It will only get worse. That much I know for certain.
By morning, the lake incident had been circulating through the Forge for a couple of hours. Whispers follow us down the hallways, everyone seemingly amused by our misery. Sora is pretending at indifference, but I can tell the attention bothers her.
“I can’t believe they did that,” Sora mutters. “Who even thinks it’s funny to throw people into a lake at midnight? They are insane.”
“They’re testing our boundaries,” I say. “Figuring out what we’ll tolerate. They’ll try harder if they think we’re weak.”
“Why do we even matter?” Sora asks. “We are ants compared to them.”
I shrug. “Some people enjoy stomping on ants.”
“We have a Protocol Briefing,” Sora groans. “It’s going to be two hours long.”
Every recruit has the same schedule, but Sora always knows more than the others about how the system is designed.
“How do you know so much about this place?”
The Gifted are put through a three-year training cycle to master their powers, while the Commons are on a one-year training cycle. The second batch of conscripts had arrived the same day as I, and the first batch came three weeks prior. Yet Sora is far more knowledgeable than I am.
“My brother is in the Garrison. He works night patrol in the Flatlands,” she says. “He taught me everything I know.”
We both grab a slice of toast from the serving line and head to the administrative building that lies at the center of the Forge. It’s where all the educational lessons take place. We have a few on our schedule, mainly briefings on current issues. The Gifted have a more robust education that includes core subjects like mathematics, physics, and history. A few years after the Great Coup, an initiative began to incorporate academic education into the military system for the Gifted. This meant that most high-level officers would be granted a diploma at the end of their training that allowed them to pivot careers if they desired.
Sora and I find a spot at the back of the hall and slide into our chairs. The high ceilings are lined with the eight banners of the divisions. Most of them depict their area of specialty. Division Three has a book and a candle, symbolizing the pursuit of knowledge. Division Four has a hawthorn leaf and two sickles, representing the agricultural focus.
Fluttering at the center is the banner of New Foundry, the black flag with the white sun in the middle.
Sergeant A. Nolan stands at the front. His nameplate is proof that he is Gifted. Along with the silver collar that adorns hisblack uniform, classifying him as a Class Two. Class Threes have a midnight-blue collar.
His sandy hair is bound with a leather tie, and his stern face looks at us with disdain. Students filter in, and once the seats are all filled, he begins his lesson.
“I will make this quick,” Nolan says. “We don’t need three hours to discuss the state of the conflict.”
He clicks on a projector.
“As you know, we have had a rise in rebel-led attacks as of late,” he says. He slides through pictures of damaged buildings and dead soldiers. “The rebels have escalated from petty messages on walls to direct assault. They are part of an organization called the Resistance.”
He flips to a picture of a woman who looks to be in her late forties. Her silver-white hair is cut close to her jaw in a blunt style, and her willowy face stares out into the distance.
“Intelligence has named this woman as their leader,” he continues. “Prue Miller. Rebel Leader. Powers Unknown.”
“She looks hot for her age,” Sora whispers.
I smirk and elbow her. “Focus.”
Sora grins anyway, eyes darting back to the screen.
“Just saying. If I end up overthrowing the regime, I hope I age like that.”
The sergeant shoots us a look sharp enough to cut glass. I slink into my chair, avoiding his gaze.
“Prue Miller,” he says, voice clipped, “was once a logistics manager in Division Seven. She disappeared twelve years ago after an internal audit flagged inconsistencies with her shipments. You can guess what went missing.”
He pauses dramatically. “Weapons.”
He clicks again.
Maps replace her face. Red markers bloom across the divisions like a spreading infection.
