Abby's quiet movements woke Ascendrea before the alarm screeched through the barracks. The soft rustle of fabric, careful footsteps against coral that barely made sound. She opened her eyes to dim pre-dawn light filtering through the windows, shadows still thick in the corners of the room.
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of her bunk, her bare feet finding the cool coral floor. She dressed with practiced efficiency, the sea-silk settling against her skin with its characteristic chill. She made her bunk, pulling the sea-silk blanket taut across the thin mattress, the cool smooth fabric sliding easily under her palms. She organized her space with meticulous care.
Inspection passed smoothly when Inspector Thera arrived. The tall woman reached Ascendrea and her eyes swept across the uniform, the bunk, the cabinet. She smiled, brief and warm. Nodded once. Then moved on.
"Gather in the corridor for PT," Abby announced.
Ascendrea walked with Room 12 as girls clustered together and filed out. Her steps felt easier than they had in weeks. No knot twisting in her stomach, no racing thoughts about timing. Just walking with her barracks group the way she was supposed to.
The morning was clear when they emerged, humidity already building even in the early hour. The sun had risen enough to cast long shadows across the training grounds, the packed coral surface still cool from night but warming rapidly.
Formations were called and Ascendrea took her place with Room 12. Her feet found their marks, her spine straightened into proper posture.
The drills began with running laps around the training grounds. Her boots struck coral in rhythm with dozens of others, her breathing finding rhythm naturally. Her body warmed into the work, muscles loosening, lungs expanding.
The instructor's whistle cut through the morning air. "Water break!"
Ascendrea moved to the water stations with the dispersing recruits. She retrieved her canteen and drank deeply, the cool water soothing after exertion.
During the break, she found herself scanning the field without meaning to. Her gaze landed on Mara standing with her barracks group maybe thirty paces away, caramel hair catching the morning light. Her golden eyes were bright as she laughed at something, her whole face transformed with genuine amusement.
Something tightened in Ascendrea's chest. Sharp and immediate, squeezing around her ribs.
She shoved it down. Refused to examine what it meant.
She looked away and took another drink from her canteen.
The whistle blew. "Back to formations!"
The drills resumed. More running, calisthenics that made her muscles burn. The tightness faded as quickly as it had come, washed away by physical exertion.
By the time PT ended with the instructor's final whistle, Ascendrea felt good again. Tired in the clean way physical exertion brought, muscles aching pleasantly. Normal.
Ascendrea returned to the barracks with Room 12, surrounded by her group. She washed efficiently, the Mistmint sharp against her sweaty skin. She changed into her dry uniform, the fresh sea-silk cool and smooth.
As she walked to the mess hall her thoughts drifted to the branch selection coming next week. Training and Personal Development, Research and Engineering, Resource Management, or Frontline Command. She would need to decide which to start with.
The space was filling with recruits when they arrived. She moved through the serving line, collected her tray. Found a seat at a table with girls she didn't know.
They were discussing something from one of yesterday's classes. Ascendrea ate while their conversation flowed around her. She finished and cleared her tray without looking toward the table where Mara sat with her group.
The training grounds were hot under the midday sun when combat drills assembled. The humidity had built throughout the morning, making the air thick and heavy. Instructors paired recruits off for hand-to-hand technique practice.
Ascendrea was assigned to a Vayore girl she'd seen in passing a couple times around the compound. Dark skin, close-cropped hair. They positioned themselves in an open section of the padded floor and began moving through the drills the instructor had demonstrated. Blocks executed with deliberate precision, counters that redirected momentum, throws that required proper leverage and timing.
The instructor walked between pairs with slow deliberation, her boots striking the padded coral in measured steps. She observed each group for several seconds before moving on, her eyes tracking form and execution with professional assessment. Occasionally she stopped to correct positioning or offer guidance.
Her boots stopped beside Ascendrea and her partner. Ascendrea felt the attention like physical weight settling on her shoulders.
"O113, widen your stance. You're off-balance."
The words cut through the ambient noise with precision. Ascendrea's body tensed immediately, muscles going rigid under the scrutiny. She adjusted her feet, spreading them wider, shifting her weight until it felt more centered.
"Better. Continue."
The instructor moved on, her attention shifting to the next pair. Her boots resumed their measured pace across the floor, the sound growing fainter as distance increased.
Ascendrea's breathing steadied again as the pressure of observation lifted. Her shoulders lowered slightly from where they'd drawn up toward her ears. Her partner resumed the drill and they continued working through the techniques the instructor had shown, Ascendrea still struggling to perform when faced with an opponent.
The session ended with stretches that pulled at tight muscles, releasing some of the tension while creating a different kind of discomfort that edged toward pain.
Ascendrea's muscles burned in familiar ways. Clean exhaustion building throughout her body, the kind that came from sustained physical effort rather than anxiety or emotional strain.
She filed out with the other recruits when dismissed, her body moving with the flow of traffic heading back toward the barracks compound. Boots striking coral in irregular rhythm, voices rising around her in post-training conversation.
The mess hall was crowded and loud when lunch hour arrived. Bodies packed together at tables, voices layering into a wall of sound that pressed against Ascendrea's ears from all directions. The heat from so many people in the enclosed space made the humidity even thicker despite the building's ventilation.
Ascendrea moved through the serving line with efficient purpose. She collected her tray with portions of grilled fish, vegetables that had been roasted until slightly charred, bread that was still warm enough to steam when broken open. Water poured clear into her cup.
She found an empty spot at a table near the wall, away from the main flow of traffic. She sat down on the bench, the chilled coral seeping through her uniform.
She ate while recruits around her talked about the morning's drills, their voices rising and falling with animation. Someone complained about a bruised shoulder from taking a fall wrong, their hand rubbing the affected area with visible discomfort. Someone else laughed about repeatedly falling during throw practice.
Ascendrea finished her meal, cleared her tray, and headed back out into the compound.
The afternoon stretched ahead with unstructured time before dinner, then classes would begin in the evening. Hours to fill with whatever activity she chose.
She headed to one of the practice yards positioned near the eastern side of the compound. The space was open to the sky but surrounded by coral walls that provided shade during certain hours, creating a sheltered area for individual training. A few other recruits were already there, working through drills on their own or in pairs, their movements creating soft sounds of exertion and impact.
Ascendrea found an empty space near one of the shaded walls. She began running through hand-to-hand forms, repeating the movements she'd learned that morning. The sequences that needed to burn into muscle memory through repetition. Blocks executed with precise angles, strikes that extended fully and snapped back, footwork patterns that required weight shifts and balance.
Her body warmed into the work gradually. Sweat built on her skin, dampening her hairline and creating moisture between her shoulder blades. The sea-silk absorbed it efficiently but couldn't prevent the physical response to sustained exertion in humid heat.
She moved through the sequences again. And again. Her mind focused on small technical details with each repetition. Adjusting her stance when it felt too narrow, correcting her weight distribution when she noticed imbalance, changing the angle of her blocks to match what the instructor had shown.
Time passed in a blur of repeated movement and incremental adjustment. Other recruits came and went around her, their presences registering peripherally without demanding engagement. Someone practiced weapon forms nearby, a practice staff whistling through air in controlled arcs. Someone else worked with a partner on grappling techniques, their bodies hitting the ground with soft thumps.
The hourly bell rang across the compound, its clear tone cutting through the ambient noise. Time for dinner. The signal that pulled recruits from their various activities and directed them toward the mess hall.
The mess hall was filling with recruits when dinner hour arrived, bodies streaming in from various afternoon activities. Voices rose in layered conversation, boots struck coral in irregular rhythm, the ambient noise building as tables filled. Ascendrea moved through the serving line collecting portions as they were served.
She found a seat at a table with a few girls from other barracks. They were mid-conversation when she sat down, barely acknowledging her arrival before continuing their discussion about branch selections.
She found a seat at a table with a few girls from other barracks, their faces vaguely familiar from seeing them around the compound but no names attached. They were mid-conversation when she sat down, barely acknowledging her arrival before continuing their discussion about branch selections.
"I'm thinking Research and Engineering for my first year," one girl was saying, her hands gesturing to emphasize her point. "Learning how things actually work sounds more interesting than just combat training."
"I want to start with Frontline Command," another girl countered, leaning forward with intensity. "Get the hardest part over with first. Then the other rotations won't feel as intense."
Ascendrea ate while they talked.
"Resource Management for me," a third girl offered, her voice quieter than the others. "I want to understand how everything gets distributed before I see the other parts."
"Training and Personal Development seems like it would be the gentlest introduction," the first girl said thoughtfully. "Work with new recruits, help them adjust. Ease into service."
Their debate continued, each girl explaining what drew them to starting with a particular branch for their first year rotation. Ascendrea's pen hand twitched slightly, wanting to take notes on their reasoning even though this was dinner conversation, not class material.
Mara sat with her usual group at their table near the center. Daven was gesturing animatedly about something, his spiraled horns catching the light as his hands moved through elaborate motions. Whatever he was saying made Mara laugh, her whole face transforming. Her golden eyes bright, her ears perked forward, her tail swishing behind her with the energy that had been missing for days.
That tightness returned to Ascendrea's chest immediately. Sharp and insistent, squeezing around her ribs with force that made breathing difficult. Heavier than it had been during the morning water break. More persistent, refusing to be easily dismissed or shoved down.
She looked down at her tray deliberately, forcing her eyes away from caramel hair and golden eyes and laughter that wasn't meant for her. She focused on eating with mechanical precision, bringing her spoon to her mouth and chewing food that had lost all flavor.
The feeling lingered through the rest of her meal. Pressing against her ribs from the inside, making each breath feel slightly insufficient. The conversation about branch selections continued around her but the words stopped registering, just became sound washing over her while the tightness refused to ease.
She cleared her tray when her food was gone and headed toward the academic building where evening classes were held. Her boots struck coral in steady rhythm, the familiar percussion grounding her.
The classroom was already filling when Ascendrea arrived, recruits claiming seats in scattered patterns throughout the tiered rows. She took a seat in the middle section.
The instructor entered moments later. A Marakari woman with blue-tinted scales along her arms and jawline, carrying a folder and several sample materials. She moved to the front of the room and began the lesson without preamble.
"Tonight we're covering coral cultivation and maintenance. Part of your Resource Management overview." Her voice carried clearly across the space. "Understanding coral is fundamental to everything we do here. Our buildings, our tools, even the weapons we use. All coral-based."
She gestured to diagrams mounted on the wall behind her, detailed illustrations showing coral polyp structures in cross-section. "Growth patterns follow specific environmental conditions. Temperature, salinity, water flow. All must be optimal for healthy development."
Ascendrea pulled out her notebook and began taking notes. Her pen moved across the page in steady strokes, recording information with meticulous detail. Diagrams of coral polyps copied with precise proportions. Temperature ranges written in neat columns. Salinity levels recorded with exact measurements.
The instructor explained how to identify healthy versus diseased coral structures. Showed samples that demonstrated various stages of development and decay. Called attention to subtle color variations that indicated problems before they became critical.
"Diseased coral turns pale first," the instructor explained, holding up a sample that showed the telltale fading. "The vibrant color drains gradually as the polyps die. If caught early enough, treatment can reverse the damage. If not..." She set the sample down with finality. "The entire structure becomes compromised."
The instructor began calling on recruits to identify coral samples from drawings she displayed, testing their understanding of the material just covered. Ascendrea kept her pen moving across her page, adding details to her notes about treatment protocols and prevention methods, her shoulders tensing slightly with each name called.
The tightness in her chest had faded by now. Dissolved sometime during the lecture without her noticing the transition. Just the normal classroom anxiety remained in its place.
The class ended when the hourly bell rang. The instructor dismissed them with a reminder to review the coral cultivation diagrams before the next session. Ascendrea gathered her materials with care, tucking her notebook into her bag and filing out with the other recruits into corridors that were quieter at this evening hour.
She returned to Room 12 as the barracks filled with girls finishing their own evening routines. Bodies moving between bunks and cabinets, voices rising in quiet conversation, the ambient noise of preparation for sleep building gradually.
She moved to the washing area and cleaned efficiently. The Mistmint sharp against her skin, water rinsing away the day's accumulated sweat and grime. She changed into sleep clothes, the soft fabric comfortable against her body after a full day in sea-silk uniforms. She organized her supplies for the next day with meticulous care, everything positioned exactly where it needed to be for morning. Her training uniform hung on the drying grates, still slightly damp but already losing most of its absorbed moisture. Her boots sat cleaned and set beside her footlocker, ready for tomorrow's PT.
She sat on her bunk, the thin mattress compressing beneath her weight. Her hand slipped into her pocket. Fingers finding the familiar shapes through the fabric, pressing first blue, then red, and finally yellow. The words moved through her mind automatically. Soldier, artillery, scout. The pattern settling something in her chest that had been restless.
Around her, girls prepared for sleep with familiar routines. Quiet conversations about the day's events, plans for tomorrow, small observations and jokes. The sounds of movement and settling as bodies found their bunks and arranged themselves for rest. Cabinet doors closing with soft percussion, blankets being pulled up, the ambient noise gradually decreasing as exhaustion claimed voices.
Ascendrea lay back on her bunk, the sea-silk blanket cool and smooth against her skin when she pulled it up. Her head settled into the pillow, her body relaxing into the thin mattress beneath her.
Abby's quiet movements woke Ascendrea from sleep that felt too shallow, unsatisfying. The soft rustle of fabric, careful footsteps against coral. She opened her eyes and stared at the coral ceiling above her bunk, tracking the familiar patterns where shadows moved with the pulse of alchemical lights.
Her body felt heavy. Like something was pressing down on her from above, making her limbs dense and difficult to move. The sensation was physical and immediate, a weight that seemed to have settled into her bones overnight. Like she might be coming down with something.
She pushed herself up with effort. Her arms strained slightly against the simple act of sitting, her muscles responding sluggishly. She swung her legs over the side of her bunk, her feet finding the cool coral floor.
She started her morning routine with movements that felt sluggish, like moving through water. Every action required more effort than it should. She dressed, pulling the sea-silk tunic over her head with arms that felt too heavy, fastening her belt with fingers that fumbled slightly on the buckle. She made her bunk, the sea-silk blanket sliding under her palms with its characteristic smoothness, but her hands moved slowly as she pulled it taut. She organized her space, positioning items in her cabinet with meticulous care but taking longer to complete each adjustment.
The alarm screeched through the barracks before she had finished her usual adjustments. The sound cut through her awareness with sharp force, making her flinch slightly. Around her, girls jolted awake with groans and curses, bodies lurching upright, voices rising in morning complaints.
Ascendrea frowned slightly, the expression pulling at muscles in her face. She was usually done well before the alarm screeched. The delay was unusual. Concerning.
Maybe she was getting sick. The heaviness in her limbs, the sluggish responses, the way everything took more effort than normal. She would need to monitor herself throughout the day. Track symptoms, watch for further decline. If they developed beyond general fatigue, she would have to report to the medical building for assessment.
Inspection passed when Inspector Thera arrived and moved through the room. The tall woman reached Ascendrea, her eyes sweeping across the uniform, the bunk, the cabinet. She smiled, brief and warm. Nodded once. Then moved on to continue her rounds.
"Gather in the corridor for PT," Abby announced when inspection ended.
Ascendrea walked with Room 12 toward the training grounds, her boots striking coral with the same rhythm as everyone else's but each step requiring conscious effort. Her legs felt heavier than usual, like weights had been attached to her ankles overnight.
They emerged into morning air that pressed against her with thick humidity. The training grounds spread before them, packed coral surface already warming under the rising sun.
Formations were called and Ascendrea took her place. The drills began with the instructor's sharp commands cutting through the morning air.
Her body moved through the familiar exercises. Running laps around the field, Push-ups that made her arms shake more than they should. Lunges that set her thighs burning with effort that felt disproportionate to the actual difficulty.
Everything took slightly more effort than it should. Her breathing came harder, her muscles protested sooner, her body refusing to perform with its usual capability. Like fighting against invisible resistance that made every movement require additional force.
During the water break, she retrieved her canteen and drank while her breathing slowly settled. She saw Mara across the field without meaning to, her eyes tracking to caramel hair and golden eyes automatically. Mara stood with her barracks group maybe thirty paces away, her whole face bright as she laughed at something Daven had said. Her ears perked forward, her tail swishing with vibrant energy.
That tightness settled in Ascendrea's chest. Familiar now, expected, squeezing around her ribs with force that made breathing difficult.
She drank from her canteen and looked away deliberately, forcing her eyes to track elsewhere. But the feeling lingered, refusing to dissipate the way it had during previous days. Staying lodged beneath her ribs like something solid and uncomfortable.
PT ended. Ascendrea returned to the barracks with Room 12, surrounded by her group as they moved through corridors. She washed, changed into her dry uniform, the fresh sea-silk settling against her body with its characteristic chill.
The sluggish feeling persisted throughout. Her movements slower than they should be, her body's responses delayed.
She walked to the mess hall, her boots striking coral in rhythm with others around her. The corridor stretched ahead, and something about it looked different. Wrong.
The coral walls looked paler than usual. Washed out, like looking through dirty glass that filtered color and left everything muted. The rich midnight blue she was used to seeing had faded to something lighter, less vibrant. Like someone had drained saturation from the world overnight.
She blinked, trying to clear her vision. But the paleness remained. The walls stayed washed out, the colors dulled.
Definitely getting sick. Vision changes could indicate fever, infection, something requiring medical attention.
She moved through the serving line when they reached the mess hall. Collected her tray and found a seat at a table with girls who were mid-discussion about yesterday's coral cultivation class.
"I still don't understand the polyp diagram," one girl was saying, her voice carrying frustration. "The way the instructor drew it made no sense."
"It's just showing the individual polyp structure," another girl explained patiently. "Each one builds its skeleton, and together they create the larger coral formation. The growth cycle starts small and expands outward."
Across the hall, Mara sat with her group at their usual table. Her caramel hair caught the light filtering through the high windows, bright and vivid against the pale washed-out background of everything else. Like she existed in full color while the world around her had faded to something muted and gray.
She turned to say something to Lira, leaning close with animated gestures. Both of them laughed, the sound carrying faintly across the crowded space.
Something hollow opened in Ascendrea's chest. Wide and empty, like a cavity forming where something solid should have been. Different from the tightness that had squeezed her ribs. This was absence rather than pressure. A void expanding beneath her sternum that made her feel lighter and heavier at the same time.
She looked down at her tray, forcing her eyes away from a brightness that hurt to watch. The food had no particular taste when she brought more to her mouth. Just the mechanical act of eating, chewing and swallowing without any satisfaction or pleasure derived from the process.
The training grounds felt bright and harsh when combat drills assembled in the midday heat. Ascendrea squinted against the sunlight reflecting off pale coral surfaces, the light seeming too intense even though objectively it was the same sun as every other day. The brightness hurt her eyes, made her temples ache with pressure that built behind her eyebrows.
She was paired with the same Vayore girl as before, the one with close-cropped hair and neutral expression. They positioned themselves on the padded floor and moved through techniques the instructor demonstrated. Blocks executed with arms that felt too heavy, counters that required conscious effort to complete, throws that demanded leverage her body didn't want to provide.
The hollow feeling from breakfast had not faded. It sat in her chest, present and persistent, occupying space where something else should have been. Wide and empty, creating a void that made everything feel slightly unreal.
The session ended with stretches called out by the instructor in steady sequence. Ascendrea moved through them, pulling at muscles that felt tight and unresponsive. The stretches provided no relief, no release of tension. Just another task to complete before dismissal.
She filed out with the other recruits when the instructor released them, her boots striking coral in rhythm with dozens of others. Bodies moving together toward the barracks, voices rising around her in conversation she didn't track.
The mess hall was crowded when lunch arrived. Bodies packed together at tables, voices layering into walls of sound that pressed against her ears. The heat from so many people made the air feel thick and difficult to breathe.
Ascendrea moved through the serving line and found a seat at a table near the wall, away from the densest clusters of recruits.
She ate because eating was required, because skipping meals would draw attention and force intervention. She brought food to her mouth with steady rhythm, chewed until texture broke down enough to swallow, repeated the process. The food had no taste. Nothing registered on her tongue except temperature and texture. Hot, cool, soft, chewy. Just physical properties without any flavor to distinguish one bite from another.
The hollow feeling in her chest remained throughout the meal. Present with each inhale, each exhale, each beat of her heart. Just existing as part of her internal landscape, as fundamental as the weight of her body or the rhythm of her pulse.
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She finished eating and put away her tray. Free time stretched ahead after lunch, hours to fill before evening classes. She should practice more drills, work on her forms the way she had yesterday. Repeat techniques until they burned into muscle memory.
The thought felt distant. Unimportant somehow. Like it belonged to someone else.
She headed to the practice yards anyway because going somewhere was better than standing still. Because movement filled time even if the purpose behind it felt hollow. A few other recruits were already there when she arrived, working through drills with varying levels of intensity and focus.
Ascendrea found an empty space near one of the shaded walls and began running through hand-to-hand forms. The movements from this morning's combat drills, sequences that needed to be repeated until they burned into muscle memory through sheer repetition. Blocks and strikes and footwork patterns that should have become smoother with each iteration.
Each repetition took more effort than the previous one, her limbs responding sluggishly. Her arms moved through blocks with weight that seemed disproportionate to their actual mass. Her legs dragged during footwork transitions, refusing to pivot cleanly.
She pushed through anyway, forcing her body to work the sequences again and again. Movement for the sake of movement, repetition because that was what training required.
But her focus kept drifting without her permission. She would find herself losing focus and simply standing there without any idea how long she had been staring into space.
She adjusted her stance and started again with deliberate effort. She tried to concentrate on footwork, on weight distribution, on the specific angles that made techniques effective. But the hollow feeling in her chest made everything feel slightly off-center. Like she was operating from a position that was fundamentally imbalanced, unable to find proper alignment no matter how she adjusted.
Her movements continued through the forms without improvement. The sequences remained clumsy and poorly executed, her body refusing to refine technique through repetition the way it should have.
Time passed in a blur of repeated movement and failed focus. The sun shifted position overhead, changing the angle of shadows across the practice yard. Other recruits came and went around her, their presences registering peripherally.
The hourly bell rang across the compound, its clear tone cutting through the ambient noise of practice. Time for dinner. The signal that pulled recruits from their activities and directed them toward the mess hall.
Ascendrea stopped mid-form, her body stilling with relief at having permission to cease movement. She wiped sweat from her face with the back of her hand, the moisture dampening her skin despite the practice not being particularly intense.
The mess hall was filling with recruits. Bodies streaming in from various locations throughout the compound, voices rising in anticipation of food and rest.
She found a seat at a table with a few girls she recognized from combat drills. One girl was nursing a sore wrist, the joint wrapped in light bandaging that showed white against her skin. Another girl was leaning close, debating whether the injury warranted visiting the medical building or if rest would be sufficient treatment.
"It's not that bad," the injured girl was saying, rotating her wrist gingerly to demonstrate limited range of motion. "Just a little sore from landing wrong."
"But if it's a sprain, you need to get it checked," the other girl insisted. "Ignoring it now could make it worse later."
Ascendrea ate while their conversation continued around her. She chewed and swallowed without deriving any satisfaction from the act.
Mara's laugh carried across the hall suddenly, cutting through the ambient noise with distinctive brightness. The sound drew Ascendrea's attention automatically before she could stop the response.
Her eyes found Mara at her usual table, surrounded by her group. Caramel hair catching the light filtering through the high windows, vivid against the pale washed-out background. Golden eyes bright as she gestured animatedly while telling some story, her hands moving through elaborate motions. Daven and Lira leaned in with obvious interest, their expressions engaged and amused.
The hollow feeling pulled at Ascendrea's chest. Not squeezing like the tightness had, but pulling inward, like something was trying to collapse the empty space. Drawing the void tighter, making the absence more acute.
She looked away and finished her meal and headed toward the academic building where evening classes would be held.
The classroom was already filling when Ascendrea arrived, recruits claiming seats in scattered patterns throughout the tiered rows. She took a seat in the middle section.
The instructor entered moments later, a Vayore man with graying hair and a folder tucked under his arm. He moved to the front of the room and began the lesson without preamble, his voice carrying clearly across the space.
"Strategic planning and terrain assessment. Understanding the ground you're defending is as important as understanding the forces you're commanding."
He turned to the board mounted on the wall and began drawing diagrams with quick, efficient strokes. Lines representing elevation changes, circles marking defensive positions, arrows showing potential attack vectors. The chalk scratched against the treated coral surface, creating shapes that illustrated tactical concepts.
"Elevation provides significant advantages," he explained while his hand continued moving across the board. "Higher ground gives you extended sight lines, makes approach more difficult for attackers, allows gravity to assist projectile weapons."
Ascendrea pulled out her notebook and began taking notes. Her pen moved across the page in strokes that should have been steady but wavered slightly. Heights marked in measurements that weren't quite as precise as usual, angles calculated but written with less clarity. Sight lines drawn across sketched terrain but the lines weren't quite straight, wobbling in places where her hand hadn't held firm.
Her handwriting was messier than normal. Letters that usually formed with careful precision came out slightly irregular, spacing inconsistent, some words cramped together while others spread too far apart. The organizational structure she normally maintained—clear headers, consistent margins, logical flow—became looser. Information recorded but not arranged with her usual meticulous care.
She noticed it peripherally as her hand continued moving. The notes didn't look like hers. The messy script, the inconsistent spacing, the incomplete diagrams where she'd started drawing something and then stopped partway through without finishing. Like someone else had written them.
But the words felt distant as she wrote them anyway. Like they were passing through her awareness without actually connecting to meaning. She was recording them, her hand executing the motions of note-taking because that was what class required, but she was not really thinking about what they meant. Not processing the strategic implications or understanding the tactical reasoning.
Just copying shapes and numbers with sloppier execution than usual because maintaining precision required a focus she just couldn't quite manage.
A recruit was called on to identify a weakness in a defensive position the instructor had drawn. The girl stood and pointed to a gap in the elevation map where attacking forces could approach with cover. The instructor nodded with approval and moved on to the next concept, his chalk resuming its scratching against the board.
Ascendrea kept attempting to taking notes throughout the rest of the lesson.
But the hollow feeling sat in her chest throughout, constant and heavy. Present with each breath, each heartbeat, each moment of existence. Making everything feel slightly removed, like she was observing her own actions from somewhere outside her body.
The class ended when the hourly bell rang. The instructor dismissed them with a reminder to review terrain assessment principles before the next session. Ascendrea gathered her materials, tucking her notebook into her bag and filing out with the other recruits into corridors that were quieter at this evening hour.
She returned to Room 12 as the barracks filled with girls finishing their own evening routines. Bodies moving between bunks and cabinets, voices rising in quiet conversation, the ambient noise of preparation for sleep building gradually.
She moved to the washing area and cleaned with mechanical precision. The Mistmint sharp against her skin, water rinsing away the day's accumulated sweat and grime. She changed into sleep clothes, the soft fabric settling against her body
She sat on her bunk, the thin mattress compressing beneath her weight. Her hand found the stone pouch in her pocket, pulling it out with automatic movement. Her fingers found the familiar shapes through the fabric, blue, red, yellow. The words moved through her mind with practiced precision. Blue, red, yellow. Soldier, artillery, scout.
The pattern helped with the anxiety that existed beneath everything else. The constant worry about her performance during drills, about potentially being called on in class, about freezing under scrutiny. Her breathing steadied as the patterned continued, the familiar rhythm creating calm that eased some of the tension in her shoulders.
But the hollow feeling in her chest remained throughout. Unchanged by the stones' influence. The void stayed wide and empty and persistent, occupying a space that the stones could not fill or diminish.
And the sluggish heaviness in her limbs persisted as well. The weight that made movement difficult.
She tried the stones again with deliberate focus. Blue, red, yellow. Soldier, artillery, scout. The pattern that always worked for anxiety, that had grounded her through panic and fear and overwhelming stimulus for as long as she could remember.
But the hollowness stayed exactly as it was. Wide and empty and persistent, unaffected.
Different. This was different in ways she could feel but not name.
Ascendrea tucked the pouch under her pillow. Around her, girls prepared for sleep with familiar routines. Quiet conversations about the day's events and tomorrow's plans.
She lay back on her bunk as the lights dimmed throughout the barracks. The sea-silk blanket settled over her, cool and smooth against her skin. Her head found the pillow, her body relaxing into the thin mattress beneath her.
Tomorrow she would need to monitor her symptoms more carefully. Track the heaviness in her limbs, watch for worsening of the sluggish responses. Make sure whatever this illness was did not develop into something requiring medical intervention.
She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to claim her, the hollowness in her chest keeping her company in the darkness.
Abby's movements woke Ascendrea from sleep that felt even more insufficient than the day before. The soft rustle of fabric, careful footsteps against coral. She opened her eyes and stared at the coral ceiling above her bunk.
Her body felt even heavier than yesterday. The weight that had settled into her bones overnight had increased, pressing down with more force. Making her limbs feel dense and unwieldy, like they had been filled with something solid and immovable.
She should get up. Should start her morning routine. Should swing her legs over the side of her bunk and begin the familiar sequence of preparations.
She stayed in her bunk instead, listening to Abby's quiet preparations near the door. The rustle of fabric as the barracks leader dressed, the soft percussion of boots against coral, the careful sounds of someone trying not to wake others. Time passing while Ascendrea remained motionless, unable to summon the energy to move.
Finally she pushed herself upright with effort that felt disproportionate to the simple action. Her arms strained against her own weight, her muscles protesting the demand. She swung her legs over the side of her bunk and stood, her feet finding the cool coral floor.
She dressed with movements that felt labored. Pulled the sea-silk tunic over her head with arms that felt too heavy to lift properly, fastened her belt with fingers that fumbled on the buckle more than usual. She made her bunk, pulling the sea-silk blanket taut across the thin mattress, the cool smooth fabric sliding under her palms as she worked to eliminate wrinkles.
The sluggish feeling had worsened overnight. What had felt like moving through water yesterday now felt like moving through mud. Every movement met with invisible opposition that made simple tasks feel exhausting.
Definitely getting sick. The symptoms were progressing in ways that suggested illness developing. She would need to continue monitoring, watch for fever or other clear indicators that would require medical attention.
The alarm screeched through the barracks, cutting through her awareness with sharp force. Girls woke around her with groans and curses, bodies jolting upright, voices rising in morning complaints.
Ascendrea finished her last adjustments to her cabinet, positioning items with less precision than usual. She was closer to the alarm than she had ever cut it, normally that would bother her but in this moment she was just glad she had managed it at all.
Inspector Thera arrived for inspection and moved through the room with her gentle efficiency. She reached Ascendrea and her eyes swept across the uniform, the bunk, the cabinet. She gave a brief nod as she passed, her expression neutral, before moving on to continue her rounds.
"Gather in the corridor for PT," Abby announced when inspection ended.
Ascendrea walked with Room 12 as girls clustered together and filed into the corridor. Each step felt like work, her legs heavy and resistant. Her boots struck coral with the same rhythm as everyone else but the effort required to maintain that rhythm felt excessive.
The training grounds looked washed out when they emerged into morning light. The coral surfaces that should have been rich midnight blue appeared pale and faded, like color had been drained from them overnight. The sky stretched above them in washed-out tones, neither properly blue nor gray but something muted between. Everything appeared muted and lifeless except the harsh brightness of the sun that made her squint and created pressure behind her eyes.
Formations were called and Ascendrea took her place with Room 12. The drills began with the instructor's sharp commands cutting through the morning air.
Running laps around the training grounds. Ascendrea's breathing came harder than usual, her lungs struggling to pull in enough air even though her pace was slower than usual. Her legs felt leaden, each step requiring conscious effort to lift and place. The weight in her limbs made running feel like fighting against gravity that had increased overnight.
The instructor's whistle cut through the morning air. "Water break!"
Ascendrea moved to the water stations with the dispersing recruits. She retrieved her canteen from her belt and drank while her breathing struggled to settle.
During the break, Mara was across the field with Daven and Lira, the three of them clustered together near their barracks group's water station. All three were laughing about something. Mara's caramel hair caught the light and seemed to glow, vivid and warm against the pale washed-out background. Like she existed in full saturation while everything else had faded to muted tones.
The hollow feeling in Ascendrea's chest expanded immediately. Growing wider, the void stretching to occupy more space beneath her ribs. Empty and aching in ways the tightness had never been.
She drank from her canteen but the water tasted flat..
The whistle blew. Back to drills. The rest of PT dragged each movement and moment weighted down by the same oppressive heaviness.
Ascendrea returned to the barracks with Room 12 when PT ended, surrounded by her group as they moved through corridors. She washed with mechanical precision, the Mistmint registering as sensation without being particularly sharp or clarifying. She changed into her dry uniform, the fresh sea-silk settling against her body.
The sluggish heaviness persisted through every movement.
She walked to the mess hall and moved through the serving line. Found a seat at a table with girls she did not know.
A girl was explaining yesterday's strategic planning lesson to someone who had been confused about defensive positioning. Her hands gestured as she described elevation advantages, and the reasoning behind placement decisions.
Across the hall, Mara was leaning close to Lira, whispering something that made both of them dissolve into giggles. Their shoulders shaking with laughter, hands covering mouths to muffle the sound. Mara's golden eyes sparkled, bright and vivid. The only bright thing in Ascendrea's field of vision, the only thing left untouched in a world that had gone pale.
The hollowness in her chest pulled wider. Expanding with sharp insistence, stretching the void until it felt like it might consume everything inside her. Empty and aching.
Ascendrea looked down at her tray deliberately and finished her meal with the same mechanical precision. When her food was gone, she cleared her tray and headed toward the training area where combat drills would assemble.
The training grounds felt too bright and too washed out at the same time when combat drills assembled. The sunlight reflecting off pale coral surfaces created harsh glare that made Ascendrea squint, but the colors themselves looked faded and lifeless.
She was paired with a Savari boy she had worked with once before. Brown fur visible on his hands and along his jawline. They moved through techniques with minimal conversation, the boy making no comment despite Ascendrea’s many slip ups.
The session ended eventually. She filed out with the other recruits when dismissed, her body exhausted in a way that went beyond normal training fatigue. This was not the clean tiredness that came from physical exertion. This was something deeper, heavier. Like exhaustion had soaked into her bones and settled there permanently, making every movement feel like fighting against gravity that had doubled overnight.
The mess hall was crowded and loud when lunch arrived. Bodies packed together, voices layering into walls of sound that pressed against her ears from all directions. The heat and noise made the space feel oppressive, the air too thick to breathe properly.
She moved through the serving line and collected her tray. Found a seat at a table where two girls were already mid-debate.
"Innovation drives progress. Traditional methods can't keep up."one girl was saying with conviction, her hands gesturing to emphasize her points.
"But reliability matters more than innovation," the other girl countered. "What good is new technology if it fails when you need it most?."
Their argument continued while Ascendrea ate.
The hollow feeling sat in her chest like a weight throughout the meal, a constant pressure. Heavy and draining, sapping energy with each breath. Making everything feel pointless.
She finished and cleared her tray. Free time stretched ahead before evening classes. She should practice, should work on the forms she had struggled with this morning. Should use the time productively to improve.
The thought felt distant and heavy, like something she was supposed to care about but could not quite manage. The motivation that should have driven her toward the practice yards simply did not exist, replaced by hollow emptiness.
Ascendrea returned to the barracks instead. The space was mostly empty at this hour, just a few girls finishing washing or preparing for afternoon activities. She walked to her bunk and stood beside it for a moment, staring at the thin mattress.
She should go to the practice yards. Should work on her forms like she had planned.
She sat on her bunk instead. The mattress compressed beneath her weight, the sea-silk blanket cool under her palms when she gripped the edge. She stared at the pale coral wall across from her, her eyes tracking patterns.
Get up. Go practice. Move.
Her body felt pinned to the mattress. Not by physical weight but by something heavier and more insidious. Holding her down while everyone else moved freely.
She sat there while minutes passed. Time dragging, each second feeling distinct and endless. Not blurring the way it had when she was numb, but stretching out with agonizing slowness.
She forced herself up after several minutes. Pushed against the invisible weight holding her down, made her legs straighten and her body stand through sheer determination. Headed toward the practice yards because staying in the barracks would draw attention eventually, would cause questions she did not want to answer.
A few recruits were already there when she arrived. Ascendrea found an empty space near one of the walls and began running through hand-to-hand forms with movements that felt sluggish and uncoordinated.
Her body went through the motions without precision or focus. Her mind drifted somewhere gray and empty, not really present for the physical actions she was executing. The forms fell apart almost immediately.
She stopped midway through a sequence, her arms half-raised in an incomplete block, staring at nothing while her body remained frozen in position.
What was the point?
The thought came unbidden, surfacing from the hollow space in her chest with quiet insistence. What was the point of practicing forms she would never execute well? What was the point of trying to improve when improvement felt impossible? What was the point of any of this?
She pushed the thought away with effort and forced herself to continue the drill. Completed the form badly, started another one, went through motions that felt meaningless.
The hourly bell rang across the compound. Time for dinner. Ascendrea stopped practicing with immediate relief and headed back toward the barracks to wash up.
The mess hall was filling when she arrived. She moved through the serving line and collected her tray. Found a table where girls around her were already engaged in animated conversation.
"I still can't decide between Research and Engineering or Training and Personal Development for my first year," one girl was saying, her voice carrying stress. "The deadline for branch selection submissions is tomorrow and I keep changing my mind."
"Just pick one," another girl said with exasperation. "You're going to do all four branches eventually anyway. The order doesn't matter that much."
"But it sets the tone for everything," the first girl insisted. "Your first year shapes how you approach the rest."
Ascendrea ate while their conversation continued. She brought food to her mouth and forced it down, chewing and swallowing through effort rather than appetite. The food sat heavy in her stomach, unwanted but necessary.
Mara's voice carried from across the hall suddenly, bright and distinctive even through the ambient noise. Ascendrea's eyes found her automatically before she could stop the response.
Mara sat with her group at their usual table. Her caramel hair caught the light, vivid and warm. Her golden eyes sparkled as she gestured animatedly, her whole face bright.
The hollow feeling in Ascendrea's chest ached with sharp insistence. Wide and empty and wrong, pulling at her ribs from the inside. Making breathing difficult, making the food in her stomach feel like it might come back up.
She looked away and finished her meal with mechanical determination. When her tray was empty, she cleared it and headed back out into the corridor.
Ascendrea approached Abby near the entrance of the mess hall where the barracks leader stood monitoring Room 12's evening activities. Her orange fur caught the light from the corridor's alchemical channels, her amber eyes tracking various girls as they came and went.
"I need to go to the medical building," Ascendrea said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the ambient noise of the corridor.
Abby's attention sharpened immediately, her amber eyes focusing with sudden intensity. Her ears came forward slightly, her whole posture shifting from casual monitoring to alert concern. "What's wrong?"
"I think I'm getting sick. Fatigue, difficulty concentrating. It's been getting worse over the past couple days." The words came out flat, clinical.
Abby studied her for a moment, her eyes tracking across Ascendrea's face. "Alright. Go get checked out. Report back to me after, or if they keep you overnight, have them send word."
Ascendrea nodded and left the mess hall, her boots striking coral with heavy steps as she moved through the corridor.
The medical building was a short walk across the compound, positioned near the administrative structures for easy access. The coral structure was marked clearly with red banners hanging at the entrance, the bright fabric standing out against pale walls that looked even more washed out in the fading evening light.
Inside, the space was clean and organized in ways that reminded Ascendrea of the orphanage's infirmary. Beds lined one wall, their frames made of carved coral and fitted with thin mattresses covered in sea-silk. Examination areas were separated by curtains that hung from ceiling-mounted tracks, creating private spaces within the larger room. Shelves held supplies and equipment organized with military precision, everything labeled and positioned for efficient access.
The air smelled like Mistmint, the surfaces spotless and slightly damp from cleaning solutions.
A medic looked up from a desk as Ascendrea entered. A Vayore woman with graying hair pulled back in a practical braid, wearing a uniform marked with the medical corps insignia. Her eyes were sharp and assessing as they tracked across Ascendrea's approach.
"What brings you in?"
"I think I might be sick. Fatigue, heaviness in my limbs, difficulty focusing. It's been getting progressively worse over the past few days." Ascendrea delivered the symptoms with the same clinical precision she'd used with Abby.
The medic gestured to one of the examination areas, her hand indicating a space separated by light blue curtains. "Let's take a look."
The medic had Ascendrea sit on the examination table, the coral surface cool even through her uniform. She pulled out various instruments from a nearby cabinet, each tool positioned exactly where it needed to be for efficient examination.
She checked Ascendrea's temperature first, placing a small alchemical device against her forehead that hummed softly. Looked in her throat with a thin light that made Ascendrea's eyes water, examined her ears. Listened to her breathing.
"Any pain? Headaches, nausea, dizziness?" The medic's questions came in steady sequence, her tone professional and neutral.
"No. Just the fatigue and heaviness."
"Coughing, congestion?"
"No."
The medic pressed fingers against the sides of Ascendrea's neck. Her fingers were warm and firm, applying just enough pressure to assess without causing discomfort. "Any recent injuries during training? Falls, impacts?"
"No."
"Sleep patterns normal? Eating regularly?"
"Yes. I'm sleeping and eating normally." The words were technically true. She was sleeping her allotted hours, consuming her required meals. The quality of either didn't factor into the question.
The medic stepped back, her expression thoughtful as she considered the information gathered. "Your vitals are fine. No fever, no signs of infection or illness that I can detect. Lungs sound clear, heart rate is normal and steady." She paused, her eyes tracking across Ascendrea's face with renewed assessment. "Sometimes physical symptoms can have other causes. Stress, anxiety, or other emotional factors can manifest similar symptoms."
Ascendrea's hands clenched slightly in her lap, her fingers pressing together.
"How are you managing with barracks life? Training demands? Social adjustment?" The questions came carefully, the medic's voice carrying genuine concern rather than accusation.
"Fine." The word came out flat.
The medic's expression suggested she did not entirely believe that assessment, but she did not push harder. "I'm not seeing any physical illness. Your body is functioning normally. But fatigue and difficulty concentrating can indicate you need more rest, better nutrition, or help managing stress and emotional adjustment." She paused to let that sink in. "I'd recommend monitoring your symptoms for another few days. If they worsen or new symptoms develop, come back immediately. And consider speaking with your counselor about stress management strategies."
"Understood."
"You're cleared to return to normal activities. No physical restrictions needed."
The dismissal felt wrong. Ascendrea's body felt heavy and sluggish, her limbs weighted down, her mind struggling through gray fog. But according to the medic nothing was physically wrong.
Ascendrea left the medical building and made her way back across the compound. The evening light was fading, the sky turning darker as the sun sank toward the horizon. Classes would be starting soon, the hourly bell about to ring.
Her boots struck coral with heavy steps as she headed toward the classroom building. The medical examination had provided no answers, no treatment, no explanation for why everything felt so difficult.
Just the suggestion that it might be stress. Emotional factors. Things that were her responsibility to manage rather than symptoms requiring intervention.
She pushed the frustration down and kept walking. Classes were next. She would attend, take notes. Continue functioning even if nothing felt right.
She was late when she reached the classroom building, the hourly bell having rung while she was still crossing the compound. The instructor had already started the lesson when she entered, his voice carrying across the tiered rows as he explained concepts on the board. Heads turned briefly at the disruption of the door opening, then returned to their notebooks.
Abby caught her eye from where she stood near the back, monitoring Room 12's attendance and behavior during the session. Her amber eyes tracked Ascendrea's entrance. Ascendrea gave a small nod to indicate she had been cleared by medical, then slipped into an empty seat in the middle row.
The lesson was on communication protocols during field operations. The instructor's voice explained signal systems used across distances, message relay structures that maintained contact between separated units, methods for ensuring information reached its destination accurately despite interference or complications.
Ascendrea pulled out her notebook and attempted to take notes. Her pen moved across the page but the writing came out messy again, letters forming with irregular spacing and inconsistent pressure. Lines that should have been straight wavered, diagrams started and stopped partway through without completion. The organizational structure she normally maintained dissolved into scattered information recorded without clear hierarchy.
Not up to her usual standard.
The medic's words kept circling in her mind while her hand continued its inadequate recording.
No physical illness. Stress, adjustment difficulties, emotional factors.
But that did not make sense. The logic failed when she examined it. She was not stressed. Everything was better now. She arrived on time to PT and breakfast, followed rules properly, maintained normal routines. The relief was real and tangible.
So why would the medic suggest stress as a cause? Why would adjustment difficulties explain symptoms that had worsened as adjustment supposedly improved?
The instructor called on a recruit to explain message relay protocol. The girl stood and answered correctly, her explanation matching what had been demonstrated. The instructor nodded and continued the lesson.
Ascendrea kept taking notes with declining quality, her pen moving across paper while her thoughts stayed locked on the medic's assessment. Trying to find logic that connected symptoms to causes, trying to understand what she was missing.
The class ended when the hourly bell rang. The instructor dismissed them with a reminder to review communication protocols before the next session. Ascendrea gathered her materials, tucking her inadequate notebook into her bag and filing out with the other recruits.
She returned to Room 12 with the others as the barracks filled with girls finishing their evening routines. Voices rising in quiet conversation, the familiar sounds of preparation for sleep building gradually.
She washed and changed, the soft fabric settling against her body. She hung her uniform on the drying grates. She cleaned her boots, removing dirt and scuffs. She organized supplies for tomorrow. Each task completed but without her usual attention to detail.
Abby approached as Ascendrea was setting her boots beside her footlocker, the barracks leader's orange fur catching the dimming light.
"What did medical say?"
"No physical illness. Vitals are normal." Ascendrea's voice came out flat, empty of inflection. "They said it might be stress or adjustment difficulties. Told me to monitor symptoms and return if they worsen."
Abby studied her for a moment. "And how do you feel now?"
"The same." She replied.
"Alright. Let me know if anything changes." Abby paused, her expression softening slightly. "Get some rest tonight."
She moved on to check with other girls, her attention shifting to the rest of Room 12's evening preparations.
Ascendrea sat on her bunk, the thin mattress compressing beneath her weight. She pulled out her stone pouch from her pocket.
Her fingers found the shapes through the stiff fabric, pressing against the stones with familiar pressure. The words moved through her mind automatically. Blue, red, yellow. Soldier, artillery, scout. The pattern settled her breathing, eased some of the tension in her shoulders.
The anxiety about the medical visit calmed under the stones' influence. The worry about being late to class, about disrupting the lesson with her entrance, about Abby's assessment and the medic's words.
But the hollow feeling remained throughout. Constant and heavy in her chest. The void stayed wide and empty.
The lights dimmed throughout the barracks. Ascendrea lay back on her bunk.
She stared at the ceiling where shadows moved with the pulse of alchemical lights in their channels.
Stress, adjustment difficulties, emotional factors.
None of that made sense. She had fixed the problem. Had identified what was causing her distraction and inability to focus on proving herself, had created distance, had refocused on what mattered. Everything was the way it should be now. She followed rules, arrived on time, maintained proper routine.
So why did she feel worse?
The question circled in her mind without finding answers. The symptoms had worsened as the situation supposedly improved. The heaviness increased, the hollow feeling expanded, the colors drained from the world. Getting progressively worse despite everything being better.
The cause and effect did not connect in ways that made sense.
She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to claim her, confusion mixing with the hollowness in her chest.
