The convoy left New Haven at first light.
A line of armored buses rumbled north beneath heavy escort, engines growling like distant thunder. Xia Ying boarded the third vehicle—pack light, knife hidden, presence lighter still.
Inside, the air smelled of recycled metal… and fresh fear.
Newly Branded recruits clutched their seats. Some whispered prayers. Others stared ahead with hollow eyes, still trapped in private nightmares. Every breath felt shared, every heartbeat too loud in the confined space.
Two rows ahead, Lin Mei sat with her knees drawn close. Pale—but steady. When she noticed him, relief flickered across her face and she gave a small wave.
He returned it faintly.
Across the aisle, Wei Jun observed everything with hawk-sharp attention, gaze moving from soldier escorts to barrier pulses beyond the windows. Their eyes met. A nod exchanged. No words needed.
Dread barriers flanked the road before long—crimson wards humming faintly, containing stray Hungers that prowled beyond civilization's fragile borders.
As the city thinned into scarred wilderness, the landscape grew harsher.
Abandoned towns choked in vines. Rift craters lay like infected wounds across the earth. Forest edges flickered with silhouettes—abominations half-phased between realms. On the wind drifted distant whispers… Echoes of unresolved realities clawing at the living world.
Isolation settled in like iron.
No civilian routes.
No quick extraction.
Seven days confined.
Xia Ying leaned his head against the window. His breath briefly fogged the glass.
The tail from last night had vanished into the alleys—lost deliberately. Shadows had guided his steps until pursuit collapsed. Amateur work.
Kai's overeagerness?
Voss nursing dread wounds?
Irrelevant now.
This convoy was a sealed pen.
Thirty Branded. No witnesses. No interference.
Ideal conditions for first real cuts.
In his past life, imperial training grounds had functioned the same way—break spirits, forge tools, expose threats. But here, with Dominions raw and Hungers unrefined, the feast promised to be… richer.
His Aura stirred.
Passive feeding first.
A faint leak of dread seeped outward—so subtle it mimicked environmental unease. Nearby recruits shifted unconsciously, rubbing their arms as chills crawled across their skin.
A warm trickle returned to him.
Faint. But accumulating.
Lin Mei glanced back once.
"Glad you're here," she whispered. "Feels… safer."
He smiled gently.
A tool already binding itself.
Wei Jun murmured from the aisle, voice low:
"Barriers this strong… good for drills. Bad for escape."
Pragmatic mind. Useful eyes.
---
Hours passed before the compound emerged.
High walls crowned with ward pylons. Watchtowers manned by veterans whose essences pressed down like distant mountains.
A sign loomed over reinforced gates:
**Camp Veil's Edge**
Crimson barrier fields pulsed over the facility like a caged heartbeat.
They disembarked into crisp air.
"Line up! Scans!"
Realm 5 and 6 instructors barked orders, their presences alone enough to quiet unrest.
Processing moved fast—core resonance checks, uniform issuance, equipment distribution. Gray fatigues. Reinforced boots. Basic kits: stabilizers, rations, emergency beacons.
Cohorts assigned—thirty per group. "Balanced for synergy."
Xia Ying's cohort was a diverse harvest.
Traumatized recruits clustered together—eyes haunted, Flaw ticks manifesting as tremors, whispered self-talk, compulsive gestures.
Boastful types strutted loudly, flexing half-understood power.
The broken shuffled like sleepwalkers, muttering to invisible presences.
Lin Mei was placed in the adjacent female block—shared training rotations.
Wei Jun landed in the same barracks.
Convenient.
---
The barracks were long steel halls lined with bunk rows and personal lockers.
Xia Ying claimed a lower corner bunk—defensible, wide vantage, minimal blind spots.
Social hierarchies formed within minutes.
A burly man in his mid-twenties dominated the central bunks.
Scarred. Heavy build. Dominion radiating brute force.
Name tag: **Rex Thorne**.
Late-Branded strength type.
He shoved packs aside as he claimed space.
"Move it, weaklings. Realms don't coddle."
A few combat-type lackeys laughed obediently.
Traumatized recruits shrank back.
Wei Jun took the bunk near Xia Ying, voice quiet:
"Bull establishing herd early."
Accurate.
Lin Mei waved from the doorway during mixed orientation:
"Same cohort? That's a relief."
Tools positioned well.
---
They were herded to training fields before noon.
"Day One: Dominion demonstrations," an instructor announced. "Show what your Hunger gave you. Assessments begin now."
A warded arena formed a wide dirt circle. Transparent barriers shimmered at its edge. Instructors watched from raised platforms with essence readers humming.
Turns progressed.
Traumatized recruits fumbled—healing lights flickering weakly, tracking abilities missing targets.
Boastful ones overreached—one flame user scorched his own arm drawing laughter.
Lin Mei stepped in mid-order.
Her hands glowed soft gold as she wove mend-light over a deliberate cut. Tissue sealed flawlessly.
"Support potential—high," an instructor noted.
Wei Jun followed.
His perception Dominion flared—pinpointing hidden essence tags scattered invisibly around the arena.
"Excellent trail acquisition."
Then Rex.
He roared as strength surged, veins bulging. He hoisted a massive log and smashed it into the ground hard enough to crack packed earth.
Cheers erupted from his lackeys.
"Frontline classification approved."
Raw power claimed the spotlight.
---
Xia Ying stepped forward when called.
Murmurs rippled.
"Rare Dominion—Lord of Nightmares."
Registration data had spread quickly.
He entered the arena calmly.
Suppression held tight.
No Phantom manifestation.
No full Feedback projection.
Shadow tendrils uncoiled from his feet—sleek, controlled, precise. They extended across the ground, bound a training dummy, lifted, restrained… then released in fluid motion.
Next came illusions.
Mild ones.
Vague shadow figures formed at the arena's edge—distorted silhouettes that triggered instinctive unease. Faint whispers brushed the air before fading.
Restrained. Controlled. Impressive without revealing depth.
Gasps. Instructor nods.
"Versatile. Binding and misdirection applications."
Lin Mei beamed afterward.
"Beautiful control."
Wei Jun added quietly:
"Underrated. Shadows hide much."
Rex snorted nearby.
"Parlor tricks. Hunger eats pretty illusions."
Xia Ying met his eyes briefly.
A trace Aura pulse slipped through.
Rex frowned faintly.
Seed planted.
Preliminary rankings placed Xia Ying high—but not at the top. Rex's raw power held first position.
Exactly as intended.
---
Night fell over Camp Veil's Edge.
Cohorts gathered around a massive central campfire. Flames crackled against the oppressive forest dark while distant barrier hums caged the wilderness.
Instructors spoke:
"Share your realms. Your hungers. Bonds decide who feasts… and who starves."
Stories began hesitantly.
Traumatized recruits relived their first realm collapses. Voices broke. Tears followed.
Lin Mei spoke softly about healer guilt—about failing to save illusion-companions who had felt real enough to mourn.
Xia Ying listened behind an empathy mask.
Then he probed gently.
"What lingered deepest?"
Confessions deepened.
Helplessness. Loss. Abandonment.
His Aura amplified the emotional gravity just enough.
Stories darkened naturally. Dread essence flowed richer.
Warm surges slid through him—addictive, his Flaw purring in satisfaction.
Lin Mei leaned closer, sharing deeper guilt meant for no one else.
Wei Jun spoke of survival anxiety—of being the last one left alive.
The passive feast peaked.
---
Rex shattered the moment.
He staggered in holding contraband ration brew.
"Crybaby feast," he mocked. "Realms crush. They don't cuddle."
He shoved a sobbing girl, laughter spilling from his lackeys.
Then he loomed over Xia Ying.
"Shadow boy. Tricks save you when the abyss bites?"
Close. Aggressive.
Instructors watched from afar—but did not intervene.
Testing resolution.
Xia Ying rose slowly.
Calm.
His voice dropped low enough for Rex alone.
"Strength hides it well… Rex."
A pause.
"Late Brand, wasn't it? Watching everyone ascend while you scraped behind? Power failing when your Curse pulled you under… leaving you weak. Exposed."
Feedback laced the whisper.
Tailored.
Precise.
Rex's pupils dilated.
Xia Ying projected buried humiliation—moments of ridicule, isolation, strength rendered meaningless before endless hunger.
Rex staggered.
Knees buckled.
Sobs tore out of him raw and primal.
"Too late… I couldn't… I was weak…"
Lackeys recoiled in shock.
The circle fell silent—fear and awe mingling.
Passive dread spiked deliciously.
Xia Ying knelt beside him, feigning concern.
"Exhaustion," he said gently. "Words cut deep."
Perfect diffusion.
Instructors intervened lightly. No punishment issued.
Test observed. Outcome logged.
---
The fire died.
Cohorts dispersed.
As Xia Ying returned to the barracks, a heavy hand clamped his shoulder.
Instructor Garrick.
Realm 6 veteran. Scarred face. Essence like a drawn blade.
He pulled Xia Ying toward the treeline, away from ears.
"Clean terror cut, kid," Garrick muttered. "Too clean."
His gaze sharpened.
"A Dominion like yours—pure dread—draws hungry eyes. Legion. Syndicates. Veil things worse than both."
A beat.
"Conceal deeper… or they'll feast on you first."
Xia Ying met his stare evenly.
"Noted."
Garrick grunted and released him.
"Smart if you listen. Survive the week."
---
Walking back through the dark, Xia Ying felt it.
A distant watch.
Something beyond the barriers… or within them.
It scented sovereignty.
Ally?
Or the first hunter drawn to his throne?
He exhaled softly.
Tonight's cuts drew no blood.
But terror wounds festered just the same.