." Literally.
"I guess you are, in a way." Xander handed a small data card with his registration number. "This is your ticket to the Academy. You'll also be getting an Identification Band. Don't lose either one. I'm glad to have you in our ranks, Kenneth."
Kenneth turned the card over in his hand. It looked simple enough: a small piece of black polymer with a faintly glowing sigil at the centre. But holding it made something settle in his chest, a quiet realization that he was no longer just passing through this world. That he'd officially become part of it.
As Xander led him towards the line, Kenneth glanced back at the recruits one last time, especially the ones in light grey. They had a strange almost alluring air to them, almost as if he was unconsciously drawn to them. He wondered why he felt that way.
"Well, this is it," Xander's voice cut through his momentary daze, bringing him back to reality. They were now at the check-in desk. "If you have any questions or are in need of any help once we get back, please come see me. It'll be my pleasure to assist you."
Kenneth nodded and thanked him. Although there was still a lot he didn't know and so much he was curious about, he was thankful to have met him. Xander returned to his post. When it was finally his turn, he approached a man who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else and told him his name. After looking for his file in their database, the man's eyes widened. His gaze flickered between his screen and Kenneth.
Realizing that his attitude was rather improper, he smiled awkwardly. "Sorry, it's the first time I've seen a score this high before," he admitted.
Kenneth waved it off. He wasn't offended in the slightest, especially given what Xander had told him earlier. It would've been stranger if he hadn't reacted.
The man cleared his throat. "Welcome to Toleran Academy, Kenneth. I'm Alaric, the attendant of the academy. I'm in charge of registration as well as administrative affairs. Once we get back to Toleran, I'll be in charge of the warehouse management. So if you ever need to purchase something, I'm the one you should come to."
"Understood Mr. Alaric." Kenneth said politely.
"No need for the honourifics, you can call me Alaric." He said, waving his hand.
"Got it, Alaric."
The man smiled. "Since you already paid the 25 units, I'll be handing you a badge. Make sure you keep it with you at all times, it'll serve as an identification for you," as he said this, he handed him a white band with the letter A written in black.
"I saw that you were with Xander earlier. I assume he explained to you our time for departure?" He asked.
Kenneth nodded.
"Good." He then handed him a bag that looked deceptively light but contained quite a few things.
"This bag will help you with your early beginnings in the academy. Your course schedule as well as your room number will be sent to you shortly. Don't forget to read the rule book as well. We aren't very strict with our rules however the ones you do need to follow are important. Make sure to adhere to them."
"Understood."
Alaric nodded. "You can take your leave Mr. Grey. And remember to be on time bright and early tomorrow. Any latecomers will be left behind." Though his tone was stern, Kenneth could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
As soon as he was dismissed, he stepped out of line and walked back the way he came from. Kenneth decided to take this free time to do some exploring and familiarize himself with the place. The line had been cut down, and there were only a dozen people left to be registered.
He noticed at the corner of his eyes a station marked as: Training Area. Curious, he decided to give it a look.
The training area stretched far wider than he expected. A sprawling field bordered by reinforced fencing and shimmering energy barriers that hummed faintly in the background.
The ground was packed dirt in some sections and polished composite flooring in others, marked with faded lines. To his left, several recruits were gathered near a shooting range, testing out energy pistols under the watchful eyes of instructors. To his right, a few others practiced hand-to-hand combat, their shouts echoing sharply across the open air. The rhythmic thuds of impact and the occasional flare of resonance energy filled the space with restless vitality.
It was quite the scene to take in, but what drew his attention most was the man with the sword. He stood in the centre of a clear patch of ground, the tip of his blade cutting through the air with the precision of a painter's brushstroke. Each movement flowed into the next, a measured sequence of cuts, spins, and parries that looked less like training and more like a dance. The man's long hair caught the light as he turned, his dark grey jumpsuit clinging to a lean, controlled frame.
Kenneth slowed his pace, almost unwilling to break the stillness of the moment. As a trained fighter himself, he knew what it was like when you were in the middle of training, your entire focus on your body, the air, your breathing, the moment. It was like being in a zone, a special, untouchable place. He didn't like to be disturbed when he was in that trance. His comrades knew that when he was like this, disrupting that groove would be akin to a death sentence.
There was something about the man's focus. The way his body seemed perfectly in tune with the weapon, like it was an extension of himself, a third invisible arm, that made it hard to look away. A thin line of dust rose each time the blade struck the ground before slicing back up again. When he finally stopped, the silence that followed felt heavy, like the air itself had been holding its breath, just like he was.
An itch, unbidden, unprovoked, came over him. It was as if his fighter spirit had been ignited. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to spar with this man, like his entire existence was for that sole purpose, for his blade to clash with his, for his limbs to connect with his body and bring him to his knees.
Kenneth's body heated, cheeks coloured at this unprecedented, damn near potent desire that came over him. As if sensing his bloodlust, the man turned his head but was met with nothing. The spot Kenneth had been standing in was empty, as if he'd vanished out of thin air. The man stood there, blinking slowly. He could've sworn he felt a presence there, piercing. It had prickled through his skin, almost ensnaring him.
"...I must've been seeing things," he muttered under his breath before going back to his training.
Kenneth had never run out of a place so fast in his life. What the hell was he thinking letting his bloodlust seep out like that? It was unlike him. One of the first things they were taught as young soldiers was never to be caught.
They had to learn how to conceal their presence, and concealing their presence meant hiding their emotions. Never letting the enemy know what they were feeling. No matter how dire the situation, never let out murderous intent. It was akin to leaving yourself wide open and exposed.
"Shit."
When he was sure he'd put significant space between him and the training area, he stopped. "What the hell were you thinking, acting like that?" He reprimanded himself.
His heart thundered in his chest, and he couldn't help turning around, wondering, and some faint part of him hoping he was being followed. But he too was met with emptiness. He hadn't been followed.
He bit his lower lip. There was clearly something wrong with him. Why on earth would he want the man to come after him? If he had, then what? He'd confront him? He'd talk to him? Ask if he wanted to have a battle to the death?
Kenneth shook his head. He needed to calm down. He was feeling a rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. A sort of high he only got when he was in a battlefield or fighting against an opponent who outmatched him. There was only one way to deal with this urge. Either by spilling blood or sleeping it off. And since the former wasn't an option, he'd have to settle for the latter.
Sleeping it is, he thought.
Kenneth walked out of the town square in search of a hotel he could stay for the night. Luckily this was a hub for touristy attractions and there were a few hotels nearby. He checked into one, took a shower to wash off the grim for the day, redressed his wounds and fell asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow.
That night, Kenneth had a nightmare. Though this was nothing new given his profession. But this one was the worst one he'd had in years. He saw the mangled up bodies of his comrades.
The burnt and barely recognizable face of his former captain, Elias, clinging to him. He could hear Amir horrifying cries as his body was being burned to oblivion. His vision was blurred by smoke, charred skin, blood and scattered limbs. And all he could do was stand there in the midst of it. When the smoke finally cleared, he saw the face of the boy, smiling innocently at him before tilting his head to the side and muttering, "This is your fault," over and over again.
Kenneth woke up the following morning with a start, his forehead beading with sweat, heart hammering against his chest.
~*~
The first thing Lucien did when he got up that morning was check his levels. He felt it from the moment his eyes opened that his energy was low. He was in desperate need of stabilization and imagining walking into that tent and handing over himself to a barely experienced anchor made his stomach churn. He groaned, knowing he had no choice.
After changing into his uniform, he walked straight for the medics tents that were set up in case of emergencies like he was marching into his death; he might as well have been as the person who greeted him was none other than a light grey suit.
"Oh, captain Lucien, it's great to see you. Do you need some anchoring?" The young man asked. Looking at his sparkly brown eyes and his winsome smile, Lucien found it hard to just walk out and try to tough it out. All he could do was return his smile and nod.
"Yes. Will you be performing the anchoring?"
The young man nodded. "Everyone else is still asleep or unavailable. Please, follow me."
The boy who looked no older than twenty guided him further into a corner of the tent where two chairs sat next to each other. The boy took the one on the left while he took the one on the right.
Let's get this offer with, he thought as he extended his hand and the young man grabbed it.
He closed his eyes and immediately sent his energy into Lucien whose nose wrinkled upon contact. The moment the connection was made, Lucien's entire body stiffened. It wasn't necessarily pain he was feeling, but a sensation similar, that made his skin crawl—like something alive slithering into his flesh, wiggling itself through every nerve and vessel it could find.
His breath hitched as he felt the Anchor's energy worm its way into his VITA channels, cold and wet, pressing into spaces that didn't belong to anyone but him. His first instinct was to reject it, but he knew rejecting the stabilization mid-anchoring would backfire not only on himself, but the Anchor helping him.
The boy's voice came faintly through the haze. "Try to relax, captain," he said, his voice sounding strained. "The transfer will be smoother that way—"
Lucien nearly laughed. Relax? Easier said than done. DId this kid not know the torture he was subjecting himself to? How was he supposed to relax when it felt like maggots were crawling inside him, drilling holes into his veins?
His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. His body was screaming, begging to throw the kid off and break the link, but he forced himself to still a moment longer. Just a few more seconds.
Then, it hit deeper. A sudden, nauseating twist in his gut that made him flinch. That was it. He yanked his hand back and tore the connection apart. The young anchor gasped, startled by the abrupt cut, but Lucien was already on his feet, rubbing his palm against his uniform, hoping he could wipe the feeling away, but to no avail.
"I-I wasn't finished—"
"It's fine," Lucien said curtly. He tried to force a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. "You've done enough."
He walked out of the tent before the boy could protest, the morning air hitting his skin, giving him a brief reprieve from the suffocation he felt inside that tent. His pulse was still uneven, and a faint ringing echoed through his ears. The world tilted for a second before settling again. This was the after effect hitting him since he'd ended the session too soon. He knew his entire day would be filled with headaches and nausea.
He glanced at his V Watch and frowned. It was at sixty-eight percent, which wasn't ideal. He exhaled through his nose, forcing his breathing to steady. "Still in the green," he muttered under his breath. "But barely."
"Barely's right," came a familiar voice.
Lucien turned his head to find Alcione leaning against a supply crate, arms crossed, that smile grin already in place. The bastard wasn't even trying to hide his amusement. In fact, he relished seeing Lucien so out of sorts.
"I told you not to overdo it yesterday," Alcione said, nodding to the watch. "You burn through energy like sparklers Saint-James. Look at you, stuck getting patched up by rookies."
Lucien sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He could tell another wave of nausea was coming his way. "I couldn't help it. After that…whatever that was yesterday, my body wouldn't stay still."
He felt restless and desperately needed a release. Alcione raised an eyebrow. "Maybe it's the lack of proper anchoring that's making you feel overly sensitive. That's why you need proper check-ups. And pace yourself for god sake. You're seriously going to burn out one day."
Lucien wrinkled his nose. "You might as well curse me."
"I am cursing you," he said, pushing off the crate and slapping his friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll get a proper session once we're back at the Academy."
Lucien shot him a flat look but didn't argue. He wasn't sure if he could ever get himself a proper session, but Alcione was right. He needed to pace himself. As they walked off together, the faint hum of the camp around them faded into background noise, and Lucien couldn't shake the ghostly sensation of that foreign energy crawling under his skin.
He swore under his breath, his pale blue eyes hardening.
Next time, he'd rather go unstable than feel that again.