Seyfe lingered in the silence of the training hall, the weight of the unopened message gnawing at his gut like a restless beast. The Cellik pulsed faintly in his hand, still casting a faint glow where Garuda's video had cut off, and the encrypted message waited—quiet, patient, almost like it was watching him instead of the other way around.
But the echo of Jannet's footsteps down the corridor reminded him that eyes were everywhere here. And ears? Even sharper.
He sighed through gritted teeth, the thrill of discovery quickly giving way to a creeping dread. The risk of getting caught snooping around a restricted archive was too high, not now—not after all he'd survived just to get this far.
Tucking the Cellik close, he turned his back to the weapon racks and the ghosts of the first generation's legacy.
"Not tonight…" he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything else.
He stepped out of the hall, each footfall heavy with reluctant resolve. The quiet of the complex settled over him again as he made his way through the dim corridors back toward the dorms.
The buzzing lights, the faint murmur of a nearby fan, even the occasional snore from one of the cadets already asleep—none of it could distract him from the thought that clawed at his mind:
What the hell are the Veilers really meant to be?
As he entered the dorm and dropped onto his bunk with a groan, he stared at the ceiling like it might spell out the answers he was too afraid to face tonight.
Tomorrow, maybe.
But he knew deep down—he wasn't leaving that message unopened forever.
The morning sunlight bled through the curtains in dull streaks, casting pale lines across the mess that was Seyfe's dorm room. His eyes were bloodshot, lids heavy, but there wasn't a shred of sleep in him. The Cellik lay inches from his hand, the encrypted message still unopened, taunting him in silence all through the night.
Then—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The door rattled beneath the barrage of fists pounding against it.
"Oi, corpse boy! You alive in there or should we start writing your eulogy?" came the familiar rasp of Saline, ever the morning menace.
Seyfe groaned, dragging a hand down his face, half-expecting this was another punishment drill. But something in the tone—urgency, maybe?—made him sit up despite the haze of fatigue pressing down on him like wet cement.
More knocks followed. Not just Saline this time. More voices joined in.
"You better move before they bust that door down!""Field briefing—now! Something's up!"
Seyfe cursed under his breath, snatching the Cellik and tucking it into his uniform pocket. The weight of it felt heavier than it should, like it knew he had something hidden from eyes that weren't supposed to see.
He threw on his gear with barely a glance at the mirror, then yanked open the door.
Outside, a group of cadets stood, all with varying degrees of sleep-deprivation and confusion, and most notably—fear. Even the loud ones like Saline had something tight in their eyes.
"You coming or you waiting for a special invitation?" Saline muttered, already turning on her heel.
Seyfe followed without a word, his mind still reeling from the night before and the gnawing realization:
Something was shifting. And it wasn't just the training schedule.
The Overseer Squadron gathered in the field just as the morning fog began to lift, cloaking the area in a dull grey hue. The cadets were still groggy, barely alert, with many of them grumbling under their breath.
Seyfe, trailing behind the group, squinted toward the raised platform where a lone figure stood—raven-like hair swaying gently in the breeze, the unmistakable silhouette of Aki Varess. Arms crossed, expression unreadable, the woman looked like a statue carved from ice and fury.
A cadet behind Seyfe muttered with a sigh, "What? Is that bitch going to advance our training regime more than the other squadrons now?"
"Don't give her ideas, man," another whispered, already dreading the answer.
Seyfe rolled his shoulders, sore from days of beatdowns and restless nights. His gaze flickered toward Aki. Cold. Calculating. And somehow always aware. He still remembered the last time he cursed under his breath, only for her to punish him before the word fully left his mouth.
"Quiet," Aki finally spoke, her voice carrying effortlessly across the field without shouting. It had weight. Precision. Like a scalpel.
All cadet chatter died instantly.
"You've endured hell. And you've all survived…barely," she said, pacing now. "But survival isn't enough. As members of the Overseer Squadron, your task isn't just strength—it's vision. Adaptability. Tactics. And absolute discretion."
Seyfe narrowed his eyes, sensing something different in her tone. This wasn't just another pain-riddled pep talk.
"A change in directive has been issued. Effective immediately, the Overseer Squadron will begin preliminary integration into live field simulations. This means—real stakes. Real risks. Real consequences."
A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Field? Already?""We're not even assigned yet—what the hell?"
Aki raised a hand—silence again.
"You'll be partnered with other squadrons. You'll lead them. Observe them. Report on them. And if necessary—correct them."
That last word chilled Seyfe to his bones. Correct. He knew what that could mean in a system like this.
Aki's gaze swept across the cadets, and for a fleeting second, her sharp eyes locked with Seyfe's.
"Dismissed. You have one hour to prepare."
As the crowd began to scatter, whispers and curses filled the air again.
Seyfe remained still, expression flat, but his fingers curled slightly.
"Live simulations, huh…" he muttered. "Guess we're skipping purgatory and heading straight into the fire."
Aki, with that same stone-cold expression she wore whether we were getting butchered in training or getting a weather update, simply said:
"Well, it was her request. Not mine."
I blinked.
"What the fuck?"
That wasn't even whispered—it slipped out, raw and stunned, like my brain had tripped over itself.
Jannet requested me?
Of all the cadets in this squadron—hell, in this godforsaken program—why would she ask for me? I wasn't exactly making friends. Unless you count Saline, and that's only if you consider getting suplexed a bonding exercise.
My mind started spiraling—had she seen something? Did she suspect something? The archive? The Cellik?
Or maybe this was just some twisted form of entertainment for her.
"I'm dead," I muttered.
One of the cadets snorted. "You're already dead. This is just the part where your soul gets repo'd."
"Well you can't count why a cadet alone was riffling around the practice grounds at night". Aki mentioned
Seyfe's stomach dropped.
"Wait, you did?" The short silver-haired girl asked, hopping around like a kid on sugar, eyes wide and gleaming. "Who were you spying on?"
It was like being caught in a lie you hadn't even fully told yet, and the walls were closing in fast.
"Ohh, are you looking to impress someone, lady boy?" Saline teased, grinning like she was about to watch a trainwreck in real-time.
My blood was already boiling, and now I could feel my pulse thrumming in my ears.
"No," I shot back, too quickly. "I was just—"
But I was interrupted by Aki's voice cutting through the tension like a blade:
"Enough."
There was a coldness to her voice. Not the kind you feel when you're just annoyed, but the kind you get when the predator's already sizing you up, and you don't even know if you're the prey or not. Everyone shut up, all eyes suddenly trained on Aki as she simply observed the scene.
She was already looking at me, like she knew what was coming before I even processed it.
"If you want to impress anyone, Seyfe, start by keeping your distractions to a minimum. We've got a mission coming up. Don't get in the way of it."
My jaw tightened.
"Got it," I muttered, barely above a whisper, trying to hide the heat creeping up my neck.
Saline and the girl looked at each other with a grin.
The tall silver-haired guy's hand came down heavily on Seyfe's back, the gesture surprisingly soft for someone who looked like they could crush a boulder with their bare hands.
"Now you're showing emotions too?" he asked, his tone a mixture of amusement and, maybe, something like pity.
Seyfe flinched under the touch, though he quickly masked it with a scoff. It wasn't often that someone showed him that kind of… care, even if it felt more like mockery.
"You think I care about your petty shit?" Seyfe snapped, trying to pull back some pride. "I'm not here to make friends. You should know that by now."
The silver-haired guy—Jerome, that's what he called himself when he introduced himself—simply smirked and pulled his hand away, his eyes glinting as if he enjoyed watching Seyfe struggle with his own tension.
"Just remember, when you finally break... you'll need to rebuild yourself." Jerome's words were quiet, almost too calm, and they sent an odd chill through Seyfe's chest.
Was he giving him advice, or was this just another one of those cryptic moments where the strong cadet looked down on the weak?
"Good luck with that," he added, before turning his attention back to the rest of the group, as if his involvement in Seyfe's pain was nothing more than a passing curiosity.
Seyfe stood there for a moment longer than necessary, catching his breath, trying to figure out why Jerome's words were sticking with him.
Was this what it was like for the others? A slow, grinding pressure until you couldn't tell where the pain ended and the person you once were started?