The night in Valerium wasn't just dark — it was like a complex tapestry of shadows. The moon hid behind low, slightly dark clouds, denying almost any natural light, but the makeshift floodlights set up by Kirden's soldiers at key points — the city gate and the main square — created circles of harsh white light, leaving only a few spots in darkness. The air around the city felt electrified; tension was palpable like the cold mist slowly rising from the ground.
From his vantage on the roof of an abandoned building, Neale, with Helyara's overcoat tied around his waist, was just another figure hiding in the shadows. His diary lay open; inside were sketches of the square he had drawn himself, along with the planning for his scheme that included some of the watch and patrol posts he'd managed to spot the day before.
The convoy would make a strategic stop to refuel and resupply so nothing would be lacking on the way to Kirden. The stopping point was one of the old fuel depots; they picked a place isolated from everything but still close enough to the city gate. That was the point of greatest vulnerability — the gate — and therefore where most of the security was focused. Thanks to his preparations over the last few days, Neale already had a way into that security ring around the convoy: the tunnels of the abandoned sewers that ran along the side of the depot and connected to the storm-drain tunnels where the subterranean piping network intersected, providing access to some ventilation shafts, one of which led up to that depot — a blind spot high above the soldiers and near the V-zero where the students were.
A brute-force entry would never work, and if he tried, it would ruin all his chances. He needed to get in, blend in, and act like the student he wanted to be to grow stronger.
Neale climbed down from the roof, feeling the weight of his two knives at his waist over his clothes. He wouldn't use them against Kirden's soldiers, but against any threat to his plan — caution was key. He didn't even know if the students were allowed to carry weapons; he preferred not to have to use them. The focus was to blend in with the students.
He moved. The clock was minutes from striking midnight — the scheduled arrival time for the V-zero. The murmur of people walking the streets faded and was replaced by the dry metallic sound of Kirden soldiers' boot soles on patrol.
The icy unease hit Neale's skin. His eyes scanned the crowd looking for something he couldn't name. There they were, everywhere: men in black cloaks, the mercenaries of power. They didn't move; they stood still, hiding in the shadows. Neale didn't know how or when they'd attack the V-zero, but most likely it would be during refueling, when everyone would be occupied and the mercenaries would have their best chance.
The sound came first — the heavy wheels striking the dirt road, shaking the ground, quickly turning into a loud, continuous roar that announced how close they were to Valerium. The V-zero was arriving.
The machine emerged from the dust-and-mist haze. It wasn't an elegant Order tank but a brutal aberration: a mastodon of dark steel coated with Justa Irá, reinforced with extra plates and heavy pointed bridge beams, moving on narrow giant treads. Its color was dark, almost black, and it gave off a low hum — the Justa Irá forced across metal plates. The presence of Justa Irá was strong, though Neale didn't feel it even with the V-zero nearly inside the city; nevertheless, it was undeniably a mobile fortress.
Once they reached the city, the soldiers became even more alert and focused. Behind them, under heavy escort, came the new cohort of Kirden academy students for that year: dozens of them, some visibly older, others anxious — some pretending to be brave, others quiet — all wearing decent travel clothes but not yet the Order's badge.
The V-zero stopped inside an improvised depot while the students were escorted to eat or use the latrine. Kirden's soldiers moved quickly, cordoning off the area. This was Neale's chance.
He moved quickly and discreetly to the storm-drain entrance, then to the point where the ducts met the ventilation shafts that opened into the ring of soldiers guarding the V-zero and the students. The cold metal prickled and scraped his skin, but he focused only on moving forward. When he came out, he was at the side of the depot, right behind the V-zero.
The scene was prey and controlled chaos — somehow organized. Soldiers refueled vehicle tanks and carried food and water supplies inside, while a group of students returned, apparently being scolded by the supervisor shepherding them back.
"Now's my chance," Neale whispered to himself.
He slipped down the duct and edged toward the group of students under escort, hands in his pockets to create a bulge that would hide the knives at his back. He pretended to be a shy, awkward youth to justify not being noticed before. He even stumbled and bumped one of the students, offering a nervous apology. His appearance screamed "humble student from nowhere," but nobody seemed to care or notice much — perhaps because the poor lighting made faces hard to see. It was an odd and hardly normal way to start a life as a student, but he moved deeper into the group. He didn't want to be last, but he didn't want to be first; already he felt ready to slip into the vehicle with the other students, waiting for the supervisor's call.
That's when hell burned over the place.
From behind an abandoned warehouse, from underground, and even from the air, hooded mercenaries in black emerged, armed and some with the ability to wield and generate Justa Irá. A high, piercing cry of death from the soldiers cut through — those killed in the invasion sounded like an alarm screamed by the survivors — followed by flashes and smoke that made vision nearly impossible. The mercenaries seemed to appear from everywhere, moving with smoke grenades in hand and on their belts, carrying lightweight weapons that revealed each fighter's style. Some even wielded guns that fired iron rounds tipped with pieces of absolute-race bodies — Neale couldn't tell which.
The Order's students panicked as if they'd never seen anything worse and scattered in all directions while the supervisor shouted for them to stay calm. Neale, meanwhile, only thought about what he could do and whether he was strong enough to help. Alongside him were four other students who also seemed to think coldly like him; even though their eyes trembled with fear, their minds were still clearer than their bodies.
Kirden's soldiers and the Order's direct supervisors responded to the attack immediately. They moved faster than the ordinary soldiers while the weaker soldiers guided students toward the vehicles. The V-zero seemed reserved for students from important families.
Neale and the other students, escorted by a soldier, were led to a more common Order vehicle — covered and sturdy, though not the dark color of the V-zero. With the ramp low, Neale pushed into the vehicle, fighting not to be shoved by the other students. He was almost inside when one of the mercenaries, wearing a mask that distorted his voice into something like a dead creature, attacked, scratching Neale's arm lightly. But a soldier's reflex shoved Neale into the vehicle — that reflex saved him. The mask stank, like the smell of a demonic beast, but different too; Neale recognized it because of the rare small winged demonic beast he'd faced before.
When the mercenary saw Neale, for some reason he recognized him.
"It's you, kid!? I've been looking for you," the mercenary shouted with a sinister smile in his eyes, lunging at Neale with that strange mask still smiling in its gaze and radiating a killer aura.
Neale felt the mercenary's icy unease slam aggressively against his skin, and that odd, modified voice made it worse — it was colder and purer death than before. That's when he appeared: a soldier of the Order — it was as if even the moon wanted to reflect the Order's bright emblem on his right shoulder. He was different from the Kirden soldiers; his strength was undeniable. The mercenary's knife sat between Neale and the vehicle's metal door, but the Order soldier punched him with bare hands so forcefully the mercenary was thrown against a wall.
"Attention, soldiers!" came a long, authoritative shout from the strongest man there, the Order soldier. "Make sure all students are on the vehicles and depart immediately for Kirden. Soldiers who remain will fight to provide cover for the vehicles and stop those mercenaries."
When the soldiers heard those orders, everyone shouted their agreement and fought according to command. The student vehicles began to move while those left behind provided covering fire, leaving the darkness and chaos of Valerium behind that hectic night.
But Neale was on a vehicle — two days from Kirden.