Chapter 7: The War Chamber
"First pair," Locke announced, his gaze landing right on our group. "Step forward."
One guy from our squad and a girl from the left side stepped out. She was tall and blonde with a powerful build. The guy was bulky, with light brown hair and a distinct scar on his chin. Grayon Mayvis, right? We hadn't gotten close to the other new cadets yet.
"I wanted to go first," Felix complained. Zen chuckled, "You'll get your chance to get your butt kicked." We all stifled a laugh.
As Grayon and the blonde girl stepped onto the mat, Locke barked, "Show me what you're capable of!"
They began to circle each other. The girl struck first, forcing Grayon to take a step back. "Come on, Grayon!" Zen encouraged. The girl landed a few more left and right hooks before delivering a sharp kick. Suddenly, Grayon lunged, using a foot sweep to send her crashing down. He pinned her to the mat instantly. "Give up!" he grunted.
Throughout the fight, I noticed a guy from the opposite side staring at our squad. When Grayon returned to his place, Felix turned to Zen, grinning. "I think our squad might be the ones kicking everyone else's butts."
"Not bad," Professor Locke said. "Now, everyone find a partner and begin. Your Vanguard Commanders will oversee you, but I will be watching as well." He moved to another mat to observe.
Tomris and I squared off. "Don't go easy on me!" I retorted. She smiled, "You too. Hit with all your might!"
After two hours of intense training, we were practically crawling out of the arena toward our next class. We were all drenched in sweat—except for Silas. "Why do you look like you didn't just fight for two hours?" Felix complained, glancing at him. Silas didn't answer and just walked ahead. "Hey!" Felix hurried after him.
"I saw a guy staring at you—the Reidar with the different colored eyes," Tomris asked as we walked.
"I noticed him too, but I have no idea who he is," I replied, pulling my hair back into a high ponytail.
"That's Reinar Fayrum, Commander of the Eastern Vanguard," Zen said, joining us with Ian.
"Does he have a grudge against our Vanguard? Or our squad specifically?" I asked.
"No, not really," Ian replied. "Unless, of course, it's something personal."
Great. An enemy I didn't even know I had. I decided then that I had to be cautious.
Our next class was in a hall called the War Chamber. The heavy, iron-studded doors groaned as we entered. It wasn't a classroom; it was a tomb for the living. The air was thick with the scent of cold stone and burnt tinder. High above, narrow slits in the masonry let in thin, jagged blades of grey light, illuminating dust motes that danced over a massive stone map carved directly into the floor.
General Bastian Ryker stood at the head of the pit—a mountain of a man whose presence seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room. He didn't need a prosthetic to look terrifying; his stillness was enough. His jaw was set like granite, and his cold, calculating eyes tracked our every movement as if we were hostile infantry crossing a border. There were no chairs. We were expected to stand at the edge of the stone map.
"Come in, cadets," Ryker said, his voice echoing. "Let's see if you are capable of thinking as well as you fight."
We circled the enormous floor map.
"In this class, your brain is your weapon. Wit, cunning, theory, and tactics are the tools you will use to win. We will analyze recent battles and historical wars to see how we can turn any situation to our advantage."
"This is going to be fun," Tomris whispered. I gave her a small smile. Ryker used a flick of magic to place several wooden markers, shaped like Reidars, on different parts of the map.
"Let's start with a simple question," he smirked. "Three hundred years ago, a detachment of fifty scouts was trapped inside the Broken Fang watchtower. They were surrounded by Umbral thralls. The tower had no food, but it sat atop a natural spring. To the North—a sheer cliff. To the South—the enemy horde. To the East and West—thick, flammable briar patches. Reinforcements were three days away. The scouts survived. How?"
I stared at the stone map, my mind racing. The water wasn't for drinking, I realized, the pieces clicking together like a well-oiled crossbow. I looked at the briars, then at the cliff. If you can't hold the door, you make the enemy want a different entrance.
Reinar began, his voice calm and carrying the weight of a natural commander. "They didn't wait for reinforcements," he said, his eyes locked on General Ryker. "They used the spring to soak the interior of the tower—every floor and beam. Then, they set the briar patches to the East and West ablaze, funneling the horde into a single, narrow corridor of fire that led straight—"
"To their own deaths?" a first-year cadet interrupted, his voice cracking with nervous arrogance. "How could they survive in the middle of an inferno? The heat alone would have cooked them alive inside that stone oven. It's impossible."
I didn't even realize I was speaking until the words left my lips.
"The steam," I said, my voice cutting through the cadet's doubt. "By flooding the tower and letting the fire rage outside, they created a high-pressure steam curtain. It didn't just keep the heat out; it blinded the monsters. The 'corridor' wasn't just fire—it was a path of least resistance. The monsters didn't run into the flames; they ran away from them, straight off the North cliff because they couldn't see the drop through the white haze."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Reinar turned his head slightly, glancing at me with a sharp, knowing glint in his eyes.
"Exactly," Reinar said, his tone dropping an octave as he turned his gaze to the cadet who had interrupted. "And perhaps you would have realized that, Cadet, if you learned to listen to the end before opening your mouth."
"Not bad," Ryker gave an approving nod, his eyes lingering on me for a second longer than expected.
"But steam and a cliff wouldn't have been enough to kill two thousand," a cold, detached voice added. It was Silas. He hadn't moved an inch, still looking as if he'd just stepped out of a bath rather than a two-hour brawl. "Umbrals don't fear heights, and common fire doesn't burn them—it only slows them down."
Ryker crossed his arms, his interest piqued. "Go on, cadet."
"The survivors had a Sun-Wielder among them, a Reidar named Kalen the Scorched," Silas continued, his voice devoid of emotion. "He didn't just light the briars. He laced the steam with energy, turning the mist into a corrosive, sanctified vapor. It didn't just blind them; it dissolved their shells before they even hit the ground at the bottom of the cliff. The strategy wasn't just to hide—it was to create a chemical trap."
Ryker actually smirked then, a sight that was more terrifying than his scowl. "Correct. History remembers the fire, but tacticians remember the catalyst."
All of our squad turned and looked at Silas in absolute awe.
"The map is in front of you, not on my face," Silas said dryly.
"The dark horse you are," Felix whispered, shaking his head.
After our classes ended, we spent the rest of the day training, and after dinner, we finally retreated to our rooms.
When I was sure that Tomris had fallen asleep, I put on my dark gear and snuck out. It was time to start my search. I was in the very center of the citadel, making my way toward the restricted archives, when a voice cut through the silence.
"Already violating the Taboo?"
I froze mid-step, my heart hammering against my ribs. I turned slowly, only to find myself staring into those haunting, mismatched eyes—one amber, one smoky grey.