Seyfe squinted through the blur of sweat running down his forehead, scanning the rest of the field. Bodies were scattered across the dirt like fallen leaves—some groaning, others trying and failing to crawl toward shade. A few looked like they might actually pass out any second.
Well... at least I'm not the only one getting their ass handed to them.
But what really caught his eye were the few cadets who stood with barely a scratch on them. They weren't gloating, just... calm. Controlled. Breathing steady, posture relaxed, like this was just a warm-up.
One in particular, a tall guy with silver-dyed hair and a scar over his brow, didn't even break a sweat—arms crossed, expression unreadable. Another, a girl with buzzed sides and tattoos lacing up her neck, was casually stretching like she was waiting for the real training to begin.
Seyfe clicked his tongue. Monsters in human skin, he thought bitterly.
But that quiet fire in him—the one he hated admitting was there—flickered again.
He wouldn't be the strongest. Not now.
But he'd catch up. Or break trying.
Because Seyfe had survived hell. And hell was starting to look like the easy part.
Seyfe sat with his back against a cold stone slab, lungs heaving, arms feeling like noodles as the precious fifteen minutes of rest ticked by. He barely got halfway through a bottle of water before the whistle blew again, sharp and unforgiving.
"Form up!" one of the instructors barked.
Before he could even catch his breath properly, a heavy metallic sack was thrown at his feet with a dull thud. It sloshed like a beast filled with liquid weight.
"What the hell is this now…" Seyfe muttered, hoisting it up and strapping it across his shoulders. Instantly, his knees dipped under the weight.
"Water load sacks," someone nearby muttered. "Old Veiler tradition. Builds everything—strength, stamina, willpower... maybe even trauma."
The next part of the field loomed in front of them like a monument built to crush spirits: a canyon-like wall, jagged and towering, its surface uneven and rough. The instructors began shouting names in groups, splitting the 102 cadets into manageable batches.
Forty would go first.
"Climb it. Reach the top. No gear. No rope. Just your body, your weight, and your will," Aki said plainly, stepping out in front of them with the same emotionless authority she always wore like a second skin.
Seyfe adjusted his grip on the water sack as his number was called into the first batch. The wall might as well have been a mountain with how heavy he felt.
I survived monsters, sickness, even the twisted... and now my enemy is a freaking vertical rock.
He gritted his teeth.
"Let's climb then."
Aki's voice cut through the crowd like a scalpel, calm and cold:
"Oh, and we're not responsible if you find yourself falling." She gave a brief, unreadable smirk. "But don't worry—the stasis chamber can patch those wounds up. Probably."
A few cadets exchanged uneasy glances. Someone at the back actually muttered, "She's joking, right?"
But the look on her face said otherwise.
Seyfe stared up at the wall, then glanced at his water-weighted sack.
"Right," he muttered, "because nothing screams motivational like 'you might die, but hey, we'll glue you back together.'"
He took a breath, cracked his neck, and stepped forward toward the wall with the others. The first cadet tried to climb and slipped just three grips in, crashing back down onto the ground with a grunt. The instructors didn't even flinch.
"Next!"
Seyfe rolled his eyes. "Hell has training now, I guess."
As Seyfe pulled himself up to his thirteenth grip, his fingers burned, arms trembling under the added weight of the water sack strapped to his back. Every movement felt like dragging his body through mud, but he forced himself to keep going, grit biting through the exhaustion in his muscles.
Below him, the grunts and thuds of falling cadets echoed like drumbeats of failure. Some didn't even make it past the fifth grip. Others cursed loudly as they hit the ground, already limping toward the stasis medics with sprained ankles or busted shoulders.
But then—he saw them.
A few cadets, not many, but enough to stand out. Climbing like the wall was a playground. Their bodies moved with eerie precision, arms coiling like springs, legs launching them up grip after grip without hesitation. Seyfe caught sight of one in particular—a girl with short silver hair and a sharp gaze—vaulting up the wall with a predator's grace, barely touching the holds.
"Monsters…" he muttered under his breath, watching as they vanished over the edge like they were born to climb.
And for a second, doubt crept into him like a whisper.
But Seyfe clenched his jaw. I've survived worse than this. Dead city. Twisted. Government freakshows. A damn wall isn't gonna beat me.
With a shaky breath, he tightened his grip and continued upward.
Seyfe's hand finally grasped the final ledge, fingers raw and muscles screaming. With a strained growl, he pulled himself over the edge, collapsing on the gravel-like surface as his chest heaved, lungs clawing for air.
Every heartbeat felt like thunder in his ears.
He turned his head slightly—and locked eyes with her.
The girl with the tattooed neck. Her design snaked along her jawline and vanished beneath her collar, the ink moving ever so slightly as her neck tensed mid-laughter. She didn't look tired at all, just slightly amused, like the climb had been a warm-up.
Next to her stood the tall silver-haired guy—expression unreadable, almost bored. He stood like a statue, arms crossed, his attention clearly not on the girl despite her constant talking. If he heard her, he gave no sign of it.
Seyfe watched them for a moment before turning his gaze up to the sky.
"Yeah... definitely monsters," he muttered under his breath, forcing a weak smirk. "And I'm stuck training with them."
Seyfe flinched hard, nearly slipping back off the ledge as the short silver-haired girl suddenly appeared beside him, crouched like she'd been there the whole time.
His heart skipped a beat. "Shit! Do you want me to die!?"
She blinked at him, unfazed, head tilted like a curious cat. "Are you okay?"
Seyfe stared at her, incredulous, chest still heaving from the climb. Do I look okay to this girl who just scaled the damn wall like a monkey doing parkour? he thought, eyes twitching.
"What kind of question is that?" he finally huffed, dragging himself fully onto the platform. "I look like a crushed can of synth-coffee, and you're asking if I'm okay?"
She tilted her head the other way. "You're not bleeding out. That's usually the threshold."
Seyfe let out a dry, almost bitter laugh. "Right. Should've known pain is just the warm-up here."
The girl just smiled lightly and stood up with a graceful hop, like gravity didn't even bother her. "You're funnier than the others," she said, before skipping over to rejoin the tattooed girl and silver statue guy like nothing happened.
Seyfe stared after her, muttering, "I'm not gonna survive this place, am I?"
Seyfe squinted, half in disbelief and half in exhaustion, as he kept his eyes on the silver-haired girl. She wasn't just calm—she was happy. Genuinely, openly happy to be here, like this brutal training camp was some kind of vacation retreat.
Her golden-yellow eyes glimmered as she turned her face toward the sun, her expression peaceful, like she was basking in something beautiful. It almost looked… unreal.
Seyfe grumbled under his breath, wiping sweat from his brow. "Maybe I should've been born blind," he muttered. "Would've spared me from seeing just how out of place I am in this freakshow."
He sat back, arms resting on his knees as he caught his breath, eyes still locked on her. What kind of person smiles like that in a place like this? And more importantly… why doesn't it look fake?
But before he could get lost in that train of thought, a whistle blew from below.
"Get your asses moving! You get three minutes before the next phase begins!"
Seyfe let out a long, soul-weary groan. "Of course there's a next phase…"
The water looked dark—too dark. It wasn't just a normal pool. There was something unnatural about the way it shimmered, like it was deeper than it should be… like it was watching them back.
Cadets lined up at the edge, some trembling, others frozen stiff. A few were muttering prayers under their breath. A single order had been barked:
"Make it to the other side. No matter what."
No safety lines. No floaters. No one explained what might be in there.
Seyfe stood still, muscles tight with tension. "This is crazy. Crazy shit," he hissed. "What if something just swallowed us in there?"
The thought was too real. He glanced to his side—some guy was trying to fake a cramp, hoping he'd be pulled out. No chance. A Veiler commander just stared him down, arms crossed, daring him to try it.
Then a push.
SPLASH.
Someone had been shoved in. Screaming, flailing, then silence… then a head popped up, gasping, as they started swimming, terrified, to the other side.
Seyfe clenched his jaw. "Tch… screw this." And then, he jumped.
The cold hit like a punch to the ribs, his lungs seizing up for a moment. And then—movement. Something below.
He kicked harder, pulling himself forward as fast as his arms allowed. All around him were cadets splashing, fighting the weight of the water—and maybe something else.
"Just don't look down," he told himself. "Just. Don't. Look. Down."