The vision from the Core changed everything. We weren't building a shelter anymore; we were building a fortress. We weren't training survivors; we were training an army.
I founded the Last Light Academy on Day Ninety.
The longhouse was repurposed. During the day, it was a mess hall. In the mornings and evenings, it was a classroom.
We didn't teach math or history. We taught Survival.
"All right, listen up!" I stood at the front of the room, facing a group of thirty new recruits. They were a mix of former office workers, mall refugees, and toughened survivors. "You're here because you want to stay alive. But staying alive isn't good enough anymore. We need to win."
I pointed to the board behind me.
"Dr. Okoye will teach you Biology and Agriculture. You need to know which plants will heal you and which ones will eat you. Marcus will teach Logistics. If you can't count bullets, you can't fight. Alex will teach Tactics."
"And what do you teach?" a young man in the front row asked. He had a cocky grin and a newly awakened ability to harden his skin.
I looked at him. I flicked my wrist, and a vine shot out from the floorboards, wrapped around his ankle, and hoisted him upside down in the air before he could blink.
"I teach Combat and Power Control," I said calmly.
The class went silent.
We divided the awakened individuals into squads based on their abilities.
Lily was the head of the Defense Corps. She trained the barriers and the shield-users, teaching them how to tank hits and protect the gunners. She was strict, demanding, and surprisingly ruthless. She was growing into a leader.
Ryan, however, struggled. His power was destructive, and he was afraid of it. He refused to spar with the others, worried he would burn them.
I found him sitting on the edge of the training field, staring at a melted target dummy.
"I can't control it, Mom," he mumbled. "It's too much."
I sat beside him. "You're trying to push it out, Ryan. That's why it explodes. Fire isn't a push. It's a release. You have to let it flow, not force it."
I picked up a dry leaf. "Burn just the tip. Leave the rest."
He focused. His hand trembled. A jet of flame shot out and incinerated the whole leaf.
"I can't," he said, frustrated.
"Breathe," I said. "Feel the heat inside you. It's part of you. Don't fight it."
He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. When he opened them, his irises were glowing orange. He pointed a finger at a blade of grass.
A tiny, needle-thin beam of fire lanced out. It touched the tip of the grass, singing it black, leaving the green stem below untouched.
Ryan looked at me, eyes wide. "I did it."
"Precision over power," I said, ruffling his hair. "That is how you win."
We weren't just a camp anymore. We were a school, a factory, and a family. And every day, we got sharper.