At the front of the room stands Sergeant Blake, our instructor. He’s one of those men who doesn’t need to shout to get your attention; his presence alone commands it. He’sgot that steady, sharp authority that makes you sit up straight without even realizing it. Sweeping his hand toward the massive screen at the front, the room’s attention snaps right to it. On the screen, icons are moving across different terrains: the paved streets of a village, dense forests, and wide-open plains. The Legion and demon units are positioned with precision, a chessboard coming to life.
"Alright, class," Sergeant Blake begins, his voice firm yet calm. "Today, we’re analyzing a simulated attack. Our objective is simple. Secure the village while taking out enemy resistance in the surrounding areas." The room hums with focus as he turns to us. We all have mirrors at our desks that flicker to life with data feeds and intelligence reports.
"Based on the latest intel," Blake continues, scanning the room, "what are our primary challenges and potential courses of action?" Of course, Heather jumps in first. Always trying to prove she’s an alpha’s daughter.
"Sir, the enemy fortified along the main avenues. We could send in witches to take out their command posts and disrupt their formation."
Sergeant Blake nods. "Good assessment. What else?"
That’s when Nalaka speaks up. She doesn’t waste any words. Tapping on the map, "we could also use the terrain. Raids through the back alleys, the sewers and hit them from behind. It’ll confuse their lines and open chances for infiltration, sir." I can’t help but nod.
That was my plan too: analyze the terrain first, always. That’s why I like working with her. Not because she’s royalty or impressive-looking on paper. It’s because she doesn’t do this for show.
Most of the others are in it for the title. They like the attention, the weight it carries; to be a Legion. It makes them feelimportant. But Nalaka... She doesn’t do it for praise. She does it because she has to.
The discussion picks up from there. Students are throwing out plans as if they were second nature. Direct assaults, covert strikes, humanitarian evacuations. It’s more than just strategy; it’s weighing lives. Blake doesn’t let anything slide. He pushes back, makes us think harder. Challenges every assumption. He wants us to see the ripple effect of every choice. By the end of class, our instructor starts wrapping things up.
“Remember,” he says, “strategy isn’t just about winning battles. It’s about achieving your objective, minimizing risk, and staying adaptable. Well done today, everyone.” People start packing up, chairs scraping the floor, bags zipping, then Sergeant Blake adds, “I’ll need all the Corporals to stay.”
Great.
As the others fly out, my eyes naturally find Avilyna. She’s reaching for her books, holding them close to her chest like she’s done it a hundred times. Her red curls are pinned up, but a few spirals have slipped free, catching the light as they fall just right around her face. It’s like she doesn’t even know she’s doing it, mesmerizing me, doing that thing where she does absolutely nothing and still manages to mess with my head. She must feel me watching, glancing over her shoulder.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, it’s just her and me. That familiar feeling of knowing something on the tip of my tongue intensifies until a blinding noise splits in my head. Breaking our stare contest, I look down, fingers massaging my temples. I try to relieve the pressure before the sound of the classroom comes back crashing. The pain subsides as quickly as it came, weird. Water leaks on the top of my hand, but when I look down, I see blood.
I quickly wipe my face with the hem of my sleeve, but when I look up, Avilyna's eyes are still on me. Her eyebrows are pulledin a frown, but I give her a slow, deliberate smile followed by a wink, dissipating any lingering inquietude. She rolls her eyes, except that I catch something else, just for a second, the corner of her mouth twitches up. Wyll elbows me in the side, getting my attention.
“Who got you smiling like that?”
The scowl is automatic, “Fuck off.”
He laughs, shaking his head as he heads out, but Caleb stays put. Doesn’t say anything, just leans back like he’s got all the time in the world. I throw him a glance, a question in my eyes; he’s not a Corporal. But there’s no time to ask, Sergeant Blake calls us to the front.
“Alright, Legions, we’ve seen a rise in demonic activities.” That gets everyone's attention. Our mirrors flash back to life, casting a cold light across the room. Grainy, shaky, and very real live footage streams from the small mirrors. We watch doorways tear open across back alleys, subway tunnels, and ruined small towns. One clip, despite the quality, clearly shows a human sacrifice; that’s how they're able to open the portals to the Mundane World. From there, they have a higher chance of tracking Elgarians.
Someone like Avilyna.
And with an Elgarian, they have access to Elgar. The body on the screen is mangled as if it got chewed up and spit out. The flesh lacerated in jagged slashes, limbs twisted, resting in a black pool of blood.
I blink.
“Yeah... Pretty sure that guy didn’t give consent,” I whisper under my breath. Nalaka shoots me a look from across the row, then adjusts her stance, trying to block out the image, even though we both know it’s burned in now.
Blake continues, “The Alchemy Department was tasked with creating a tool to detect portal activities. I’m pleased to say, it’s done. Right, Sinclair?”
All eyes slide to Caleb. He hasn’t moved an inch. Legs stretched out on the desk, arms crossed, calm.
“Yes, sir.”
Of course, he already knew about this. Honestly, I don’t think I know anyone smarter than him, not that he ever makes a big deal about it. He just knows things. I put it down to his elf heritage, even though I know he spends every free hour reading or researching.
“Other kingdoms have reported strange behaviour from the Mundane World. The demonic infestation doesn’t look like our usual possessions. It’s deadlier, and we haven’t found an antidote. And now, apparently, it’s contagious. So be careful out there, no unnecessary risks. Understood?”
We all respond in sync, like we’ve practiced it in our sleep. “Yes, sir.”
Blake nods. “Each of you will meet with an alchemist to receive your device. And remember, teams must always be ready to patrol the moment the alarm goes off. If, for any reason, you don’t accept the mission, it’ll be handed off to the next closest Corporal with a device. Clear?”
Zenik’s hand shoots up, and I catch the sharp look he throws my way. Someone’s still salty about that duel.
