"Have we met before?"
They had stopped in a quiet corner just a hall away from the mess hall, tucked away from any stray eyes.
As soon as her steps halted, Sina turned to face Soren. The question slipped out, soft yet edged, her gaze lingering on the name tag stitched above his chest before lifting back to his face.
Bach. She had never seen that name in her life.
"Maybe we have," he replied easily, his tone playful, golden eyes glinting as though enjoying her reaction.
She frowned, her tone stiffened. "What kind of answer is that?"
He tilted his head, watching her closely. "Why do you ask?"
"I feel like I know you," she admitted, clear and plain, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
The playful glint in his irises dimmed. Playfulness ebbed, giving way to something stiller. His features softened. "So you do remember."
Sina hesitated at the change in his tone. She leaned forward slightly. "Remind me."
Soren didn't answer right away. Instead his gaze swept over her face in silence. After a long while, his mouth parted, the word slipping free.
"Avendria."
Her eyes flew wide. Her breath caught, and her guarded expression fell away.
At once, memories crashed over—snowfields stretching endless to the horizon, black pines standing silent beneath a sky of unbroken gray. The air so piercing it froze breath in her throat, the cold seeping past skin into bone. The name alone had dragged Sina back to that desolate town, where the streets lay grey, the stone slick beneath her feet, and food as scarce as the people who walked them. Of the few faces she had known there, only one remained.
"Soren?" The whisper trembled out of her.
A slow smile spread across Soren's face. The frost melted from her eyes the instant his name passed her lips.
Sina studied him—unguarded now—taking in every change. The more defined lines of his face, the breadth of his shoulders, the jaw that had once been round, still carrying the faintest ghost of boyhood. Without realizing, she was already moving closer.
"You've grown," Sina murmured. "Eight years, was it? Look how tall you are now."
Before she even thought of it, her hands had risen, her palms finding his cheeks.
Soren froze. Wide-eyed, unmoving. Her palms were cold, yet on his skin they burned like warmth. His chest lurched, then stopped, then thundered.
But the moment broke.
Awareness crashed in, and Sina pulled back suddenly, her hands folding awkwardly behind her. Soren was no longer the boy she remembered, but a man—taller than her now, broader, his voice carrying a weight she had never heard in him before. Whatever impulse had seized her felt childish, out of place here in the shadow of the hall.
Soren lowered his head. "Of course I've grown," he said with a wry smile. "I couldn't stay twelve forever."
The words eased her. Her lips curved into a soft smile. "I never knew Bach was your last name."
"I never told you," he murmured.
"So you were conscripted?"
"Yes."
Her gaze turned distant, calculating. Soren was twelve when she had met him eight years ago. That made him twenty now. "Then you've served two years. Only two, and you're already training for the Ignis Corps. That's a record."
He chuckled softly, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "Couldn't possibly beat you."
Her head tilted slightly at his words, puzzled. Slowly, the scattered pieces of the past settled in place, one by one. The boyish face now grown, the memories that came with it, the remark that carried more weight than it seemed. Realization dawned, and her smile faltered.
Soren knew.
"Listen, Soren..." Her words stumbled out, her usual steadiness undone. She searched his face, throat tightening, as if forcing herself past hesitation. "There's something we must agree on."
His smile didn't waver. If anything, it deepened with quiet knowing. He had a fair idea of what she was about to say. "What is it?" he whispered, waiting.
"I—"
"Sina Clemens."
Another voice cut through, sharp, stern, already heavy with anger.
Sina tensed at once. The footsteps were so light she hadn't sensed them, but the timbre was unmistakable. Vellien Tressine.
Soren turned toward the voice. A man in his mid-thirties stood there, tall, his uniform an indigo shade, his presence commanding despite his stillness. His hair was dark as raven down, his eyes a deep sapphire blue—nothing like Sina's pale shade. A scowl of pure displeasure settled on his face the moment his gaze found Soren.
"What do you think you're doing?" The blue-eyed man's words lashed coldly at Sina.
"Captain Tressine." Sina sighed wearily, turning to him. The disdain on her face was palpable. "What now?"
Soren recognized the name. This was the man set to oversee his training, the one standing between him and final qualification. Yet he met the Captain's glower head-on, weighing him in silence. A thought flickered through him: the training ahead might prove far more unpleasant than he'd accounted for.
"I saw how you put your hands on this soldier," Vellien said, the words clipped and harsh. Then his gaze snapped to the insignia on Soren's sleeve. Arrows. His tone became a low growl. "Trainee, aren't you? Want to go back to holding bows?"
"Captain Tressine." Soren smiled, the gesture polite, though his golden eyes sharpened into a leonine stare as he looked down at the Captain. "I don't intend to, sir."
Vellien pressed on. "Then what the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be preparing for training with Ignisant Rho, aren't you?"
Soren's retort was ready, but Sina cut in, her voice raised. "I dragged him here. Question me, not him."
"Clemens," Vellien's face hardened, "I'll deal with you later."
Soren stepped forward, but again, Sina was quicker. "No," she snapped. "You deal with me now. And you let this trainee return to his session."
For a moment, silence stretched. Vellien's mouth went taut, then his tone returned, flat, the danger withdrawn. "Fine." His eyes slid to Soren. "Leave."
Soren searched Sina's face, yearning not to leave. Yet the conviction in her expression made it clear he must.
"Soren, go," she whispered, nudging him gently.
Reluctantly, Soren nodded. But as he passed, he threw the Captain one last look. Then his face closed again, unreadable, his steps making heavy thuds on the stone as he walked away.
Only when Soren had disappeared entirely from view did Sina speak again.
"What do you want, Captain?"
Vellien's jaw tightened as he studied her. "You knew him?" His tone was low and controlled now, but the bitterness still simmered beneath it. "What was with the hands?"
Sina exhaled, already weary of the line of questioning. "I knew him when he was a boy. Haven't seen him in years."
"A boy?" He still sounded doubtful. "When was that?"
The probing note felt strange coming from him, more personal than his usual sternness. Her displeasure deepened. "I don't see how that's any concern of yours, my dear Captain."
Vellien fell silent. Never before had she raised her voice at him, never had her composure fractured—for anyone, least of all a trainee. If anyone else had witnessed what he had, the mess of scandal would have been impossible to shoulder. But she was right—it wasn't his place to demand answers. He turned away, forcing the matter aside, and fixed instead on the grievance that had been gnawing at him for months.
"Six months, Clemens. Six months without a word." His face tightened with restrained anger. "I don't even know if you're in my squad anymore."
"Didn't Shadow Scouts relay everything to you?" she asked coolly, shrugging as if the matter were trivial. She had arranged the reports—what he did with them was hardly her fault.
But that answer only set his temper ablaze. "You think running around collecting kills on your own means the job's done?"
She leaned her shoulder to the wall, arms folding as though his fury barely touched her. "Last I checked, I've cleared more missions than any other squad in the Corps."
His face darkened instantly. "So you think you're better than everyone else?"
"Am I not?" Her brow arched.
That snapped his restraint. Each word climbed in volume, harsh and echoing. "Who's going to drag you back if you're wounded? Who's going to recover your igniser if you're killed? We deploy in pairs, in trios—always. You know the risks. If you die running around on your own, what happens then? Why can't you follow protocol like everyone else, Sina Clemens?"
"I won't get wounded. And I won't get killed." She met his eyes unflinching. "I know what I'm doing, Captain."
He held her stare, then his tone shifted, lower, pleading. "There's no telling what can happen behind enemy lines. Do you even understand what's at stake? The ignisers, the technology, the resources—every drop of blood spilled to protect the only Ignium mine on this continent. One mistake, one reckless death, and it all comes undone. Grow up, Clemens."
She gave him a flat, almost bored look. She'd heard this lecture from him too many times already. "Are you done?" She pushed herself off the wall, ready to walk away.
"You act like you've got nothing to lose."
In a rare lapse, he caught her by the arm, stopping her cold. Frustration etched across his face. "Don't mistake recklessness for audacity."
Her eyes flicked down at his grip, then rose back, her voice lowering to a quiet warning. "You have no idea," she spit out each word, "I've got everything to lose."
For a long moment, they stared each other down, until at last Vellien relented. His hand fell away. "Where are you going now?"
Sina had already turned, her voice carrying ahead of her. "The underground range."
The words shook Vellien. "You've got access to the Workshop?" His question came out thinned, raw with disbelief. Even Captains weren't permitted down there. Only the Marshal appointed such access.
She didn't break stride. "Oh, you didn't know?" she said lightly, glancing back just enough to twist the knife. "Shame."
The hall fell still. Only the steady click of her heels remained, echoing farther and farther away as she vanished down the corridor.