The declaration that he was "minimally competent" came from Jax, delivered with all the ceremony of a man kicking a rock out of his path. Kael stood in the grimy mouth of the Forge, the air still thick with the memory of his own sweat and failure. For a week, this place had been his entire world. Now, Jax was kicking him out.
"Command wants the new crop sorted," the veteran grunted, not looking at him. He was inspecting the head of his kinetic hammer, a tool that had seen more action than most Frame Users. "You've learned not to chew your own leg off. That puts you ahead of the curve. You're being assigned to a provisional unit. Squad Scion."
The name sounded absurdly grand. Kael pictured a team of polished heroes, their armor gleaming. The thought made his stomach clench. He was a technician who'd stumbled into a nightmare. A ghost in a borrowed body.
"Don't get any ideas," Jax said, as if hearing his thoughts. "Scion just means 'offshoot.' You're branches, not the trunk. Don't expect a fancy barracks. You get a corner of storage bay C-4 and you'll like it." He finally looked up, his scarred face unreadable. "Your first team drill is at 1400. Don't be late."
Storage bay C-4 smelled of dust and forgotten supplies. It was a concrete box, cleared of crates on one side to make room for a single briefing table and four mismatched chairs. Three people were already there, their Aethel Frames humming with distinct, discordant energies. Kael felt like he'd walked into a room of ticking bombs.
The first was impossible to miss. He was built like a ferrocrete pillar, with a thick neck and arms that strained the fabric of his standard-issue combat suit. His energy was a low, earthy thrum, dense and stubborn. He was leaning back in his chair, feet on the table, exuding an air of absolute, unshakeable confidence. He watched Kael approach with a lazy, appraising look.
"So you're the fourth," the big man said, his voice a low rumble. "The stray Hound they picked up after the breach. Name's Zane." He didn't offer a hand. He just grinned, a flash of teeth that was more a challenge than a welcome. "My Echo is Stonetusk Boar. Tier-1. Gives me strength. Lots of it." He flexed an arm, and the composite plates of his suit creaked in protest. The implication was clear: his power was simple, direct, and overwhelming.
He gestured with his chin toward Kael. "What'd you pull? Something flashy?"
"Shard Hound," Kael said, his voice quiet.
Zane's grin faltered, replaced by a look of profound disappointment. "A Scuttler? Seriously? An agility type? Fucking useless. All they're good for is running away." He took his feet off the table with a thud. "Great. They gave me a coward for a teammate."
Before Kael could even process the insult, a soft voice cut in. "A Glimmer Moth isn't much of a fighter, either."
The speaker was a girl sitting in the corner, almost lost in the shadows. She was small, with dark hair cut in a practical bob, and she held herself with a quiet stillness. Her Aethel signature was a faint, silvery flicker, almost imperceptible next to Zane's oppressive hum. This was Maya. She gave Kael a small, hesitant nod, a silent acknowledgment of their shared status as non-brutes.
The last member of their squad was a boy who looked about Kael's age, with a nervous energy that made him seem to vibrate in place. He was perched on the edge of his seat, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. His name, Kael would learn, was Leo.
"I-I've got an Iron-Shelled Mollusk," Leo offered, as if trying to fill the tense silence. "It's… defensive. Really good at it." He looked at Zane, then at Kael, desperate for approval. "I can take a hit. A really, really big hit."
Zane just snorted. "A Boar, a Moth, a Scuttler, and a rock. What a fucking joke."
Their first team drill was a chaotic failure.
Jax led them back to the Forge, its vast, scarred space now populated with a new configuration of obstacles and automated training turrets. The objective was simple: breach the perimeter, secure a data canister from a central pillar, and extract. A basic infiltration and recovery op.
"You'll have a designated leader for each mission," Jax announced, his voice devoid of warmth. "For this one, it's Zane. His Echo has the highest raw power output."
Zane's chest puffed out. The look he shot Kael was pure, smug triumph. He slapped a hand on the concrete wall. "Alright, listen up. The plan is simple. I go first. Leo, you're on my six. You're the shield, so act like it. Maya, stay back and… do your light thing if they start shooting. You," he pointed at Kael, "stay out of the way. Try not to get shot. When I clear a path, you run in, grab the canister, and run out. Got it?"
It wasn't a plan. It was an ego trip with a checklist. Kael saw the flaws immediately. The turret placements were designed for crossfire. A straight charge was suicide.
"The side route," Kael started, pointing to a series of low barricades. "If I use the Hound's senses, I can map their targeting patterns. We could slip past the first two turrets and have a covered approach…"
"I don't slip," Zane cut him off, a dangerous edge to his voice. "I smash. Are you questioning my orders, Scuttler?"
Kael fell silent, feeling Maya's worried gaze on him. He wasn't. He was trying to keep them from getting metaphorically killed. But he knew that argument was a dead end.
The drill began.
Zane charged. It was the only word for it. He moved like an avalanche, a being of pure, unsubtle force. The first turret locked onto him, spitting a volley of low-powered energy bolts. Leo, true to his word, scrambled after him, a shimmering, translucent shell of energy flickering into existence around him—the Iron-Shelled Mollusk's defensive power. The bolts spattered harmlessly against it.
But the second turret, from the flank, now had a clear shot. Zane was too focused on his forward momentum.
"Zane, your left!" Kael shouted, instinct taking over.
Zane ignored him. The bolts slammed into his side, not powerful enough to do real damage but enough to make his Aethel Frame flare in protest. He roared in frustration and slammed his fist into the first turret, shattering its casing. A small victory that had cost them the element of surprise and any semblance of a tactical approach.
The entire arena came alive. More turrets popped up, their targeting lasers painting the squad.
"Maya, now!" Leo squeaked, his defensive shell wavering under the concentrated fire.
Maya raised her hands, and a pulse of soft, silvery light bloomed from her palms. It wasn't an attack; it was a wave of visual static, like a thousand moths taking flight at once, their wings scattering the light. For a moment, the targeting lasers went haywire, unable to lock on.
It was a perfect opening. But there was no one to exploit it. Zane was busy pulverizing the remains of the first turret, Leo was cowering behind his shield, and Kael was too far back. The moment passed. The turrets recalibrated.
Kael moved. He didn't wait for an order. He flowed, letting the Hound's instincts guide him. The world became a matrix of lines and probabilities. He saw the gaps in the firing patterns, the rhythm of the chaos. He pounced, a low, ground-eating sprint, weaving between the energy bolts. He was a ghost, a blur of grey. He reached the central pillar, his hand closing around the cool metal of the canister just as an alarm blared across the Forge.
Drill failed. Time expired.
They stood in the center of the room, a tableau of dysfunction. Zane was breathing heavily, his face flushed with anger. Leo looked like he was about to be sick. Maya was staring at the floor, her own Frame's light flickering weakly.
Jax walked toward them, his expression colder than the concrete. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Pathetic," he said, the word landing like a physical blow. He looked at Zane. "You have the power of a battering ram and the tactical sense of one, too. You exposed your team, ignored a threat, and accomplished nothing."
He turned to Leo. "A shield is useless if it never moves. You're a wall. Walls get broken."
His gaze fell on Maya. "Your ability creates opportunities. If your team is too stupid or too scared to use them, it's just a light show."
Finally, he looked at Kael, who still clutched the canister. "You. You disobeyed a direct order."
"I got the objective," Kael said, his voice steady.
"You got a canister," Jax corrected, his voice lethally quiet. "The objective was to function as a team. In a real fight, your leader's charge would have gotten him killed. The shield would've been flanked and shattered. The support would've been isolated and picked off. And you? You would have been shot in the back while you were grabbing your prize. You didn't succeed. You just failed in a different way than the others."
He swept his gaze across all of them. The four newest hopes of the enclave. The next generation of Frame Users.
"Squad Scion," Jax said, the name dripping with scorn. "You're not a squad. You're just four people waiting to die in the same place. Fix it."
He turned and walked away, leaving them alone in the vast, silent Forge. The only sound was the low, angry thrum of Zane's Aethel Frame, a promise of a conflict that had only just begun.