The grudging respect in Jax's voice was more jarring than any physical blow he'd ever delivered. Kael, still catching his breath from the mental exertion of caging the Hound's Echo, could only stare as the veteran gave him a sharp, almost business-like nod. The first lesson, a crucible of pain and psychic self-immolation, was over. The thought didn't bring relief, only a profound sense of exhaustion and the chilling realization that this was just the beginning.
"Don't get comfortable, kid," Jax grunted, turning on his heel and striding toward a heavy blast door at the far end of the Forge. "Controlling the beast in a quiet room is one thing. Doing it when something's trying to tear your face off is another. You've learned not to bite yourself. Now, you learn how to bite back."
Jax led him through a series of grim, utilitarian corridors, the air growing thick with the smell of hot metal and chemical solvents. They arrived at the enclave's armory, a place Kael had only ever seen from a distance. It was less a room and more a cathedral dedicated to the art of war. Racks of kinetic spears stood like silent sentinels. The scarred, battered armor of veteran Frame Users was mounted on maintenance stands, each dent and scratch a story. The air hummed with the energy of charging power cells and the low murmur of technicians.
A woman who looked as ancient and durable as the equipment she serviced emerged from behind a rack of shoulder plates. Her face was a web of deep-set wrinkles, her grey hair was pulled back in a severe, no-nonsense bun, and her eyes, magnified by thick-lensed goggles perched on her forehead, were sharp and appraising. This was Elara, the Forge's head armorer, a woman whose reputation for cantankerous perfectionism was legendary.
"So this is the anomaly," she said, her voice a dry crackle, like old leather. She circled Kael, her gaze taking in his lanky frame and the nervous energy radiating from him. "Doesn't look like much. Thought he'd be bigger."
"He's not here for his size," Jax said flatly. "He's here for a fitting. Standard-issue recruit kit."
Elara grunted, a sound of profound disapproval. She grabbed a standard-issue combat suit from a nearby rack. It was a dull grey, a one-piece jumpsuit made of a tough, non-conductive polymer, with thin plates of ceramic composite over the chest and shoulders. It looked flimsy, pathetic, compared to the custom-built fortresses the veterans wore.
"This won't stop a Shard Hound's claw," Elara stated, shoving the suit into Kael's arms. "It's not meant to. It's a regulator. The circuitry woven into the fabric will help you channel your Aethel Flow without it frying your nervous system. Think of it as training wheels. True armor isn't something I give you. It's something you learn to manifest."
Next, she handed him a weapon. It was a simple kinetic spear, a nine-foot pole of carbon-fiber composite with a weighted, sharpened tip. It was perfectly balanced but felt inert and lifeless in his hands.
"It's a stick," Elara said, anticipating his thoughts. "A well-balanced, durable stick. Until you learn to channel your Frame's energy through it, that's all it'll ever be. Don't break it."
Back in the training yard, the new gear felt alien. The suit was stiff, the spear awkward. Jax activated a series of training drones, small, hovering spheres that began to zip through the air in erratic patterns.
"The lesson is simple," Jax announced from the sidelines. "Hit the targets. Channel the Hound's agility to keep up with them. Use the spear to strike. Don't let the beast take over. Begin."
Kael's first attempts were a disaster. He tried to tap into the Echo's power, using the calm, controlled method he'd painstakingly developed. He channeled a trickle of the Hound's agility into his limbs, but it wasn't enough. The drones were too fast, their movements too unpredictable. His spear strikes were clumsy, always a half-second behind.
Frustrated, he drew on more power. The familiar surge of the Hound's senses flooded him—the world sharpened, the drones' flight paths resolving into clear, predictable arcs. He moved, his body flowing with a grace he didn't know he possessed. He lunged, spear extended—
And stumbled, his feet tangling as his human muscle memory clashed with the Echo's predatory gait. The spear tip scraped uselessly against the concrete floor. The drone zipped past his head with an insulting whir.
"You're fighting yourself!" Jax's voice boomed from across the yard. "You're trying to force the Echo's instincts into a human mold! Stop thinking like a man trying to be a wolf! Feel the hunt! Guide it!"
Kael grit his teeth, the shame hot on his cheeks. He reset, taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes, found his Core, and reached for the Echo. This time, he didn't just borrow its agility. He surrendered to its rhythm. He let its predatory instincts guide his feet, his hips, his shoulders. He stopped trying to aim the spear and started letting the weapon become an extension of the lunge, a fang at the end of a striking snout.
A drone swooped low. Kael moved. It wasn't a human step; it was a predator's pounce, low and explosive. The spear wasn't a tool in his hand; it was a part of his arm. The tip connected with the drone, a satisfying crunch of metal and plastic.
He had done it.
A wave of exhilaration washed over him, and with it, a flash of a memory that wasn't his.
The cool, damp earth under his paws. The scent of pine and something wild, something musky. The comforting weight of the pack moving around him, a silent, coordinated dance of shadows under a sky filled with two pale, luminous moons.
The vision was so vivid, so peaceful, it shattered his concentration. He staggered back, the spear clattering to the floor. The memory wasn't one of rage or hunger. It was one of belonging. Of peace. What kind of monster had memories like that?
"What was that?" Jax's voice cut through his confusion. "You had it. Then you hesitated."
"A memory," Kael mumbled, shaking his head to clear the image. "It wasn't… angry."
Jax was silent for a long moment. "The Echoes are more than just instincts, kid. They're fragments of a soul. Even a beast's. Now get up. The lesson isn't over."
Before the training could resume, a chime echoed through the Forge, signaling a priority message on Jax's comms unit. He listened, his expression hardening.
"Your hour is up," he said to Kael, his tone clipped. He tossed Kael a small, metal token—a pass for the infirmary. "Go. See your friend. Be back here at 0600. Don't be late."
The walk to the medical wing was a journey between worlds. He left the cold, brutal reality of the Forge and stepped into the quiet, sterile halls of healing. Lina was awake, propped up against a stack of pillows, her leg still encased in the complex medical brace. She looked tired, but the spark of life in her eyes was brighter.
"You look like you've been run over by a transport," she said, her voice a weak but welcome rasp.
"Feels like it," Kael admitted, pulling up a stool.
He sat with her, the silence between them thick with unspoken things. He couldn't tell her about the beast in his soul, about the agonizing beauty of its memories, about the impossible task of taming a ghost. And she couldn't understand the new, dangerous stillness in his eyes, the way he seemed to listen to a sound no one else could hear. A chasm had opened between them, one he didn't know how to bridge.
He held her hand, the warmth of her skin a grounding, human reality in his new life of cold steel and alien instincts. He listened as she talked about the enclave's slow, painful recovery, about the friends they'd lost, about the shared grief that now bound their home together. And in her words, in the simple, mundane details of a world trying to heal, he found the answer to a question he hadn't even known he was asking.
Why was he doing this? Why was he enduring Jax's hell?
It was for this. For the quiet conversations. For the hope of rebuilding. For the warmth of a friend's hand.
He looked at his own hands, feeling the low, constant thrum of the Echo within them. It was a monster's power. A predator's soul. But it was also a tool. A weapon. And it was the only thing he had that could protect this fragile peace.
"I have to go," he said finally, his hour almost up.
"Kael," Lina's voice was soft, her eyes searching his. "Whatever it is Jax is doing to you… just… come back." It wasn't a plea to be careful. It was a plea not to get lost.
He nodded, a silent vow passing between them. He would not get lost. He would not let the beast win. He had a promise to keep.
He walked back to the Forge, the warmth of Lina's hand a shield against the cold. The fear was still there. The pain was still there. But now, it was focused. It was the fire that tempered the steel of his resolve. He was no longer just Kael the technician. He was Kael, a Frame User. And his training had just begun.