The grudging respect in Jax's voice was a more profound shock than any blow he'd delivered. For a moment, Kael could only kneel on the cold concrete, catching his breath, the phantom memory of the Hound's power still a staticky hum beneath his skin. The lesson was over. He'd done it. The thought didn't bring relief, only a bone-deep weariness and the chilling certainty that this was only the beginning.
"Don't get comfortable, kid," Jax grunted, the moment of near-praise evaporating as he turned on his heel. He strode toward a heavy blast door at the far end of the Forge, his footsteps echoing like hammer falls. "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 that snaked through the enclave's guts. The air grew thick with the smell of hot metal, ozone, and chemical solvents—the smells Kael associated with work, with a life he was no longer sure he had. They arrived at the enclave's armory, a place Kael had only ever seen from a distance.
It wasn't a room. It was a cathedral dedicated to the grim science of survival.
Racks of kinetic spears stood like silent, patient sentinels. The scarred, battered armor of veteran Frame Users was mounted on maintenance stands, each dent and scratch a verse in a brutalist epic. The air itself was alive, humming with the charge of power cells and the low, constant murmur of technicians who moved with a focused, almost reverent purpose.
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 pulled back in a severe, no-nonsense bun. Her eyes, magnified by thick-lensed goggles perched on her forehead, were sharp and appraising, missing nothing. This was Elara, the head armorer, a woman whose reputation for cantankerous perfectionism was a foundational myth of the Defense Force.
"So this is the anomaly," she said, her voice a dry crackle, like old leather. She circled Kael, her magnified gaze taking in his lanky frame and the nervous energy that he couldn't seem to keep from radiating. "Doesn't look like much. Thought he'd be bigger." Her words weren't an insult; they were a diagnosis.
"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, as if Jax had just asked her to put a racing engine in a junk hauler. She grabbed a standard-issue combat suit from a nearby rack and shoved it into Kael's arms. It was a dull grey, a one-piece jumpsuit made of a tough 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, her tone making it clear she thought the exercise was pointless.
"It's not meant to," Jax cut in.
"I know what it's for," she snapped, turning her sharp gaze on him before looking back at Kael. "It's a regulator. Circuitry in the fabric helps you channel your Aethel Flow without frying your own nerves. Think of it as training wheels." Her eyes flicked over Kael's frame one more time. "True armor isn't something I give you. It's something you learn to manifest. Assuming you live that long."
Next, she handed him a weapon. A simple kinetic spear, a nine-foot pole of carbon-fiber composite with a weighted, sharpened tip. It was perfectly balanced, but it felt inert and lifeless in his hands. A dead thing.
"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." She turned and shuffled back to her work, the conversation already over in her mind.
Back in the training yard, the new gear felt alien. The suit was stiff and smelled of sealant. The spear was an awkward weight. Jax activated a series of training drones, small, hovering spheres that immediately began to zip through the air in erratic, unpredictable patterns.
"The lesson is simple," Jax announced from the sidelines, his arms crossed. "Hit the targets. Channel the Hound's agility to keep up. Use the spear to strike." He paused, his voice hardening. "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 focused, channeling a trickle of the Hound's agility into his limbs. But it wasn't enough. The drones were too fast, their movements too random. His spear strikes were clumsy, always a half-second behind, striking empty air. He felt like a man trying to catch rain in a cup.
Frustration, hot and sharp, flared in his chest. He drew on more power.
The familiar, intoxicating 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 tangled. His human muscle memory, built on seventeen years of walking and running on two legs, clashed violently with the Echo's predatory, four-legged gait. The spear tip scraped uselessly against the concrete floor with a screech. A drone zipped past his head with an insulting whir.
"You're fighting yourself!" Jax's voice boomed from across the yard, laced with irritation. "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 that did little to calm the hammering in his chest. 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 inform 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, an extension of his will. The tip connected with the drone, a satisfying crunch of metal and plastic.
He had done it.
A wave of pure 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 unexpectedly 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 held a memory like that? He was so lost in the question, he didn't even see the second drone coming. It slammed into his shoulder, not hard enough to injure, but enough to send him sprawling.
He lay on the ground, the cold concrete a familiar partner now, his body aching and his mind a whirlwind. The single successful strike felt like a fluke, a distant dream. The failure felt immediate and real. The chasm between containing his power and actually using it was wider and deeper than he could have imagined. He had learned to build the cage, but he had no idea how to open the door without the beast escaping.