The mist had thickened overnight.
Not just settled, but shifted. It curled unnaturally along the ground, pressing low across Ysera's courtyard like a second skin. There was no breeze. No birdcalls. Just the soft sound of boots and armor, and the ever-present weight of cold eyes watching from somewhere beyond.
No one knew what it meant.
But the soldiers of Alpha and Omega stood in silent unease as the fog licked the edges of their boots.
They had gathered early. Not out of discipline—but nerves.
This wasn't normal. Not even for Ysera.
Kael stood apart, arms crossed, squinting toward the woods. Renard stood by the cracked archway, silent as ever, watching the mist with unreadable eyes.
Then came the bell.
Second fog incursion. Movement confirmed.
"Alpha will take point," Darek said without waiting for command.
Renard hadn't spoken. Not yet.
"You sure?" Thorn grunted, glancing up from where her warhound lay tense beside her. "Didn't end great last time."
Sera crossed her arms, biting. "We'd rather lead than clean up your chaos."
Garrick stepped forward, cloak swinging. "Clean up? You mean save your asses when your fancy formations fall apart?"
The courtyard tensed. One more word and it would ignite.
Then Renard's voice cut through like a scalpel.
"Enough."
Just that. No shout.
But it silenced the yard.
He stepped forward.
"Alpha leads. Omega flanks. Delta-Four spread. Two-layer fallback if the line fractures."
Kael blinked. That was a commander's pattern. From real war. Not taught at Veilspire.
Neither squad moved to argue. But the glares stayed sharp.
They entered the fog just after first light.
The forest swallowed them like breath held too long.
Alpha advanced in crisp ranks—shields up, steps practiced. They looked like a wall.
But walls don't pivot. And they don't see sideways.
Omega followed behind, looser, wide-eyed but alert. Not disciplined. But aware.
The mist curled deeper. Light grew thinner. Branches above bent low, and the frost thickened underfoot.
Then the first trap snapped.
Branley yelped as his leg caught a tension wire—chalk burst across his thigh.
Before he could shout, three shapes exploded from the brush.
Omega scattered.
Sera launched a light flare. It exploded in a blur of gold—then snuffed in a wall of sudden smoke.
They never saw the attackers.
Only blurs. Echoes. Pain.
Silva collapsed under a sweep to the ribs.
Thorn's warhound yelped, driven back by a sharp clang.
Kael ducked a spinning blade and drove his elbow into a masked figure's gut—only to be flipped over a root he hadn't seen.
Darek held formation—but no one was there to reinforce him.
The second recon ended with six tagged soldiers, three minor injuries, and zero confirmed hits on the enemy.
They limped home.
In the yard, the squads spread out again.
But now the silence had an edge.
Branley threw his helmet to the ground.
"We held our line! Where was the back?"
Garrick rolled his shoulder, bruised and scowling. "Maybe if you didn't walk like a parade horse—"
"I was watching left! You opened our flank!"
"Your flank opened like a door!"
Renard stood in the shadow of the training post, arms folded.
He let them argue.
Then: "Alpha. Omega."
His voice didn't rise. But the air obeyed.
"Stand down."
They did.
Even Kael didn't smirk.
Renard stepped into the middle of the yard.
[Commander Skill – Tactical Pattern Recognition: Active]
[Combat Style Profiling Engaged…]
—Branley: High guard. Slow correction. Good anchor, no initiative.
—Darek: Predictable step-forth re-engagement. Weak side reaction.
—Sera: Mid-range blaster. Struggles with staggered tempo.
—Thorn: Beast sync strong. Needs structured pairing.
—Silva: Aggressive opener. No feint timing.
—Garrick: Quick read, poor cohesion.
Renard walked past them.
"You're not bad."
They blinked.
"You're just fighting a war that isn't yours yet."
He turned to Alpha.
"Darek, next time Silva casts? Shift to the edge. Her spell splash opens blind spots behind flanks. Use it."
Sera raised a brow.
"Branley—stop trying to lead. You're a blocker. That's your gift. Let Garrick pivot off you instead."
Thorn gave a low grunt.
"To you—pair with Darek. He gives you rhythm. Your beast needs it."
Silva scoffed, "Since when does this guy know us?"
Renard looked at her, plain and even.
"I don't. I read you."
Then he walked away.
It took days.
No one talked about the advice.
But they started following it.
At first, clumsy.
Sera would glance at Silva before casting. Branley hesitated longer in formation. Thorn let Darek call timing.
They didn't talk.
But they started listening.
And the third patrol launched under low clouds and a different silence.
This time—when the fog closed in and the trees narrowed—something was different.
Alpha's formation flexed.
Darek called left. Branley shifted just enough. Garrick swept wide.
Sera's flare burst high—this time synchronized with Silva's echo pulse, blinding their attackers.
Kael slammed a phantom down. Darek followed through.
One figure groaned audibly—Elric.
"You're learning," he grunted, before vanishing into smoke.
They made it back to the yard tired.
But upright.
Lysara cleaned Garrick's arm in the med tent, humming softly.
He didn't even flinch.
Something had changed.
Kael leaned against the post outside, one brow raised.
"Was that coordination?"
Renard didn't answer.
His interface opened.
[Combat Sync: 73%]
[Training Effectiveness: Improved]
[Enemy Simulation Accuracy: 96%]
[Anomaly Detected: Fog Pressure – +12%]
[Phantom Trace Pattern: Expected = 3 | Detected = 4]
Renard blinked.
"…Four?"
Night. Woods. Fog.
At the broken pine, Phantom waited.
Maera stepped forward. "Full sweep completed. No deviation."
"Tarn?"
"Never engaged. Elric was tagged once."
Renard looked at the interface again.
"Then what was the fourth?"
Tarn raised a brow. "We didn't add anyone."
Maera stiffened.
"…Then someone watched."
Renard's eyes sharpened.
A beat.
Then three shadows knelt.
Maera, Elric, Tarn. Blades to stone.
"Status?" Renard asked.
"Morale high. All units leveled. Formation cohesion stabilized."
He nodded once.
"And the recruits?"
"Adapting. Barely. But they will."
A long silence followed.
Then Renard smiled.
Cold. Controlled. Almost kind.
"Begin the third phase. Intensify drills. No more mercy."
Maera hesitated. "And if they resist?"
Renard's voice turned razor-soft.
"Then I'll join the fog myself."
He stepped forward.
"And when I come…"
A whisper in the dark.
"…I won't be their commander. I'll be their lesson."
The mist curled tighter, and Phantom vanished.