Chapter 11 — The First Task
The room seemed quieter after the last introduction, though it was a silence thick with expectation rather than calm. The low lantern-light painted the walls in amber shades, throwing long, restless shadows that danced across the old stone. Leo could hear the faint crackle of the oil lamp, its scent mixing with the faint, earthy smell of parchment and the musk of old leather-bound tomes.
Captain Ashton leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his gaze fixed on Leo—not in a threatening way, but in a way that made it clear he was measuring every flicker of expression, every unguarded shift in posture.
"So," Ashton began, his voice low and deliberate, "I suppose it's time you learned exactly what you've walked into."
Leo straightened instinctively, his fingers curling against his knees.
Ashton reached for a small wooden box on the table beside him. Its lid was carved with unfamiliar patterns—sweeping arcs intersected by jagged lines, like constellations broken apart and reformed into some hidden design. He opened it with a soft click, and inside lay a bundle of papers tied with twine, their edges frayed from use.
"We aren't like the other units in the military," Ashton said, untying the bundle with a careful precision that made Leo suspect this was a practiced gesture, something the captain had done many times before when inducting newcomers. "We work with the ordinary population—merchants, farmers, travelers, even petty thieves—because danger rarely announces itself where you expect it. The enemy doesn't always march through the front gates. Sometimes, it hides in plain sight... until it's too late."
His eyes sharpened. "And the dangers we deal with aren't the kind you can fight with swords or rifles alone."
One of the officers—a tall woman with cropped black hair—shifted slightly, her gloved hands resting on the pommel of the blade strapped to her side. "Monsters," she said simply, the word weighted with more than just fear.
Leo blinked. "Monsters?"
Ashton gave a short nod. "From the Outer Realms. Places that should never touch ours, but... sometimes, the veil between worlds grows thin. And when it does, things crawl through. Beasts twisted beyond the rules of our nature. Shadows that move without light. Voices that should not exist."
Leo felt a faint chill trickle down his spine.
"But it's not only the creatures themselves we must worry about," Ashton continued, his voice deepening, "it's the ones who welcome them."
"Veris Cultures," the black-haired woman added. "Fanatics who believe in gods older than time, and far more cruel. They see the monsters not as threats, but as holy messengers. They'd sacrifice entire cities to prove their devotion."
Leo's mind flashed back to fragments of whispers he'd heard in his first days here—murmurs of disappearances, strange markings on walls, the scent of blood in places no battle had touched.
"And these... cults," Leo said slowly, "they have weapons?"
Ashton's lips curved in something that was not quite a smile. "Weapons. Powers. Rituals passed down through generations—blood-forged contracts with things that should not answer. To wield such things, a person must be... qualified. They must reach a certain rank in their order, prove their loyalty through trials that would break most people."
Leo could tell from his tone that whatever those trials were, they were not meant to be survived.
The captain set the first stack of documents on the table before Leo. "These," he said, "are the last few years of cases we've faced. Read them. Study them. You'll find records of incidents, encounters, and even transcripts of interrogations. You'll see what we've fought, and what we've lost."
The paper felt cold in Leo's hands, as though it had been stored somewhere far from the warmth of the room. He glanced down and caught glimpses of the headings—Outer Gate Breach, Mawrech Perimeter, Incident at the Forgotten Chapel, Subject X Testimony—Partial—before setting them carefully on his lap.
Ashton wasn't finished. He rose from his seat and crossed the room to a tall bookshelf pressed into the far wall. It was an imposing thing, its wood stained nearly black, its shelves crammed with volumes of varying sizes. He ran his hand along the spines until he found what he wanted, pulling free several thick tomes bound in cracked, deep-red leather.
"These," he said as he placed them beside the documents, "are written in the Vorak tongue—an ancient language. It's the foundation of most rituals we use, whether for defense, sealing, or... other purposes."
Leo opened one at random and saw pages filled with twisting characters that seemed to shimmer faintly if he stared too long.
"You'll need to learn it," Ashton said simply. "We still use it in the field. Not because we're traditionalists, but because sometimes, the right word spoken in the right language can change everything. Close a gate. Bind a creature. Or call something to you."
The way he said that last part made Leo's skin prickle.
Ashton's expression softened—slightly. "But before all of that... there's something else you need to understand about our unit."
He returned to his seat, folding his hands on the table. "Every military unit has its own base, its own hideout. Most of them are known—visible, even. Not ours. Our base is different. You can't just stumble upon it. You can't force your way in."
The captain leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "If someone wants to enter... they need a keyword. Without it, you could walk right past our door a hundred times and never see it. That keyword changes over time, and only those who prove themselves earn it."
Leo felt the weight of his gaze and realized this wasn't just information—it was the beginning of a test.
"That," Ashton said, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, "is your first task. Find the keyword. Find our base. Only then will we officially welcome you into our ranks."
The other officers exchanged knowing looks. One by one, they stood, their movements almost perfectly synchronized. Without a word, they raised their right hands, snapped their fingers—and to Leo's astonishment, their figures began to fade, vanishing into thin air as though dissolving into mist.
The captain's voice followed, growing fainter as his body began to disappear. "Read those documents. Study the books. Connect what you learn. The pieces will point you toward the word you seek."
One by one, they were gone. The last of Ashton's voice faded into the air like smoke. "We'll be waiting."
And then... silence.
Leo sat frozen in the now-empty room, the stack of papers and ancient books weighing heavy in his hands. The air still held the faint trace of whatever magic had just been used, like the echo of a storm long after the clouds had gone.
He looked down at the first case file. His mind buzzed with questions, with the enormity of the task ahead. Find the keyword. Find the base. Earn his place.
Somewhere in these documents—in the details of old battles, in the whispers of forgotten language—was the answer.
And he would have to find it.