Chapter 27: Return to Duty
The squad trudges back in exhausted silence, their boots scraping against the gravel path as the first hints of dawn bled into the sky. The world was painted in monochrome—grey stone, black trees, the silver mist that clung to our ankles like ghostly chains. My body ached with a deep, resonant tiredness, but my mind was a hummingbird trapped in a cage of bone, fluttering against the memory of last night.
I watched Ren’s rigid back ahead of me. He hadn’t spoken a word since we’d broken camp. The memory of his violent recoil, the utter revulsion in that movement, still burned fresh behind my eyes. It felt more intimate, more damaging than any wound. I’d touched a fault line in him, and the quake had thrown me back into the cold.
Aria fell into step beside me, our shoulders brushing. An unspoken question in the contact. After a few paces, she spoke, her voice low. “You didn’t sleep.”
It wasn’t a question. I just shook my head, keeping my eyes on the path.
“Your eyes look like two bruises,” she murmured, not unkindly. “You need to learn to shut it off, Arisa. The patrol, the tension, whatever’s eating at you. You burn it all night, you’ll have nothing left when the sun’s up.”
I knew she was right. But ‘shutting it off’ felt like trying to cap a volcano with my bare hands. We walked on, the only sounds the crunch of gravel and Hannah’s soft sniffle against the cold. We were heading for the next recon point, a sentry tower nestled in the high crags, marking the start of another twelve-hour watch cycle.
We reached a wider junction where the path forked. And they were already there.
Commander Xenon stood with a confidence that seemed to push back the morning gloom, his squad arrayed behind him—five Protectors who looked like they’d been carved from the same grim granite as the mountains. And among them, a shock of familiar pale hair and hollow eyes: Soren Vale.
Soren had been top of our class. Arrogant, brilliant with a rapier, the golden boy destined for a commander’s sigil. The Soren I remembered held himself with a pristine, untouchable superiority. The man standing there now was a ghost of that. His uniform hung a little loose, his eyes were shadowed and distant, and a faint tremor played in the hand resting on his sword pommel. The field had already begun to wear him down to the nerve.
Xenon spotted us and a smooth, professional smile spread across his face. He clapped a hand on Ren’s shoulder as we approached. “Kurogane. Early return. Uneventful sweep?”
Ren’s posture didn’t change, his face an impassive mask. No tension showed, no flicker of recall from that night of the solstice dance when Xenon had pinned me down on the steps, his grip iron, his lips a forced brand against mine. I had worked so hard to box that memory away, to bury it under layers of training and duty. Seeing him now made the box rattle.
“Standard patrol. Dispersed a small pack near the Fallow Watch,” Ren replied, his voice neutral. “Nothing to report.”
“Good.” Xenon’s gaze slid past him, landing on me. He detached from Ren and took a few steps closer. The scent of ozone and expensive soap cut through the forest damp. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for my ears, a dreadful parody of intimacy.
“And how are you, little flamed flower?”
The nickname, a reference to the uncontrollable heavenly fire that had announced my existence to this world, slithered over my skin. I forced my shoulders to relax, manufactured a tight, non-committal smile. “I’m fine, Commander. Ready for the next rotation.”
He held my gaze for a beat too long, his eyes searching for a crack, before nodding and turning back to the group. “Excellent. We’re combining forces for this leg. Perimeter stretch from Tower Four to the Silens River. High activity corridor. Stay sharp.”
The merge was instant, and the atmosphere curdled. Our two squads didn’t blend; we formed two distinct clots of people sharing a path. Alex and Hannah stayed close to Aria and me. Xenon’s squad—two hulking men and a woman with a scar bisecting her eyebrow—watched us with dismissive eyes. Soren just looked lost.
We moved out. The initial hour was a masterclass in awkward silence, broken only by Xenon’s occasional, overly loud comments about terrain. The tension wasn’t just between him and me; it radiated from his people toward Ren. They watched his back with expressions that wavered between disdain and a colder, more calculating suspicion.
The path narrowed, forcing us into a loose single file. I fell back a little, letting the others pass. That’s when I heard it, the low mutter from Xenon’s two male Protectors, who had dropped back with Soren.
“…a ruthless ass, is what he is,” one grunted, a man with a shaved head and neck tattoos. “Plays by his own rules. Thinks his shit doesn’t stink because he gets results.”
“Results?” the other, younger with a perpetual sneer, scoffed. “Or convenient outcomes? You ever watch him move in a fight? It’s not… normal. Too fluid. Shadows cling to him different. Sometimes I swear he fucking resembles them.”
A cold trickle, unrelated to the mountain air, went down my spine.
The first man gave a dark chuckle. “Insane, more like. Got that thousand-yard stare before he even hit twenty. And that business with his traitor girlfriend? Please. The whole capital knew she was spreading her legs for any officer with a ranking sigil. Dumbest loyalist I ever saw, sticking by her after that.”
Soren mumbled something I couldn’t catch, sounding uncomfortable.
The younger one barreled on, voice dripping with contempt. “An absolute idiot. Staying with a woman who’d slept with over half the military brass. No wonder she sold secrets. Probably bored him to death in bed and out of it.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. It wasn’t just gossip; it was venom, aimed at the raw, unhealed wound I’d accidentally prodded last night. This was the story behind Nanami’s name. This was the humiliation that festered beneath Ren’s granite exterior. A white-hot fury, sudden and blinding, erupted in my chest. It burned away my fatigue, my caution, my fear.
I stopped walking and turned to face them.
“Maybe you should focus more on scouting for shadow beasts,” I said, my voice clear and cold in the hushed forest, “and less on spreading lousy gossip.”
All three men froze. Soren’s eyes went wide with alarm. The two Protectors slowly turned their heads toward me, their expressions shifting from surprise to instant, simmering offense.
The path had curved. The others—Ren, Xenon, Aria—were twenty paces ahead, just out of sight around a bend of mossy rock. It was just me and the three of them in a small, secluded clearing.
The shaven-headed one, Garreth, I remembered his name now, took a step toward me. “What did you just say, extern?”
“I said you’re talking too much,” I repeated, holding my ground. “We’re on active patrol.”
The younger one, Leo, smirked. “Aw, the little flower’s got thorns. Defending her precious squad leader? That’s cute. You his new project? Or something more?”
Soren put a hand out. “Leo, come on, don’t—”
“Shut it, Vale,” Leo snapped, not taking his eyes off me. He took another step, then another. Garreth fanned out to my left. Instinctively, I backed up, my heels scraping on stone, until I felt the rough bark of a giant twisted tree at my back. They were circling me, a loose, predatory ring.
For a terrifying moment, the fear returned, cold and metallic in my mouth. I had started something I couldn’t finish. These were full-fledged Protectors, years of experience honing their cruelty. I was an extern with a scythe I was still learning to use.
Then Garreth laughed, a rough, ugly sound. “He’s a lost cause, kid. A fucking shadow-lover and a cuckold. The Capital only keeps him around because he’s good at slaughter. But even a rabid dog turns on its master eventually.”
That did it.
The fear vaporized, replaced by a pure, incandescent rage. My hands moved of their own volition. In one fluid motion, I swung my scythe from its harness on my back, the twin blades catching the weak dawn light. I held it sideways, a barrier between them and me, my knuckles white on the grip.
“Say another word about him,” I hissed, the tremor in my voice not from fear now, but from barely-contained fury, “and I will make you eat your own teeth.”
They stopped circling. Complete silence fell, broken only by the distant cry of a wind-carved bird. Then, Leo’s face split into a wide, incredulous grin. Garreth’s eyebrows climbed his forehead.
And they both laughed. It was a loud, braying, genuine sound of amusement that echoed off the stones.
Leo doubled over, slapping his thigh. “Oh, gods! She’s serious! Look at her!”
Garreth shook his head, wiping a mock tear from his eye. “Threatens us! With the gardening tool! That’s priceless!”
They laughed, and the sound was more isolating, more dangerous, than any growl from the shadows.
The laughter died in Leo’s throat, replaced by a flat, predatory focus. His smirk vanished. “Alright, little girl. If you want a fight, we’re going duel.” He glanced at Garreth. “Weapons or fists?”
Garreth’s eyes, cold and assessing, locked onto mine. He rotated his shoulders, the leather of his jacket creaking. “Let’s use our fists. Wouldn’t want to accidentally kill Xenon’s pet project.”
Soren shifted his weight, his voice a strained whisper. “This is a terrible idea. The noise, the blood scent… it could draw a shadow beast from a kilometer out.”
“Shut up, Vale,” Garreth said without looking at him. “You’re the referee. Make sure it’s clean.”
I looked past them. The bend in the path was empty. Ren, Aria, the others were gone, too far ahead to hear over the wind. I couldn’t back down. Not after what they’d said. The image of Ren’s hunched silhouette from the night before, the shame they’d just spat onto him, cemented my decision. My fury was a solid, burning core in my chest.
“Fine,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “No weapons.”
I swung my scythe in a short, careful arc and let it drop onto a patch of soft moss beside the path. The metal gave a soft thud. Garreth unbuckled the short axe from his back and let it fall. Leo tossed his twin daggers after it. The three pieces of equipment lay there like abandoned bones.
They both squared up against me.
This was an unfair fight. I knew that in the marrow of my aching bones. Two full Protectors against a cadet. Two against one. But I also couldn’t forget the drills, the relentless corrections, the impossible standards. I was trained by one of the best. That had to count for something.
“Start,” Soren mumbled, his face pale.
Garreth came in first, a straight jab testing my guard. I slipped it, my body moving on the muscle memory Ren had drilled into me. I countered with a sharp strike to his solar plexus. My fist connected with solid muscle, and he grunted, more in surprise than pain. Leo circled, feinting high. I pivoted, keeping them both in my sight.
For a fleeting minute, I held my own. I blocked a hook from Garreth, ducked a sweep from Leo. I landed a glancing blow on Leo’s jaw that snapped his head back. It felt like a small victory, a spark in the gloom. But they were playing with me.
The realization came a second too late. I was focused on Garreth’s next lunge when Leo moved, not at me, but past me. His arms snaked around me from behind in a crushing bear hug, pinning my own arms to my sides.
He squeezed, driving the air from my lungs. His breath was hot and sour against my ear. “Teach her a lesson, Garreth.”
Garreth stepped in, his expression blank. No anger, no smirk. Just cold, professional punishment.
He punched me hard in the face.
The world didn’t go black. It exploded into a galaxy of white, blinding pain centered on my right cheekbone. The sky tilted violently, the twisted trees becoming a smear of grey and copper.
He punched the other side of my face.
A sick, ringing noise filled my head, drowning out the wind. Something warm and wet trickled from my nose, coating my lips with the blunt, metallic taste of blood. Again. His fist connected with my jaw this time, and I heard a wet crackle that originated inside my own skull.
I could feel the blood, hot and slick, painting my chin, dripping onto the front of my hoodie dress. He shifted his aim, his fists becoming blunt pistons driving into my ribs. Once. Twice. The air I tried to suck in burned like broken glass. A third punch sank deep into my abdomen.
I gagged, a violent, wrenching convulsion, and coughed. A spray of crimson spattered the grey stone at Garreth’s feet. Leo’s laugh vibrated through my back, joined by Garreth’s low chuckle. The sounds were distant, muffled by the ringing.
I was vaguely aware of Soren spinning on his heel, of the rapid crunch of his boots on gravel fading into the forest. He was running. For help or just to escape, I didn’t know.
“Think you’re tough now, flower?” Leo hissed, his grip tightening. “Still got something to say about our gossip?”
Something in me, some last coiled spring of sheer, stubborn will, refused to snap. It was buried under the pain, under the humiliation, deeper than fear. It was the same part that had drawn the future in a panic, that had summoned heavenly fire. It was pure, undiluted refusal.
I stopped trying to struggle against his grip. I went utterly limp for a fraction of a second, making him bear my full weight. He adjusted, his hold shifting minutely.
I used all of it—every ounce of strength, every spark of fury, every memory of Ren’s voice demanding more. I planted my feet and propelled myself upward in a desperate, explosive jump.
My boots left the ground. I drove my head back into Leo’s nose with a crunch, but that wasn’t the goal. Using his body as an anchor, I kicked both legs out straight into Garreth’s chest.
The impact jarred my spine. Garreth’s eyes flew wide with genuine surprise as the blow sent him stumbling back two full paces, his breath leaving him in a hard oof.
I used the reaction force, throwing my weight forward and up in a contorted, desperate flip. Leo, stunned by the headbutt, instinctively yanked my arms higher to keep control.
There was a loud, sickening pop from my left shoulder, followed by an immediate wave of nauseating, white-hot agony that swallowed the world. But his grip broke.
I landed hard on my right side on the unforgiving stone, gasping, my vision swimming. My left arm lay at my side, useless, a foreign object of screaming pain. I scrambled with my good arm, trying to push myself up, to get my legs under me. Garreth was already recovering, wiping his mouth, his eyes now murderous. Leo was cursing, blood streaming from his nose.
I managed to get to my knees. I raised my right fist, my only defense left, the world tilting and pulsing with each beat of my heart.
A slow, measured clapping echoed through the clearing.
It was soft, almost polite. But it cut through the ragged sounds of our breathing like a knife.
We all froze.
Commander Xenon leaned against the mossy rock at the bend in the path, his arms folded. How long he had been watching was impossible to tell. His face was a calm, unreadable mask, but his eyes held a glacial disappointment as they rested on his two Protectors.
“A masterclass in courage,” he said, his voice conversational. “Garreth. Leo. Two veteran Protectors, sleeves bloody from ganging up on a first-year extern.” He pushed off the rock and took a few slow steps forward. “Tell me, was the plan to kill her? Or just to break every bone she owns?”
Garreth straightened, his face flushing. “Sir, she challenged us! She drew her weapon first!”
“I saw,” Xenon said mildly. “I saw her throw it aside when you chose fists. I saw you both agree. I saw you hold her while your comrade beat her face into pulp.” He stopped a few feet away, looking between them. “That is not a duel. That is a coward’s beating. You have disgraced your sigils.”
Leo spat blood on the ground. “With respect, Commander, it’s not fair to—”
“Fair?” Xenon’s voice didn’t rise, but it sharpened, becoming a blade of pure authority. “You speak to me of fairness? You will return to the barracks. You will report to your squad leader. I will meet with him to discuss your permanent reassignment to latrine duty on the Southern Blight line. If you’re lucky.”
Their protests died, suffocated by the finality in his tone. They stared, defiance crumbling into stunned dread. The Southern Blight line was a punishment detail, a rotting, stagnant trench where nothing ever happened but morale decay.
Xenon jerked his chin toward the path. “Now.”
They moved, snatching up their weapons with slumped shoulders. Garreth shot me a final, venomous look that promised this wasn’t over before they both vanished around the bend, leaving only Soren, who hovered uselessly at the tree line.
“You too, Vale,” Xenon said, not unkindly. “Catch up to my squad. Tell them I’m handling a disciplinary issue and to continue the patrol route. Ren’s squad will wait at the tower.”
Soren nodded, relief washing over his features, and scrambled away.
Then it was just the two of us, the silence, and the throbbing, all-consuming wreckage of my body. I tried to stand, but my legs buckled. I slumped back onto the cold stone.
Xenon closed the distance and knelt in front of me. He didn’t touch me yet. His gaze was clinical, scanning the damage. “Let me see,” he said, his voice shifting, losing its commanding edge for something quieter.
Gently, his fingers tilted my chin up. The touch was careful, precise. I flinched, expecting pain, but his hands were steady. He examined my face, his eyes missing nothing—the split lip, the swelling cheek, the crooked line of my nose. His focus dropped to my left arm, lying at that wrong, horrifying angle.
“Your shoulder is dislocated,” he stated. “Your nose and likely your jaw are fractured. Several ribs are bruised, possibly cracked.” He reached into a pouch on his belt, pulling out a slim field medical kit. “This will hurt.”
I just nodded, clenching my teeth. A fresh wave of trembling started deep inside me, a reaction to the adrenaline draining away, leaving pure, raw shock in its wake.
He worked quickly. For the dislocation, he braced one hand against my shoulder blade, his other gripping my limp wrist. “Breathe out,” he instructed. I did, a ragged, bloody exhale.
He pulled, firm and fast.
The pop as it slid back into the socket was a different kind of pain—deep, internal, and massive. A choked cry tore from my throat, and my vision tunneled to a pinprick for a second before rushing back. The agony didn’t leave, but it changed, settling into a fiery, throbbing ache that was somehow more bearable than the wrongness before.
He didn’t pause. He produced a rigid, flexible splint and a roll of bandage, expertly securing my arm against my chest in a makeshift sling. Then his attention returned to my face. He cleaned the blood away with a sterile wipe, his motions efficient yet oddly gentle. He used a second wipe to dab at a gash on my cheekbone I hadn’t even felt.
“You should not have engaged them,” he said as he worked, his tone not angry, but firm. A scold, not a shout. “Drawing your weapon was an escalation you could not back. Your pride is not worth your life, Arisa.”
The use of my name, not ‘flower’ or ‘cadet’, felt significant. I tried to speak, but my jaw screamed in protest, my words a mangled whisper. “They… he…”
“I heard what they said about Kurogane,” Xenon finished, his violet eyes meeting mine. He placed a final piece of tape with careful pressure. “Words are weapons for the weak. You let their words choose your battlefield, and it was a battlefield where you were guaranteed to lose.” He sat back on his heels, surveying his work. “Loyalty is a virtue. Stupidity is a fatal flaw. Learn the difference.”
The reprimand was deserved. It was logical. But the strange thing was, I felt no fear of him in this moment. The man who had cornered me on the solstice steps felt like a different person from the one meticulously tending my wounds in this desolate clearing. His presence, his calm control over the situation, was a stabilizer in the dizzying whirl of pain and aftermath. It was a comfort, however complicated and unnerving.
He packed the medical kit away and stood, extending his good hand to me. “Can you walk?”
I looked at his offered hand, then up at his face, backlit by the weak morning sun. I placed my right hand in his. His grip was solid, warm, and he pulled me to my feet with effortless strength, supporting me as the world lurched.
“We need to get you to the tower,” he said, his arm a firm bar for me to lean against as we began a slow, limping walk forward. “Ren will need to see this.”