The door opened before dawn.
"7291. Equip and assemble. West courtyard."
Theron rose from his bunk. He had been awake for an hour already, watching the darkness outside his window fade to gray. Sleep came in fragments now. Always had.
He dressed in the standard uniform and followed the soldier into the corridor.
The west courtyard was smaller than the main yard, enclosed on three sides by windowless buildings. Seven others were already assembled when he arrived. Six wore the same dark uniform as the soldier who had escorted him yesterday. The seventh stood apart, arms crossed, watching the group with obvious disinterest.
Theron took his position at the end of the line and waited.
A man emerged from the building to their left. Older than the officers Theron had seen before. Scarred hands, close-cropped gray hair, armor that showed years of use. He carried a leather satchel over one shoulder.
"You're the irregular," the man said, stopping in front of Theron.
It wasn't a question. Theron nodded anyway.
The man studied him for a moment longer, then grunted. "Stay close. Do what you're told. Don't die." He turned to address the group. "We move in ten minutes. Final equipment check."
The soldiers began inspecting their gear. Blades, rope, waterskins. One of them sharpened a knife against a whetstone, the rhythmic scraping filling the silence.
Theron had no equipment to check.
The man with the satchel approached him again. "You know why you're here?"
"No."
"Mage hunt. Village called Renna, two days northwest. Reports of unregistered casting. We go in, we confirm, we eliminate." He reached into the satchel and pulled out a metal sphere identical to the one the soldier had used on Theron years ago. "You'll carry this. When we find them, you test them. If it reacts, they come with us. If it doesn't, they stay."
He pressed the sphere into Theron's hand. The metal was cold.
"What if it reacts on me?" Theron asked.
The man's expression didn't change. "It won't."
He walked away before Theron could respond.
It won't. The words sat heavy in his mind. Not it shouldn't. Not it might not. Certainty. They thought they knew something about him that he didn't.
The soldier with the knife finished sharpening and slid it back into its sheath. Another checked the straps on his pack. The one standing apart finally moved, rolling his shoulders as if loosening stiff muscles.
"Mount up," the man with the satchel called.
Three wagons waited beyond the courtyard gate. Not the enclosed transport wagons Theron remembered. These were open, built for speed rather than containment. The soldiers climbed into the first two. Theron was directed to the third.
He sat on the wooden bench as the driver urged the horses forward. The wheels rattled over cobblestone, then dirt as they passed through the compound gates and onto the road beyond.
The compound disappeared behind them.
Theron watched the landscape change. Stone walls gave way to open fields, then scattered farms. The sky overhead was heavy with clouds, dark and swollen. The air had that peculiar weight that came before a storm.
The soldier sitting across from him hadn't spoken since they left. He was younger than the others, maybe early twenties. A fresh scar ran along his jawline. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword even while sitting.
"First hunt?" the soldier asked eventually.
Theron nodded.
"You'll get used to it." The soldier leaned back against the wagon's side. "Most of them don't fight. They know what happens if they do."
Theron said nothing.
"The ones that run are worse," the soldier continued. "Makes everything take longer. Captain hates when they run."
Captain. The man with the satchel.
The wagon hit a rut. Theron gripped the bench to steady himself. The sphere in his pocket pressed against his leg.
They traveled through the morning without stopping. The road wound through forest, the trees close enough on either side that their branches formed a canopy overhead. The light that filtered through was dim and green.
Theron's thoughts drifted.
He tried to remember his parents' faces. The shape of his mother's hands before the blade had severed one. The sound of his father's voice. The details were there but fading, like ink left too long in water.
He wondered if that was intentional. If the years in the compound had been designed to do exactly this. Strip away everything that came before until only the present remained.
It won't.
The captain's words circled back. Why didn't the sphere react? It tested for mana. For the potential to use magic. His parents had been mages. Weak ones, hiding in a forgotten village, but mages nonetheless.
So why didn't it react?
The soldier across from him was watching. Theron met his eyes briefly, then looked away.
"You're quiet," the soldier said.
"Yes."
"Good. Talkers don't last long."
The wagon rolled on.
By midday, the clouds had thickened. The first drops of rain began to fall, light at first, then heavier. The soldiers pulled their cloaks tighter. Theron had no cloak. The rain soaked through his uniform, cold against his skin.
He didn't complain.
They stopped once to water the horses. The soldiers dismounted and stretched, speaking in low voices. Theron stayed in the wagon. The captain approached, rain dripping from the edge of his hood.
"How's the chest?"
Theron blinked. "Fine."
"No pain? No stiffness?"
"No."
The captain nodded slowly. "Good." He turned and walked back to the first wagon without elaborating.
They're watching. Not just his compliance. His body. How it functioned. How it healed.
The realization settled over him like the rain. He had known they were observing him. The repeated examinations, the notations in his file. But this felt different. More focused. They weren't just curious about his survival.
They were testing him.
The wagons moved again. The rain continued, steady and cold. Thunder rolled in the distance, a low rumble that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
The forest opened into farmland. Fields stretched on either side, crops beaten down by the rain. A few farmhouses dotted the landscape, smoke rising from their chimneys despite the weather.
"Renna's close," the soldier across from him said. "Maybe another hour."
Theron's hand moved to his pocket, fingers brushing the sphere. It was warmer now. Body heat, probably. Nothing more.
The wagon crested a hill. Below, a village came into view. Small. Maybe thirty buildings clustered around a central square. Smoke rose from several chimneys. Lights flickered in windows.
Normal. Peaceful.
For now.
The wagons descended the hill and stopped at the village's edge. The soldiers dismounted, checking their weapons one final time. The captain gestured for Theron to approach.
"We go in quiet," he said. "No announcement. No warnings. We locate the target, you test them, we proceed based on results." He looked at each of them in turn. "Anyone who interferes gets logged. Anyone who runs gets put down. Clear?"
The soldiers nodded.
Theron nodded.
"Move out."
They entered the village on foot, spreading out in pairs. The captain led Theron down the main path, past houses with shuttered windows and barred doors. The villagers had seen them coming. They always did.
A woman stood in a doorway, watching them pass. Her face was carefully neutral. She pulled a child back inside and closed the door.
The captain stopped at a house near the center of the village. Larger than the others. A faint light showed through the gaps in the shutters.
He knocked once. Hard.
Footsteps approached from inside. The door opened a crack. A man's face appeared, middle-aged, cautious.
"Imperial business," the captain said. "Open the door."
The man hesitated. Then the door swung wide.
The captain entered first. Theron followed. The interior was warm, a fire burning in the hearth. A woman sat at a table, hands folded in her lap. Two children stood behind her, a boy and a girl, both younger than Theron had been.
The captain scanned the room. "Names."
The man provided them. The woman said nothing. The children stared at the floor.
"We've received reports of unregistered casting in this village," the captain said. "We're here to verify."
The man's face paled. "There's been no casting here. We follow the law."
"Then you have nothing to worry about." The captain gestured to Theron. "Test them."
Theron stepped forward. He pulled the sphere from his pocket. The metal was warm now, almost hot.
He approached the man first. Pressed the sphere against his chest.
Nothing.
The woman next. Same result.
The boy. Nothing.
He moved to the girl. She couldn't have been more than eight. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the sphere in his hand.
Theron pressed it against her chest.
The sphere flared.
Light erupted from its surface, bright and sudden. The girl stumbled backward with a cry. The woman surged to her feet, reaching for her daughter.
"Don't move," the captain said.
His blade was already drawn.
The woman froze. The girl clutched her mother's skirt, trembling. The sphere in Theron's hand pulsed once more, then dimmed.
The captain looked at Theron. "Positive?"
Theron nodded. His throat felt tight.
"Bind her," the captain ordered.
One of the soldiers stepped forward with rope. The mother screamed. The father moved to block them. A blade pressed against his throat stopped him cold.
Theron stood motionless, the sphere still warm in his palm, as the girl was dragged away from her family.
Outside, thunder cracked across the sky.
The storm had arrived.